New Dress
“I figured since it was an event hall, it'd be some mid-sized room in a government office building or something.”
Arin, scanning the building's floor plan, wore a look of utter dismay.
A staircase over a hundred stories high, a flashy exterior decked out in glass and lights, separate passages and elevators from a certain floor up that barred outsiders entirely—it was an outrageously expensive building.
And the venue for this event was the largest, most luxurious banquet hall in that very building.
“Even with the deputy director of the Anomaly Response and Management Agency attending, I wondered why they were pulling so many of us instead of regular security...”
The banquet hall was vast—too vast.
It reminded her of those exaggerated noble balls in romance fantasy comics: a massive auditorium packed with countless private rooms. The more she looked, the more it felt ridiculously over-the-top.
“A place this size would keep you busy even without any incidents.”
Of course, actual security and protection would fall to the professionals. Agency personnel were just being roped in under the guise of "guests," flashing smiles and making small talk—no real frantic dashing about required.
Still, to keep the bigwigs from meddling and tiring everyone out under the pretense of "work," they had to at least pretend to be busy. Enjoying it like actual guests was out of the question.
The event was a week away.
Aside from memorizing the floor plan and scouting the site the day before, there'd be no extra training or ops deployment, she'd been told.
Feeling a rare laziness wash over her, Arin let out a long yawn.
“Haaah~ But still, sending a message from the director we've never even seen...?”
Such mass emails to all deployed personnel suggested the higher-ups and VIPs from various sectors would flock there. Even the budget-conscious Anomaly Response and Management Agency—where lives truly hung in the balance—seemed to treat it as a big deal.
Arin, you in there?
“Yep, come in.”
A knock at the door. Arin shoved the floor plan aside, sat up on the bed, and straightened her posture.
“Brought the outfit for the event... Uh, could you close your legs a bit?”
“Huh?”
“Skirt like that with your legs spread—you're flashing everything. Personally, it's a bit embarrassing to see.”
“Oh, wait—I'm wearing a skirt right now...?!”
Only after J averted his eyes did Arin remember she was a girl now, in her uniform skirt. Mortified, she swung her feet off the bed and perched sideways.
Teasing that it was no big deal—they'd both seen each other's guy underwear—she eased his awkward guilt with a playful jab, then eyed the hanger and cover he offered, her gaze sparkling with anticipation.
“Figured the schoolgirl look wouldn't fly at the venue, so a suit's perfect!”
Snatching the hanger, she hummed and unzipped the cover lengthwise. Navy silk gleamed under the lamp.
“Ooh~”
The texture and hue screamed luxury even at a glance. As she admired it, J watched with a sheepish expression.
“Uh... you're misunderstanding.”
“Me? Oh, it's a rental, not a gift? Obviously...”
“Not that. It's just...”
J fully unzipped the cover and pulled out the garment. Arin's eager face froze, words failing her.
“It's not a suit. It's a dress.”
“No, wait—what, why...?”
“As guests, we have to match the dress code.”
“B-but... I'm a... guy...”
“Your mind might be, but to everyone else—and your body, your identity we've set up—you're a woman. No choice.”
J patted the shoulder of the girl whose eyes had gone lifeless, soul seemingly fled, then slipped out the door.
Right after he left, someone else entered her room.
“This Record Keeper, certain that the entity lacks knowledge of donning new attire, has come to assist. Pffft!”
“...Laughing?”
“This Record Keeper clarifies that said laughter stems not from physiological reaction to the irony of the self-proclaimed male entity finally conceding, but pure mockery.”
“Grr!”
It started with mockery, devolving into playful bickering, but sharing the trait of comprehensible speech, they were already thick as friends—no real fights.
“This Record Keeper conveys envy, as it merely requires attending like a vacation outing, envy.”
“In a dress...”
“This Record Keeper wishes to inquire why the entity, who wears a skirted uniform daily, complains so much.”
“This is different! It's not like I want to—it's just that this is the only outfit that respawns clean after I die and revive!”
Uniforms and bags always returned pristine, but her old iron pipe kept its dents even after respawning.
She'd tested other clothes by dying in them during Alpha's training—swapping uniform for fatigues once, just in case.
As expected: if not her uniform at revival, tears and filth stuck.
It applied to items too.
Not losing possessions was handy, but changing bloodied, shredded clothes each revival was a hassle.
“Ugh... urgh...”
“Separate from the urge to mock, this Record Keeper opines that this attire suits the entity well.”
“It clings too much... Shoulders and back totally exposed... How do I even...”
“This Record Keeper counters that, excluding the upper body, exposure mirrors the standard uniform.”
Face tomato-red, Arin yanked the hem down desperately.
“Skirt length maybe! But it's so... tight! No way—ask for a swap!”
“Per hearsay to this Record Keeper, event outfits are pre-paid issue items; swaps impossible. Time too tight anyway.”
J, who'd delivered Arin's dress, now sat in the conference room with other team leaders.
Flicking his golden coin habitually while awaiting full attendance, he pocketed it as room lights died and an unknown beam descended.
Start.
“With the Director present, we'll commence the meeting on the government's request for event security cooperation.”
A secretary-like woman cleared her throat, placed a photo on the overhead projector, and began.
“The target building spans 152 floors...”
Get to the point.
“Skip background. Refer to handouts for questions.”
She hurriedly swapped docs, projecting a photo of a crowd.
“Intel indicates a anomalous terrorist group targeting this event.”
Next: a geometric-patterned business card clutched by a corpse.
Pointing her rod at the man—blood from eyes, nose, mouth, face twisted in agony—she continued.
“This group, calling themselves Genesis, claims the current system, lives, and minds must be reborn. They're openly behind multiple terror incidents.”
Next: a vial of unknown liquid, etched with the same pattern.
“Primary method: a biochemical liquid. Direct exposure halts life after incubation.”
New photo: bleeding corpses, but dynamically posed, mid-motion.
“Post-death, brain function ceases, yet they reanimate—behaving like parasitized hosts, spreading exposure. Cycle and duration...”
Summarize.
“Mass media term: zombie infection.”
A finger snap, question fired.
“Airborne?”
“Samples show needs substantial injection; degrades fast in air. Infection requires injection or bodily fluids from exposed.”
“Facilities for that aren't common.”
“Agreed. Post-identification, we traced production sites—no links.”
Pausing, shuffling papers, she projected analysis.
“Lab conclusion: unlikely artificial.”
Anomaly.
“Yes, high chance Genesis possesses or allies with an anomaly producing it.”
Virus or parasite? Counterable—vaccine, excision.
Anomaly? Prevention near-impossible; could only react post-manifest.
“Sounds easier to counter? Needs volume for activation... can't soak handkerchiefs, spike food, or mosquito-vector like poison.”
Agreed.
Nodding, she projected new data—groans erupted.
Photos listed a volunteer front's name, contacts—many event attendees.
“All participants suspect collaborators?”
“Security too—no lax pat-downs.”
Leaders grumbled worst-cases. Silent Alpha, team leader, spoke.
“Infected threat level?”
“Reaction slow, but brainless—defenses down. Ignores body damage for strength...”
“Good...”
“Pardon?”
Only J grasped Alpha's murmur: chance to blood newbies in real combat.