Chapter 1225 Veteran Agent and Rookie
The Callum Science Centre is preparing methodically for the next deuterium-tritium fusion experiment, while Professor Toad of Hogwarts is living in constant fear, worried that he might be tricked by that little bitch Granger again if he's not careful.
Her erratic behavior, amplified by a pair of twins, led to her being diagnosed with a severe case of a rare disease, which was stigmatized by certain pure-blood wizarding families as a "Mudblood-specific fragile disease."
To put it more bluntly, she suffered from mental illness.
Umbridge could sense that the way people looked at her had become "sympathetic" and "pitying," and her mindset had undergone a subtle shift without her realizing it.
In front of the entire school, she remained the same saccharine professor who was impossible to like.
But whenever the night is deep and quiet, she would always hold her short magic wand and stare blankly into space, occasionally letting out a chilling laugh.
If it were a biology expert, like Newt Scamander, they would immediately recognize this as the peak of metamorphosis in the morphological reconstruction process of amphibians such as frogs from larvae to adults.
"Hehehe—it's so quiet tonight. What? You're too scared to come over and play with me?"
The eerie laughter sent chills down the spine of Pikachu hiding in the ceiling.
It's been less than a month since the start of the semester, and Professor Toad has already been ruined so quickly?
Mischievous Ghost shook himself, wiggled his bottom, and wobbled back home.
If you really drive her crazy, her boring daily life will lose its fun.
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It was another new day, and Hunter spent the whole night pleading with the old men in the military, finally succeeding in getting them to approve his command of troops stationed at the Callum Science Center.
Agents and spies from around the world were unaware of what MAST-MA's arrival meant; they simply thought these big, clumsy soldiers posed no threat to their mission.
After two days of reconnaissance and preparation, a seasoned agent decided to take action tonight, infiltrating the Callum Science Center to steal valuable experimental data.
But to his utter surprise, at noon, a seemingly simple-minded soldier would recognize his identity.
"Hey buddy, remember not to pretend to be a tourist next time. Can't you Mossad come up with something new?"
My identity was discovered?
He's a seasoned veteran agent, how did those incompetent MI6 agents ever become capable of this?
With a question in mind, he quickly reached for his waist, but the soldier in front of him raised a large, all-black pistol first.
The eerie blue light emanating from the muzzle was intimidating; clearly, this was no mere toy gun.
The Mossad agent glanced down and quickly scanned the rank insignia on the other person's shoulder.
One stripe, Private First Class, isn't this a raw recruit?
The old agent slowly raised his hands. "I surrender. Please don't shoot."
In the instant the other party relaxed their guard, he reached out with his left hand to press down on the muzzle of the gun that emitted a ghostly blue light, while his right hand swiftly reached for the pistol at his waist.
The moment his fingers touched the gun handle, his left thigh felt as if it had been gently patted, followed by a strong tingling sensation that quickly spread from his thigh throughout his body.
It didn't feel like an electric current; it was more like some kind of powerful sedative, but not the type that works on the central nervous system, because he was still conscious, only unable to move his body.
If I'm not mistaken, this gun should act directly on the muscles of the human body, achieving an effect similar to injecting drugs such as botulinum toxin or succinylcholine. It quickly induces muscle relaxation by inhibiting muscle contraction, thus blocking the function of the muscles it controls.
The old agent knelt helplessly on the ground, his terrifying eyes filled with resentment.
"You, Mossad's grandson, almost succeeded."
The private's endearing smile was etched into his mind, and he realized that he had met his match this time.
Throughout his more than ten years as a secret agent, no one had ever been able to see through his disguise, because those people were all dead.
"You...who are you?"
"Lots of nonsense." The private tapped his forehead lightly with the muzzle of his gun, which emitted a ghostly blue light, and muttered to himself, "How can this guy still stay conscious..."
His hand holding the gun suddenly trembled, and he chuckled憨厚ly, "Oh, I was using the wrong mode."
This gun has different modes?!
Advanced weaponry technology and excellent physical reflexes—MI6's bunch of incompetents could never have trained such talent.
The veteran agent was 100% certain that the greenhorn pointing a gun at his own head was either a KGB agent from Russia or an elite recruit secretly trained by the CIA from the United States.
"Alright." The private raised his gun and then put it back down.
The old agent stared intently at the gun barrel emitting a ghostly blue light, then drifted into a deep sleep, filled with regret and helplessness.
"Private First Class Baker".
He turned around, immediately stopped smiling, stood at attention, and saluted. "Instructor, mission accomplished!"
Vincent walked up to him, glanced at the old agent lying on the ground, and said, "I saw it all."
Beck's expression turned extremely tense. "Instructor, I just—"
“There will be no next time.” Vincent turned around. “Remember, a true enemy won’t give you a second chance.”
“Yes!” Baker stared in horror at his departing figure.
MAST-MA is a special unit dedicated to dealing with magical matters. Their daily training intensity is inhuman. Even if they are exhausted or completely unconscious, their instructors have ways to get the soldiers back on their feet.
Even after Vincent's figure disappeared from sight, Baker remained immersed in his hellish memories.
Suddenly, he turned his head to look at the old agent at his feet.
The mission is accomplished, but what should we do with the people involved?
Should we ask the instructor?
Forget it, I'll just go ask Lieutenant Colonel Hunter.
Baker carried the old agent back to the camp, only to be told to hand him over to MI6.
Mossad's agents are of no use to them; keeping them around would only require feeding them, so it's better to hand them over to the relevant intelligence agencies.
evening,
A military truck slowly came to a stop at the MI6 headquarters building on the banks of the Thames.
After getting out of the car, Baker, without saying a word, threw the agents and spies from various countries that he had captured that day at the door.
He also thoughtfully left little notes indicating where each person came from.
The current MI6 director was stunned when he received the news, and almost dropped his coffee cup.
Mossad, CIA, KGB, Cabinet Intelligence Office... even India's Investigation and Analysis Wing infiltrated. Not only did MI6 not receive any prior warning, but the military had to arrest the perpetrators before they could react.
This is a major dereliction of duty for the intelligence agencies. If something similar happens again, even the Queen might not be able to protect them.
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