One Day Prior Inspection
Arin couldn't tear her eyes away from the items laid out in front of her.
Her gaze swirled with surprise, confusion, anticipation, and unease all at once.
Unaware—or perhaps uncaring—of her turmoil, Alpha, the team leader, pointed to each one in turn and began explaining.
"You've already had the training, so no need for a long lecture. Pack these in your bag."
And that was it. The explanation ended.
Under Alpha's silent stare, as if silently ordering her to take them, Arin shook her head to clear it.
She picked up one item from the desk, her face a mask of bewilderment.
"This is a real gun, isn't it...?"
She felt the heavy weight and cold metal in her hand.
She'd only handled rifles and machine guns during her service, but the agency's training had included live-fire drills, so it wasn't entirely unfamiliar.
The drawback? This .45-caliber beast with its ridiculous 25cm barrel felt way too heavy and bulky for her hands right now.
Still, it was customized for one-handed use, so it shouldn't be too bad.
"You think I'd give you an airsoft toy?"
"Don't the security pros handle protection? We're just here in case of an anomaly..."
"And?"
"Uh... never mind."
Sensing she wouldn't get a straight answer even if she pushed, Arin opened her bag.
She shoved the steel pipe and tomahawk aside to make room, then packed in the pistol, spare magazines, suppressor, holster, and belt pouch.
Whatever. I'll probably never use it and just hand it back.
Only after she'd zipped everything up did Alpha nod faintly in approval.
"It's much heavier than the training pistol," Alpha added, then left without a backward glance.
"...In the end, all he explained was the weight. He never gives the explanations I actually want—just dumps it on me!"
Arin muttered under her breath, low enough not to carry outside.
She set the bag down from the desk and sank into thought.
No matter how she spun it, giving her a real firearm—not just blades—for "precautions" gnawed at her.
It felt less like preparing for a maybe and more like arming for something highly likely.
If they'd handed her a rifle, she'd demand body armor, assuming shit was definitely hitting the fan.
But a pistol? Big for self-defense, sure, but still a sidearm.
If she pressed, they'd just say it was for VIP protection, and she'd have nothing to say back.
"Ah~ whatever. At least they'll tell us a day ahead."
"Rookie."
"Whoa! You scared me!! Weren't you gone?!"
"On second thought, you'll need training to handle that pistol. Down to the basement."
"W-wait, I can use it fi—!"
She flailed in futile protest, dreading the brutal session ahead.
But Alpha subdued her effortlessly, as always, and dragged her from the comfy isolation room to the underground training area.
Employees passed by without a glance, treating it like routine.
In the training room, Alpha ignored her grumbling—something about no training before this op—and positioned her at the shooting range.
"This time, I won't kill you."
"It's designed for high-pressure rounds, so it's durable, low recoil, high accuracy... or so the manual says."
"Correct."
"But it's huge no matter how I look at it. Can't you swap it for something smaller?"
Arin's pistol measured 25cm long.
To put it in perspective, that was over half an adult man's hand span.
Over 1kg unloaded, and with suppressor and attachments? Nearly 40cm of dumbbell-like monstrosity.
Alpha raised a single finger.
"First: In this building, only pre-1995 designs work reliably."
"I heard 'specific era,' but it's not that ancient?"
"Second: Among suppressors built-in from the ground up, it's the sturdiest."
"Looks tough, yeah."
"Third: You die and reset anyway, so size, weight, fatigue, combat degradation—irrelevant."
"...Whoa, can't see your eyes, but I feel the sincerity in every word."
And the training dragged on.
Arin survived. Barely.
Time flew.
Only one day remained until the event.
To scout the venue ahead of time, Arin left the Anomaly Response and Management Agency for the outside world after ages.
She pressed her face to the bus window, gawking at the streets.
Couples strolled arm-in-arm, laughing warmly.
Salarymen rushed by in a frenzy.
Restaurant owners hawked their wares through open street-facing windows, showing off sizzling dishes.
Arin watched these anomaly-free lives with envy, then sighed and slumped against her seat.
"I miss civilian life~ Even in the army, I got out more than this."
"...You did military service?"
The nearby Support Team member, catching her mutter, widened their eyes.
"Duh, how old do you think I am? Of course... Wait, no draft here?"
"We knew you came from another world, but how fucked was it if they drafted minors?"
"Hey, I wasn't a minor."
"Your world counts adulthood that low?"
"Uh... never mind."
As always, Arin started to explain she used to be a guy, then recalled the Record Keeper's reaction and shrugged it off.
Let them figure it out.
Key anomaly info was restricted to high-clearance personnel anyway—no need to spread it.
Conversation over, Arin turned to the towering skyscraper filling the window.
Even from afar, its windows couldn't frame the whole thing; glass and steel gleamed blindingly.
She let out a soft gasp and blurted to her seatmate,
"Over 150 floors... how many meters is that?"
"Usable floors up to 152: about 560 meters. Maintenance and spire push it to 720."
Like stacking seven soccer fields skyward.
One thought dominated Arin's mind.
"Whoa, this thing..."
"Cool, right? Third tallest in the world."
"...If shit hits the fan, no one's escaping."
"...Yeah, that's exactly why there are shelters every few floors."
"We should verify they actually work."
"Didn't think of it, but good call."
Soon, they entered via underground parking and followed staff and internal security to the upper-floor exclusive elevator.
One glass wall offered shrinking city views as they ascended.
Arin peeked down curiously when a female staffer sidled up.
"First time heading upstairs, miss?"
"...Me? Uh, yeah. First time in the building."
"This area's a planned city from the start—gorgeous views. Pretty in daylight, but nighttime's a spectacle."
Arin flushed at "miss" but nodded; en route, she'd noticed the artistic buildings evoking museums.
The staffer, assuming interest, turned tour guide, pointing out landmarks.
Aquarium here, art gallery there, high-tech park—wait, no.
Each architect went rogue with designs, no sharing—uniqueness everywhere.
The short ride to the shelter floor flew by in explanations.
"Places I'd love to visit if I had time..."
The chime announced floor 130.
Doors opened; Support and Entry Teams disembarked to check the shelter.
(Entry Team meant just Arin—full team risked "incidents" from their rough style.)
The smiling staffer, thinking Arin was an upper-floor VIP's kid, tried stopping her descent with the Support Team.
But seeing security follow and Arin exchange polite bows, her face froze in shock.
She stiffly returned the greeting as doors closed.
"Jeez... why'd they make the default uniform a school uniform?"
Not just any shelter—a formal evacuation safety zone.
First check: the elevators.
Stairs were protocol for disasters, but in a supertall like this, they'd take forever—hence dedicated evac lifts per floors.
"We inspect periodically, and hazmat teams monitor real-time. Nothing major to see."
"For normal disasters, sure. But we're worried about terrorism or sudden anomalies."
As Support swarmed, poking and prodding assigned spots, lone Entry Team Arin stood awkwardly.
Spotting a security guard's hip taser, she asked,
"Heard you have an in-house anti-terror team. What's their armament?"
"Basics like regular guards: tasers, pepper spray, batons. Vault access for live ammo if needed."
"Vault location?"
"Classified, but underground."
Unfazed by her uniform, security explained politely: initial response before police spec-ops arrived, no worries.
But Arin couldn't shake her unease.
Swift teams meant nothing at the Church. Alpha kindly shoved a pistol at me—something's up...
A gut sense: in this chopper-unfriendly tower, protecting others while resolving an anomaly? Her body shivered.
Support returned from checks.
"How's it look?"
"No pre-existing anomalies etched or installed here. Elevators clean too. You okay?"
"Just a bad feeling. Probably nothing."
Nothing else? Let's check the banquet hall upstairs, Arin suggested, praying it was just nerves.
"Secretary Oh, tomorrow's the day?"
"Yes, ma'am. The Mayor."
A woman with gravitas signed documents on a heavy mahogany desk, flipping her calendar.
Faint wrinkles on forehead and cheeks peeked through light makeup, hinting at years lived.
Calluses dotted her fingers and palms, testaments to relentless work.
"Preparations complete? No room for error—this is critical."
"Of course. I personally verified every detail as instructed."
She set down her pen, handed over neat papers.
Wiping neck sweat—smudging makeup—she grimaced, pulled a mirror.
"Can't fail this time..."
Her makeup-free nape revealed a red burn scar.
Undoing a button, parting her collar, she dabbed foundation until it vanished.
Only then did she smile.