Agent

Agent required more than mere operational control inside the cold, monolithic infrastructure of Rocket Corporation. To project power outside its reinforced walls, he needed a specialized unit—an asset capable of acting without a shred of hesitation, adapting instantly under tactical pressure, and yet maintaining absolute fidelity to a strict chain of command. That strategic necessity had birthed the recruitment program, a ruthless open call that had already drawn in countless desperate applicants from across the digital landscape, each exhausting their capabilities to prove they were worth the final selection.

The testing chamber, colloquially known as The Box, had been running continuously all day, its atmospheric scrubbers humming a low, mechanical drone. One by one, candidates were subjected to a barrage of grueling combat scenarios for a few brutal minutes before being quietly guided back to the holding area.

Finally, the heavy pneumatic exit doors hissed open once more.

Ballista stepped out into the corridor. The display logs inside the chamber revealed he had pulled a staggering arsenal directly from his head, unleashing a barrage of raw firepower so overwhelming that the poor Worker assigned to test him hadn't stood a single chance. The living stickman who had served as the target was left thoroughly incapacitated.

Ballista looked immensely pleased with himself—too pleased. His posture was loose, dripping with a theatrical confidence, as if the entire corporate evaluation had been orchestrated solely for his amusement. He barely paused to catch his breath before addressing you.

“That worker didn’t last long,” he scoffed, rolling his shoulders as he shook out his limbs. “Honestly, I didn’t even have to try.”

He let out a short, self-satisfied laugh and immediately began walking down the corridor, arrogantly assuming he already knew the layout. You didn’t verbally confirm his direction, nor did you validate his ego. You simply turned with calculated precision and began guiding him deeper through the sterile facility.

As he trailed behind your steady stride, his voice continued to echo off the metallic walls.

“You people really needed to bring in someone like me,” he added, gesturing vaguely at the passing security checkpoints. “Most of what I saw sitting in that waiting room was... slow. Disappointing, really.”

Ahead, the scorched, warped frame of the main entrance came into view. The front door had been completely obliterated—twisted metal alloy and shattered reinforced panels forced violently outward, as if struck by a force that had never bothered to comprehend that the barrier was meant to slide open.

Ballista caught you analyzing the wreckage and offered a careless shrug. “It was in the way,” he said simply.

You didn’t respond. You had already logged the behavioral anomaly into your internal data bank. This structural damage was precisely why you had been ordered to personally escort him through the building; left to his own devices, his total lack of patience meant he would likely destroy every automatic door in the facility rather than wait for the sensors to register his presence.

You led him into the crowded waiting room, where the other bruised and exhausted participants were sitting in tense silence, waiting for the final results. Ballista immediately claimed a chair, leaning back into it as if he owned the entire floor, still muttering boasts under his breath, utterly convinced the position was already his. You left him there without a single parting comment.

---

Returning to Agent’s side in the observation deck, the evaluation process continued without a moment of decompression. You arrived just in time to see the next wave of participants enter the stark, white geometry of The Box. The live monitor feeds flickered to life, displaying them one after another, each combat attempt proving more unpredictable and unorthodox than the last.

One candidate wielded a glowing yoyo in combat, swinging the toy with terrifying velocity and geometric control, forcing the defensive Worker to constantly recalculate distance and timing just to avoid being shredded.

The next applicant took an entirely bizarre approach, hurling heavily weighted boots at the tester with aggressive, pinpoint precision; each blunt impact landed with enough kinetic force to completely disrupt the Worker's defensive rhythm and balance.

And the last... did nothing strategic at all. After a short, agonizing hesitation in the center of the arena, the stickman simply broke concentration, forfeiting the trial in the most unceremonious, sudden way possible. The abrupt surrender left the corporation's automated sorting system momentarily lagging, unsure how to properly categorize such a bizarre psychological failure.

Then, the chamber lights flickered back to standby. Silence returned to the monitoring deck.

Agent didn’t react outwardly to the chaotic display. He only reached forward with a gloved hand, adjusting the holographic interface to compress the video files before opening his digital notepad.

“Oxob would be highly effective in direct, frontline engagement,” Agent analyzed calmly, his voice flat and measured, “but his psychological profile suggests he is far too unstable under a structured command hierarchy. That volatility makes long-term deployment unreliable.”

He swiped his hand, shifting to another encrypted file.

“The yoyo wielder possesses exceptional individual mobility and high adaptability,” he continued, “but his combat style is entirely self-contained. He relies on chaotic momentum that won’t integrate with Rocket Corporation’s existing tactical systems.”

More performance data flickered across the visor of his screen.

“AOL Instant Messenger and Nhazul both demonstrate a high level of technical competence,” Agent murmured, watching the replay of their strikes, “but both rely too heavily on uninterrupted execution. If their flow is disrupted early in a skirmish, they lose operational effectiveness immediately.”

Finally, the screen refreshed, loading the final selection matrix. Three distinct profiles expanded across the main display, casting a sharp glow over Agent and your own form.

Primal. Hazard. Ballista.

“All three are viable candidates,” Agent stated after a long moment of deliberation. “They possess vastly different tactical strengths, but they share one critical attribute: all are fully capable of operating at maximum lethality without a dependency on disarmament protocols.”

He paused, the hum of the supercomputers filling the quiet room. Slowly, he turned away from the glass overlooking The Box and fixed his steady, unblinking gaze directly on you.

“I already have my conclusion,” he added evenly, crossing his arms. “But as my primary asset on the floor, I want your evaluation before I finalize the acquisition.”

The recruitment trials had finally ended. After grueling hours of evaluations, reports, and silent observation, the decisions were made. Hazard, Ballista, and Primal had signed their contracts and were now being integrated into Rocket Corporation's facilities and expectations. The chaotic noise that had filled the metallic corridors all day gradually faded as weary Workers returned to their standard duties.

For the first time since the early morning hours, there was absolutely nothing demanding Agent’s immediate, iron-clad attention. The digital files had been securely archived, the psychological assessments completed, and the three volatile mercenaries were no longer his problem to manage for the evening.

Agent stood silently beside the monolithic central monitor in the observation room, reviewing one final automated summary before shutting the primary display down with a sharp swipe of his hand. The room immediately plunged into a heavy, peaceful quiet without the constant, flickering stream of live combat footage and rolling data analytics. For a prolonged moment, neither of you said a word, letting the rare tranquility settle between you.

Then, Agent reached up, removed his glasses, and tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose.

"A productive day," he remarked, his voice carrying a raspy, gravelly edge. The statement felt almost comically understated considering the monumental amount of corporate logistics and near-disasters that had gone into the recruitment process. He turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes shifting through the dim light to look directly at you. "You handled yourself exceptionally well on the floor."

Coming from a man as exacting and distant as Agent, a comment like that was practically high praise.

He moved over to the main console, gathering a few scattered physical documents and tapping them against the desk into a perfectly neat, aligned pile before setting them aside. "We have both been confined to this observation deck since before dawn." His gaze drifted briefly toward the stark digital clock glowing on the reinforced wall, tracking the late hour. "Neither of us has taken the time for a proper break."

There was a small, deliberate pause in the room. When Agent spoke again, it was in a noticeably softer, more grounded tone than the rigid cadence he strictly utilized during corporate meetings and tactical operations.

"Would you care to join me for a meal?"

The invitation was extended with a calculated touch of casualness—or at least, as casual as a man like Agent was capable of being.

"My private lounge is entirely quiet at this hour," he continued, picking up his glasses again and turning the frames thoughtfully between his leather-gloved fingers. "There are no outstanding reports to sign. No fresh recruits to manage. No performance evaluations to calculate." A faint, almost imperceptible hint of genuine amusement crossed his stoic features. "And absolutely no Ballista attempting to solve minor architectural problems with excessive, kinetic force."

The rare, subtle expression vanished from his face just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual guarded composure.

"I simply thought it might be pleasant to spend some unstructured time together, before tomorrow inevitably creates more work for us."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and led you away from the bustling corridors toward the restricted executive wing. The transition was immediate; the harsh fluorescent lighting gave way to a dim, amber glow, the air grew warmer, and the industrial hum of machinery was replaced by a heavy, expensive silence.

Agent swiped his clearance badge, and the reinforced doors hissed open to reveal a private lounge designed for comfort and total discretion. Low-slung dark leather seating surrounded a central hearth, and a premium bar sat tucked into the corner. Dominating the back wall was a seamless observation window, offering a sweeping, tranquil view of the Outernet’s distant, glowing skyline.

Agent didn't head for the bar immediately. Instead, he turned to face you, the door sealing shut behind you with a definitive, heavy thud that signaled the rest of the world and the three new mercenaries had been successfully locked away.

He reached up, slowly pulling off his black sunglasses and setting them on a nearby table, revealing the intense, focused gaze of a man who was no longer looking at an assistant, but at a partner. He stepped toward you, his dark frame casting a long shadow in the soft, ambient light.

"No more logs, no more debriefs, and definitely no more 'head chief' for the next few hours." he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble as he closed the distance. He reached out, his large, gloved hands finding your waist, pulling you firmly against the solid, unyielding heat of his body. "Just us."