Disclaimer: Kenshin does not own the Yuu Yuu Hakusho characters (they are the property of Togashi Yoshihiro et al), and does not make any money from said characters. Don't sue.
What Kenshin does own, however, are all the original characters ---human, demon, or other---in this work. Any attempt to "borrow" these characters will be met with the katana, or worse.
The events in Idiot Beloved take place shortly after the Dark Tournament; Firebird Sweet directly follows that timeline, and occur shortly before the acquisition of Tenchi no Hi. You will probably get more out of this sidefic if you do read IB and its sequel first.
Title: Operation Rosary C1: "Bond? James Bond?"
Author: JaganshiKenshin
Genre: Action/Adventure, General
Rating: G/PG-13
Summary: Why is The Agency teaming Ueda Issei with this rebellious, runty little jerk?
A/N: Every now and then, I like portraying Hiei through the eyes of someone who has never met him. For this story, I wanted a secret agent motif, seeing as how Shay-san rather jokingly tagged Hiei as 'a Japanese James Bond' on their first meeting.
Operation Rosary is told mostly through the viewpoint of Hiei's 'partner.' The burnt-out doll factory of Two Shots (YYH manga, Vol. 7) is the main setting. And as to whether the Agency does, in fact, exist---well, if I told you, Hiei would have to kill you.
"What kind of gun is that?"
Operation Rosary (C1: "Bond? James Bond?")
by
Kenshin
Ueda Issei thought the guy they'd teamed him with was an arrogant runt---and likely to get him killed.
But Issei prided himself on a brand of professionalism that would not allow mere personal feelings to interfere with his duties.
And he had to be at his best. One of the Agency's men was missing.
In the unlikely event that an outsider should stumble upon the Agency, he would encounter what appeared to be a small electronics firm---Yoshikawa Industries, on the tenth floor of a high-rise in the Shibuya ward---but that was mere surface gloss.
While Issei could appreciate the outer office, his true appreciation was reserved for Miss Sakamoto Emi, sleek blonde secretary to Chief of Ops Mr. Narita Shun. But Miss Sakamoto scarcely paid Issei more attention than she paid the alcove in the right corner of the room, with its raku vase (today holding a single fiery sprig of chrysanthemum that was also a recording device). Maybe she was taking this secrecy thing too far.
"Yoshikawa Industries" seemed far more secretive than the USA's National Security Agency. When Issei had said as much to Miss Sakamoto not five minutes ago, she raised her violet eyes to him and retorted, "At least people have heard of the NSA."
And with that she'd ushered Issei into N's office (everyone referred to Narita Shun as 'N,' even Issei in greeting the bland-featured, somewhat portly chief).
N sat at his black lacquer desk, while the vast window at his back offered a glowering view of Tokyo on this cloudy October afternoon.
But although N nodded a return greeting at Issei, the new teammate gave no sign of acknowledgment. Instead, he looked almost asleep: arms folded, lounging with one hip against the edge of the desk. Maybe a good dose of ephedra tea would keep his eyes open.
Only when Issei was all but standing on top of them did the freelancer deign to take notice.
The tip of his spiked black hair came up only to Issei's chin, and the eyes that examined Issei were half-lidded, as though it was too much trouble to open them all the way. In addition to their slightly mocking quality, the eyes were a suspicious crimson hue. He was dressed disgracefully, too: pretentious samurai headband, loose black pants with numerous deep pockets, and a loose black jersey that buttoned at the neck. Compared to the well-mannered, middle-aged N, he looked like a kid. But then so did Issei---just not a punk kid.
They had never met---but Issei felt there was something naggingly familiar about him.
N introduced him as Hiei. He had no business card.
While N poured tea, they got their briefing, and brief it was. Yesterday, the Agency had sent Operative X to investigate a burnt-out doll factory on the outskirts of town. Operative X had never returned.
In all of Issei's 4 years with the Agency (he'd started at age 20) such an event had never occurred. Men had been killed in the line of duty, true. But none had simply vanished. Issei suspected X was already dead, and that this was more a recovery operation than a rescue.
"Time's a factor?" Rising, Hiei thrust his hands in his pockets. It was the first he'd spoken since Issei came in; he had an impressive voice for such a small creature, deep, smooth, and cultured, but it also carried an undertone of laziness.
N nodded. "I wish it could wait until morning, but---"
"That's everything?" Hiei interrupted.
N assured him it was. And without further word, Hiei turned his back on them and left the office.
Issei remained, staring at the door in disbelief. No one walked out on N with such little regard for propriety. "Sir," Issei protested, "This guy---"
N held up a hand, and Issei fell silent. "This guy, as you put it, is the best there is at a certain kind of operation. We're lucky to get him. He's on loan from elsewhere, although he's worked for us a time or two before."
Oh? Why wasn't I informed?
N pushed the tea tray aside, folded his hands on the table, then gave Issei a stringent look. "You'd better hurry if you want to catch up with him. I don't know whether to congratulate you---or pray for you."
How encouraging. Licking dry lips, Issei took his leave of N, then ran to make sure this oddball partner at least held the elevator for him.
0-0-0-0-0
Darkness falls early in autumn; by the time Ueda Issei turned into the factory's driveway, the sky was a deep steel-blue, painted with streaks of crimson and gold behind the black backdrop of trees.
His new partner moved with an economical precision, and spoke even less. In fact the freelancer hadn't uttered a single word on the drive, which was just fine with Issei. Hiei appeared, as in the office, to be asleep: eyes shut, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted forward.
Maybe instead of ephedra he needs St. John's Wort, or a B-complex, or both. Or maybe just a swift kick.
But as Issei threaded the car down the winding, overgrown driveway, the freelancer sat up and spoke.
"Stop here."
Issei applied the brakes. From this vantage point, about halfway down the drive, there was a good view of the factory.
In its heyday of the 1960s, and even well into the 80s, the Minoru Dollworks had supplied retailers all over Japan with dolls and mannequins. Now the two-story rectangle stood pale and ghostly in the dying light, scorch marks round its windows painting a black Rorschach on the walls. A tiny third story, probably housing what had once been the executive suite, stuck out like a turret from the middle of the flat roofline.
Echoes of expensive landscaping were still evident in two asymmetrical stands of trees and bushes near the factory entrance. A perfect hiding place for wrongdoers. Issei's lips thinned in distaste at the sight of what had been order, tumbling to chaos.
What Hiei thought of the factory was anyone's guess.
Then he turned to study Issei. The scrutiny took so long that Issei had to suppress the desire to squirm like a schoolboy. "Apart from the hair," Hiei began.
Issei brushed a self-conscious hand against his buzz-cut. "What about the hair?"
"Not that you look like him, but apart from the hair, you remind me a little of someone I know."
"Who?"
"Urameshi Yuusuke. Same size, similar build. Let's hope you're made of the same stuff."
"And what 'stuff' would that be?"
Hiei gave him a smirk. "Urameshi once billed himself as the number-one thug at Sarayashiki Junior High."
"Ever consider high doses of valerian root?"
"Never touch it." Hiei put out a hand to stop Issei from leaving the car. "You dressed?"
Crimping his mouth again, Issei nodded. Outsiders sounded like fools when they peppered their talk with what they thought was Agency jargon. Nevertheless, with a flick of his hand he parted his jacket, revealing the Walther PPK nestled in the pancake holster on his right side.
"A James Bond gun?" Hiei's voice scaled up a notch.
Issei stiffened. "Which has a long and honorable history. This model's perfect for deep concealment. It's got a double-action trigger mechanism and a fixed barrel that also acts as the guide rod for the recoil spring---"
"And only six rounds," Hiei interrupted. "Not enough."
"I have three spare magazines," Issei snapped.
"Same difference." Hiei shrugged.
"And a brown belt in Karate."
"That and fifty yen'll get you some tako yaki."
"Any .38 has excellent stopping power in close quarters---"
"Yeah, yeah," Hiei interrupted. "My wife's the gunslinger, not me. You two should talk shop someday---if you make it out alive."
No one else had ever succeeded in getting under his skin on such short acquaintance. Issei's reserve toward his new partner blossomed into full-scale dislike. "And you're armed with?..."
Without responding, Hiei got out. Slipping through the bushes like a hunting cat, he left Issei to lock up.
0-0-0-0-0
A cursory inspection of the grounds yielded nothing conclusive. They entered by what was left of the front door. The masonry building would not have burned easily, but its interior would have offered plenty of fuel for hungry flames. Inside, the factory smelled like melted plastic and charred upholstery, with a faint but unpleasant tang of mold. The walls on the ground floor were soot-black, and any light leaking in from the broken-out windows did not illuminate so much as conceal. Yet Hiei led the way as though it was high noon.
"What do you know of Operative X?" Hiei's voice was difficult to hear with debris crunching underfoot.
"Why? Didn't N brief you?"
"I'm asking you."
"I never met him," Issei admitted. "But he was investigating the theft of---"
"Age 35, single, five-ten, brown and blue, 190 pounds of solid muscle with a third-degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do, studied particle physics at CERN in Geneva, Switzerland. Any speculations why someone with his pedigree was sent to a place like this?"
"As I was saying before you interrupted, this operative was investigating the theft of 12 grams of Moolooite from the Iniushi chemical supply house two miles from here---all they had." The stolen crystal would be about the size and shape of a pencil. Moolooite, a rare blue-green mineral discovered in Australia, was originally employed as the coherent light generator in high-power X-ray laser weapons. Its other uses remained to be seen.
"Ahh!" Interest sparked the lazy voice. "Moolooite---the stuff they find in bat crap?"
Issei nodded in distaste, though what Hiei said was essentially true; Moolooite was formed by the interaction of bat guano with copper sulfides.
"And who might be interested in stealing that amount of---"
"I suppose you can tell me?" Issei said sarcastically.
"Matter of fact," began Hiei, "I can." But instead of supplying an answer, he took a long breath, slowed his pace, and lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "Something's not right."
"What's not?" Instantly, Issei was on alert.
"Not sure. Goes beyond the usual feeling of desolation and impending danger you get when you're inside an abandoned, burnt-out factory. Way beyond that."
This was by far the longest speech Hiei had made in their short acquaintance, possibly the longest speech he had ever made in his life. "And you know this because---?"
"Been here before. I know what this place should feel like. Then there's the matter of my---" Hiei halted. Issei almost ran into him.
The lights snapped on, revealing a yawning cavern of soot and wreckage, held up by steel I-beams at regular intervals. Doll parts littered the floor, uncomfortably bringing to mind bodies left after a holocaust.
The lights also revealed they were not alone.
Whatever Issei was expecting, this wasn't it. He moved shoulder-to-shoulder with Hiei.
Much of his Agency work consisted of tedium---gathering data, keeping a log book on the activities of a target, passing information to key operatives via dead drops or courier. He had been in two shoot-outs, both of which had resulted in no deaths and the immediate surrender of the target. His training included simple coding technique, such as mid-null and sandwich, plus covert observation and diversionary tactics. He was never without his gun. In short, Ueda Issei was well-versed in Agency protocol and self-defense both.
But nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him now: six creatures, the likes of which Ueda Issei had never seen, even in his worst dreams.
One of them---leaning against the far wall---appeared human enough: a trim and dapper man in a gray double-breasted suit. His hair expertly trimmed, his shoes polished, he could have been a top executive at any Nikkei Exchange company.
Except that his skin was celery green, and his ears swept backward into elegant cat-points.
The one at his side, though less expensively dressed, also looked human---if you ignored the lavender skin, or the fact that he had four rather long arms that reached almost to the floor.
But there was no way the remaining three could be considered human.
Arrayed in front of the suit as if they were his bodyguards, each creature was worse than the next. The first resembled the evil oni of Issei's favorite childhood tale, Momotaro the Peach Boy in that he was a brown-hued seven-footer wearing tiger skins, balancing a thorny club across his massive shoulder.
Another was a ten-foot minotaur, half man, half bull. Its powerful human arms and shining black hide made it menacing for all that it had a silly little ring in its bull's nose.
The fifth monster had a shaggy teardrop-shaped body, two stumpy legs, and arms almost as long as the lavender creature's. Its fur was the color of urine and it had a single orange eye in the middle of its otherwise-featureless face. It stank of wet dog, and its hands ended in three fingers.
The sixth and last creature was gray-skinned, about Hiei's height, and also human in shape. Except that its bowling-ball head sported a vertical, fanged mouth just above its eyes. Eight of them, round and milky and blind-looking.
The moment of discovery had taken ten heartbeats, maybe less. Hiei broke the silence. "D-class nonentities," he said, walking toward them, hands twitching like a gunslinger's, hovering just above his pockets.
"Who you callin' a nonentity, runt?" The oni swung its club, speaking in the most abrupt, impolite strata.
"Think you can take me?" said Hiei. "Go ahead on."
Indeed the entire scene had the flavor of an old Western movie, with the Marshall squaring off against a gang of cattle rustlers. Perhaps Hiei carried in those voluminous pockets some form of firepower, preferably an AK-47. "Nonentities, except for the suit," Hiei amended. "Still, I should be able to handle---"
"Think again," growled the oni, and Issei detected a sudden, unpleasant shift in the air, without being sure how he knew this.
"Get out while you can," warned Hiei, and he was not addressing the oni.
"Not on your life," said Issei.
"It may come to that," Hiei retorted.
"My, my," sighed Gray Suit, buffing his nails on his lapels. He spoke in an affected, drawling voice that made Issei want to empty an entire magazine into his mouth, if only to shut him up. "Unexpected guests!" he simpered. "And I'm afraid you've caught us without anything to offer you---not even a cup of tea."
"That's okay," said Hiei, never taking his eyes off the leader. "We had our tea before."
"Don't let him reach into his pockets!" commanded Gray Suit, and even before the words left his mouth, the four-armed creature at his side responded. All four arms shot toward them, stretching like bungee cords, binding Hiei's hands.
It had happened so fast that Issei could barely see the motion. Bracing himself against an I-beam, he fired at the creature nonetheless---and missed.
Ignoring Issei, the remaining monsters flung themselves upon Hiei. Fearful of hitting his own man now, Issei hesitated to target Four-Arms again.
Even bound, Hiei fought like a wolverine, a whirlwind of feet and knees and, yes, teeth. It would have made Issei's old Karate master proud. But such lightning movement also meant Hiei was in and out of the line of fire.
He had to risk it. Issei pumped rounds into the creatures, using a two-handed grip, scoring hits more than once. The gunfire didn't even slow them down.
I know what will. Swiveling, his Walther PPK in the lead, Issei aimed at the leader---
"Oh, dear," Gray Suit tsk'd. "I do so hate violence."
In a flash, Four-arms released one arm to wrench the gun from Issei's hands and fling it away. Disarmed!
Issei dove for the gun, but Four-arms blasted him with a casual backhand swat that sent him rolling. Issei managed to stop the momentum, then struggled to his feet.
Hiei battled on, beating his five attackers back a time or two despite being bound, putting up an impressive fight for such a little guy---hell, for anyone. More than once the minotaur growled in pain, and Eight-Eyes cursed fluently in a language Issei had never heard.
The scuffle stopped. Hiei stood, teeth bared. There was a brief stillness, almost a standoff, as though the monsters had their doubts about the battle's outcome. Then, oni, minotaur, and eye monsters closed in.
"Get out!" Hiei commanded, turning his head, seeking Issei, but that moment of distraction cost him dearly. The big brown oni swung its thorny club, connected a solid blow that took Hiei amidships.
Hiei flew back, slamming into the minotaur. "Gotcha!" it crowed. Holding fast, its bovine mouth trickling blood from Hiei's previous attacks, it growled, "I owe you for that. Who else wants in on the fun?"
Everyone.
The creatures poured themselves onto Hiei. Appalled, Issei waded in, fists flying. Hiei landed a solid kick to the cyclops, sent it reeling back. Issei struck, connected. The cyclops felt like a sack of wet cement; it not only stank like a dog, it howled like one.
"Oh, no, you don't," said the suit, and Four-Arms responded. He released two of his arms from Hiei, pinning Issei with a power that felt like the crushing coils of a big python.
He lashed out with one foot, overbalanced, fell, scrambled upright again in spite of Four-Arms and his grip. Maybe this wasn't such a one-sided battle. If Hiei could manage to---
But the sheer number of foes overwhelmed Hiei at last. With Four-Arms holding Hiei and Issei both, the others systematically beat Hiei unconscious.
It took an appallingly long time to do so. At last Four-Arms released Hiei to the minotaur altogether.
Face bloodied, hanging like a rag doll from the minotaur's massive hand, Hiei stopped fighting at last.
"One down," warbled the suit. His eyes sought Issei's, locked gazes. "One to go."
Laughing, the other monsters abandoned the fallen Hiei---to turn on Issei.
(To be continued---"Where are we?")
-30-