A/N: hey, guys. It's been a long while. I'm still alive and running around. Life happened–life reminded me it existed outside of fanfiction realm, that it's ruthless and brutal and not worth going back to but having to anyway, then it took my dreams and hid them somewhere I couldn't find, and stuck me in a day–to–day routine that made me want to jump off a cliff. Somewhere in there I lost my drive to write. I forgot how to, in a way. So, this is my comeback. I've missed you guys, even if I'm terrible at putting words together to say it.

Last time I revamp this story; scouts' honor.

And as usual, italics refer to flashbacks, context–setting, and thoughts.

Every Night That Goes Wrong Began Right

His body felt on fire, and not a source of water nearby to quench his thirst. His bleeding knuckles wiped furiously at his eyes, trying and failing to clear a vision path in between streams of thick, warm blood blended with grime and sticky with sweat, running nonstop from and around the open wound atop his head; yet without a clear head or line of sight, his other senses already confirmed what his eyes couldn't bear to witness: a scorched earth, bleeding with torn and trampled remnants of what were once fields upon fields of green grass and sunflowers, full of life, of hope and dreams; a multitude of dried–up streams, burning houses with their roofs caved in, thousands under thousands of soldiers in celestial uniforms laid unmoving, silent and hollow like their graves that not a single soul remained to dig.

Their last stand had fallen, their final line of defense had crumbled to dust, and their last man left standing near tore out his silver hair and screamed to the blackened sky a silent cry of anguish as he finally spotted the broken gold chain glistening with fresh blood near a familiar red bow, and not three steps away, the two people he cared for the most in this godforsaken world rested in a final embrace, as if they had each tried to shield the other from the worst of the blast and attempted to run towards him at the same time.

As he heard–too late, the red blossoming on his uniform whispered–footsteps from behind and a laughter darker than the darkest corners of the galaxy that he had come to detest, as he fell on the battlefield to join his loved ones, Artemis cast one final glance in the direction of the Lunar Palace, his last breath mourning not a magnificent empire fallen prey to a brutal assault, but a group of extraordinary people unjustly fell in the victory march of subterfuge, deceit and treachery.

He awoke in a sweat and instinctively wanted to wipe the sweat from his eyebrows, but the handcuffs biting into his wrists as he attempted to move them upward reminded him of where he was. Captive, his mind whispered, and he let out a shaky breath as he recalled his abduction from the parking lot of his workplace–wait, workplace? And how long has it been?

Fear bloomed in his chest as the realization that he had no idea where or when this detainment started, nor could he recall anything about himself. As his eyes begun adjusting to the darkness, he took the opportunity–good thing they had restrained him in a way that allowed him to move his head around quite freely–to scan his surrounding and immediately noticed a man in a tattered suit across the room from himself. He flinched.

Is this one of theirs? The question popped up in his mind, though if questioned further he'd have to say he had no idea who or what this theirs refers to.

Oh… that's me, he noted with slight relief as the figure across from him tilted its head as he tilted his head, stayed in handcuffs and–leg cuffs? Where the heck am I? –same as he did, and was stuck in a crossbody X–shaped restraint–is this leather? – just the same way.

His eyes narrowed in confusion. Parts of his body throbbed with a dull ache, and if his reflection's tattered clothing was any indication, he had not been treated very well during his stay, no matter how short or long it has been. And why was he wearing a suit to begin with? What does his job–and he cursed out loud in frustration, for he could not remember what he did for a living–entail that he had to don such fancy attire?

"Subject is awake, with a dirty mouth as usual". Out of the darkness on his left came a voice that could have passed for sultry in any other context, and he whipped to that side so fast his head spun.

"Oh, no need for the formalities"; responded a voice from his right. Again his head turned at a dizzying speed, and for a moment he wondered if these people had intended it that way as some sort of torture add–on. Torture? Where did that even come from?

Into the shaky light source from above stepped two slender figures, and he squinted to make out any identifying detail–for what, exactly? The counter–question in his head got him stumped. And why are identifying details the priority?

"Hello, old friend"; spoke the one on the right, whom the dim light allowed him to recognize as a man in his 30s, with military–style platinum hair. "Remember us?"

"No; should I?"

"Nah", drawled the one from the left, who had fully stepped into the light. She was a stunning woman with fiery red hair, flowing past her shoulders in a messy kind of allure, contrasting with the black suit she wore and the handgun on her hip, her piercing icy blues bore into him in silent scrutiny.

"So if I'm not supposed to, and I don't remember you guys anyway, can you let me go? I really think you've got the wrong person…"

"There is no mistake, Art", the man snorted derisively.

Art…? Artie! And just like that, his memory came flooding back. He was running a con at a new gallery, since his usual haunt decided to stick a poster on the wall with all his go–to disguises photographed; he was the 32–year–old conman known for talking gallery personnel into letting him "take that painting for a walk to show his estranged art critic father visiting from Germany", with his credit cards, actually stolen and their expiry dates altered, left for insurance; he was known as Artie in his inner circle for the scheming that always involved a well–known artist of some kind; he… Why was he even here?

"Listen, if you're with Giovanni, tell him I had no idea his nephew painted that piece, I didn't mean to steal something that technically belonged to his family, and I certainly didn't intend to burn it! For God's sake, how was I supposed to know that dumpster was gonna be on fire two minutes after I tossed it in there? And I only meant to hide it…"

Silver Hair cut him off with another dismissive snort, and he fell silent. In this line of work, you do need to know when to shut up.

"We don't actually know this Giovanni, but it wouldn't be a bad idea to get in touch with that blackmail material. In the meantime, enjoy your stay."

"Enjo… hey, wait!" As sudden as they appeared, the duo withdrew into the darkness, and about a minute after, Artie heard a lock clicked into place, leaving him to his reflection as company.

"Thoughts, Beryl?", the man turned to his companion, his eyebrows slightly raised as he saw her fiddling with the onyx bracelet on her left wrist.

"The treatment seems to work," Beryl nodded absently, fingers still tracing the lock on her accessory. "He recalls this life as we intended. The rest…"

"If you want it off, you could've just asked."

"Do you mind? It just… I'm not sure, feels a little heavy?", she explained, extending her wrist towards him.

The man laughed, "what, you can't handle a little weight?", as he effortlessly took the bracelet off her and hung it up on the rack nearby, where he had already left his after the door to the captive was locked.

And just as effortlessly, he deflected the amethyst blade that she produced out of nowhere, disarming her as he pinned her left wrist against the wall. "Not a wise move," he warned.

"I don't do well with jokes."

"You can't be that sensitive in this line of work, darling."

"Don't darling me," she snatched her arm away, scowling. "I tolerate you, Aces; don't push it."

"A little teasing is hardly pushing it," Aces shrugged, but sent a wink her way. "Now, don't we have a date to keep with our favourite blonde?"

"Your favourite, you mean. I have to pick up my other partner." Beryl snapped as she made her way to the elevator.

"Aw, I'm wounded," Aces smiled at the thought about the blonde and sent a mock pout Beryl's way. To him the smile might've been fond, but to others, including his companion, it looked like a gesture from a tiger to a cornered deer.

"'Bout time."

Mentally commanding herself while glancing at her wristwatch, the blonde carefully settled her glass down on the wooden dinner table, cautious not to make an unnecessary sound, and gathered up her belongings to leave without a trace.

There was not even that much to clean up to begin with. She had always packed light, and this time accompanying her in the continued journey there was only a purse large enough to contain a two-month-old golden retriever puppy.

Not that she had a habit of carrying dogs around in her purse, anyway.

"Sleep tight, dear."

She lightly brushed her roommate's copper hair as the girl stirred in her sleep. An empty glass was left forgotten on the carpeted floor, presumably it had fallen from the girl's hands as she fell asleep mid-drink; which the blonde picked up and placed over a newly written note on the table. They had only lived together for a while, yet she already found herself attached to the girl because of her cutting-edge honesty, a quality rarer than diamonds in their shared world of constant deceit.

"A girl like her shouldn't be here," the blonde thought to herself as she took her purse and headed for the door.

Half an hour later, the copper-haired girl woke up to an empty room and a note sitting neatly on her dinner table, her blonde roommate nowhere in sight. Curious and worried, she removed the glass from its position atop the piece of paper, only to discover a thick envelope underneath it all.

"Copper–chan,

By the time you read this, I'm already off on my way. I have businesses I have to attend to, people I can't afford to miss out on, issues I have to deal with personally.

I'm sorry for leaving without saying a proper goodbye (and for putting you to sleep, in case you haven't noticed). I never told you this – the only thing I ever said about you was that you were annoyingly but refreshingly honest – but I'm glad I've had the opportunity to meet you. You're one of those people I'm actually glad having run into.

A few weeks ago you asked me how I would know if it came time for me to actually do something good with my life. I still don't have that answer for myself. But for you, take this advice: leave. This is not your world. I know you resent your stepfather, but don't make the mistake I've made – the very mistake that brought us together as friends.

Ironic, isn't it? But I'm in no position to lecture you. I'm not, just for the record. I'm pleading – yes, you read that right – pleading with you to leave this cruel underworld. You don't belong here. Running away doesn't help, Copper. Face your problems head-on – and survive the encounter with it.

From someone who failed once and has fallen too deep.

PS: Don't worry about whatever you find in that envelope. I don't care about them. I care more about you being happy, and living the life you deserve."

The girl dropped the letter, and it took her a while to open the envelope with still-shaking hands. As expected, it contained hard cash.

"Thank you... Minako."

Leaning against a post in the empty parking lot, the blonde stole yet another slightly annoyed glance at her wristwatch.

The taxi was later than she requested. She had left the rooming house a little later than she planned to do, mainly because she wanted to make sure nothing was left behind that could identify her as a person. In her line of work, anonymity is the name of the game.

She had expected a waiting driver, yet she arrived to the designated spot finding herself alone.

He had known of her good looks from multiple sources, ranging from enchanted customers who spent hours describing a hour-glass figure while drooling rather unconsciously, to bewildered colleagues of his who had absolutely no idea how she managed to slip out of their fingers without a trace; nor were the latter able to explain the mysterious, unmistakably feminine scent that lingered in any space they stood in, whether during or long, long after their report was delivered. As he was speeding on his way toward the destination, silently cursing his watch for choosing such a great time to die, words streamed through his mind about her various areas of specialties and the counter-move for each and every one of them.

No way I'm running more than ten minutes behind schedule,–he commanded himself, accelerating.

Three minutes later, he pulled into the almost empty parking lot, already spotting a blonde standing all by herself at the other end, near the back entrance to a city-famous restaurant, mostly for its seaside view. Even though it was a windy summer night, she was sporting a short-sleeve yellow blouse with silver strips, a pair of dark khaki, a violet-shaded scarf flowing on her shoulders, making perfect background for her golden hair. As he came closer, the general description "good looks" of hers occurred to him as less than an understatement. She had an elegant, aloof and almost regal appearance, topping up by a sparkling crown-shaped bobby pin on the left side of her head.

He stepped off the vehicle, holding the door open for her in an apologetic gesture. He was five minutes late.

And she pointed that out for him before the standard apology could reach his lips:

"You're five minutes late," she allowed him a brief glance at her watch, her eyes cold. I remember having specified that the taxi should pick me up exactly at ten o' clock tonight.

"My sincerest apology, miss"

She shrugged, "No need to. No one can be punctual all his life. He himself may strive to be, but his clock may die whenever it feels like."

"That's a pretty good guess", he thought, smiling absent-mindedly and closing the door after making sure she had got seated properly. She indeed seemed friendly enough, but what he had read from the stacks of reports on his desk still reminded him of how disastrous a brief encounter with her, especially her before retirement, could turn out to be. Still, he hoped this tiny chance could be the start of a decent conversation.

Where could I possibly have seen him before?, a concern flashed through her mind. That gentle smile looked familiar.

She had wanted to dismiss it as silly, for how many airlines she had used, how many parties she had been escorted to, how many hotels she had stayed at, to date, she could not even remember. A taxi driver could easily fit in that mist.

Still, there was something not quite right about this particular one.

Thus the ride proceeded in silence. Regretting not having made a conversational attempt right at her joke, and stumbling on the question of which approach would be the best, he decided to make up for his late arrival by speeding and succeeded in getting her to her destination five minutes before the estimate time. She looked a bit surprised, and the tip was more generous than his usual fifteen percent standard; which could be a habit as well, he thought in retrospect. Taking one last glance at the outrageously marvelous hotel, he pulled out of the driveway, heading to a nearby location where many yellow cabs as his concentrated.

He took out a black device and a pair of earphones, plugging them into his ears. A prolonged beep! informed him that it was ready and functioning.

"Sir, I'm afraid I do not have good enough news to deliver."

"Proceed anyway."

He detailed his silent ride.

"Well, well, well,"–the familiarly sarcastic voice chimed in–"seems like our guy needs his social skills updated."

He ignored the comment, noting a rough voice in the background on "Zoicite, mind your own business", and proceeded unfazed as squabbling again began in the background.

"Sir, what should my next move be?

"If the target is more likely to forget who you are, let her be. I'd arrange for you to be reassigned another time."

"Roger that, sir."

They both hung up. But the sound of his chief's words, target, lingered in his mind. Somehow he did not like it this time, although generally he preferred how his superior had always referred to the VIP in their plan as targets. The more impersonal the operation would be, the better.

Back at the five-star hotel.

The doorbell rang. The door opened, revealing a man in his bathrobe with an eager expression, his welcoming hand extended toward the blonde.

The door closed without a sound behind them.

"I always love the way you dress, Mina–chan," he breathed, resting his chin on her left shoulder. You always look so different from the rest of them, don't you?"

The blonde winked back, and he stepped ahead, pointing toward the nearby armchair, where a blood red gown lay.

"Turn around," she winked, "don't ruin my little surprise for you."

Ah, I have time for a little fun, the man pondered quickly as he complied. The knock–out gas would start in five anyway.

The blonde raised her hand, a metallic device sparked on the tip of her fingers.

Fifteen minutes later, on the hotel's rooftop.

Having already accomplished her assigned task, the blonde was waiting for another, less ordinary ride to appear out of the midnight starry sky. She thought over the scene she had left behind, in the presidential suite the naïve client had re-booked at her request. All was neat–no clue whatsoever could be traced to her real intention in appearing there, she was sure of it. At most, local authorities would merely attribute the case, like any other, to a high–profile recreational service gone wrong. And her client, being high–profile himself, would be far too embarrassed–terrified, even, if he discovered what she had done while he passed out from the impact of her sedative needle, in addition to messing up his belongings–to ever speak out.

The roaring sound of engines hovering above brought her back to reality, and she took hold of the helicopter rescue ladder, climbing her way to secrecy skillfully as if she had been subject to such unfeminine operations for a long time. As the saying went, practice made perfect.

"How was it?" The main pilot asked without turning around.

"Piece of cake," she laughed softly, the first relief she had allowed herself in an entire day.

"You did not get the wrong file like you did last time, did you? This was sudden, I can't believe we didn't have time for a plan... I was so..."–the co–pilot piped up, anxiety in her voice.

"No worries, it was a clean job", the blonde smiled. "And...", she added "that last time was a century ago," the blonde sighed dramatically

The main pilot chuckled to herself. "At least she got what we needed", she thought while monitoring the helicopter. Their five-member group works most efficiently with a mixed sense of responsibility and light–hearted humor. Perhaps that was why they were summoned this particular case.

With only a buzzing noise that nightlife Toronto could easily drown out, courtesy of the genius co-pilot, the helicopter skillfully descended into a readily-opened rooftop of a high-rise apartment complex, its lights lowered to blend in perfectly with the midnight blue sky. Sightings of helicopters of course were common in the relatively affluent capital city; yet seemed quite uncommon at that time of the day, and the last thing an investigation team wanted was to unnecessarily call attention to themselves. If the truth behind this was any like what they had expected, the level of notoriety would be quite enough.

The rooftop closed without a sound. The next building to match its height was miles away, and the surrounding residences would just break their necks trying to find signs of a newly landed helicopter. Not that anyone would bother trying anyway, since as usual, nobody took notice. It was a perfect plan. Extraordinary incidents were too extraordinary to be proven–imagine a helicopter disappearing into the top of a high-rise apartment complex in the middle a crowded city–and thus their secrets were safe.

The cabin doors slid open from both sides; and the blonde was the first to jump off from the left, followed by the petite co–pilot's descent on the right. After double-checking the engine, the main pilot was the last to leave her beloved means of transportation. Her chocolate curls, previously hidden from view by the seat, bounced on her back as she jumped off on the left side and almost bumped into the blonde standing right in front of her.

"Jeez, Minako, you're gonna get knocked out if you keep standing that way."

She followed the blonde's longing glance all over the room.

"Glad to be home, aren't you?"

The blonde simply nodded.

"Everyone! Mako-chan, Mina, where are you guys?", a happy voice called from the other side of the helicopter.

"Coming," the blonde grinned and ran around to meet the caller, while the brunette main pilot just smiled.

Seeing two familiar blondes hugging each other tightly, she shook her head affectionately before enveloping both of them in a bear hug, her advantage coming from her own exceptional height.

"Mako–chan, you're suffocating me!", the two blondes whined in unison.

"Oops," the brunette said unapologetically, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

The petite co–pilot, meanwhile, had removed her helmet, revealing her ocean blue hair, completed with deep blue eyes. Despite having been the first member to be inducted into the team, she was still not used to open display of affection, being the reserved character she was. She would, however, die for her teammates if need be.

The reservations vanished, nonetheless, as both blondes turned toward her with identical pouts.

"C'mon, Ami-chan, group hug!"

Giving in, the bluenette named Ami walked toward them with open arms, a motherly smile on her face making quite a strange sight as it seemed so unfitting for a young woman her age.

"Where's Rei–chan?" the other blonde asked as they headed indoor together.

Meanwhile.

A silver Jaguar slowly maneuvered its way through traffic, drawing admiring glances and curious attempts to peek into its windows as it stopped at the red light signal. The driver, a woman with waist–long ebony hair, had an aloof aura; yet the moment her eyes met those of an unwanted, peeking passerby, the latter quickly scurried away as quick as if he had just touched ice.

Ice indeed. Rei Hino was the defiant daughter of a famous politician, who despite repeated orders to essentially mold herself into a trophy bride, settled for a secretary job at one of the major multi-national corporations based in Tokyo; and when threatened with disavowal, revealed her personal saving account of stock investments over the years, proceeding to move out on her own into a shared penthouse half way across the world with her childhood friend, who was then happily married to her university acquaintance Chiba Mamoru.

Inherently distrustful of men, she was the ice queen in the office. Having the Chibas' backing, whose business outmatched several of the Japan-based national companies, nobody dared to even flirt with her; and she gave any who tried a cold shoulder.

It was such a scandal a while back, when a cooperation plan between Mamoru's business and the multi-national company she was exchanged to, as a coordinator, fell apart. Allegedly, the mild-mannered Mamoru punched the head of the other corporation at a cocktail party for unknown reason – or undisclosed for that matter. She was subjected to nasty name-calling when she chose to remain working for the rival, a Jadeite Jefferson, citing the unfinished contract as the driving force for her decision. Ever since then, Mamoru reportedly never talked to his lady friend any more, even though she was seen shopping with his wife, the ever–lovely Usagi, several times a year.

Many people criticized her of the perceived lack of gratitude, blaming the Chiba couple's separation on her "betrayal". Still others, most of them women having fallen for Jefferson's womanizing charm unreciprocated, accused her of backdoor affairs with her direct supervisor.

"Personal assistant?" they often snickered. "Maybe even more personal than that".

Being the illegitimate child of a renowned politician as she was, Rei Hino was seasoned to such rumors, all of which she responded to with a cold, piercing, confident gaze that sometimes sent chills down the spines of those who dared to whisper such things in her vicinity. When asked by tabloid newspapers about her boss, she remained cordial, knowing better than to give them basis for a sensationalist headline; but her cell phone knew better.

She eyed the ringing cell phone with disdain.

"Two texts from PITA", the screen read. Unknown to most, Jefferson's information was saved affectionately on her contact list as PITA, a.k.a. "pain in the ass".

"As if being nearly recognized by him wasn't enough," she grumbled to herself, accelerating, recalling the chance meeting at the five-star hotel.

Earlier, she had sneaked into the main control room at Ami's signal, erasing all surveillance data within fifteen minutes while all guards were knocked out with the special gas their genius prepared. Utilizing all herbal sources combined with advanced technology, the gas had short-term amnesiac by-products on whoever unfortunate enough to inhale it, plus its regular sedative effect.

A perfect accomplice to their plan.

Pressing the fancy button to the elevator, Rei Hino smirked to herself. The guards would remain knocked out for at least fifteen minutes more, and all surveillance cameras had been turned off, the tapes replaced by identical ones they stole a few days earlier.

Nobody would identify her as an unusual redhead woman traveling up to the management level, especially when she walked past the reception as another, with obviously dyed platinum hair. Problem was, neither of those was her real hair color.

The familiar "ding!" sound informed her that the elevator had arrived at that level. The metallic doors slowly opened, revealing a redhead in an extremely short skirt and fishnet stockings having trouble helping an athletic man standing up on his own feet.

She walked in, playing oblivious to the scene before her, though her mind registered the other woman as Beryl, coordinator of another cooperation plan with Jefferson's corporation.

Worse, they never quite got along at work or at social gatherings. One of Beryl's favorite pastimes, in fact, was to make snide remarks about Rei's upbringing. Fancying herself an upper–class lady, Beryl's behavior in fact illustrated that she was no more than a spoiled rich kid.

Rei pressed the button for the garage level, sneaking a glance at the obviously drunken man. And held back a frown. Jefferson?

To top it all up, she realized to her dismay that the elevator was going in the opposite direction.

Making quick calculations in her head, she refrained from a sigh of relief. All that just meant she would have to race out of the parking lot to avoid the reactivated surveillance cameras. No problem there, once the nuisance was out of sight.

Suddenly Beryl lost her balance, probably due to holding a man twice her size while standing in high heels, and by some bizarre turn of events, Jefferson slid across the floor, hitting his forehead on Rei's side of the elevator.

He looked up, rubbing his forehead, and gave her a drunken smile. "Hey there lovely."

She just scowled back. He reached out toward her; but stopped at her glare.

"Ooh, lovely temper."

Jefferson frowned, alcohol invading his breath. Rei tried her best not to scrunch her nose.

"Reminding me of someone..."

Her glare held firm, and she looked him dead in the eyes.

All was over in less than two minutes, the silent play ending with the elevator arriving at his–or Beryl's–chosen level in the hotel. The doors closed again, and Rei took a sigh of relief.

Something still bothered her.

His eyes. Jefferson did not look as drunk as his posture projected.

Rei did not even bother to open the text message as she headed toward the high-rise apartment complex she knew her teammates had most likely arrived at about ten minutes ago.

"What now?" Rei asked out loud to no one in particular when she noticed "PITA" calling.

Still, she could not decline her boss' call. They both knew that. And she was annoyed precisely because of that.

"Good evening, Rei speaking, how may I help you sir?"

"You never responded to my text."

"Sorry sir, I didn't notice." And though neither would admit it, they both knew she lied.

"Sooo..." he drawled, "what's up tonight?"

"I'm certain my personal plan is in no way related to the workplace sir."

"Aww, you're no fun."

"Is there anything I can help you with sir?"

"I'm drunk. Very drunk. Very very drunk."

As if I don't know that, she grumbled inwardly.

"Can you come pick me up?"

"Pardon?"

"Can you come pick me up? I'm completely wasted."

"I have to say sir, you don't sound that way to me. And I'm certain "picking up your drunk boss" is not on the job description or my contract."

"It will be there tomorrow if need be."

"That means it's not there tonight. Excuse me." She hung up, annoyed, knowing he would likely mock her about it the next day as always.

At the penthouse atop the high–rise apartment complex.

"I'm hungry now," Usagi whined, her sing-song voice rang from the living room to the kitchen where Ami was standing.

The petite bluenette was the last to step out, and the most careful one to double-check that the button to operate their helicopter storage was safely hidden behind a small shelf of kitchen towels. Their own fingerprints were the only access. "Maybe that's why no one took notice", she remarked to herself, contented with the little trick. When activated, the so-called vanity mirror in their kitchen slid aside without a sound, opening up space for entry; when deactivated, the whole area just looked plainly vain for having an extra mirror in the most unlikely of all places. Not that they would have visitors nosy enough – or vain enough, for that matter – to attempt to pull closer such an installed mirror, anyway.

She joined the others, noticing that Usagi's childish behaviors had stepped aside for her command mode. It was one of those things she admired in one of her best friends, and probably a trait adored by others as well: her ability to stay the same, true to who she was inside, while still keeping her head up whenever needed. In contrast to Mina's icy façade, Makoto's consistent bugger-off appearance, Rei's diplomatic mask and her own inquisitive silence, Usagi seemed the most unaffected by life's ups and downs, someone who would laugh under the piercing sunlight and still dance if the rain came pouring down right after that.

Ami snapped out of her usual philosophical moment when Mina took out the USB disguised as a shiny bobby pin on the front of her hair. It still amazed her how her teammate could wear such a heavy object, not in a literal sense, but which carried enough information to be confiscated at any high-tech checkpoint; and move around freely as if she never felt weighed down by responsibilities upon her shoulders. Ami knew her friend and teammate was burdened by duty, duty Mina felt she had to carry out smoothly in compensation for her past.

In fact, they all were–otherwise they would still be carefree souls without a moment of worry in the world.

Connecting the device to her laptop and projecting the images onto the projector screen, Usagi gestured toward the clock on her nearby table:

"According to what we've collected so far, the transaction would be taking place three evenings from now at the harbor they've used in the past."

"Fools," Makoto commented harshly, "they should have known better by now, after all we've busted them... how many times again?"

Automatically, Ami opened her mouth with the answer ready; but Usagi waved her off, and she in turn was cut off by Mina, the latter's facial expression a little thoughtful and curious at the same time.

"Why a harbor, though? I mean, apart from the crap about darkness and deep water being their allies, why do they always carry that out in the open? What if it rains?"

"Jeez, Mina," Makoto grinned, "we're never gonna finish the briefings at this rate. But after all, that transaction is your duty; feel free to reflect upon it", she ended her sentence with a wink. Mina pouted, but asked hopefully ayway:

"If the duty's already assigned to me, can we party the night away when Rei's back, then?"

"I have an assignment due in two days' time," Ami protested.

"Meaning you have one day and a half left to refine the twenty pages you already wrote three months back, genius" a voice rang out from the entrance to their living room, and the poor protester turned around to see a raven–haired lady in her most intimidating posture.

"Or you can study after we've all crashed the couch," Usagi suggested, a mischievous spark in her blue eyes, and Ami sighed.

"Oh, did you have enough time to stop by the convenience store, Rei-chan?" Usagi turned to the last teammate to arrive at their shared space.

"No," Rei shook her head. "I almost got caught by PITA".

"Pita... oh, you meant…"

"Yeah, the pain in the ass of a boss."

"What do you mean, 'almost got caught'?"

"Ran into him and Beryl in the elevator."

Makoto's eyes darkened. She met the woman once, randomly on the street, and came home with a coffee–soaked t-shirt and a flaring temper, barely contained.

"I've never liked her."

"Me neither," Rei shrugged. "I'll fill you all in later. Now who's gonna get the popcorn?"

"Ask Mina," Makoto and Usagi flashed identical grins.

"Uh... according to the calendar it's your turn Mina" Ami timidly chimed in.

"That counts as bullying, everyone", she continued while already making her way toward her private quarter to change into new clothes.

"And yet you obliged."

Mina glared at Rei, who met her gaze squarely as if she had not made the sarcastic remark. As Ami once explained, constantly being at each other's throat is the only way those two could feel comfortable showing they cared.

"Be right back!"

In front of the apartment complex.

The silver-haired cab driver stared into his rear view mirror. He had not expected to see her again so soon, only a couple of hours after their parting at the five-star hotel.

She walked straight to his parked vehicle, knocking on the window.

"Hey, do you mind taking me to a convenience store real quick? I'll pay for the round trip fare."

Mina said it all in one breath, only to notice the familiar hair color under the street light as he stepped out to hold the door for her.

"Huh, it's you again," she remarked as he started the engine.

"Nice to see you again, miss..."

"Call me V."

"Is that shortened for something?" he inquired, sounding as innocently curious as possible. "She went by the same alias among her clients", he thought to himself.

"Nah. And your name is...?"

"Call me Kale".

"Nice meeting you, Kale."

"Nice meeting you... uh, V."

"Yeah," she laughed suddenly, "miss V. has a funny ring to it."

Her laughter tinkled in his ears long after she changed the conversation topic to weather forecast. All the while, a thought was nagging at the back of her head.

"Where could I have possibly seen him before?"

A/N: So that's it! Last time I try fixing the timeline of this thing. Plot is the same, in summary. Thanks to all readers!