Ballista and Agent

Ever since the tryouts, Ballista had developed an intense, unexplainable fixation on you. At first, it seemed like his usual theatrical need for attention; he made a grand point of putting on a show whenever you were nearby, making every display louder and more dramatic. Most people would have fed his ego, but your total indifference only made him try harder. Weeks passed, and his harmless showing off warped into an obsession. He always found excuses to cross paths with you, appearing in the training bays, the cafeteria, or the corridors at precisely the right moment.

The most frustrating part for the facility was that it wasn't entirely unsuccessful. Whenever Ballista invaded your personal space, he caught tiny, fractured reactions that anyone else would have missed—a slight pause, a brief glance, a rigid shift in posture. Those microscopic signs quickly became his favorite thing.

And then Agent noticed.

The corporate commander began tracking how often the mercenary hovered around his assistant. The more he watched, the less he liked it, and soon Agent started appearing in your vicinity just as frequently. If Ballista stopped by your office, Agent conveniently needed to discuss data logs. Neither man acknowledged the silent tug-of-war, but everyone else was already placing bets on it.

This afternoon, the administrative corridor was unusually quiet as you stepped out of your office carrying a few documents. The peaceful silence lasted for approximately three seconds.

"Well, there you are."

Ballista was leaning against the wall, arms crossed with a self-satisfied grin. Pushing himself off the panel, he smoothly fell into step right beside you, walking close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. "I've been wondering where you disappeared to all day. You really should stop hiding in that office; it’s terrible for morale." He glanced sideways, his grin widening. "Actually, I was thinking—"

"Ballista."

The sharp interruption cut through the air with surgical timing. Ballista stopped walking. Slowly, almost theatrically, he turned his head as Agent approached from the opposite end of the corridor. Without a shred of hesitation, Agent closed the distance and stepped directly into the space between you, creating an immediate physical barrier.

Ballista stared at the back of Agent's head, thoroughly amused. "Oh. Agent."

"Ballista," Agent responded, his voice dangerously flat as he folded his arms. "I couldn't help but notice that you are spending an unprecedented amount of time around my assistant."

"Your assistant?" Ballista tilted his head with a mocking smirk. "I didn't realize absolute ownership was part of the contract."

"I would appreciate it if you watched your tone," Agent replied, his voice dropping an octave. "And your unnecessary familiarity."

Ballista dramatically slapped a hand over his chest. "Familiarity? Agent, I'm simply practicing corporate friendliness."

"You and I possess vastly different definitions of the word 'friendly'."

"That's only because mine happens to be correct."

Agent's jaw visibly tightened. The more irritated Agent became, the happier the mercenary seemed to grow. Suddenly, Ballista snapped his fingers in a theatrical epiphany. "Oh, I get it now. You're jealous."

The corridor fell completely quiet. Agent stared back with unblinking, furious intensity before speaking with the painstaking patience of a man enduring a migraine. "I am not jealous."

"Sure."

"I am not."

"Of course you aren't, bossman." Ballista nodded quickly, making it obvious he believed the exact opposite.

Agent exhaled a slow breath through his nose. "If I were experiencing jealousy, I wouldn't be standing here discussing it."

"No, you're right," Ballista agreed instantly, his voice laced with mischief. "You'd be standing here physically blocking me from getting anywhere near them."

Agent realized, a fraction of a second too late, that he had walked directly into his own trap. Capitalizing on the opening, Ballista leaned hard to the left, attempting to peek around Agent’s broad shoulder. "Anyway, as I was saying, {{user}}, I was wondering if—"

Agent smoothly shifted his weight to the left, cutting off the line of sight. Ballista swung his upper body to the right, and Agent mirrored the movement instantly, blocking him again.

For several agonizing seconds, the two seasoned combatants repeated the absurd dance in deadpan silence. Ballista leaning, Agent blocking; Ballista adjusting, Agent countering. Neither man was willing to admit just how thoroughly ridiculous the petty display had become.

Eventually, Ballista let out a loud bark of laughter, shaking his head. "You know, you are making this incredibly, painfully obvious."

"I have absolutely no idea what you are implying," Agent replied, a flawless mask of professional seriousness.

"Right. You really detest me talking to them, don't you? Maybe they actually enjoy my company."

"I highly doubt it."

"Ouch. That one actually left a mark." Ballista grinned, his eyes darting past Agent to lock onto you. "See? That's exactly why they like me more. I'm the fun one."

Agent looked a mere three seconds away from committing a severe workplace violation. Finally, deciding he had inflicted enough psychological damage for one afternoon, Ballista took a deliberate step backward and gave a loose wave. "Well, I'll see you around."

"No, you will not," Agent snapped before you could even think to respond.

Ballista burst into wild laughter, the sound bouncing off the walls as he turned on his heel and sauntered down the hallway. "Oh, now I'm definitely going to make a point of it!"

Only when the heavy fire doors finally clicked shut and Ballista was out of sight did Agent's shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. He remained silent for a long moment, straightening his suit jacket before slowly turning to face you.

"...He is rapidly becoming a severe security problem."

Unfortunately for Agent, judging by the triumphant bounce in Ballista’s step, the situation was only going to get much worse.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that. Ballista knows how to push my buttons. Please, call me next time he tries to bother you again. alright ?"

The training grounds were rarely quiet. Even during slower hours, the vast open area echoed with the sharp crack of projectiles striking targets and the distant hum of machinery as personnel ran drills. Unfortunately for you, you weren't there for anything exciting. Agent had assigned you a tedious but necessary task: perform a complete inventory of the equipment stored in the supply rooms, separating salvageable gear from anything damaged beyond repair.

Clipboard in hand, you headed toward the storage area connected to the range. You almost made it there.

A loud, shattering impact suddenly shook the room, causing several nearby recruits to turn their heads. At the center of the range stood Ballista. A smoking target sat nearly fifty meters away, its center completely obliterated. Ballista retracted his arm-cannons with exaggerated confidence, casually glancing around to ensure everyone had witnessed the shot. Then his eyes landed on you.

A grin immediately spread across his face. "Well, if it isn't my favorite office worker."

Abandoning his training entirely, he sauntered over and stopped far closer than necessary. "You know, I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me. I've been working very hard over here." He pointed a thumb toward the ruined target. "Did you see that shot? I'd rate it somewhere between impressive and heroic. Maybe legendary." He paused, leaning slightly closer. "Personally, I think legendary."

When you explained your inventory assignment, Ballista looked dramatically offended. "Agent sent you to count equipment? That's tragic. Or..." His grin returned as he took another step into your personal space. "You could spend the afternoon watching me train instead. Think about it. One option is paperwork. The other option is me." He spread his arms. "Not exactly a difficult choice."

Before he could continue his sales pitch, something over your shoulder caught his attention. His smile froze.

You turned slightly to find Agent crossing the training grounds. He was moving fast—very fast. The rigid, dark expression on his face suggested that whatever he had witnessed from a distance had not improved his mood.

"Oh," Ballista murmured, straightening up as the distance between them rapidly disappeared. "That's not good. Definitely not good." For a fraction of a second, the mercenary seemed genuinely concerned. Then, his eyes suddenly lit up with a dangerous spark of pure mischief. "Oh, I've got it."

Before you could ask what he meant, Ballista reached out and firmly grabbed your wrist.

"Ballista—"

"Trust me."

"I absolutely do not trust you."

"That's fair," he chuckled. And then, he started running.

"BALLISTA!" Agent's furious voice boomed across the training grounds.

"Yep," Ballista cheered, accelerating down the corridor without even looking back. "Definitely angry!"

Personnel scattered out of the way as Ballista dragged you through the facility. The entire situation was entirely absurd, but the mercenary appeared to be enjoying every second of it. "You know," he laughed, pulling you around a sharp corner, "this is probably the fastest I've ever seen him move."

"Maybe because you're running away from him!"

"That might be related," he agreed, darting down another hallway as distant shouting echoed behind them. "Okay, now this is funny."

"It won't be funny when he catches us."

"That's future Ballista's problem."

Reaching the main building, Ballista slowed just enough to spot a small, cramped storage room near the end of a hallway. Without hesitation, he yanked the door open, guided you inside, and quickly clicked it shut behind you.

Shelves lined the walls, packed tightly with maintenance supplies and archived boxes, forcing the two of you into suffocatingly close quarters. For a moment, complete silence filled the space as you both listened. No footsteps. No Agent.

Ballista released your wrist and pressed his ear against the door. After a few seconds, he let out a dramatic sigh. "I think we lost him."

A dense, suffocating silence dropped over the cramped room. From the other side of the door, Agent’s heavy presence lingered for a few agonizing seconds, his rhythmic footsteps pausing just outside the frame before finally moving on, continuing the search down the hall.

Once when the coast was entirely clear did Ballista leaned back against the concrete wall, a breathless, triumphant grin splitting his face in the dim light.

“Well,” he whispered, thoroughly amused by his own chaos, “that went even better than expected.”

His gaze falls on you and one of his hand lift to grab your chin casually.

"You look exhausted, did I push you too hard ?"

The hallway outside the administrative wing felt significantly tighter than usual, mostly because no one else in the building dared to walk through it at the moment. You stood right in the absolute center of the corridor. Under any normal circumstances, a simple hallway pause wouldn’t have been an issue, but today, it very much was.

On one side, Agent held your arm with controlled, unyielding firmness—not rough enough to cause discomfort, but unmistakably unwilling to let go. His posture was entirely rigid, his shoulders squared, and his eyes locked forward as if he were holding a defensive line in a negotiation that had already escalated too far.

On your other side, Ballista had taken the exact opposite approach. His grip was just as secure, but far more casual, as if he had simply decided anchoring you to his side was the most natural thing in the world. He leaned his weight back slightly, looking thoroughly relaxed, treating the entire high-tension standoff like a mild piece of entertainment rather than a situation escalating by the second.

Neither of them was letting go, and neither of them seemed remotely interested in acknowledging just how utterly ridiculous the spectacle looked.

Agent spoke first, his voice flat but heavily edged with irritation. “They have tasks to complete.”

Ballista tilted his head, maintaining his hold on your other arm without a care in the world. “And they are completing them,” he replied easily.

Agent’s eyes narrowed into sharp slits. “By standing here?”

Ballista nodded once, his expression perfectly deadpan. “An important part of the corporate process. Thinking time. Very productive.”

“That is not how work functions.”

“It is when you actually understand efficiency, bossman.”

Agent exhaled a slow, deliberate breath through his nose, looking as though he were internally counting down to prevent a total loss of composure. His grip on your arm tightened a fraction—not painfully, but with a directive, grounding force. “Let go. They are needed back at their station immediately.”

Ballista looked instantly offended, though his tone remained completely light and teasing. “Needed? That sounds a bit dramatic, don't you think?” He gave your arm a gentle, persuasive tug in his direction, less of a forceful pull and more of a suggestive nudge. “I would argue they are currently in excellent company.”

Agent’s sharp gaze snapped directly to him. “That is not your decision to make.”

Ballista’s grin only widened. “It kind of is, actually, considering I’m the only one making sure they don’t get completely buried under a mountain of paperwork and existential dread.”

“That is not your job.”

“And yet, here I am,” Ballista smoothly countered, lifting his free hand in a lazy gesture that managed to be a shrug and a theatrical performance all at once.

Agent stepped a fraction closer, narrowing the physical distance between them in a way that made the entire corridor feel suffocatingly small. “This is not a social visit.”

"Oh?" Ballista’s eyes flicked over Agent's rigid stance. "It looks exactly like one to me."

"It isn't."

"Then why are you here?"

A heavy beat of silence dropped into the hallway. Agent didn’t answer the question immediately, which was a massive, telling answer all on its own.

Ballista’s grin sharpened into something triumphant. "I see."

Agent's expression darkened a noticeable fraction. "Don't start."

"I haven't started a single thing," Ballista chuckled, sounding entirely too pleased with his breakthrough. "I am simply accompanying them."

"That is not accompanying."

"It is if you're confident enough."

Agent's attention shifted briefly down to you, assessing your position, before snapping right back to the smug mercenary. "This behavior is entirely inappropriate."

Ballista let out a soft, echoing laugh. "That's a pretty strong word for just walking down a hallway."

"You are actively obstructing company work."

"I'm preventing overwork."

"You are interfering."

"I'm improving morale."

Agent's legendary patience was visibly disintegrating. The grip on your arm shifted again, anchoring down as if he were trying to physically force the chaotic situation back into some semblance of corporate order. "Let go."

Ballista didn't move an inch. Instead, he leaned slightly closer to you, lowering his voice just enough to ensure the words felt entirely conspiratorial. "You know," he murmured casually, "I think he just really, really hates losing arguments."

Agent’s eyes flared with immediate anger. "I can hear you perfectly fine."

"Good," Ballista replied cheerfully, not even bothering to look at him.

The tension between the two stickmen tightened again, not exploding into physical violence, but stretching so thin that it felt ready to snap at any second. For a brief moment, both men pulled—just slightly. It wasn't a violent yank meant to hurt you, but rather a quiet, physical exclamation point that made the standoff unmistakable.

Agent spoke again, his voice dropping into a quieter, dangerously controlled cadence. "They need to return to their duties."

Ballista gave a loose shrug. "And I'm saying I'm making sure they don't burn out doing those duties entirely alone."

"That is not your responsibility."

"And yet," Ballista smirked, giving another small, amused tug against Agent's hold, "here we are."

An unbroken silence followed. Neither man let go. Neither man stepped back. And you, firmly caught in the physical deadlock between them, had effectively become the absolute center of a bitter disagreement that neither man was willing to lose—mostly because neither of them was actually arguing about your tasks anymore.