Storm in a Teacup (3)
“Something... important?”
“Yeah, what I meant to talk about at the café last time. But we weren’t alone then, so I held off.”
Alone? My heart suddenly thudded loud in my ears. It hit me—we were in the same room as this cute woman my age, on the same bed. Connie reached out, took my hand, and said,
“You’re... holding back, aren’t you?”
“Huh? From what?”
Her blue eyes stared straight into mine, unwavering. A whirlwind of thoughts flooded my head. And damn it, with her in that gown, I was noticing things I never had before. I squeezed my eyes shut and said,
“I was just thinking it might not be right during a mission, so I was being cautious...”
“Is that so? But you were holding back, then.”
“No, that’s not—”
“The instinct to hurt people.”
“Ah.”
Heat rushed to my face in embarrassment. I quickly changed the subject.
“Playing Chase Field makes it better.”
“...Good.”
“It used to be worse before, but lately it feels like it’s getting better...”
Since meeting Connie? It was the same when I first started Chase Field, and now too. The thought slipped out.
“It’s thanks to you, Connie.”
“Mm...”
Her face flushed a deep red, turning adorably complex—smiling, then shy. She shook her head lightly and spoke in a serious tone.
“I told you before... about someone who had the same symptoms as you.”
“Oh... yeah, I remember. You said it after the Korea University thing, at the café, right?”
“Yes. That person... couldn’t overcome it in the end. They went mad and closed their eyes on some nameless battlefield.”
“...”
I couldn’t say I wouldn’t end up the same. Before I knew about Chase Field, the impulses kept me locked in my room. Connie always looked sad when she brought it up.
I ventured carefully, “Was that person... important to you?”
“...My only blood relative. Yohan Artein. My father.”
“Oh... sorry...”
“No need to console me. He left me something like a dying wish. To live doing what I want.”
She smiled brightly as she said it.
“To me, my father was an amazing man. I can still picture him with that long white beard flowing like a white lion’s mane, cigar clenched in his teeth.”
“...Sounds cool.”
Watching her nod, it clicked. This woman who preferred sweet chocolate cake over bitter espresso—why she pretended to be into cigars and dark beer. She must’ve wanted to emulate her father she admired so much. Maybe even her speech was influenced by Yohan Artein.
We chatted about the mission, little everyday things. As time passed and her damp hair started drying, she said,
“Beat, I want to give you a full check-up.”
“Huh? Check what?”
“I have data on my father’s symptoms. I thought I’d use it to run some tests. That’s why I want to invite you to our company soon.”
I tilted my head. I already worked for Vanguard Investment.
“Vanguard’s a subsidiary. I mean the parent company. Their research facility could diagnose your condition and help treat it.”
“Oh, right. Yeah... no problem, I guess?”
“Then, let’s talk again after this mission.”
Connie started to get up from the bed. A sudden thought struck me.
“Connie, so... are you living the way you want?”
She froze. Come to think of it, we were still holding hands. She intertwined our fingers and said,
“Of course. It’s tough sometimes, but I’ve met good people, good colleagues. Like you, Beat...”
She slowly disentwined our fingers and stood. That’s when the closed door swung open.
“Huh.”
We jolted in surprise, shifting awkwardly. My foot tangled, and Connie started to fall. I grabbed her shoulder just in time—and a voice rang out.
“Connie, the director arrived at dawn... Hm...”
“Sinclair?”
Sinclair, about to enter, stopped mid-sentence. She scanned us with her eyes, then quietly shut the door again.
We checked each other. Connie had ended up fully on top of me. Her gown was loose anyway, and the untied sash brushed against me.
“W-wait, Sinclair! It’s a misunderstanding!”
“You have some time. That much personal time is...”
“It was an accident!”
Connie, beet-red, rushed out to talk to Sinclair. I lay there dazed, realizing I was wide awake now. When I opened the door and stepped out, Sinclair was sitting in a chair.
“Beat... right?”
“Yeah. Where’s Connie?”
“She said she had something to check in the room.”
No choice but to stay inside anyway, I sat across from Sinclair. Seoul’s nightscape glittered beyond the hotel window. Staring blankly outside, I muttered,
“...What’s a married couple, anyway?”
“Cough!”
“Sinclair?”
I turned at the weird noise. She stared back, expressionless. Realizing how odd it sounded, I explained,
“It’s my first time, so I was wondering if I did the Ben Johnson husband act okay.”
“Y-yeah. You did great. Even up close, you looked like a real couple.”
“So, what is a couple?”
“...The question’s not over yet, huh.”
She hadn’t expected me to ask again and seemed flustered.
“A little envious... no, I don’t really know either. Relying on each other, being together?”
“Sounds like battle buddies.”
“All I know are battle buddies, so maybe.”
Sinclair smiled as she said it—a far cry from her stone-faced command during the op.
“A bodyguard leader—and company rep—can’t slack off, or the team won’t follow suit.”
With that, she said she needed to check on her people and left.
“Hm... Chase Field time?”
Bored already, I headed back to bed and fired up Chase Field.
...
A few rounds and a quick nap later, it was time for Director Rosalyn to arrive. Ben Johnson act over. I switched back to my normal face and headed to the hotel lobby.
I approached Connie quietly.
“Connie.”
“Beat? She’s almost here.”
The bodyguards were already waiting. Soon, a black car pulled up. The door opened, and out stepped Director Rosalyn—the one I’d only seen in photos.
Rosalyn looked at Connie standing in front.
“Connie? Is that you, Connie?”
“Yes, Director. Long time no see.”
“Come here, let me hug you.”
Rosalyn and Connie embraced. Standing close, I caught their whisper.
“Yohan would be proud of you.”
“Yes... But today’s schedule—are you really going ahead as planned? There was an assassination threat from the other side.”
“I got the report. That’s commonplace in the States. We’re in Korea now, so I’ll meet who I came to meet.”
Some of it sounded like stuff I shouldn’t hear, so I backed off. Shai approached.
“Hey, have fun?”
“Shai, didn’t you get to relax at the resort? Why the sour face?”
“That greasy mug of his ruined it.”
Shai mimicked Ben Johnson lines. The stuff she spouted was so grating, I was impressed by her patience.
“You did great, seriously.”
“Hmph, I’ll tell Connie no more of this.”
As we swapped stories about hotel food, Rosalyn called Sinclair.
“Sinclair, mind if I borrow Connie for protection?”
“Of course, Director.”
Rosalyn took Connie into the car instead of Sinclair, her security lead. Looked like she wanted to talk. Sinclair joined our vehicle instead.
“Thanks for the help. Prep first.”
“Prep?”
“Security’s been upped due to the assassination attempt.”
At Sinclair’s gesture, I turned—there was a mid-size vehicle with a Sentry Gun for anti-drone.
We got fresh gear too: a pistol and assault rifle.
“Civilian risk of stray shots—always point muzzles downward when not aiming.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“And...”
As we checked gear, Sinclair briefed the team on close-quarters protection protocols. Soon, we rolled out. Way different vibe from the Ben Johnson escort: three identical black SUVs, Sentry Guns, two police motorcycles. Heavily armed, cutting through downtown.
[Confirmed.]
Hearing the radio, a report came for my sector. A tinted car over there. I swung my muzzle that way and reported.
Shai clicked her tongue at my callout.
“Tints are too dark here. Can’t see shit?”
“Nah, I can make it out. Family—kid in the back seat.”
We arrived at the meeting hall like this, procedure after procedure. Korean arms CEOs were waiting—but their faces were grim.
Shai answered my curiosity.
“How do you think they feel, her dragging this force through their safe country over an assassination threat?”
“Ah, pride stung.”
Of course, when Rosalyn stepped out, the Korean execs flipped their expressions like a switch and welcomed her.
The meeting didn’t last long. After two hours of waiting, Rosalyn emerged.
...Almost over?
Sinclair read my face.
“Airport next, then done.”
11 a.m. now. Crossing the bridge to the airport. Bottleneck here, roads merging—radios nonstop from alert guards.
“High-risk zone. Eyes sharp.”
Sinclair’s words had us scanning inside lanes. Too many threats: guy staring out windows suspiciously, someone suddenly opening a bag in traffic.
Then Blakie’s voice crackled.
“Weird signal?”
“What’s that mean?”
We relayed to Sinclair, scanned around. Tense, but no suspicious moves. Then a chill hit me. No—a sound.
Screeeeech!
That creepy tearing noise from yesterday’s demo.
“Shit, the sky.”
“What?”
I craned my neck to the clear blue sky. A black ripple clashing against it—like a flock of birds. But too uniform, heading straight for us. Closing in, shapes clarified. Sound sharpened. Dread confirmed.
“Drones! Brace for impact!”
Sinclair’s shout—and bomb-laden drone swarms rained down on us.