The European Bureau's headquarters always felt stuck in the Cold War. Peeling paint, exposed wires, conference tables that looked looted from Soviet ruins. Ethan sat in one of the squeaky chairs, thinking: if it weren't for all the lunatic agents inside, he'd swear he'd walked into a flea market.
Today's meeting was even tenser than usual. The reason was simple: there was a mole.
"We must root him out!" the division chief barked, slamming the table so hard dust rained down. "This concerns the entire European branch's security!"
Ethan stared at the falling dust and imagined: if someone sneezed, they might trigger a localized sandstorm. He titled the scene in his mind: Who's the Traitor: Government Edition.
The chief's words had barely faded when the agents exploded:— One jabbed a finger at his colleague: "The last op failed because you leaked intel!"— The accused snapped back: "Nonsense! You're the suspicious one. You take forever in the bathroom!"— Another agent chimed in coldly: "Yeah, and he always takes files into the bathroom. What, afraid the paper will run out?"
Ethan chuckled. To him, the meeting looked less like intelligence work and more like schoolkids bickering over the last lollipop.
Then, a short-haired European female agent spoke up: "Actually, the most suspicious one— is Ethan."
The room fell silent. All eyes "whooshed" onto him. Ethan felt itchy all over, like a roast chicken served up on a platter.
He raised his hands helplessly: "Come on. I only landed in Europe a month ago. If I leaked secrets already, that means I did transnational intelligence deals mid-flight. If I had that superpower, I'd be rich at a casino, not here collecting Bureau paychecks."
The chief frowned, half-convinced, but the spark of suspicion only burned hotter.
Then the quietest one—the studious, note-taking male agent—was suddenly pushed into the spotlight.Someone shouted: "It's him! Too quiet. Nobody that quiet is normal."
The man looked up, smiling mildly: "I'm quiet because you're all too loud."Then he pulled something from his coat— a strange dream-disruptor device.
The air froze. Guns flew out instantly, but the table was too cramped. Barrels nearly poked each other's noses. It looked like a tragic round of musical chairs.
The man shrugged: "Relax. I'm just doing a job. You fools don't get it—the Bureau's orders and the government's orders haven't aligned for years."
And all the while, his gaze locked onto Ethan. In it: challenge… and a strange flicker of admiration.
"What do you mean?" someone demanded.
The man grinned, crooked teeth flashing: "Simple. I'm a double agent. By day, your colleague. By night, someone else's courier. Sometimes even I forget who I work for."
The room went dead quiet.Ethan thought: Wow. Even traitors are hustling two jobs now.
The chief roared: "This is treason!"
"Treason?" the man sneered. "You think you haven't betrayed anyone? Every secret treaty your leaders signed was selling humanity to the Nightmares. I'm just more honest about it."
He flipped the switch.Lights flickered. Walls rippled like rubber. Low whispers seeped from the air—dream and reality overlapping.
"He's dragging us into the dreamscape!" someone shrieked.
Ethan just laughed: "Relax. This branch already looks like a dreamscape. If the walls collapse, we save on repairs."
Shots rang out. Bullets passed through the man harmlessly, smashing the calendar on the back wall. One word was printed there, almost mocking: Unity.
By the time they rushed forward, the man was gone. Only the disruptor remained on the floor, buzzing, smoking like a busted rice cooker.
Ethan picked it up, shook it, and muttered: "Think it can cook rice? Intel work's already boiled to mush."
Nobody laughed.The chief's face was stone: "We have a double agent among us. The situation is worse than we thought."
Ethan stubbed out his cigarette, muttering silently:No kidding. The situation's always worse. The day it isn't, that'll be the real hallucination.