**FLASH!**
A blinding white light, then darkness.
In the next second, Ransoku opened her eyes — but not her own. She was in the body of Miss Hoori.
This was the female form that served as her fixed arrival shell in every timeline — graceful, dangerous, and unnaturally perfect. According to Agency records, this body was always Miss Hoori.
No matter which world Ransoku teleported to, her physical form was Miss Hoori. But her assigned identity changed with each timeline's culture and mission.
This time, in Timeline 1943-AE, her name was Lady Seraphina Vale.
Officially, she was registered as an elite performer at the Vorsten Empire's royal gala…
But her true role was that of a spy — operating under deep cover for the Allied Temporal Resistance, a secret alliance fighting across timelines to stop dictatorships and imperial expansion.
"God, not again…"
*This body's straight out of a runway… but why is the zip always so damn tight?*
She ran a hand through her long, silky hair and let out a cold sigh.
Her reflection stared back from a mirror panel — flawless skin, emerald green eyes, and the cold confidence that was Miss Hoori's default expression.
As she scanned her surroundings, metallic walls, red rotating sirens, and automated sliding doors overwhelmed her senses.
And then, as expected, PIPI's voice crackled through her earpiece:
PIPI (calm tone):
"Welcome, Agent Hoori."
"Current Location: Vorsten Empire — Allied Temporal Resistance Military Base."
"Alert: All military divisions at full operation. Proceed with caution."
Base Corridor — Observation
Ransoku peeked around a corner.
The view inside was like a military documentary — not life, but machine-level control and brutal discipline.
Left Side Room — Strategy Chamber
In a massive glass chamber, dozens of war strategists and empire politicians stood around a glowing 3D continent map.
Red and blue markers blinked — targets, missile bases, and captured sectors.
"Shift missile codes to Sector Zeta-4," an officer commanded.
Every face radiated cold professionalism. No emotion — just conquest.
Right Side Room — Weapons Wing
From the next room came the sounds of plasma rifles, sonic blasters, and grenade launchers being test-fired.
Soldiers moved without a second's delay — fire, reload, move, repeat.
"Target missed by 0.3 seconds — unacceptable!" a Head Soldier roared.
"In real war, that delay kills your unit."
Next Hall — Combat & Assassination Wing
In another chamber, martial arts and silent kill training was underway.
Trainees in black suits practiced neck strikes, wrist locks, and backstab drills on dummies.
An instructor spoke in a calm tone:
"A clean kill leaves no sound. A perfect spy doesn't leave a shadow."
Final Section — Indoctrination Room
Ransoku's steps faltered.
Behind a glass wall, children aged 8–10, dressed in military uniforms, sat in neat rows.
A massive holo-screen played in front of them — "Serve the Allied Temporal Resistance. Obey or Fall."
Some children practiced basic combat stances, others stared emotionlessly at the propaganda.
"What about their childhood? Their future?"
Ransoku thought, her eyes filled with a mix of guilt and helplessness.
Ransoku took a deep breath and caught her reflection in a nearby glass panel.
The same face — Miss Hoori's — but inside, she was still Ransoku… a scientist, a human.
"This isn't just a mission…"
"It's a nightmare."
The Escort of Shadows
She moved through the base's training corridors, silently observing — her mind alert, her expression calm. Her eyes burned with mission focus, but her presence carried a gravitational pull, injecting an unexpected warmth into the military base's cold discipline.
A soldier approached her with quick steps. He gave a crisp salute and said, somewhat awkwardly:
"Lady Seraphina Vale?"
"I've been ordered to escort you to the General… My codename's 'RJ.' I'm a captain here. Please… follow me."
As he spoke, RJ's face flushed red. His eyes lingered on Seraphina's face for a moment, as if trying to recall the mission briefing — but beauty always trumps bullet points.
Seraphina understood instantly.
She flashed a soft, graceful smile — one that blended royal elegance with a soldier's command.
She returned his salute with a fluid, effortless motion — a slight tilt of her head, as if saying, "You've seen enough. Let's move."
RJ lowered his eyes and led the way, struggling to refocus on the mission.
As Lady Seraphina passed through the corridors, the entire base's atmosphere shifted into slow motion.
She wasn't just walking — she carried an aura that was impossible to ignore.
Every man's gaze drifted to her, then stayed there.
Women quietly admired her — some even felt a bit intimidated.
Her posture was like a live sculpture — a living example of precision and poise.
Her combat-ready jeans, tactical thigh belt, sleek black T-shirt, and armored vest were perfectly tailored to her body's curves.
Nothing overt, but everything intentional.
Her gear wasn't just protection — it was presentation.
Her chest, framed confidently by the tactical vest, exuded firm pride — like two strong notes of a war song held close to the heart.
Her thighs moved with trained muscle — not soft like beauty, but strong like power, almost resembling the strength of an elephant's trunk.
And her walk? Like a serpent gliding in an 'S' shape — graceful, but always ready to strike.
A technician dropped his toolbox — snapped out of distraction.
A junior officer snuck a glance at his reflection in a mirror screen.
A female intel officer whispered softly:
"If elegance could kill… she'd be a silent weapon."
Captain RJ's throat was dry, but he composed himself and said:
"General Volkran, Commander Helza, Marshal Ronan, and Intelligence Chief Grivon are waiting for you."
Seraphina gave him a calm glance — no flirtation, no arrogance — just silent acknowledgment that said:
"You're just a messenger. I already know everything."
RJ stopped in front of a massive metal door.
Nervous, slightly overwhelmed, he said:
"You may enter now, ma'am…"
Lady Seraphina gave a graceful nod — and stepped inside.
Like a queen stepping onto her battlefield — where every move is a strategy, and every glance a threat.