Since its failed invasion of Utopia a decade ago, Dystopia has traded tank columns for something subtler: spies. Or at least, what it thinks are spies. Its Ministry of National Loyalty dispatches covert operatives with grand ambitions to gather intelligence, subvert officials, and destabilize institutions. In theory, it sounds ominous. In practice, it is closer to slapstick.

 

The problem is simple: Utopia has no secrets. Everything worth knowing is already public and searchable in the government registries. The President’s schedule is online. The budget updates in real time. Even troop deployments are posted daily. There are no shadows to skulk in, no vaults to crack, and no dossiers to steal.

 

Then there are the bots, thousands of them, watching and recording. A Dystopian agent can barely sneeze without SecurityBot logging the tissue brand. Bribery attempts fail spectacularly. Most Utopians are too patriotic, too stubborn, and frankly too amused to play along.

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The result is espionage that is less James Bond and more Inspector Clouseau. Agents are routinely caught planting bugs in rooms that already livestream to the public. One spy was arrested for stealing library documents, unaware he could have borrowed them for free.

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Bots now classify the threat as “mostly harmless.” Dystopian spies are monitored and humored. Some Utopians even invite them to community potlucks, where they inevitably ask suspicious questions about casserole recipes.

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See also: 

• Espionage for dummies: Dystopia’s training manual

• Dystopian spies in Utopia: 61, all present and accounted for

• Why Utopia does not bother employing its own spies abroad