Mistaken For a Couple

Chapter 4: Priscilla Receives Her Mission

In the heart of Rungsa Market Street—

Just one block down a side alley, the lively atmosphere of the market was quickly replaced by a cold, eerie stillness. This was the notorious Rungsa Slums.

True to its nickname, it was overrun with criminals.

But not just criminals.

There were the homeless, cast out without a roof over their heads; orphans who had turned to thievery just to survive. It was a place that held up one corner of the underworld, and at the same time, with the right amount of coin, you could trade for any kind of information.

There was no better place for Priscilla to carry out her espionage.

She briskly walked up to a wooden door and pushed it open with a creak. Without a word, she nodded to the man at the counter who greeted her.

It looked like a regular tavern or bar, but being early in the day, there wasn't a single customer.

The man behind the counter, marked by a large scar across his face, looked up as she approached.

"Welcome, Papa (P)."

"Juliet (J). Give me the things I left last time."

"You’re taking them out? I thought you weren’t going to use them until war broke out."

"It’s a defector elimination mission."

A defector.

Priscilla recalled the mission she received over the radio that morning.

A Naifel Empire agent had turned and was planning to hand over state secrets to the Bayrn Empire. Her orders were to eliminate him.

Priscilla wasn’t originally a combat-oriented operative.

But a few months ago, a large-scale purge of spies had occurred.

Most operatives either died or were captured.

With too few agents left to carry out high-risk assignments, the mission had somehow landed on Priscilla’s desk.

"You sure you can handle it?"

"Juliet. Don’t you remember? Ten years ago."

Juliet recalled the past—

The memories he had with Priscilla…

And immediately, chills ran down his spine.

"Right. You were a madwoman back then. Gives me goosebumps just thinking about it. Weren’t you originally aiming for a combat division?"

Juliet reached under the counter and pulled something out.

A heavy, black duffel bag.

It clinked ominously as he placed it on the table with a loud thud.

"You got a fix on the defector's location?"

"On the way here."

"What? How’d you figure it out on the way?"

Priscilla looked at him like it was nothing.

"He probably wasn’t a defector from the start. Most likely, he was on the run after his cover was blown. I checked out the places he might hide. One stable still had warm straw—it looked like someone had just fled. I asked the owner. His description matched. Plus…"

Juliet blinked.

"Plus?"

"Today’s paper. Said the Rungsa garment factory shut down as of yesterday. If they were going to arrange a secret meeting nearby, where else would it be?"

Juliet gave a thumbs-up.

"I got a ping this morning, too. Rough location of the defector. Lines up almost exactly with what you said."

"It always does."

Priscilla hefted the heavy bag with ease.

What Juliet had struggled to lift, she held like a feather.

"I’m heading out."

"Be careful."

"…I’ll tell him that. Not that it’ll matter if he’s already dead."

Creaaak—click.

"No, I meant you to be careful… Well, I guess worrying about him is more appropriate, huh?"

***

Priscilla’s destination: the now-defunct Rungsa Garment Factory.

You might wonder why a factory shutdown made front-page news, but the Rungsa factory had been the backbone of the working-class economy—a massive employer.

It was the kind of place whose closure had to make headlines.

Priscilla crouched in the bushes on a hill overlooking the factory and set down the duffel bag.

She unzipped it to reveal a collection of firearms, all tinged with a dark, ominous gleam.

Shopping through the arsenal, she eventually selected a .45 caliber Glock 23, a model developed during the East-West War of Naifel.

It was thanks to this gun that Eastern Naifel had seized control of the kingdom.

It had also been her preferred sidearm since her training days.

Click—She attached the suppressor to the barrel.

Then, she buried the duffel bag in the nearby soil and settled into the grass to wait for the target.

Roughly three hours passed.

Suddenly, footsteps.

She crouched low.

Since the factory had only just closed the day before, it wasn’t unusual for some people to pass through. But this time, the sound was different.

Unsteady, anxious steps.

To avoid potential disasters in the event of exposure, Naifel agents rarely knew each other’s faces.

But Priscilla recognized him at a glance.

That man in the hood—it had to be the defector, Kilo (K).

Priscilla moved to complete her mission.

***

Inside the abandoned factory—

The machines hadn’t been sold off yet. Cold, heavy silence filled the air as a man paced nervously.

Kilo, the defector.

After being discovered by the Bayrn Empire, he had sold out his fellow agents to save himself—a rat, in Priscilla’s eyes.

Step, step—

Kilo narrowed his eyes as a figure entered the building.

"Imperial Army? You’re late."

"…You’re really handing over information?"

"Didn’t know the Empire had female officers. That’s new."

He scrutinized Priscilla with sharp, narrow eyes.

To erase his doubts, Priscilla spoke.

"Lieutenant Eris Von, Special Operations Division, Bayrn Empire."

"The Von family! Famous name."

"I came on orders from the commander. Hand over the information."

But Kilo was a cautious man.

He circled her slowly, speaking with deliberate slowness.

"I told that officer I only wanted a one-on-one meeting. Didn't expect someone else."

"The commander isn’t a man with spare time. And since you've declared your intent to defect, what does it matter?"

"True enough… As long as my safety is guaranteed, right?"

"……."

"Why the silence?"

"You’re repeating the obvious."

Kilo gave her a meaningful look, shrugged, and slowly approached.

In his hand was a USB stick.

Just a little more.

Priscilla stood still, planning to strike as soon as he entered reach.

Just a single arm’s length—and she would finish it in one move…

"…Nice weather today, don’t you think?"

What?

"…Can’t say. Looks cloudy to me."

"Is that so? Here, the USB with the information."

Kilo suddenly stepped forward and held out the USB.

As she extended her hand—

What landed in her palm wasn’t the USB, but Kilo’s rough hand.

"You came to eliminate me, didn’t you? Naifel’s spy."

"!!!"

He yanked her forward with brute force.

Priscilla stumbled, losing balance.

Kilo had once been a top-tier operative.

Which meant he was also a dangerous combatant.

He slammed a fist into her throat and stepped back a few paces.

He should’ve followed up immediately, but—

Priscilla had landed a gut punch of her own.

The two stood apart, glaring.

"How’d you figure it out?" Priscilla asked, clutching her sore neck.

"The countersign was wrong. Cloudy? You need more practice impersonating Imperial soldiers."

"Tch. Cheap trick."

"You’re the one with cheap tricks!!"

And then Kilo vanished.

There were far more hiding spots than it seemed, nestled between abandoned machines.

Priscilla reached for her pistol, but by the time she looked around, he was already gone.

"The best agents are all dead. Why? Because I ratted them all out. I don’t know who you are, but one thing’s certain—you’re not better than me."

His voice echoed from every direction, impossible to pinpoint.

"Betraying your country to survive—does that mean I deserve death? Ridiculous."

He was trying to distract her.

Priscilla gave up chasing him.

Instead, she closed her eyes.

The confusing noise assaulted her senses.

She had to admit—

He was good. Too good to be wasted.

But a mission was a mission.

Click.

She adjusted the gun’s aim.

She wasn’t relying on instinct.

She trusted her training—and her field experience.

Pew—!

A bullet left the silencer.

Ping!!

It hit metal, deflecting away.

"……."

The echoing voice disappeared.

Priscilla reattached the silencer, walking calmly through the factory.

Then, around the corner—

Cough! H-How…

Kilo, bleeding from a shot to the abdomen, gasped for breath.

Priscilla aimed for his head.

Click!

"Instinct."

Thud—!!

Two quiet shots.

One man’s life ended.

"I said to be careful… already dead, huh?"

Priscilla had planned to eliminate the approaching Imperial officer next—

But then—

Beep— Beep—

A shrill sound rang in her ear.

"This is…!!"

A miniature bomb.

Hidden in Kilo’s jacket—a Naifel-made micro-bomb, powerful enough to obliterate everything within 100 meters.

"Damn it!!"

Priscilla hurled herself forward.

The sound had been growing—must’ve activated the moment he met her.

She had thought him merely paranoid.

But he had prepared one more dirty trick.

100 meters.

If it were an open space, she could’ve cleared it in seconds.

But the factory was cluttered with machines.

Even at full speed, it would take more than ten seconds.

She might not make it.

Priscilla vaulted onto a machine.

Using the equipment as platforms, she hopped from one to another.

Ridiculous as it looked—there was no other way.

And then—

BOOOOM!!!

A fiery explosion tore through the half-open factory doors.

Metal flew like shrapnel.

Fortunately—

Priscilla had already made it outside, body pressed low to the ground.

"Urgh."

But she hadn’t escaped unscathed.

Shards of a machine had embedded into her arm—blood dripping like clay.

"Haah… Guess killing that Imperial officer is off the table."

There was no way she could finish the job in this state.

Clutching her wounded arm, she stood.

And just then—

Step… Step…

Another set of footsteps approached the ruined factory.