It was a clear, bright afternoon, and bureaucrat Ryker — nervous and young — knocked on the door twice.
The first time was barely audible; the second, hard enough to be heard.
"Come in!" came a voice from behind the door.
Ryker opened it and stepped inside.
In front of him sat his senior officer, John Chadwick Sal, behind a large desk. Two wooden chairs stood across from him.
"Please, take a seat," the senior officer said.
"T–is… there anything… t–that I did wrong?" Ryker asked, his voice dripping with nervousness.
"No, no," Chadwick replied with a low chuckle.
"Then why… am I here?"
"I want your help, Ryker." The senior's voice suddenly turned serious.
Help? From me? Ryker thought.
"Is it serious?" he asked carefully.
"Yes." Chadwick took a deep breath and continued, "There's a new team of field agents — and I want you to join it."
What!? Ryker's mind went blank.
"B–but I'm a bureaucrat! Not a trained field agent!"
Expected reaction, Chadwick thought. After hearing that, any paperwork man would be shocked.
"I know, I know," the senior said calmly, "but they desperately need one extra agent — so I'm asking you."
"But… sir, you could send any other clerk, or deploy a newly joined field agent," Ryker said softly, though his tone didn't match his face.
"Yes, I could," Chadwick replied, "but the problem is that there isn't a single new field agent available who isn't already in a team.
And the clerks in this department have gotten so fat that even a paper cut is enough reason for a holiday."
Not my problem, Ryker thought bitterly.
"So you want me to risk my life because you can't find someone else?"
"Who said it's a lifetime post, or that you'll have to risk your life on missions?" Chadwick leaned forward, his voice serious.
"I–I don't understand what you mean," Ryker said.
"How long has it been since you joined IUMAC?" the senior suddenly asked.
"Around four or five months… but why?" Ryker replied, confused.
"And your salary must be around nine hundred to a thousand zonics per month?"
"Y–yeah… about nine hundred thirty-seven zonics… but why these questions suddenly?"
"What if your salary became fifteen hundred zonics per month — for six weeks of specific work?"
Is he trying to bribe me with my own salary? Ryker thought.
"Depends on the work… and who's promising it," Ryker said blankly.
A strange smile appeared on Chadwick's face.
"Well, young man, you have my word."
"Promises can be broken, and words can be forgotten. Write it on paper," Ryker replied flatly.
So, a true bureaucratic bastard, Chadwick thought, letting out a deep sigh.
"I'm serious now! It's only a few weeks' work — maybe it'll end before the month does. You won't have to risk your life like the others.
Just do their paperwork. They won't even bother you unless there's a real mission."
Why is he so desperate to put me in that team? Ryker wondered.
"I don't understand this. If I don't have to do any field work, why do they even need me there? Everyone will know I'm a name-only member."
"Good question, but the answer's tricky," Chadwick said.
"The group I'm talking about — Team Lucas or something — comes under the Seventh Legion. The head commander of the Seventh Legion himself gave me an order at the start of this year: to send more field agents, so their numbers look strong.
If he finds out I couldn't even send one, he won't be happy."
Oh… it's all clear. He's just trying to save his own skin, Ryker thought.
"Okay… if it's true this will end before the month does, and you save your skin from the head commander — then what do I get?"
"Oh, yes, yes, I understand. What about eleven hundred zonics per month?"
"Didn't you say fifteen hundred before?" Ryker asked, confused.
"Well, do you have written proof?" Chadwick said with sarcasm.
Both gave a low chuckle.
"Huh… sigh… well, the offer's good, but it's not quite enough…"
Chadwick quickly understood what Ryker meant.
"I truly can only give eleven hundred zonics right now without drawing attention from my superiors."
"Then I think we can't do business," Ryker said, standing up from the chair.
Chadwick instinctively raised his right hand. "Wait! Wait!" he almost shouted.
Ryker stopped.
After a deep breath and sigh, Chadwick said, "I can't raise your salary more than this… but I can give you a promotion."
"Yes, I can — and I will, if you do this job."
After saying this, the senior opened a drawer and pulled out a paper, sliding it toward Ryker.
"Read it if you want."
Ryker took the paper. It was already signed by Chadwick.
Inside, it was written clearly that if Ryker completed this job by month's end, his salary would be raised to between one thousand and eleven hundred zonics — and he would be promoted to senior staff.
Now it's written and signed… but I still need time, Ryker thought.
Before Ryker could open his mouth, Chadwick said, "You have half an hour only."
Ryker sighed and finally nodded. "Alright."
Chadwick smiled faintly. "Good. Wait here."
He stood, opened a cabinet, and brought out a long black field coat. The cloth was thick, slightly rough — it looked like something meant for work outside the walls.
He placed it on the table, along with a dark briefcase.
"This," Chadwick said, tapping the briefcase, "contains essential field equipment — identification, small tools, and two MOF cubes."
Ryker looked confused. "MOF cubes?"
"Metal–Organic Framework," Chadwick explained. "They can absorb gas, heat, and moisture — and release it when needed.
Multi-directional or uni-directional output. Very handy."
Ryker nodded slowly, unsure if he was supposed to be impressed.
He slipped the paper into his pocket, picked up the briefcase, and put on the coat.
"Can I take this paper with me?" Ryker asked.
Chadwick smiled thinly. "Of course. You'll need proof you're not just a field ghost."
Ryker gave a small nod and turned to leave.
The corridor outside the office was long and silent. The air smelled faintly of paper and machine oil. Some clerks looked at him while passing, then quickly looked away, pretending to be busy.
As he passed near the janitor's corner, a rough, tired voice came from inside.
"Another one sent to be gone," the janitor muttered.
Ryker stopped and turned.
"Were you hearing our conversation?" he asked sharply.
"Like a Council spy?"
The old man didn't even look up, still mopping the floor.
"Huh… even if you had nuclear codes, no one here wants to hear them.
Your voice was already coming out," the janitor said dryly.
Ryker stared for a moment, unsure if that was a warning or just an old man's joke.
Then he turned and walked away.
His steps echoed down the empty corridor — slow, hollow, and strangely heavy.