"Huang, huh?" Huang, nee Kuno, said sourly, taking a gulp of sake. He was getting tired of code names. Especially stupid code names. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It doesn't matter," his companion replied.
Huang had never learned the man's name, code or otherwise. In his head he called him Baseball Hat Guy, because whenever they met he wore a baseball cap low over his face to hide his features. Probably trying to hide a balding spot, too. Handling one asset at a time was stressful enough; Huang did not envy this guy his job.
"We always use Chinese code names with this particular asset," Baseball Hat Guy continued. "That's all."
"Yeah? So who is this asset?" His last asset had been a contractor by the name of Paransaek. Fucking stupid name. Fucking stupid contractor, getting himself killed by another operative.
Huang pushed aside a stab of guilt at the memory; he'd told the idiot that the crowd was too big for him to be assured a clean shot with his sniper rifle, and that they should wait for a better opportunity to make the hand off. It wasn't his fault that Paransaek overestimated Huang's ability and went in anyway. He was just an asset; not a partner. Huang hadn't worked with partners since he'd left the police, and he couldn't allow himself to think of assets as such.
It was easier said than done.
Baseball Hat Guy glanced around the tiny sake stand before answering, though they were clearly the only ones there. Aside from the server of course - but as he was deaf (or hearing impaired, or whatever the hell you were supposed to say these days) and in the Syndicate's employ, it hardly made a difference. "We'll get to that. Let's start with his support team."
Support team? Huang was used to his little one-man show. What was this, some kind of large-scale operation? He didn't like it. Do the job, then send the asset on his way. No muss no fuss. That was what he liked.
The other man slid a manila folder sideways across the bar top to Huang, who set his sake aside to open it. A thin sheaf of papers was inside. The top sheet contained a color headshot of a young woman with pale, almost silver, blonde hair and large hooded eyes. At first glance she was cute, but the empty expression in those eyes told him exactly what she was.
"I hate working with dolls," Huang grunted, half to himself. "Fucking creepy."
"Your reconnaissance doll - a water medium," Baseball Hat Guy said, ignoring the commentary. "Code name Yin. She's programmed with high-end functionality for independent living, with full fluency in Japanese and English. We've set up a small tobacco shop in Shinjuku for her to live and work in; you'll have to check on her daily and bring her meals, but otherwise she can feed and care for herself, as well as operate the store."
"Expensive," Huang couldn't help saying as he flipped absently through the pages that detailed her surprisingly long history with the Syndicate. The dolls that he was accustomed to working with typically had the barest programming - observe and report, nothing more. They needed twenty-four-hour care and were only brought in on a per-job basis, when absolutely necessary. Baseball Hat Guy could claim this doll was independent all he wanted, but Huang could read between the lines. This was a babysitting job. But such expensive programming, a place for her to live and work - this wasn't going to be the typical one-off sort of deal. "This a long-game operation then?"
"Six months," his companion answered.
Huang only grunted in response. Six months of having to put up with the same set of freaks? Wouldn't this be fun.
When this operation was done, he was going to ask for a transfer, he decided. A new city somewhere. He'd never asked before, because he knew what the answer would be: they needed his knowledge of Tokyo, his dubious connections in the police. They needed him here.
And he was getting so sick of it, sick of having to stay in this godforsaken city, under the looming shadow of the Gate. He got a new code name with each new operation, but underneath it all he was still Kuno Kiyoshi. Still the disgraced detective, who had to pretend like life as a civilian was all fine and dandy whenever he bumped into a former colleague on the street. He envied contractors sometimes, freaks though they were. When their mission was done, they moved on - new city, new name, new identity. Everything in the past was forgotten, left behind.
But it had been seven years already - the Syndicate owed him.
"She's implanted with a GPS tracker in case something goes wrong," Baseball Hat Guy was saying. "But we don't anticipate any problems - it's one of the best packages we have. Just don't lose her; she'll be expensive to replace. Next, your secondary." He slid another folder over.
Huang couldn't help raising an eyebrow as he opened it. A secondary contractor? This was a serious team, then, more serious than the simple information gathering that he'd done with his previous assets - what kind of jobs would they be doing here, exactly?
The eyebrow rose even higher when he saw the photo inside. "What the hell is this?"
Baseball Hat Guy chuckled; the sound was unnerving. "Don't let appearances fool you; Mao's a pro. Body hijacker. He's limited to animals, but that just gives him an advantage. No one pays any attention to a cat skulking in the shadows."
"You telling me that animals can become contractors too?" At this point, not even that would surprise him. The Gates had fucked the world good and hard, after all. He ran his eyes down the page. Messier code FL-228. Obeisance: paid in full. No inconvenient payment, then - that was a bonus, though Huang had never heard of a contract being completed before. Still, how many times had an operation almost been blown because his asset had had to stop and dance a jig or stuff his mouth with marbles or whatever other nonsense? Fucking weirdos.
"Of course not. He was inhabiting the body of a cat when his human body was killed in an explosion a few years ago. But his human mind was unharmed. This feline body is equipped with a radio and an uplink to the Syndicate's servers. Mao can interface directly with a few networks we've given him access to, and he's smart. You can rely on him."
Fat chance, Huang thought sourly. A contractor was a contractor, cat or no. You couldn't trust any of them.
"Mao doesn't need any supervision; he'll live in the back of the tobacco shop as a neighborhood stray. Just be sure to bring him some canned salmon when you check on Yin."
Huang downed another shot of sake. A cat. Paid in fish. "Fucking hell."
"He's the cheapest contractor we have on the payroll," Baseball Hat Guy guy smiled wryly at his stupid joke. "But his skill is undeniable, and he should make a perfect foil to your primary asset." He slid a third folder over.
Huang couldn't suppress a tiny bit of curiosity as he opened it. A fancy doll and a fucking cat - who was the fourth member of their little team of freaks?
The sheaf of papers inside was thick - obviously this asset had a long and busy history with the organization. The headshot on the cover page was unimpressive: a dark-haired kid, maybe a little older than a teenager. It was technically in color, but Huang doubted it would look any different in monochrome, the kid's face was so pale, what little was visible of his clothing all black. The dull, dead look in his eyes made Huang think that he must be a doll at first; but then Huang saw the Messier number.
"You've got to be kidding," he managed at last, his throat suddenly dry and parched.
"His code name is Hei," BGH said calmly, as if he wasn't talking about the Syndicate's most notorious killer, a contractor who Huang had always doubted even existed. "While in Tokyo he'll be using the alias Li Shengshun - a foreign exchange student from Beijing."
As the man talked, Huang kept reading. Messier code: BK-201. Alias: The Black Reaper. Ability: Electrical conductance. Obeisance: unknown. Confirmed kills -
"You've got to be fucking kidding." Huang looked at the photo again. The kid appeared young, far too young to have this sort of history. Even if he was a contractor.
"Most of the jobs for this operation will probably require getting in and out of high security facilities, some of which may employ top tier contractors of their own. For that kind of work, Hei is the best choice."
High security facilities - in Tokyo, that usually meant the Gate or Pandora. Huang suppressed a shudder. Just so long as he didn't have to go anywhere near that hellhole.
"We've also received intelligence that an increasing number of foreign operatives are moving into the city," the man continued. "Likely after the same targets. Confrontations will be unavoidable. But Hei is an expert at dealing with such things quickly and quietly."
"Look," Huang said after taking a long swallow of sake, "I don't doubt the kid's ability - I've been hearing rumors and stories ever since the end of that business in South America. But why the hell are you assigning him to me? I deal with the lowlifes and third-rates. And my last asset -" he took another swallow - "well, that didn't go so well."
The man shrugged as he hunched over the bar, seemingly unconcerned. "Your jobs will be straightforward enough. Hei's not exactly a team player; most of his assignments in the last five years have been solo work. But he's a soldier. He spent three years on the front lines in Heaven's War; he knows how to survive, and he knows how to take orders." He took a sip of sake as he appeared to consider his next words. "He does have a tendency to go off script occasionally, but he always gets the job done. Just remind him of the rules every now and again, and you won't have any problems."
"Off script how?"
Baseball Hat Guy hesitated - a bad sign, Huang thought. "You heard about what happened in Bangkok last year?"
"Fuck - everyone's heard about Bangkok! You tellin' me this kid had something to do with that?"
The other man shrugged. "The only answer we could get out of him was that he left a hotplate turned on. We're not really sure why that was important for the job - but the mission was accomplished; that's what matters."
"Fuck," Huang repeated, the blood draining from his face.
"Hei will be on point for all of your missions," Baseball Hat Guy continued, his tone blase. "You, Mao, and Yin are his support; you'll be the liaison between him and the Syndicate. The higher-ups prefer not to have direct contact with their primary assets," he said, the wry tone returning to his voice.
"The hell they don't," Huang said, his eyes riveted to a photograph of the aftermath of the Bangkok incident, one that he recognized from all the news reports. "Contractor like this, decides to betray you? You'd better hope he has no fucking idea who you are." Which makes me the first guy standing between him and them. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Baseball Hat Guy jerked his head once in agreement, looking smug beneath the bill of his cap. "For what it's worth, in the ten years that he's been with the Syndicate he hasn't once shown any inclination to jump ship - unusual for a contractor, to say the least. We're not really sure what's been keeping him loyal since the end of the war, but the fact is that so far, he has been. Upcoming events may throw a wrench into that, however - another reason we're stationing him here in Tokyo. The higher-ups want to keep a closer eye on him. That's on you - be sure to keep him focused on the mission and to report any hint that he might be straying from the fold."
Huang didn't answer. How the hell was he supposed to do that, if this kid was even half as good as the rumors suggested and he decided to go off-mission?
He continued to flip through the pages. Half of the text was blacked out - far above Huang's paygrade, no doubt. Why the hell had they assigned such a top asset to him, of all people? He finally found a photo that hadn't been redacted, an image from some kind of surveillance feed: BK-201 standing in an empty hallway - empty if you didn't count the five bodies at his feet.
"What's with the creepy mask?" he asked, determinedly not counting the bodies.
"Aside from his impressive record as an assassin, Hei is an expert at deep cover and infiltration. For him to operate at his best, it's imperative that he be able to move about the city in plain sight. If anyone recognizes him, and calls the police, and they show up at his door...well, let's just say that that's a mess we'd rather not have to clean up. This way, anyone who sees him in action will see only his mask, and his identity will remain safe. The fewer bodies he has to leave behind, the better."
Huang nodded absently to himself. The police in this city - Section Four, to be specific - was no joke. If he had a beer for every time Kirihara's brat had gotten close to catching one of his assets, he might have enough to actually get drunk. Hell, she had caught a fair few of them. They hadn't lived long enough to give up any information on the Syndicate - Huang had had to take care of one himself, a necessity that had left a sour taste in his mouth - but that was beside the point.
The man slid one last folder across the bar. "Your first assignment. A researcher has smuggled some Gate-related data out of Pandora; we think she's sold it to a French organization."
Huang opened the folder. Inside was the photo of a young woman in a lab coat, along with a couple of grainier photos of the suspected Frenchmen.
"Have your doll track them down so Hei can retrieve the data."
He didn't reply. It sounded easy enough.
The man stood, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. "I should tell you, the assignments that your team will be getting are vital to the future of the Syndicate. The plans of a decade are close to coming to fruition - don't fuck this up."
Huang was no idiot; he had no idea what the Syndicate's purpose was, but he knew how to tell the difference between a warning and a threat.
"Don't worry," he grunted. "We'll deliver." Somehow.