There are two kinds of hell.
One involves bullets, betrayal, and body bags.
The other?
Parent-Teacher Association meetings.
And unfortunately, today's mission leaned toward the latter.
It began at 8:00 a.m. sharp.
Loid stood outside the Eden Academy community hall, dressed like a man who'd already accepted his fate. Sharp blazer. Polished shoes. A pleasant expression duct-taped to his soul.
Yor was at home prepping lunch for Anya. She'd offered to come, but Loid—despite being a seasoned killer—feared what she might say to an over-curious faculty member.
Anya, on the other hand, had whispered, "Make mommy friends or die trying," as he left.
[Mission Start: "PTA Espionage and Pastry-Based Blackmail." Objective: Gain Social Leverage over At Least One Elite Parent. Reward: Faculty Access Badge + Gossip Network Entry.]
The enemy was already present.
Prim mothers in designer coats. Fathers comparing cars like trading cards. Loid had seen intelligence officers with less smug energy.
A woman in pearls gave him a once-over and smiled in that razor-edged way rich people weaponized.
"Oh! You must be new," she cooed. "Mr…?"
"Forger," he replied with a light bow. "Loid Forger. My daughter, Anya, was recently accepted."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Ah. The… expressive one."
He smiled thinly.
[Passive Threat Detected: Possible Social Sabotage. Counter Strategy: Polite Intimidation + Culinary Excellence.]
He reached into his case and removed his ace in the hole:
A batch of perfectly executed, golden-crisp, raspberry scones.
Courtesy of the Perfect Spy and Family Man System's Cooking Mini-Game, unlocked after three failed omelet attempts and one small kitchen fire.
The effect was immediate.
"Oh my," said the pearl lady, sniffing one. "Did you make these?"
He tilted his head, humble. "It's just a small hobby."
Someone else sniffed. "He bakes? And dresses well?"
Another whispered, "Do you think he's single?"
Another: "I heard his wife's a florist. How quaint!"
[Social Bond Progress +12%. You are now considered "Suspiciously Well-Adjusted."]
Then the meeting began.
Inside the gilded hall, Loid took notes as casually as if he were listening to missile codes.
Uniform policies. Fundraiser planning. A toddler orchestra at the next assembly. These people were viciously boring.
But beneath the tedium, the real game was playing.
Subtle barbs. Power plays. Passive-aggressive compliments.
He'd infiltrated black market arms rings with less tension.
Then he saw her.
Melinda Desmond.Wife of Donovan Desmond. Political elite. PTA queen bee. Untouchable.
She was sipping tea with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
[Target Acquired: High-Value Social Link. Caution: Mental Instability Level 32%. Recommend Cautious Charm and No Mention of Farm Animals.]
…Farm animals?
He approached with calm precision.
"Lovely venue," he said, easing into a nearby chair. "Almost makes you forget we're under surveillance at all times."
Melinda blinked, then laughed—a low, amused sound. "Oh, someone's awake. Most of these drones don't even realize there are microphones in the flower vases."
He raised an eyebrow. "How refreshingly paranoid."
"I prefer the term aware." She sipped her tea. "You're different."
"I get that a lot."
"And your daughter?"
"Brilliant. Unpredictable. Frequently sticky."
Melinda smiled. "She'll fit right in."
[Bond Initiated – Melinda Desmond. Relationship Level: 1 – Mild Intrigue.][Side Quest Unlocked: "Attend Afternoon Tea of Psychological Doom."]
Later, as the meeting ended, Loid slipped a small bug beneath the dessert tray.
Not to record conversations. He already had those.
No—this was a tracker. Melinda was the key to Donovan, and if she invited him to another event…
[Mission Update: Contact Path to Target Desmond – 13% Established.]
At home, Yor welcomed him back with hopeful eyes. "How did it go?"
"I didn't punch anyone," he said.
"That's so impressive!"
Anya popped up from the couch. "Did you get secret info?! Did you poison anyone?!"
"No. But I brought home pastries."
Anya: "YOU'RE THE BEST SPY DAD EVER!"
[Bond Update – Anya: Trust +1. Yor: Affection +1. Self-Loathing: -2%.]
That night, Loid sat at the window, city lights blinking below, files scattered across the table.
The mission was going well.
Too well.
But as he looked toward the hallway—where Yor softly hummed while folding laundry, and Anya quietly plotted with her stuffed animals—he felt it again.
The itch in his chest.
That ache that wasn't pain, but wasn't peace either.
Maybe it was what people called hope.
Or maybe he was just going soft.
He didn't like it.
But… he didn't hate it either.