"So, for my hypnosis to work on people, I need to..." I hesitated.
I looked around the room. Every single one of them was staring back at me with a cold, unforgiving gaze. Panic fluttered in my chest. How was I even supposed to explain this to them? I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to steady, and pushed ahead.
"I need to set the stage first. In order to put someone under hypnosis, the target has to lower their guard and completely relax. Once they do, I can slip beneath their conscious mind and plant a specific suggestion for them to follow or answer."
I tried my best to keep it simple. It was the most basic, dummy-proof explanation I could come up with. I just hoped they had enough cognitive capacity to grasp it. Especially these four towering giants whose brains had clearly been replaced by pure muscle tissue.
"How long do you need to get them into that subconscious state?" Nina asked. looking at me with a hand holding her chin
I instantly caught her drift. She was intentionally shifting the focus onto the operational timeline, cutting off the others before they could grill me on the exact, scientific mechanics of how my ability worked. Smart move, Nina. It was basically her saying, 'Just tell me how long it takes to put them to sleep. Leave the technical details to you, the expert.' So, she really was the designated brain of this muscle-bound circus.
"Based on my experience over the past two years, it usually takes anywhere from 10 to 45 minutes," I answered, trying to sound as professional as possible. "It varies from person to person. If the target maintains constant situational awareness, it takes even longer. An hour or more, easily."
I wasn't exaggerating. Even with that director's kid back then, David Choi, it had taken me twenty agonizing minutes just to subtly suggest he hand over all the spare cash he was carrying.
"It's too long. Way too long," Prisma barked, her voice booming. "I'll give you thirty minutes max."
What the hell was this giant bitch saying all of a sudden? Did she even possess the spatial awareness to put herself in my shoes? I had just explicitly stated that it depended entirely on the target's mental state. And to make matters worse, throughout my entire career, I had never once successfully pulled it off on an Awakened.
My mind flashed back to Lucy's mocking expression when she realized I was trying to hypnotize her. She had smiled so beautifully right before Rai slammed a fist into my skull and knocked me completely unconscious. That was a dark memory I really didn't need to be remembering right now.
"But, Squad Leader... it is incredibly difficult to break an Awakened," I argued, trying my absolute best to lay out the cold, hard biological facts. "Thirty minutes isn't even enough to get their sensory reactions to drop, let alone implant a suggestion. If the suspect happens to have a sensory-type reaction, our cover blown the second I try to slip into his mind."
I was practically begging her to understand the physiological design of the trait. To lower a brainwave frequency into the Alpha state, you have to drastically decrease the target's situational awareness and self-doubt. By dampening that neural activity, the overall brain response slows down and whatever the suggestion I put, it will be translated into reality by the brain. But Awakened biology is a completely different beast. Just by crossing that threshold, their sensory reactions are amplified five times compared to a regular human. Lowering their awareness under normal conditions is damn near impossible.
"That's for you to solve, not me," Prisma replied, her tone completely indifferent. "Worst case scenario, you get killed by them. And we'll avenge you."
She said it so casually, essentially telling me to go die like a dog.
And here I was, foolishly thinking I was something special. What's so special about a guy being used as literal live bait on his very first mission? How the hell am I supposed to survive this? Can I actually pull this off? Can I use my visual imagination skills to artificially amplify the hypnosis? What do I do?
My eyes instinctively darted to Nina. If anyone could bail me out of this, it was my literal Goddess. Please, Nina, just give me something.
When our eyes met, she seemed to genuinely understand the nightmare I was staring into. With a heavy sigh, she stepped forward, positioning herself right next to the towering, imposing frame of Prisma.
"It's a massive gamble, Squad Leader," Nina said, offering her calculated input. "If we pull this off perfectly, we don't just get our revenge tonight—we wipe out their entire hideout and finish them once and for all. But if this fails, we lose the track we painstakingly worked to find, and we're forced to start back from the square one."
As expected, she was the lone voice of reason in this room full of meatheads.
"Squad Leader, what if we track the suspect's movements for a few more days to gather critical data?" Nina suggested smoothly. "It would make our infiltration strategy infinitely more accurate."
God, I love you, Nina. The logic was airtight. The pros and cons were clearly laid out on the table. Any sane, logical human being would choose to spend a few extra days gathering intel rather than taking a reckless gamble and losing a high-value asset. Only a complete idiot would rush into this blindly... right?
Oh, no. Why did I just think that? Why did I have to think the very absolute taboo? For a normal human, yes, that logic works. But not for these blockheads. Please let me be wrong. Please...
Slowly, I shifted my gaze back to the female giant. Looking at Prisma's face, she actually seemed to be pondering Nina's words. I let out a soft breath. Thank God. Maybe I was wrong about her. Maybe she did have a brain tucked away somewhere between those massive muscles. I might actually survive a few more days—
"I can't do that, Nina," Prisma cut in. "I already cleared the operational parameters with the higher-ups. No matter what, we proceed tonight. I'll take full responsibility."
My mouth clicked open and shut. My jaw literally dropped. A second later, a cold bead of sweat rolled down my forehead. I couldn't believe it. A decision so simple that any high schooler could have made the right call, and she chose pure recklessness. How has this team managed to stay alive for years?
God, I need a cigarette.
"The decision is final," Prisma announced, her voice leaving no room for argument. "We move tonight! Edgar, you stick to the initial strategy. We'll be in the perimeter protecting you. Make sure you execute it flawlessly. Now, where is the bastard right now?"
With those words, any lingering hope of living to see tomorrow shattered into a million pieces. I gave up. My mind went completely blank. No more wishes. No more desires. No more grand dreams of seeing Edgar's photograph hanging side-by-side with Einstein in the Hall of Geniuses. If I was going down, I was at least going to enjoy my last smoke.
I didn't care about manners anymore. I didn't care if smoking in front of these psycho military types was a violation. I was going to be dead in an hour anyway, so who gives a shit?
Just as I reached into my tactical pouch to pull out the pack, a sharp, electronic chime reverberated through the quiet night air.
Ting!
It was Prisma's tactical communication orb. She snapped it open, a bright blue holographic screen bursting into the air, covered in scrolling data text. I didn't even bother looking at it. I just tapped the bottom of the cigarette pack until a single, solitary filter popped out.
But just as I went to pinch it between my fingers, Prisma let out a loud, booming laugh. It was a raw, thunderous sound that echoed off the concrete walls of the entire abandoned building.
"HAHAHAHAHA! Lady Luck is smiling on me tonight! Our field intel just pinpointed the bastard's location. He's at a pub called The Kailashin, over in District 9 right near the border wall. Move out, teams! Fast!"
Ah, shit. Can't a man even enjoy his execution-row smoke in peace? Fuck my life.
"As you command!" the squad bellowed in unison, their shouts sharp and deafening.
But I didn't shout. I didn't even move. Not until I got this nicotine into my lungs.
Clink. Clink. Whoosh.
I flicked my vintage lighter open, bringing the dancing flame up toward the tip of the cigarette dangling from my lips. But right as the fire was about to catch the paper, a sudden, blinding flash of realization struck my brain. A theoretical pathway. An exploit in the neural framework of an Awakened.
The sheer audacity of the simulation running through my head made a wide, unhinged grin spread across my face. I stood frozen, running countless neurological calculations, mapping out the biological feedback loops until one single, desperate strategy emerged as statistically viable.
I grinned wider, staring blankly into space, completely forgetting where I was standing. The lighter flame flickered and died out, burning nothing but empty air.
I snapped out of it and flicked the wheel again. Clink. Clink. Whoosh.
Right before the flame touched the tip this time, a hand firmly gripped my shoulder. It was Nina.
"Now's not the time to smoke, Edgar. We need to move," she said softly, her eyes holding a trace of genuine concern. "I hope you survive tonight. Don't forget, we'll be right outside protecting you. Keep your head up, and don't forget the baseline rule."
"Always aim for the head," I muttered, reciting the squad's grim mantra right along with her. But internally, a surge of absolute confidence washed over me. If my simulation was right, I wouldn't have to pull a single trigger tonight.
"Now put the cigarette away. We're rolling."
With Nina's final warning, I stared regretfully at the unlit tobacco, slipped it back into the cardboard pack, and slid it into my vest.
Can't even get a single puff in before a suicide mission. What a fucking letdown.