On a gray morning, thick with clouds, the girl lazily opened her window. Nothing suggested that today would be any different than the rest.
She washed her face, made her coffee, and sat down to review some study notes.
She had no idea that every move she made was being watched.
Across the city, Agent 707 was reviewing the plan.
The data still didn't offer any solid proof that she was an agent, but the signal triggered by uninstalling the app still blinked in the system—a black mark.
In the organization's code, doors aren't shut in their face without a reason.
He watched her quietly for several more days. Everything seemed normal. Too normal.
But the abnormality was hidden in the normal.
Everyone who had installed the app had interacted with it. Loved it. Became addicted.
Except her.
She looked at it once and deleted it—like it wasn't even worth keeping.
One evening, she stepped into a vintage bookstore and sat in a corner, reading a novel about deception and surveillance.
From a distance, 707 snapped a photo and scribbled a note:
"Calm behavior. No suspicious contact. But she always chooses the weakest angles of view."
He was suspicious—not of her being an agent—but of her being different.
The kind of person who doesn't follow patterns. Who can't be predicted.
Back at HQ, he typed in his report:
"Subject currently poses no active threat. Intervention not advised. Surveillance continues."
Then he sat, staring at the screen.
At her face.
That ordinary face… the one he couldn't stop watching.
For the first time, a strange feeling crept in. It wasn't fear.
It was curiosity.
And so began the most dangerous phase:
The phase where no one really knows who's watching who.
---
That night, Agent 707 returned to his dark room. The screen blinked with system alerts, but they no longer held the weight they once did.
Photos of the girl cycled through: on buses, in cafés, at the library, sometimes talking on the phone, sometimes just sitting in silence.
And the more he observed, the less he understood.
---
In one recording, she suddenly stopped in the middle of the street.
She looked around slowly… then lifted her head as if sensing something.
No visible cameras. No clear indicators that she saw anything.
Yet… her gaze pierced the screen.
He replayed the scene again and again until the question took root:
"Does she know I'm watching her?"
---
The next day, she left her house without her phone.
It was the first time that happened since he started tracking her.
He logged it in the daily memo:
"Today she went out without a device. Unusual behavior for someone her age. Could be random… or maybe not."
He returned to the photos.
Noticed her clothing was simple, yet never repeated.
Her walk changed depending on location.
Even her smile was never the same twice.
Small things. But they disrupted a mind trained to see patterns.
---
That evening, 707 sat alone in his room.
He hesitated, then wrote in his report:
"I still don't know her motivations. She doesn't seem dangerous, but she is unsettling. Her approach to the app is unlike anyone else's. There's a strange coldness to her decisions… as if she's seeing from a higher plane."
Then—for the first time since the mission began—
He turned off the screen.
Turned off the light.
And sat in the dark, thinking.
---
Far from everyone's eyes, the girl sat on her bed reading a book titled "The Architecture of Collective Consciousness."
She slipped a bookmark between the pages and whispered to herself with a faint smile:
"Sometimes… ignoring something strange is better than understanding it."
But was she talking about the app?
Or something else?
No one knew.
Not even Agent 707 was sure what he was chasing anymore.
Chapter Three wasn't the end of the chase…
It was the true beginning