“One more level,” muttered Agent Zhang as his fingers danced across the controller. The neon glow of his gaming setup cast strange shadows across his small apartment, a safehouse that had become more of a prison over the past three months.
His handler’s voice crackled through his earpiece: “Your target is moving. Now’s our chance.”
“Just five more minutes,” Zhang replied absently, eyes fixed on the screen where his character was approaching a critical boss battle. “I’ve almost got the perfect speedrun.”
“This isn’t a game, Agent Zhang! The package—”
“Life is a game,” Zhang interrupted, channeling his inner philosopher. “And unlike this masterpiece of digital engineering, it has terrible graphics and no respawn points.”
A heavy sigh came through the earpiece. “The Agency didn’t spend millions training you so you could become a professional gamer.”
“Actually,” Zhang paused to execute a perfect combo move, “all those hours of Metal Gear Solid made me a better spy. The guards in real life are just as predictable.”
The door to his apartment suddenly burst open. Three men in black tactical gear stormed in, weapons raised.
“Speaking of predictable…” Zhang didn’t even look away from his screen. “You guys really should try knocking first. It’s more polite.”
The lead intruder stepped forward. “Agent Zhang, you’re—”
“Let me guess: under arrest? Surrounded? About to die?” Zhang finally paused his game and swiveled in his chair. “I’ve heard all these dialogue options before. Very uninspired writing.”
“You’ve been feeding intelligence to both sides for months,” the man growled.
Zhang smiled. “Ah, but which sides? The Americans? The Russians? The Chinese? The gaming industry?” He spread his hands. “The world isn’t binary like a computer game. Sometimes you need to collect all the power-ups.”
“Enough games!”
“On the contrary,” Zhang reached for his controller again, “I haven’t played nearly enough. Do you know how hard it is to maintain a top-tier ranking while also being a double… triple… whatever-number agent?”
The men exchanged confused glances as Zhang unpaused his game.
“The thing about video games,” he continued conversationally, “is that they teach you to look for patterns. Like how real tactical teams always leave someone watching the back door.” He pressed a button on his controller.
The massive TV screen suddenly flashed red, and a high-pitched whine filled the room. The armed men clutched their heads as their tactical gear—designed to interface with their command center—began to short circuit.
Zhang stood, straightening his tie. “And they teach you that the best weapons are often hidden in plain sight. That ‘gaming setup’ you ignored? Military-grade electromagnetic pulse generator. Those ‘marathon gaming sessions’ your surveillance recorded? Actually programming a virus that’s currently burning through your organization’s networks.”
He stepped over the incapacitated agents and headed for the door, pausing only to grab a handheld console from his desk.
“Oh, and that package you were so worried about?” He patted his jacket pocket. “Downloaded it during today’s speedrun. New high score, by the way.”
As Zhang walked out, his handler’s voice came through his earpiece one last time: “I can’t believe that actually worked.”
“Never underestimate the power of being underestimated,” Zhang replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I really do have a boss battle to finish.”