Episode 3 - Fantastical Vacation (Complete)
Suddenly, a squad of heavily armed soldiers burst in. They were decked out in military uniforms—uniforms to the front, uniforms to the rear, uniforms everywhere. Military police kitted out with body armor and rifles. Judging by their gear, this wasn't your standard guard post detail; it was a special task force.
I spotted several familiar yet utterly out-of-place suits wedged among the spec-ops guys. Counterintelligence investigators from the Military Intelligence Agency. It hit me late that they were striding toward us in the same dress suits they wore for office commutes and field ops, now layered with body armor and pistols at the ready.
Then I caught sight of the agents who'd been surveilling the spy from afar—their faces pale as ghosts. That's when I knew shit had gone sideways. Something's wrong. Really, really wrong.
The moment that thought crossed my mind, I stood to shield Camilla Lowell, moving to her side. The military police task force raised their muzzles into firing position, the investigators realized the op had gone tits up and broke cover, and the spy they'd been watching bolted from his seat.
But the team leader was a step faster. In the chaos where no one could predict the next move—bang!—he squeezed the trigger, aiming straight at the spy.
A sharp gunshot ripped through the air. The team leader fired the instant Geoda Bianchi rose from her chair, and she—mage or not—took a round to the gut and toppled backward.
No one saw it coming. The sudden crack of gunfire startled civilians, soldiers, and agents alike. But the task force, like they'd half-expected it, flinched for a split second before piling on the prone Geoda Bianchi, wrenching her arm behind her back and pinning her down.
"Everyone stay calm and in your seats! Major counter-espionage operation in progress!"
"Hey, you in the back! Stay put and sit down!"
"Rookie! Grab the restraints, quick!"
"We're just nabbing a spy here—carry on with your business, folks!"
The task force swarmed her like flies on a corpse, slapping on anti-magic restraints in seconds to cripple any spellcasting, shamanism, or divine powers she might try. They even gagged her to prevent suicide. The second she was hauled out, custody would transfer straight to Military Intelligence.
The pistol-packing investigators dashed around, trying to calm the freaked-out staff. The employees screamed and scattered in panic from the gunshot; the undercover agents, their op thoroughly fucked mid-surveillance, flailed about with no clue where to go.
I stood there dumbfounded, watching the clusterfuck unfold, when Camilla Lowell popped into my head.
"Camilla! You okay?"
She stared up at me, spoon clutched in her fist, wearing the blank, nerdy expression of total bewilderment. Then she asked, "Uh... is this some kinda hidden camera prank?"
Thank God she was fine. Physically, at least.
The past week's grind of stress and sleepless nights felt like a joke. The arrest op wrapped up in record time.
The team leader barked orders to the milling investigators, assigning tasks left and right. They started gagging the lab staff and sorting all op-related materials for shredding or archiving per agency regs.
The task force had Geoda Bianchi secured. Anti-magic cuffs turned her into a half-cripple—no spells, no shamanism, no holy tricks. Gag in place to stop her offing herself. She'd be handed over to Military Intelligence HQ the moment she left the lab.
Op complete, Camilla's physical exam called off. No surprise there—the lead researcher took a bullet and got nabbed as a spy. What exam were they gonna run now? They planned to bag her anyway.
Plan went sideways, but the arrest succeeded. Investigators followed shutdown protocols, clearing out the makeshift command post office. Ground-level military police who'd been on outer perimeter swept in to stabilize the lab interior.
And Camilla Lowell left the Advanced Military Magic Research Institute without a damn clue what she'd stumbled into. To be precise, no one had bothered explaining the shitshow to her amid the frenzy.
Finally, right before she bounced, I gave her the rundown: "Geoda Bianchi was the spy. Public security caught wind and took her down." She clocked then that she'd gotten tangled in an intelligence op.
I skipped the juicy bits, but factually? Spot on. Not that I knew the real juice myself—why the op derailed, why the team leader shot her, what the hell made him lead half the team topside. No clue.
So I bullshitted some plausible excuse and sent her off to safety. Only after the endless cleanup did I get the full story.
"...So the spy who got shot and bagged wasn't Geoda Bianchi?"
"Affirmative."
Oh, bullshit.
Honestly, I was floored. Thought the team leader was yanking my chain. If you asked for the top three most WTF moments since dropping into this world, it'd be: becoming the Hero's sidekick, my posting to the embassy, and right fucking now.
Because the guy who torpedoed the op and opened fire first thing claimed, as his excuse, that the "Geoda Bianchi" they'd pegged as the spy wasn't actually her.
Anyone would've called bullshit. Even I, a total muggle who knows jack about magic, knew that stretched credulity too far.
"How the hell is that even possible?"
"Looks like shamanism. Used some body part to swap her whole appearance for Geoda's."
The team leader spouted this majestic horseshit with a weary, haggard face.
Some unknown mage or shaman skinned Geoda Bianchi—or part of her—and wore it like a suit to impersonate her. What he described? Grab any academy magic freshman off the street; they'd laugh and tell him to quit the pseudo-magic crap, wash up, and hit the sack.
But as they say, nothing's absolute.
"This is a human body part found above the residential ceiling on the surface level."
"......"
He pinched the evidence bag between thumb and forefinger, holding it up like it was toxic waste.
"Fingers, toes, hair, skin tissue. All sorts."
"......"
Like he'd seen something he couldn't unsee, he dropped it quick with just those two fingers. Thud. The bag hit another labeled "Evidence 37." The mystery liquid inside sloshed, and something thin and cornea-like writhed.
"And this—shared intel from a related agency. Interrogation report from a shaman busted seven years back smuggling drugs in the south. Says he used similar shamanism on refugees paying big to slip border patrols."
"...Uh, yeah. Right."
Horror movie shit right there.
"Anyway, things got too dicey not to take her down. You okay, Major?"
"Yeah, sure. Fine."
"Good."
He shoved the nightmare bag aside like it offended him. I asked, "So where's the real Geoda Bianchi? She did go study at the Magic Tower, right?"
"The one who warped out for Magic Tower studies was her, yeah. Family saw her off at the gate—unless she swapped at home, it's legit."
"She vanished at the Tower?"
"Beats us. We're investigators, not astrologers."
Right, sure. If we knew, I'd quit and become a fortune teller.
I nodded along vigorously. He fished out a smoke, lit up.
"What a goddamn mess..."
He exhaled a thin, sigh-laced plume.
"HQ takes custody for interrogation. Big enough deal for a joint probe, probably."
Royal Intelligence Bureau, Cabinet Security Office, Special Investigations—all piling in to dig. What started as a simple spy nab ballooned fast.
No idea what the fuck was up, but my part was done.
"Mages inbound soon. Head up first."
"You're staying?"
"Yeah. Wrap cleanup, grill Chief Fernand, check for accomplices. You?"
After eyeballing that bag? No thanks. Two months of grind, and my job ended at dragging in the spy anyway.
"Gotta report back. See ya."
"Take care."
"You too."
I left the Advanced Military Magic Research Institute with a nagging pit in my gut.
"Where you from?"
"Royal Intelligence Bureau. Hop in."
Oh, bullshit.
Episode 3 - Fantastical Vacation -END-