A/N: This is the first of some experimental chapters which occasionally alternate with normal chapters. This special update is not in chronological order. Spot the easter eggs if you can!

Approach of Absolute ZERO

by fluxfiction

EX. I: Liars' Palace

There are two ways to secure national independence and defense. The first is to protect the line of sovereignty. The second is to protect the line of interest.

— Prime Minister Aritomo Yamagata, 1890

7.

The air is crisp and smells of cool metal. In a calm silence between trains that come and go, Bourbon watches the escalators with their metal steps and rubber handles scrolling on an infinite conveyor loop. He waits for a sign of their mark, a short man with a particular stagger in his step, a veteran with a relationship that needs to be addressed by the likes of them. Bourbon has never wondered if that makes the target guilty or a victim. To survive in the Organization, there is no place to second-guess the innocent.

They call them the three whiskeys: Bourbon's analysis, Rye's reach, and the sharpshooting of the one known as Scotch. Each is dangerous on his own; combined, they're launched like a precision bullet.

Bourbon tugs his cap further down his face. He observes for a second. The mark doesn't appear.

Eventually, he turns to find his ravens.

"Nothing—" Bourbon begins.

Rye is brooding, bird-like in his long coat and feathery mane. Scotch has put down his bag, with one arm and a guitar wrapped around a young child. Teaching her the instrument. Ignoring how distinctly the guitar case and its soft fabric falls over the second instrument inside it.

"Nothing?" repeats Rye.

"Nothing," confirms Bourbon. The child is staring at him now, like he's an ant crawling out of soil. Bemusing enough at the best of times. Inviting impatience along with prickling awareness; one observant individual is enough to discover Scotch's rifle. "Hey. Put it away, and let's go."

"Where are you headed?" asks the child, staring at Rye.

Keen-eyed Rye ignores her with such deliberation she must be significant. Her dark hair falls messily against a soft pink shirt. Her fingernails are trimmed close to the ends of the fingers on her raised hand, and her lip catches on the end of a snaggletooth whenever she stretches her mouth. She's in middle school, at most. Something about this child is notable. She has bright green eyes like Rye's.

Bourbon notices the beeping of pedestrian lights. A crowd crosses. Rye's fearsome presence is waiting to join them. Bourbon looks to their third member and witnesses Scotch taking his guitar back, lowering one of those large, reliable hands on the girl's head.

"Paradise," Scotch replies.

Fondness lingers with the word filled with natural affection for the bright and precocious. Scotch packs his gear and turns to walk with Bourbon.

A cool wind picks up the smell of metal and ash. Then a train flies past, steel and rattling train tracks. It's thousands of kilograms of force in an instant, and at higher speeds, they call it a bullet. The laws of physics don't distinguish between a target made of paper or one of blood and bone.

Bourbon falls into the herd.

1.

There is a pattern at the Police Academy visible only to those searching for hidden truths. It takes the form of a shape, a number, and 1-3 characters from the roman alphabet. Almost like a game in the bottom corner of the clear projector sheets used by the instructors—clues in the place of a page number.

Matsuda finds Rei copying them down and says, "Those things? They're just doodles."

"They're too deliberate to be doodles, don't you think?" Rei responds.

Matsuda reaches for his notebook and turns its pages back to the beginning. There, in the margin, Matsuda has once recorded over a dozen sets of codes and made an effort to decode them. "The numbers don't correspond to a position or an alphabet. I thought the shapes might have been for tagging groups, but there's nothing that consistent after grouping them. I've even tried counting and assigning frequencies like Dancing Men. Nothing."

Rei sees that Matsuda has sets he's missed. "You're that bored in class, huh?"

"You betcha." Matsuda stretches as his work is copied, popping his neck with a crack and a grin. "Don't get disappointed when you find out it was all a waste of time."

6.

Plastic components sewn into the lining of jackets. Other components arranged inside various objects, edges carefully lined up to look natural when viewed through a machine. Bourbon makes it past security and collects the backpack rolling out of the X-Ray before it stops and holds up the line of people waiting to enter the stadium. He walks towards a person spotted earlier.

They collide as the person makes to light a cigarette.

"Oof!" says Bourbon, ducking down so the lighter lands between his feet. Bourbon snatches it. Pretends to fumble. Swaps it for one hidden in his hand. "Sorry, I'm really sorry."

A muttered response. More interest in a cigarette than towards one of a thousand strangers passed in a single day. Bourbon makes it to a staircase framed by baseball artwork when a scream bursts into the eaves. The X-Ray technicians are briefly distracted by the person who almost burns herself discovering the lighter's flame is larger than she remembered.

Bourbon rings a number.

"Rye is in," he says.

"We're both in," Scotch amends. "Good distraction."

"That's my job. You do yours."

"Then as planned."

The line goes dead. Bourbon wanders around for a while, comparing the architecture to the maps he memorised, then takes a seat in a waiting area, removes his bag, and places his jacket within it. A minute later, the person next to him takes the bag and walks off. Bourbon reads a pamphlet for two more minutes. Finally he receives a text message informing him his partners are ready.

He takes point in the stands, mapping security's movements with his binoculars. On the field, players in numbered jerseys finish their standard warm-ups. One of the fans trickling in nearby says something into his phone about today's weather being perfect. Soon enough the opening ceremonies begin and introductions are made of the two teams vying for the same victory. Bourbon continues monitoring. Nothing looks to be interfering with the plan.

The game begins. Time flashes up on the scoreboard. Somewhere in the building, Scotch is assembling the many pieces of an explosive, and until Bourbon sees Rye appearing in the stands behind third base, Bourbon is to assume the operation has not yet moved to the next phase. The three whiskeys have become one of the Organization's top squads. They've joined the ranks of those out for hire. None of them know who requested them for their reliability. They only need to know their task and how much money is on the line.

Despite being high-end hitmen, it's no different to an ordinary job most of the time.

Rye emerges in the stands, opening up a tray of grilled yakitori.

Three minutes later, Bourbon receives a text from Scotch. How's the playoff?

Bourbon checks the location of security one last time against his mental map. Nothing unexpected, he starts to type. But the home team scores, and the fans around him jump to their feet, clapping and cheering and beating the air with wild enthusiasm. The wind roars in his ears and he catches sight of something which isn't right.

He rings a number and sees Rye pick up.

"Hey," says Bourbon. "There's a TV broadcast camera to your lower left. What is it looking at?"

Rye doesn't look at the TV camera. Despite the impossibility of picking out a single individual from his distance, the sniper locks eyes with Bourbon through the binoculars as if to ask him what he's doing, going against the plan.

"Answer me," Bourbon growls.

Rye leans down for a better look at the camera, his chin moving as he follows it. "Gate twenty."

A figure moves behind Rye, a man whose cap and jersey are distinctive. He stands out as someone suspicious, looking even less like a baseball fan than Rye does in normal clothing. Amateur mistake, wearing the wrong team colours. The stands over near third base are filled with yellow, not blue.

Bourbon hangs up. He pretends to look for a dropped object and scans the bleachers for signs his location has been compromised. Half a minute passes and he sees nothing aside from people paying attention to the game. The woman sitting beside him shifts her legs closer to herself and Bourbon carefully waits for another seven seconds before he straightens and turns his binoculars to the pitch, imitating the people sitting around him.

The TV broadcast camera still points at where Scotch will appear.

Rye has moved, and the man in blue has moved with him.

Not good. Bourbon gets to his feet and connects his phone to an earpiece. He dials another number.

Scotch answers. "Hi."

"We've been set up."

Scotch doesn't question Bourbon's conclusion. "Abort?"

Even without running through the possible outcomes, they can't afford that option. There's a lot of money on this mission to destroy the stadium. The Organization has no tolerance for those who expose its existence. Rei can't let Hiromitsu be preserved as a criminal on camera. Bourbon continues through the corridors, building conclusions in the halls. If this is a set-up, then whoever it is knows that Gate 20 is the only location which satisfies their client's request. He pauses at a flight of stairs, then heads down.

Think! Is there anything else they can do?

Expecting the entrance, he's taken by surprise when the level that opens up is the food court. There's pork cutlets, noodles, a yakitori stand giving off the smell of grilled meat. In the middle of the floor, there's a stand full of keyrings and sporting memorabilia for people who haven't visited the gift shop. Against one of the walls is a vending machine selling hot drinks.

He runs through their options and feels a possibility expanding in the wings.

"Lose half the fuse," says Bourbon.

"What?" Scotch asks, confused. They'll have less time if he does that.

"Go inside and buy what I tell you to." Bourbon relays the shopping list. "It'll get you through without being identified."

"Oh, I see. Chemistry, huh?"

"Right. Make sure to take the fuse—"

"—to make it harder to connect me to the gift shop. Got it. And the rest of the plan?"

"No interruptions."

"Then I'll see you on the way out."

Scotch hangs up.

At the vending machine, Bourbon purchases oolong tea in hot.

This baseball game will be remembered by fans of the home team as one where the fourth inning is called short. It's all thanks to a plume of smoke billowing from Gate 20, toxic and noxious and smelling slightly sweet, courtesy of a person playing a nasty prank with celluloids, a lighter, and an aluminium soft drink can. The following evacuation is chaotic, a mass of moving people with their hands over their nose or their vision blocked by sleeves or other clothing. A foreigner in the wrong team colours is said to have stumbled into a person that spills hot liquid onto his arms. Depending on the story, the foreigner drops a gun, or a taser, or an instant camera filled with shady photographs.

The three whiskeys disappear before the bomb goes off. The explosion burns with a mighty tremble, scorching through an administration office, hundreds of documents, and part of one building. Investigators will find shattered glass and twisted metal and no useful evidence except an inconclusive lead with a general manager.

Common sense should have them scatter, but Bourbon ends up at the regular joint regardless. A figure notices his entry and orders a drink.

"Hey," says Scotch.

"You shouldn't be here," says Bourbon.

Scotch smiles. "I'm not the only one."

The stubble adds something to Hiromitsu's gentle features. Rei's gaze lands on Hiromitsu's hand and those long fingers curling loosely on the tabletop. One of his fingers is callused. Rei entertains the possibility of it being from playing guitar or using a fruit knife.

Hiromitsu stops inspecting Rei's face, and Rei takes a seat.

"What happened out there, Zero?" Hiromitsu asks. His tone reminds Rei of the odd calm demonstrated by Rye despite being threatened by an unknown, at risk of losing the operation. Rei flicks a pickpocketed passport onto the table. The person in blue is an American born in Georgia, the stamps and visas inside revealing nothing interesting. The document will be dropped off somewhere for someone to find later.

The drink lands between them and Hiromitsu smiles.

"Let's play for it," Hiromitsu says.

Rei raises his fist. A second later, Hiromitsu's rock defeats Rei's scissors. The drink lands and Hiromitsu pushes it over with his fingers.

"You won," says Rei.

"It's a joke. Thanks for the save. I got it for you."

Rei raises the whiskey to his nose and mouth. It smells woody, sweetish, a hint of phenol. Sweet enough on his tongue to drink easy, deep enough to meet his expectations. Satisfying in his chest, even if seeing Hiromitsu's hands reminds him of where they sit. The callus is too low on the finger to be from guitar, too high up to be from cutting fruits; it's from shooting drills, a trigger mark. Bourbon calling the shots in preparation for the day that Hiromitsu will kill.

"You don't look so good," Hiromitsu says quietly.

"Haven't been sleeping," Rei mutters.

"Ah."

It's because Rei's closed his eyes that he hears it: the steep, swirling edge around Hiromitsu's words, a note from grim understanding. Hiromitsu knows better than anyone else what it's like to be kept awake by the scent of steel and the sound of screaming. No sleepovers, no camps; that was part of being a friend to the young Morofushi, who thrashed in bed and couldn't stay away from his guardians for long periods. It shouldn't have been surprising that he picked up his other hobbies and skills—cooking, gymnastics, music, collaboration. Rei's childhood friend: a boy who tries to make others happy despite dreaming of blood and the fear of death.

The glass is warm under Rei's fingers. Bourbon downs the shot.

"I'm fine. Let's move on."

2.

There are moments in boys' lives which shape them into men, and for their group, the case of the goblet tattoo carries one. They develop keen judgement. They mature into fine policemen. They become comrades, bonds forged by flame.

Hiromitsu changes.

The first time he laughs, it's infectious and bright. His easy-going smiles peek mischief out of cracks in a layer of ice. He's a deep lake filled with treasure, waiting for spring to come around. He changes back into who he should have been—before joy was taken without a sound.

This Morofushi Hiromitsu finds his childhood friend puzzling over the mystery of the projector sheets and invites himself to the investigation.

"They're not page numbers," Rei says, collating his pages.

"Are they indices? Anything to do with the text?"

"No. No pattern. The only consistency is that they're always in the same location, no matter which class they might be from."

Hiromitsu gives Rei a sharp look. "Then—?"

"It's like none of the teachers notice they're present."

"A standalone challenge."

"Seems that way, doesn't it?"

They stay up for an extra half-hour every night or wake a half-hour early. Hiromitsu starts easy with alphabetic substitution, frequency analysis, and identifies a carry-over error in one of Rei's rotating ciphers. They go reading and researching, learning about the different cryptographic systems used throughout history.

Hiromitsu finds a paragraph of interest. "The shape and number, do you think it maps to a grid?" he poses.

Drawing up a grid leaves them with an array of roman characters in the cells. It resembles a sudoku, or confetti made of a shredded English dictionary.

"It might not be Japanese," says Rei.

"What are you thinking?"

Rei writes down their names in roman letters:

furuya rei

morofushi hiromitsu

"This is how our names appear on passports, which use Hepburn romanization. But if we're using a keyboard, we might type..."

huruya rei

morohusi hiromitu

"Kunrei-shiki, or perhaps waapuro."

"I remember," says Hiromitsu. "We learned Kunrei-shiki until junior high when we started learning English. Although the Cabinet ordered that Kunrei-shiki should be the official method of romanisation, Hepburn is still in use. Foreigners find it easier to read since it borrows from existing English phonetics."

"It's more intuitive to them," Rei agrees. "So we could be applying the wrong intuition to this puzzle."

Hiromitsu has started writing. "What differences are there between Hepburn and Kunrei-shiki? Conjugations."

"What else do they teach in school?" Rei thinks aloud. "There are six different symbols. If it's a key, what key goes up to the number six..."

"A list of elementary classes?"

"Even for the largest schools, the numbers go too high to be classes. Elementary begins at age six and runs for six years. Classes are mathematics, science, music, life environments, language..."

"Language?"

Rei lifts his gaze and stares into Hiromitsu's face, wide-eyed.

"That's it," says Rei, "Kyouiku kanji. It's the official list of kanji published by the Ministry of Education that specifies the kanji that elementary school students should learn in each of six school years, and their order."

"Excuse me, Furuya-san, Morofushi-san," another student interrupts their study session, knocking awkwardly on Hiromitsu's door. "Onizuka would like to see you."

The two inside the room look to each other then look back.

"Um," the student adds, with a bit more hesitation, "I was asked to escort you. Now."

They make it down the hallways and to the office of Onizuka Hachizou. Their stern teacher with a harsh face is someone who glares at even a hint of an untucked shirt and keeps his desk in order. The two young men line up and wait for their instructor's acknowledgement with the same level of discipline.

For a few moments, Onizuka continues flipping through some papers, and nothing happens.

Finally, he locates what he's searching for.

"It's a full sheet there, that," he says, seemingly not minding how Rei and Hiromitsu have both grabbed at it when he hands it out. "Bring it with you to the personnel room next Tuesday after our last class, whether you finish decoding it or not."

"Yes, sir."

"I know you've been distracted. For the sake of your grade, you'll want to have this finished, you hear."

"Yes, sir."

Then Onizuka doesn't shout, does not raise his voice. He breaks character from his hard-boiled self as easily as removing a helmet after a long day. That, more than anything, tells them this piece of paper covered in full blocks of the mysterious code is about to become unequivocally important. "If you ask me—and Matsuda isn't with you, so I know you won't. But if you do, you'll want to know that this isn't an ordinary game. Get it right."

Rei and Hiromitsu glance at each other. "Understood, sir," they echo.

"Dismissed!"

5.

Spacious with a touch of Western elegance, the atrium of Haido City Hotel sees enough businessmen and tourists to boast a team of over two dozen. Guests arrive, streaming in through large doors. Luggage is picked up and transported on shiny carts. Business services and a smoking room hide behind a row of payphones. Check-in takes place at the counter deep in the back. Amuro crosses the space countless times a day, six months of service training crammed into the span of two weeks. Everything about his manner must be perfect. Perfect hospitality and perfect service. The bellhop uniform doesn't make him invisible on its own. He must become invisible, a person doing a job they've done for years, and fade into the background perceived by every visitor.

"May I help you book a taxi?" The bellhop offers a grey-haired gentleman in a brown suit.

"Yes, please."

"To where will you be headed?"

"T University. Thank you."

The bellhop inclines his blond head. "Just wait a moment."

As Amuro calls for the taxi, he's made aware of a flash of black in his peripheral vision. Hiromitsu pulls away from a payphone. He catches Amuro's eye for a second, then stares at one of the time zone clocks hung on the wall. Amuro follows the hour hand of the clock and finds a tall, long-haired shadow lingering by a painting.

Hiromitsu's lips move as he speaks into the payphone's handset. He's too far to hear, but Amuro can read the message sent to the man overseeing the operation. We've made contact.

At the hotel's front desk, the taxi service confirms a driver is on the way and hangs up. Instead of putting down the phone, Amuro reaches into his pocket and pulls out a notebook and a pen. He flicks the pen in a gesture as he pretends to take notes.

They have two minutes.

Hiromitsu moves away from the payphones and blends into a stream of people heading towards the elevator.

Sixty seconds. Amuro fingers the pages in his notebook as he counts against the clock. Forty seconds will be the time it takes for Hiromitsu to reach the seventh floor. At fifty-six, he returns the desk phone to its cradle, and by seventy-two, he's back by the old gentleman's side, bowing as he should.

"A taxi will be here shortly," says the bellhop. Amuro gestures to a padlocked suitcase by the man's feet. "Shall I also take your luggage to your room?"

"No, thank you. This is important."

Rei feels the weight of Rye's gaze on him. This is the final test of their capabilities. They sent the two undercover officers on this mission, planting Rei among the hotel staff while Hiromitsu was still undergoing skills examinations. Rei and Hiromitsu have each proven themselves trustworthy enough that the Organization even trained Amuro Tooru prior to deployment. The hawk-eyed man assessing their performance had only three words to share with Amuro after his cram classes came to an end.

"Time is money."

And so must be the bioinformatics conference at T University, where the old man is presenting.

"Of course," Amuro says seamlessly, moving to one side as he thinks quickly about the next step. He and Hiromitsu were given separate instructions. From what he knows, the suitcase contains highly important bioinformatics material. His job is to get the suitcase to Hiromitsu, who possesses another piece of the Organization's ultimate objective, given different instructions than Rei.

"Above all things," Rye had said, while delivering Amuro to the hotel where he would be inserted, "the Organization values talent. A smart man can pretend to be stupid to hide his intelligence. On the other hand, those who are genuinely inept are a waste of resources. You seem brighter than you act, Amuro Tooru. For your friend's sake, don't be the one that 'washes out'."

The old man goes with the bellhop towards the well-travelled taxi street. Rei's heartbeat quickens. To get intelligence on the Organization, he has to get the suitcase to Hiromitsu. He can't fail here. It can't be taken away.

They turn a corner and Rye goes out of sight.

"'Sir,'" Rei says softly, in English, unable to lose, not here and now. "'Our hotel made a mistake. That is not your suitcase.'"

The man starts. "'What?'"

"'I'm sorry. I noticed as you collected your suitcase from cloaking. The... Japanese culture is strict. I cannot speak bad of my coworkers. I am sorry.'" Rei doesn't give the man a chance to react. He steps and stumbles into the suitcase, tipping into the man's coat. He grabs the suitcase by the lock. "'Please allow me to fix it.'"

The man shuffles backwards, hissing, "'Get your hands off!'" in sudden offence. "'What do you mean? It looks exactly like my suitcase!'"

"'Do you want to try open it?'"

Fear flashes through the man's eyes. There's a sound of loud jingling as he fumbles in his pockets then pulls a keyring out. He kneels down to try unlock the lock. The key fails to turn. "Damnit!"

"Please," Rei says softly. "Wait here for thirty minutes. I will find your suitcase."

The man searches for his cellphone, unaware that Rei lifted it when he stumbled. Realising that it, too, is missing, he looks around. "My taxi..."

The bellhop gestures to a poster for one of the hotel's restaurants. "We would be delighted to offer complimentary service for your understanding."

Stone-walled by hospitality, the man comes to an agreement. Rei takes the suitcase and calls for someone to help the man with a call at the payphones, then rings the restaurant ahead to charge the bill to an empty room. He drops the cellphone at lost and found and takes the suitcase to floor seven. Behind the door to Room 705, Rye and Hiromitsu turn as Amuro Tooru enters.

A small blink is all the indication Amuro gets of Rye's surprise.

"Don't use the lockpicks yet," Amuro advises. "I jammed a paper device inside the mechanism. Have a paperclip or a needle?"

Hiromitsu holds up a key extractor and gets to work removing the object. With Rye sent to keep watch, Rei doesn't ask about what Hiromitsu's instructions are for the suitcase of an internationally regarded bioinformatics specialist. They sponsored Amuro's attendance at a cram course run at a service school owned by Karasuma Ren'ya's former chief butler. But if Rye gets his hands on security camera footage to break down how, exactly, the bellhop got his way with the suitcase, any basic check will reveal that Amuro Tooru's backstory lacks an explanation for his pickpocketing skills or an ability to understand a lock.

You seem brighter than you act, Amuro Tooru.

Furuya Rei has confirmed Rye's suspicions.

There's more to 'Amuro Tooru' than he pretends to be.

3.

Rei and Hiromitsu meet outside the personnel room, its plain door within reach of fingertips. Through the window, administrative staff go about their duties, surrounded by all the books and files generated from the last twenty-one weeks. There's a whiteboard marked with final dates. If they concentrate, they can spot a list of action items to wrap up the six-month course, and preparation for the graduation ceremony tagged with magnet-pinned notes.

A silent round of rock-paper-scissors has Rei opening the door.

"Furuya and Morofushi of Onizuka class, here on Onizuka's instruction," Rei introduces.

They're acknowledged. "Ah. Furuya and Morofushi. Your interviewer is waiting in the side room."

The two young men bow as appropriate. "Thank you very much."

When they enter the side room, they find a woman staring out over the empty track and field. Age has worn her, a hint of gold in light-coloured hair washed down into dirty blond. A symmetry in her stance suggests tranquility and even-temperament. On the sound of the door closing, her head turns. "Furuya Rei and Morofushi Hiromitsu, I understand," she greets, clearly important enough to have been given their information in advance. "My name is Yasuda Yomi. I'm a Division Chief from Chiyoda. I hear that both of you are working on my puzzle?"

Her puzzle?

The young men blink and reassess the woman in that same instant.

"How far have you progressed?" she asks, holding her hand out for—for their homework.

Hiromitsu hands over their written solution for Onizuka's extra assignment.

Rei begins with the way they broke through the hardest part. "Kyouiku kanji."

As he elaborates, telling her about how they worked on the code around their usual classwork, he remembers that Date was approached by an Assistant Inspector, while Matsuda and Hagiwara were approached by a Captain, equivalent to the rank of Inspector. Her title of 'Division Chief' should be the rank above that. Is what he and Hiromitsu have achieved so significant that they've attracted more attention than prodigy Matsuda?

She says, "Very good," once Rei finishes his final sentence. "Do you have anything to add, Morofushi-kun?"

"No, nothing. It's—um," Hiromitsu hesitates. "Your name isn't so common. Somewhat like mine. I remember hearing of it. I think I, we might know of you through my brother."

"That might be likely. I know Koumei. Nagano's Division One is tight-knit. I worked with him for a time."

"How is he? Is he holding up?"

"You don't communicate with him?"

Hiromitsu grows silent and stares into the floor.

"He was doing well enough when we last met," Yasuda says finally, and gestures to some chairs. She takes a seat, the two men following suit, then moves the folders which had been on the central meeting table. "One year ago, I was officially reassigned to Tokyo. The NPA, which operates on a national level, is concerned by current and emerging threats. I wish to present both of you with positions on behalf of the NPA Security Bureau. Go ahead and take the documents."

The two young men glance at one another, and do so.

"Furuya Rei," Yasuda says, "Twenty-two. You attended Touto University, studying law with a focus on political science. Graduating with straight-A marks, you enrolled in the Police Academy with unprecedented grades. Your fluency in English allowed you to add foreign research, and your articles make interesting insights. What draws you to international relations?"

Rei takes a breath. "I became a police officer to find someone. She was a doctor from Britain. If she vanished from Japan, there would be clues in the rest of the world."

"Useful. Good to see you're able to work towards a target." Yasuda turns to the other. "Morofushi Hiromitsu, Koumei's younger brother. Also at Touto University in Tokyo. Like Koumei, your studies focused on criminal law. Just recently you saved the man who murdered your parents. And the Academy's instructors have nothing but praise for your determination to see justice."

"I am honoured by your kindness," Hiromitsu responds, as he should.

"How familiar are you with the first Prime Minister of Japan?"

"He was censured by the public for trying to meddle with private matters before his death," Hiromitsu answers.

"Furuya-kun?"

"He established our system of local government based on studies of the systems in Europe," Rei recalls. "He modernised the police system and introduced conscription by applying the samurai philosophy to the common class. A proud military officer before becoming the first Prime Minister, he was a central architect of the foundations underpinning military and politics in modern Japan."

"That's correct," Yasuda says, gazing at Rei. "That's all correct. What else should be mentioned is that the rapid rate of change is due to key policies that limited non-military powers. In recent years, our country's politicians have debated what parliament can and cannot do. The cause of this includes the German influences at the root of our constitution."

"Oh!" Hiromitsu gasps. "Is that why little has been accomplished? I thought—"

"—that all politicians were happier maintaining the status quo?" Rei finishes. "Hiro, you don't watch the news, do you? Miss all the faction wars? Electoral reforms?"

"No," Hiromitsu says automatically. "Well, perhaps. I've been preoccupied." By my parents' murderer goes unsaid.

Rei continues, "My paper focused on how individuals have generated ripple effects in a nation where the way of a group is deemed to be more important than the will of a single person." Rei's eyes flicker to Yasuda, who has tucked her hands over her knees, listening. "If the NPA's Security Bureau is concerned by current and emerging threats, I can only conclude that they have an interest in taking measures against individuals with notions of generating chaos on a large scale."

"'Current and emerging'," Hiromitsu murmurs, a thoughtful note rolling carefully off his tongue. "Then it's like how anyone can say anything they want and, thanks to the Internet, they'll be taken seriously."

"The modern world acts at a rate that empowers individuals like nothing else in human history," Yasuda agrees. "Should the wrong people take advantage, it becomes a matter to address for the safety and security of our country."

"To find people with the right aptitude, you issued the coded puzzle," Rei concludes.

"Correct. The Tokyo Metropolitan Public Security Bureau and I have received great recommendations for you both. In short, Morofushi-kun's offer is by the security divisions which conduct investigations on the ground against individuals known or suspected to be up to terrorist actions. Furuya-kun, you are being sought by the foreign affairs divisions, which carry out analysis of overseas threats and execute counterintelligence operations. Open the folders to review."

The two young men do as they're instructed, and Rei remembers a conversation from his childhood, a discussion between his parents. His naturalised Japanese father was explaining a foreign movie to his native Japanese mother. There had been something about a contract as a central plot point. In contrast to styles of contracts used in Japan, Western contracts highlight terms and conditions which must be followed no matter the circumstances. The information about the PSB contained within the files is not so strict. An outline of their future in the national police establishment, its guidelines describe what role they would be taking.

Hiromitsu's mouth has fallen open. "The aim of counteracting criminal activities before they happen, and..."

"...the capacity to investigate occurrences, if they have already happened," Rei finishes. "A unit that manages both prevention and swift response."

It's perfect for Hiromitsu, who tries to make others happy, and Rei, who joined the police to find a female doctor who went missing.

"Nobody else has solved the code so comprehensively," Yasuda confers. "You may choose to decline and allow the Academy to place you into the MPD. But what you will get is an ordinary position, with none of the unique work performed by the PSB. Please, consider accepting these roles and responsibilities. Work with me and we can prevent future tragedies. There are no other people I might trust to protect Japan as the two of you."

4.

"They found out." Hiromitsu says, when he gets to the white sedan. He nods to the officer who's taken his jacket and cap, a driving specialist that steps into the black car that Hiromitsu left. The exchange lasts a matter of seconds in a side street between two blocks of buildings.

Hiromitsu drops into the back seat of the white car, letting a curtain of dry-cleaning items hide him next to Rei. "They knew I was using a fake ID from the start."

"Are we being followed?" Rei asks, alert and moving.

"Don't rush, Furuya," Yasuda says calmly. "He's still alive."

"Yeah," Hiromitsu agrees, before Rei can comment, "I'm still alive."

Rei stops pushing aside one of the coats hanging behind the door closest to him.

Yasuda Yomi's sedan continues down a green sycamore-lined Tokyo way.

The last time this voice came from Hiromitsu's mouth, they'd gotten distracted during a fishing trip and returned home very sheepish, covered in sand and cold from clothes full of water. Hiromitsu breathes in and releases a long breath, carefully measured in two groups of eighths.

At last, Hiromitsu gathers himself enough. He explains, "After they revealed they knew my ID was fake, I had to agree that I was an officer. Then I explained I hated the police. They never did enough to find the person who killed my parents, I said. I wanted to get back at them by being part of them. And they believed me."

"They would take you on?" Yasuda asks.

"Yes." Hiromitsu scratches his stubble. "I must have been convincing."

"Was there a condition?"

"There was."

"What's that?" Rei asks.

Hiromitsu clenches his hands and his knuckles grow white. "I have to bring you, Zero."

"They want insurance," Yasuda concludes.

Hiromitsu reaches into his pocket for a sheet, and Yasuda accepts it. The sheet is unfolded to a photo of Hiromitsu with a shotgun and Rei spotting his shots next to him.

Rei recognises the firing range immediately as she hands it back. "I see. Two weeks ago we were working on documentation for your alias as a sport shooter. So that's how they found me."

"This is security camera footage," Yasuda remarks. "I don't believe this is the type which is saved online. They must have had someone on-site."

"If they knew all along, perhaps they also have access to the government," says Rei.

"What are you thinking?"

"We, the prefectural police, manage the issuing of driver's licenses. As the driver's license is legitimate, everything registered under it is also legitimate. That's how we made the original sets of IDs. But birth and death certificates are organised by individual municipalities. For them to be sure that the 'Eisaka Jouji' who signed into the building is fake, they would have to know he has no birth certificate attached to his ID."

"If they know there's no birth certificate, they'll know I'm an officer with enough resources to create such a robust ID," says Hiromitsu.

"Or," says Yasuda, "They don't think that Furuya-kun is also involved with us in the police." The car stops at a pedestrian crossing, giving way to the public. "The Police Academy doesn't train ordinary officers how to use sniping scopes, and pardon my assessment, but Furuya-kun does not look like he would be a member. If my suspicions are right, they think a threat to Furuya-kun can turn Morofushi-kun against us."

"Making Hiro into a 'double agent'," Rei murmurs, as the car starts driving again. "That they're willing to take that risk..."

"They're confident they can take both of you out. That's how they've always been." Light brown eyes appear briefly in the rear-view mirror as Yasuda glances into Rei's face. "Most importantly, let's not forget they want to meet you, Furuya-kun. The Organization which has crossed your path only in intelligence reports now wishes to meet you in person. From here, what would you choose?"

The Organization knows Hiromitsu's face. It's not a question.

"I'll do it," Rei says.

"No," Hiromitsu cuts in. "They found out who I am too easily. If things go wrong, we can't make you a new identity."

"What if we use someone else's identity?" Rei asks.

Hiromitsu inhales. "Identity theft?"

"It will be impossible to find an identity on short notice," Yasuda advises. "Legalities aside, an operation like that has never been attempted. But I can tell you, if it was, we would have had to start monitoring to find a person with the right circumstances far sooner than the time we have left."

"Circumstances?"

"Similar age. Few friends or familial relationships. A good background. Enough records to step into the person's life." Yasuda pauses. "And as you say, birth and death certificates have no central repository. The individual would have to relocate to another prefecture."

"If I knew someone who was born in Tokyo, with his death registered elsewhere, and a family who moved, meaning there's no relatives left in the city..."

"How did he die?"

"In the same accident that almost took my life."

"When was this, Zero?" Hiromitsu asks.

"A year before you transferred to my grade school," says Rei. "The school went on a trip, where I ended up separated with a classmate after rain and flash floods. We were trapped in rubble, and it was cold, so the boy and I spoke for a long time to stay warm. He told me about himself, even though we barely interacted outside of activities assigned by teachers. He passed before the rescuers found us."

"I heard about that," Hiromitsu says. "Wouldn't that have made the news?"

"It did, but... I was delirious when they found me, wearing his jacket because he wanted me to have it if anything happened..."

"The media would have reported that you died," Yasuda finishes.

Rei nods grimly. She would know how it ended, with her years in Intelligence. "That's exactly what happened."

The car pulls over. Yasuda flicks on the hazard lights, turning around to look at them.

"It could work," Yasuda says. "It's the greatest chance. If you, Furuya-kun, are able to pose as a civilian, thereby allowing them to trust Morofushi-kun, then we can bring this long and bloody enemy to justice."

"I can't let him," says Hiromitsu.

"Why not?" Rei asks.

"You weren't there when he found me. You don't know how dangerous he is."

"Tell me about the person who met you in the warehouse."

"Two people met me," Hiromitsu corrects. "They both knew who I was the moment I stepped inside. The one who said my identity was false was heavyset, with a square jaw. I never saw his eyes. The person who found and presented the photos was a member with long, black hair, who the heavyset one called Rye. You can't go, Zero."

"They know about me," says Rei, indicating the photograph. "They won't kill me if I can be used against you."

"How is knowing your life is in danger better than knowing I'm not dead?"

"Because I want you alive."

"So does Rye."

"That Rye person kept you alive only because he wants to use you."

"I owe him."

A surge of emotion rises within Rei, worry and fear, at the sight of old, bone-deep terror reappearing on his best friend when it should never be present again, and he says, "Then you'll walk into danger by yourself?"

"They believed my cover," says Hiromitsu, using that peculiar voice again: apologetic yet unregretful. "We knew it would be dangerous. I'll go back and tell them that you hate me and I hate you."

Rei holds a hand up in the shape of a fist. "Let's play for it."

"Really?"

"Why not?"

After a period of thought, Hiromitsu agrees, and they janken.

As children, they had this same argument a long time ago. At the beach they'd found an interesting rock formation with what looked like a giant fish, but couldn't agree if they should take a closer look. Hiromitsu encouraged Rei, despite Rei's hesitation after witnessing first-hand the dangers of ferocious water. The day ended with the two of them soaking wet and feeling like they'd each made a revolutionary new discovery.

"How?" says Hiromitsu, staring at his open palm. "You were going to do 'rock.' You have a tell."

Rei brings his two fingers up for peace.

"I know."

8.

He becomes Director on a bloody anniversary, a full number of years after the night Hiromitsu broke free of his past. Each of them isn't surprised that, despite the annual meetup being Hagiwara's idea, Hagiwara fails to make it. On the first anniversary, they drank to the memory of a man who passed the one time he didn't finish his job right. They shared stories about waiting, old tales of pretenses and half-lies, joking about how Hagiwara couldn't be gone for good; he must simply be running late to his own life.

They miss the second anniversary due to work. An analysis of political rioting, the aftermath of a political riot, and an investigation into a crash involving a vehicle and a civilian who'd been part of the riot. They nodded to each other on site and carried on with public duty.

This year, Hiromitsu doesn't arrive.

"No, I don't know why," Rei lies.

Date Wataru has no reason to know what happened. The ghosts that follow Rei are invisible to the homicide detective who believes they're both ordinary officers.

"Where you now?" Date asks.

"Ginza."

"Impressive," Matsuda replies. He holds up one finger meaningfully then takes a long drink from his glass. "Guess that's where they all go once they make it."

Date looks between the two. "What do you know that I don't?"

"From the ten or twenty people picked every year to receive executive training at the Police Academy, our buddy Zero is there repping Tokyo."

"Is that true, Furuya?"

"Yes," says Rei. He shows them his new badge: Assistant Inspector, Tokyo Metropolitan Police.

Just for that, Rei is nominated to buy the next round.

Matsuda sends him a grin with thanks when his lands. "I heard there was a sniping on the news, somewhere in Ginza," he says.

"Yeah," Date says, with the grim nod of experience. "A person was shot, and witnesses claim to have seen a figure on a roof. We're investigating and it seems most likely the roof was a decoy, and the shot was fired from an outdoor terrace. Either way, there's nothing on the perpetrator's motive or how they got in and out without being noticed."

"Someone in the building must have helped them," Matsuda suggests. "Bribes, that shit."

"They might have been threatened," says Rei.

"Threatened? If a civilian was threatened, why didn't they come to the police?" Matsuda asks. "These days, the public will be paid off for anything. You wouldn't believe me if I told you where I've been because of a bomb threat sent in."

Date reaches over the table for a toothpick. "Hold on, Matsuda. Zero might be right. Remember where he and Morofushi went?"

The comment gives Matsuda pause. "Public security, wasn't it?" He sends Rei a long glance. "Did you ever tell us if you did the patrol work, or the," he makes a gesture which sweeps his fingers broadly through space, "surveillance?"

"Can't say," Rei replies.

"You still meet up with Morofushi every day?" Matsuda asks.

"I don't," Rei replies.

"Aren't you in the same squad?"

"No," says Rei, keeping his words level. "He quit the office."

"You must really think we're stupid, trying to sell us that one."

"Who's making assumptions here, Matsuda?" Rei asks. "Though Hiro and I are childhood friends, Hiro can do whatever he wants."

Matsuda concedes, breaking eye contact to eat some lotus root chips. "Guess you're right."

A thoughtful expression settled on Date's face as the two spoke. Date says aloud, "Have we all heard about the temporary hold on undercover operations?"

"Yeah," says Matsuda. "Our squad got a memo about the hold. Squad leader also learned about an officer's death in relation to that. But with how the news makes a spectacle of officers who're killed, it makes you wonder why it didn't make the headlines this time, right?" The chips crunch between his teeth. He's thinking of Hagiwara and the broadcasts about the bomb disposal team which lost their lives. "Makes you wonder if there's something that can't be reported."

"And that's...?" Date begins.

"We know an officer died and they're making new policies for undercover work. And we know that the law in Japan states that undercover police can't commit crimes." Matsuda's grin is unkind. "Wouldn't be a far stretch to say an undercover officer might have killed another officer, is it?"

"Then the person who started those rumours—" says Date.

"Might've been me," Matsuda agrees. "But you know some countries allow undercover officers to undertake criminal acts? Wouldn't that mean their officers are being paid for doing crimes? The Japanese system makes sense. People shouldn't be able to avoid that kind of justice whether or not they're bringing down greater crimes."

Pain bursts in Rei's mouth before he realises it, and when he does, it's too late to avoid his two other Police Academy fellows looking in his direction. He blinks around the fact that he's bitten his tongue, and channels a reasonable amount of startlement and sudden confusion. Reaching for his drink, he's careful not to look away so quickly it's suspicious. He focuses his vision on the wallpaper behind Matsuda, thinking about anything other than the shades of red the establishment uses for decoration. He sees himself staring at a body laid prone, red blood streaming from a bullet wound. A thumb spotless, shielded by a trigger guard. His childhood friend taking his own life, Rei too late, running out of options.

Rei's glass is half-empty when he picks it up.

Rei blinks again at the strong taste of beer and Matsuda Jinpei's face appears through the glass, features blown comically out of proportion.

A weight lands on his shoulder. Date Wataru removes his hand and his commanding presence fills the air-conditioned space. "Everything alright there, Zero?"

Rei nods with a smile, saying, "Sorry. Can we talk about something else?"

They get into sports. When conversation lands on the topic of fashion, they make fun of Matsuda's sunglasses, then drop suggestions for where Date should take Natalie, his girlfriend, on their upcoming holiday. Rei pretends he doesn't notice Date filing his earlier reaction away or how Matsuda has collected a particular glint of interest in the matter surrounding Hiromitsu's absence. Today is the anniversary of their bonds forged by flame, and they banter about the odds of Matsuda and Rei and Hiromitsu getting married. Rei waves off their jokes about his relationship with the country.

They'll leave and wander through the city streets, idly chatter until they make it to the station, then split ways until next year.

"Furuya?"

A woman appears from inside a phone box. She's dropped her usual honourific. As Rei attempts to perceive her logic, the other two officers have already turned at the sound of his name. A chill goes through him, unusual for spring. Yasuda takes in Date and Matsuda. Her gaze settles on Rei's face, then his hands, and up to his mouth. The attention is enough for the officers to come to their conclusions.

His choice is made for him.

"Did you drive in?" says Yasuda, stepping closer.

"No," Rei replies, careful not to let his tension seep through.

"Good, I did. Come with me?"

Only Rei hears the order. He ignores the way his friends give each other knowing looks, and waves to them as they leave. Yasuda's small, playful smile smooths neutral as she opens an umbrella and covers them.

Rei's about to point out that the umbrella is suspicious until a few other people on the street open theirs. He smells the rain before he sees it leaving darkened spots on the sidewalk. This close, Yasuda only comes up to his chin. She doesn't hint his height is inconvenient but Rei offers to hold the umbrella, if only to continue this charade she's gotten him in.

"If they didn't already think I like older women, this would never have worked with them," he finds himself saying.

"Your friends?" she asks.

"My classmates from Police Academy."

"You're close with them."

"We've been through things."

"Of course," she says, then tells him where to find her vehicle.

"How did you find me?" asks Rei.

"Your name. It appeared in Date Wataru's internal emails."

"I see." Rei acknowledges the implication that the MPD network is actively scanned for the phrase 'Furuya Rei'.

They reach her vehicle. She takes the driver's seat and indicates he should sit in the back.

"I apologise for entering your private affairs," says Yasuda, in a sound which rings strange until it clicks as the most genuine he's heard from her. "I'm sorry. Sending him in when he knew he was at risk of death."

"There's no possibility we'd regret," says Rei. "Hiro and I, we only learned so much about Them by being a part of their operations. The ordinary police have no clue what they're up against. Even if I wasn't the one who helped the assassin into position at Ginza, the client would have hired someone else. The Organization supplies top end operatives to meet a demand for hitmen. No wonder they played us for fools."

"Do you wish to be pulled out?"

"No!" A chill goes through him again. He glances at the dashboard and sees the air-conditioning unit switched off. "They'll find 'Furuya Rei' as soon as they suspect I was also undercover." He's worked with Rye for long enough to pick up the man's piercing intelligence. "They'll send someone in to destroy our files - everything we've ever collected, gone at once." Like they took Bourbon's reticence to murder and turned him into an operative unmatched in data destruction and retrieval. "They'll kill a dozen people for every person I helped them assassinate." People he helped Scotch assassinate. "I can't call myself an officer of Japan when I've stopped abiding by the law." He thinks of Matsuda suggesting a threatened individual should just go to the police. "Officers don't understand what it means to fear."

"You are an officer," says Yasuda. "You understand what must be done to keep those in our nation safe."

Rei says, before thinking, "If only we could keep everyone safe."

He hears the movement of fabric and the driver's side door opening. He sees Yasuda step out, circle around the front. The rear door furthest from Rei opens.

She takes a seat in the back next to Rei.

"As they found Morofushi-kun, it's only a matter of time until you're also placed under examination," she tells him. "It seems you understand why they can't be allowed to learn about your true identity. For your own safety, you must be moved. Seeing you are a few weeks away from finishing your first placement as Assistant Inspector, you will be fast-tracked to Inspector rank while the departments are occupied by new policies."

"So there are secret arrangements in the police," Rei muses. "I had wondered why the National Police Agency offered us a position in the Tokyo Metropolitan Bureau and worked closely enough to supervise us officers in the PSB."

"The truth is, there have been decades of inadequate results from coordination between Japan's defence and intelligence agencies. The NPA and MPD established an independent, specialist, operational force. My true title is Director of Yomi-kikan, the Night Unit. You will be replacing me and ensure we continue to fight against the strategic disadvantages that plague the current bureaucracy."

"I'll be joining the NPA, is that it?"

"That's correct."

"Even if I was an Inspector, I could not..."

"This is no time to be modest, Furuya-kun."

"No—"

"We will ensure you are ready as Director," Yasuda pulls an envelope from one of her pockets. "And I will take care of the rest before you are placed."

The envelope is put down and Rei wonders why he's being promoted for his friend's death. Hiromitsu was nominated to go undercover because he makes the most sense. He has an ordinary aura and blends in with his East-Asian face. But something comes back to Rei, an old fragment, and Rei dives further, thinking about that first meeting. Hiromitsu and the Organization in possession of knowledge that the identity of 'Eisaka Jouji' was a fake. Since becoming Bourbon, he's learned of Vodka's ability to recognise people. The game would've been up as soon as Vodka came across Hiromitsu's childhood tragedy.

Bourbon recalls the photograph brought by Rye. It depicts an open range, lines and spaces, a young Japanese man in standard protective gear: goggles over his eyes, ear muffs, and gloves. Hiromitsu's haircut is ordinary and his distinctive jawline is blocked by his shooting stance. Beside him is his blond, dark-skinned friend.

Seeing it through Bourbon's vision paints the recruitment sequence in technicolour. It's not a photograph of Hiromitsu.

Rye placed consistent attention on Amuro, even before he was given a codename...

You seem brighter than you act, Amuro Tooru.

Rei says, "Rye meant to recruit me."

Bourbon has worked with many people that would be considered prodigies. Men like Rye rely on their own brilliance. He can pick out buildings from satellite maps before stepping into town, so confident in his own abilities that he has no need to do like Bourbon and spend days plotting weather patterns in and around Ginza.

"They must have been looking for a spotter with the ability to work undercover," says Rei. "That's why Rye was assigned. Who better to find a spotter than a sniper? With Japan's gun laws, the logical choice is to frequent shooting ranges."

Rye's brilliance comes with bad habits.

"He wouldn't have expected a haafu to become a police officer and join a system which is skewed against him."

At the same time, Rei realises he didn't have to be at the range. He was there under someone else's instruction. Adrenaline and a sense of grievance warms him from the belly up, and the embers stoked by his deduction stirs an understanding most momentous.

He meets Yasuda's eyes. "Did you know that they would find me a better target?"

Rei's fire does nothing to Yasuda's calm exterior. "I was unaware."

Something sounds unsaid. "Then you knew I might have been a target?"

"Yes."

He's reminded of another moment in a car, where his decision to turn himself over was what kept Hiromitsu from certain death. He's still alive, is what Yasuda said. They're confident they can take both of you out. That's how they've always been.

"You planned for the Organization to use me against him." Bourbon blazes as the universe lays bare its secrets. "If things went wrong with sending Hiro, but could be covered up, you have a case. The higher-ups would never have authorised two undercover operatives at once. Should no other options be possible, they'd have to agree to sending both of us in."

"The Security Bureau has known the dynamic between members consists of tensions and in-fighting. Even for the short time you were there, you must have experienced it," says Yasuda. "How would a group like theirs stay intact?"

"Fear," he replies, thinking of his life being used against Hiromitsu, and Hiromitsu's life being used against him.

"Not ordinary fear. The manipulation of bonds. Anyone going in would have needed clearly evident bonds that they could feel comfortable controlling. It was a theory, and the two of you confirmed it."

"Hiro died because of a theory."

"He believed in paradise."

Rei clenches his teeth.

Yasuda speaks over his moment of silence. "As I was saying. You will replace me as Director, and with the right reporting line, you would need not be present, allowing you to remain undercover while remaining unquestioned as an officer—"

"There's a hold on undercover operations," says Rei, automatically. Even as the words come from his mouth, his stomach sinks.

"Amuro Tooru is not a police officer, is he?"

"No." Amidst the grief over Hiromitsu's death, he's suddenly reminded of the media's instructions. "Then, by circulating the memo—should Amuro Tooru show no sign of departure, the conclusion would be that he is not an officer." Rei's life as a spy has helped him realise that something which looks so much like a cover-up is perfect information for an informant to take back to the Organization.

"That's exactly right." She indicates the envelope from the beginning of their conversation, forgotten as it lies between their seats, innocuous. "Please, you should take it."

Overcome with finality, he bows to the pressure, feeling much like a dog wearing fancy dress. The seal gives way under his hands. His new masters have sent well-wishes for the promotions ahead. Directives to remain undercover. Advice and a helpful diagram about the most secure method of disposing the missive.

He opens the passenger door, sensing the conversation has ended.

"A new handler will be assigned when one is found," Yasuda tells him. "Keep your sense of justice, Furuya-kun. While the truth to his passing may never be shared, it's our decision to believe in the path to paradise as we walk the line to hell."

The door thuds closed, and his life without Hiromitsu begins.

9.

Few do Bourbon's job like he does. When he buys groceries, he spends a few minutes skimming magazines. He plays trending dramas in the background of intensive boxing workouts. Occasionally he'll put aside his firearm and tinker with the current SNS fad, dollar store DIY projects. His up-to-date nature is no accident. It keeps Amuro Tooru popular and Furuya Rei attached to being human.

Scotch is dead. The economy changes. Bourbon is moved to intelligence collection, taught a handful of new techniques. He's tasked with collecting information for industrial espionage. His life ends as a mainline agent.

Time passes.

Years later, he's on a run along a drainage bank when a call comes in.

"You have a new target." The woman on the other end doesn't introduce herself, not that she needs to. "This time you'll be a detective."

"Good evening, Vermouth. A detective, eh?"

"Isn't that suitable for someone as skilled as yourself?"

"That's high praise from you, now."

"'Praise, like gold and diamonds, owes value to its scarcity,'" she appears to quote in English.

Bourbon looks over the drainage bank dyed in darkness. He stares across the basin at rows upon rows of city lights. They twinkle in the horizon, guiding spirits which breeze through Tokyo and her expressive, crinkling cosmos. It's quiet. A rippling of jazz. Timeless saxophone notes colouring the silence. Soulful musical phrases set an introduction for luminous alto singing.

From noise depth and quality he deduces: on the other side of the speaker, a live band is playing.

"Where are you?" he asks.

"Curious?"

"Well, I am a musician, and I know when I hear extraordinary music."

"You'll have to try harder than that, detective Tooru, to learn a woman's secret," Vermouth chides. "I'll have someone drop off your new records overnight—assuming you won't turn out like your friend, Scotch."

"Of course not." Bourbon's answer comes seamless. "Hiro told me he hated the police. They must have promised him something. Power, perhaps."

"You wouldn't change sides for power, would you?"

"I want to see Akai Shuuichi dead," he corrects. "And what I hate most is that the man was a filthy American NOC."

Akai said: For your friend's sake, don't be the one that 'washes out'; reference to a washout, American slang for failure.

"You were reckless," says Vermouth, referring to his last assignment.

"So this new mission is my punishment?"

"Gin thinks so."

"Only Gin?"

She doesn't answer and the song picks up where Bourbon leaves off. He's the product of planning and preparation, looking for vengeance after loss, carrying the weight of a secret national security division, doubling down on his existing cover because they have no one else. Amuro's web of half-truths bind the pounding of his heart. He must capture the possibilities opened by Hiromitsu's sacrifice, lest things end, meaningless. Like when another government body managed to get around new regulations meant to prohibit others joining him undercover. Bourbon shot the officer in the spine and Zero made him disappear. A bullet from his gun, watching a human go down; logic that the event was staged does nothing against what he witnessed himself doing in that fight.

The vocals accept him and the contradictions of his multiple identities; harmony without fear, absolution, nor judgement. A balm. Or a promise. The band has dreams and plays like there's no other day to pursue passion but the present. And logically he knows that it's just the music, but music has a way of seeping through even the smallest of hairline cracks and into one's heart.

For as long as he is human, he'll face the temptation of giving up.

A question for the profilers: is it significant if Vermouth is listening to music about being enough?

He returns to his run along the drainage bank. It's only just distracting enough.

"Well," says Vermouth at last. "While Rum was impressed by your ruthlessness, the Boss is not pleased. The officer was to be turned into one of ours... if only you didn't shoot him. You're free to decline my generosity if you'd rather be sent overseas. Think of it as a favour from me."

And Bourbon is put to sleep.

After ten weeks, she calls the favour in.

"The child and the girl are not to be harmed."

He meets them in a restaurant during an incident involving a high-school friendship, an ill-fated romance, all a heavy backdrop to what might otherwise be harmless coincidence. Becoming friends with Mouri Kogorou involves getting used to dirty deaths. Suicide by setting one's own car on fire? Gruesome. Firing a gun using a shoelace? Clever, but for it to succeed, that's in itself a miracle. A body stuffed in a suitcase? Replace the bed and floorboards. Swallow the world, great serpent. Any longer and the furniture holds the smell.

Bourbon meets the child, Edogawa Conan, sharper than anything he could imagine. His world grows bigger in the presence of the child's brilliance. But more than one brilliant person has passed through his world before, and the boy's willingness to run towards crime scenes tells him everything. Seeking danger like his bones are filled with magnets. He's remarkable, but so similar to Matsuda, and Matsuda died for his remarkableness.

Tooru knows how the world works. Conan's end is short.

He'll be special until he's an adult, then burn up in his own flame.

10.

Miyano Elena's daughter joins the ledger that contains those who Zero watched die.

11.

The first and last time Zero met Kuroda Hyoue in person was when they were introduced as superior and subordinate. They're about the same by height but not in size; one's face assigned to three masks, the other with half his face marred by a gruesome scar. The older man's presence is tangible, bolstered by heavy bone density and muscle mass; a boxer from a different weight class.

In the Metropolitan Police offices, it's well after hours. The call to Kuroda culminates in a late-night visit to the man's office and there's no other cover for how this meeting comes about. Working late is not unusual for the man, according to Kazami, when Zero asked. But Zero still hesitates several times in the corridors, comparing the MPD he remembers to the one he doesn't. Word goes that the former Superintendent Matsumoto kept two photo frames on his desk: one of his wife, the other of himself with his daughter on a wedding day, said to be a reminder to himself.

Gone are the pictures under Superintendent Kuroda, whose office is bare save for a permanent coffee smell, strong even in the evenings.

"There's been a physical server room breach," says Zero. "Forensics have examined the logs and CCTV footage and found the perpetrator's point of entry was the loading dock."

Something has gone wrong. A secret list of national and international NOCs was copied from within a storage facility without proper protocols or biometric security access.

Someone will be found at fault. Despite the twisted shape of Zero's reporting chain, designed to keep his identities separate, the chances are high that Furuya Rei will take the drop.

"To secure the woman called Curaçao, I understand you require my assistance," says Kuroda. "Can you do what it will take to seal her mouth?"

Zero has spent years on this answer. "I can. If it's to protect others, for justice."

Kuroda stares into Zero with a single dark eye. "But you'll have to pardon me when I say this... you don't look like a man who has killed. No. You carry guilt, but you have not taken a life. Curaçao is unstoppable, which makes her dangerous. She possesses high physical strength and will continue to fight, short of being fatally wounded. The police force is not equipped to take down a threat of her nature. She must be neutralised. You might be the only person in the nation with a license."

Zero doesn't understand until he does. Since his identities are not connected, he's the only person in Japan who can commit a crime and seal the investigation that results.

If he thinks back, he can remember the fire at the laundromat, the one which burned away the frost keeping Hiromitsu from living an ordinary life. As a single incident, it stands out as the most vicious crime he's experienced from start to end. Rei could commit something like that without being seen at fault.

"I ask you again," Kuroda says. "Can you do it?"

Rei closes his hands into fists. He swallows and straightens against the stiffness in his back, thinking of the past and how it's led him to this. To find Miyano Elena. He opens his hands and imagines the desire to take a person's life in every fibre of his body. Curaçao escaped because he hesitated. Blood rushes through his veins, his heartbeat a deafening sound.

The power to kill could be his if he claims it.

When Zero opens his eyes, Kuroda Hyoue's expression forms a wide smile stretching from one side of his jaw to the other.

"Secure the NOC list. That's your order."

12.

Japan has a history of terror attacks. Actions taken by individuals or small groups that decide that they should impose their will on the rest of the people. Zero studied law to become a police officer, aiming to protect Japan. These incidents of terror were what Furuya Rei ended up writing about several times during his Bachelors.

Japan understood the effect of terror attacks. The rest of the world was less aware of these impacts until the United States got caught up in an incident and decided to take global action, as they always did, whenever they thought they ought to be a beacon of greater justice. This outward meddling is how he reasons the American FBI came to investigate in Japan.

Zero meets Akai Shuuichi again in the ferris wheel of Touto Aquarium. Edogawa Conan appears, and the three of them save a building after taking down a military helicopter with a rifle. Curaçao saves thousands of people. All things said, it's a miracle.

Zero does not take a life.

What he takes is the pattern of Akai's breath, and he's sure it's the same as the current resident of the Kudou Family's Beika City manor. Okiya Subaru, a man also followed by the extraordinary, brilliant boy. It's proof there's more to that confrontation around the Macademy Awards, admissible in the court of his mind.

So when the Edge of Ocean is struck and the investigation meets a roadblock, Zero's objectives intersect. Assess the boy. Save Japan. The speed at which Zero exercises his powers from both sides of the law takes Kazami by surprise. The man assists Zero with preparing the arrest warrants while Zero himself rings up the rest of the rolodex, following notes on a memo left to him in Yasuda's early working files. Chief Prosecutor Iwai Sayoko is another Touto University graduate and they take care of their own. She acts to spread word underground that anyone who might take the case against the police would be jeopardising their career, and recommends one of their best prosecutors.

Zero takes him aboard.

He's not heartless. He's taken responsibility, done what he can. The trial is rigged on all fronts and the appearance of Mouri Kogorou's criminal investigation is weighted to give Zero's people all the necessary time and opportunity to look into all they must. But for all his stalling, they get no suspects, and the facts he learns seem to always be... in lack. There's something more to this case; the movements by people within his sphere of influence following his orders but acting beyond his controls.

It's Conan who solves the case, identifying the disloyal nature of those that Zero trusted. Zero patches his wounds and smothers the truth with law and justice. He leads the national and international cleanup operation, trading favours with the MPD, cabinet ministers, and other career diplomats. Some favours he thought he had, he no longer does. Others are calling in quid-pro-quo in areas of the board he does not cover. He does this while being Amuro Tooru, an ordinary private person with an ordinary explanation for why he's injured in one arm.

It's a challenge, trying to run a security portfolio from a coffee shop.

Azusa notices. "If you need some days off, I'll talk to the manager," she offers.

Tooru opens his mouth to decline. Then his phone buzzes, no doubt another email. Her gaze becomes knowing and he simply nods.

"Sorry," says Tooru. "One of my cousins is getting married. I'm sure you can imagine how much stress there is."

"I do!" she says, and it's perfect. She transitions fluidly into a rant about people with wedding jitters bothering those others with fussy jobs, unaware that Bourbon has gathered as much from glimpses of her contacts.

A day later, he waves genially at Conan as the boy peers at him through the front window into Poirot.

"Liar," the boy called him once.

He tries to tell the truth as Furuya. He's sure that Kazami has instructed their Collaborators in the same manner. Kazami is an honest man, hardworking, a fine officer that cares for Japan.

Zero's other matters have him dropping his investigation against Okiya Subaru out of thanks and respect for Conan's incomparable mind.

"Azusa-san," says Tooru, removing his apron. "I think I might take you up on that offer."

"How long until the wedding?" she asks.

Bourbon thinks of his arrangements and answers, "It's this weekend. I ought to be back next week."

"Good luck!"

Inside his vehicle, Zero adjusts the rear-view mirror, and stares at the shades of his eyes, his hair, and his skin. The very things which make him stand out are what makes him easy to overlook despite his track record and his perfect marks.

He's learned three things while wiretapping Conan. First, the boy has multiple faces. Second, for his adoptive family, the boy will risk his life. And lastly, the boy is hiding something, if not outright lying. If Zero is a contradiction, then Conan is a paradox.

For how long can the child seek the truth while lying to those he loves?

Zero catches Conan looking at his sister figure as if he thinks he's strong enough to protect her like a man.

15.

A black Porsche 356A is parked next to the white RX-7.

"Bourbon," Gin greets through one open window.

Tooru inclines his head, rolling down his own window so they can speak. "Gin. I never thought I'd see the day you'd meet me willingly."

"I have your objectives."

Shadows move from within the vehicle. Gin retrieves a printout which is turned over to Bourbon.

There are three photos. A round, overweight man with brown hair. A young, handsome blond dressed in an Inverness. And an older woman with a hooked nose and greying hair, who he recognises as Vermouth's disguise on a starry night in Ginza.

Bourbon maps the men into memory. Similarities in their facial bone structure suggest they are related.

(Zero knows who they are: Superintendent-General Hakuba, and his son, Hakuba Saguru, scheduled to return from London.)

"Turn the son against his father and convince him his deepest wish is the liberation of Japan," Gin says. "Accomplish this task, and you will be granted a position as an executive."

"Dividing his loyalties, I see," Bourbon muses, "Is it for sabotage? Espionage? Perhaps sedition?"

"The desire of that person is to expand our agents of influence," says Gin.

Zero nods and pockets the printout. He starts the ignition.

Gin says, "Vermouth. You were to be put to sleep. But she sponsored you for this."

"She sees talent," Bourbon answers.

"You slept with her?"

"And if I have?"

"Heh." Something about his response is funny. "With that reply, you clearly haven't. I'll be watching for any indicators."

"I'll deliver results."

Zero considers the date and time and observes that Kazami should be giving Edogawa Conan a phone and an empty wallet.

The stream of time flows on.

16.

From the bustling terminal between flights, Bourbon watches the world's largest metal birds taking off and landing on distant runways.

"So? Did he end up killing anyone?" the voice on the phone asks.

"Who?"

"Your friend."

It's still strange, talking to a voice that sounds like his own. While he knows intellectually that Edogawa Conan has a voice changer in his bow tie, surely that's not enough. It's voice acting talent, plain and simple, that allows him to mimic others.

"Yes," says Bourbon. "There was no practical way to avoid killing on every engagement. When murder was required, Scotch insisted on conducting it."

"I understood something after we met in the Blue Parrot," Conan continues, in Furuya's voice. "To maintain multiple identities, your actions come from multiple motives. Such as when you hunted for Akai-san; you convinced Vermouth with some promise as Bourbon, and then tried to make the capture with the PSB for more leverage. It's a strategic move with multiple benefits."

"Which was outwitted," returns Tooru. "The man in the Kudous' Beika City manor was not a lefty. What are my motives?"

"First." Zero imagines Conan holding some fingers up. "'Amuro Tooru' would want to keep people out of danger. You answered that yourself. Whether that's because you're honouring the real Amuro Tooru, before he passed in that landslide—" Tooru blinks, not sure if he's surprised that the boy has determined that much, "—or any other reason, you arranged the identity of 'Kazami Shin' to allow me to investigate safely, like you do with your second ID. Then to get Kazami to agree, you told him that my taking on his nephew's identity would allow me to unofficially assist the PSB.

"Second. You knew you could have me work for you again. Every measure you took in the first motive was done to make me suspicious.

"Finally, while you arranged to end the Mouri Detective Agency to keep people out of danger, the purpose was to allow 'Bourbon' to leave. You asked Kazami to give me Furuya's phone and wallet to act as your double. You needed freedom of movement, money, and you could not be linked to 'Furuya Rei.'"

"And?" Bourbon asks, borrowing the favourite question belonging to Vermouth.

"I conclude that you are in personal danger." The boy pauses, then drops his tone, adding, "and you would be, if you're searching for Dr. Miyano Elena."

"Very impressive," says Zero, "Then you always knew who your Alice-neechan resembled."

"Not always."

"I'm on the Executive Path. Do you know it?"

"What's that?"

"Tell me about Dr. Miyano, and I'll tell you."

Silence. The brilliant boy considers the exchange.

"Fine," Conan agrees. "Then tell me first. What's the Executive Path?"

"Ah." Zero tips his head back and watches a plane land, letting the ambience of people moving about immerse him in liminal space. "The Executive Path is an assessment test. An impossible task designed to assess the true abilities of an operative and judge if they are worthy of moving up in the ranks."

"Then Gin's done it?"

"Gin murdered an unknown number of people across three continents and had them look like different medical accidents. We know how it happened because it made Gin the youngest executive in the history of the Organization. But we don't know who he killed. Profilers from seven countries only agree that Gin has always been surrounded by death. Everything else we cannot trace."

"To go so far for a promotion..."

"Executives are expected to have one or more 'agents of influence' - people who are not part of the Organization in positions which may affect decision-making or guide public opinion. Simply put, a central factor to being promoted is being able to provide another network which that person can manipulate."

"If it's for the boss, how does the boss stay in power?"

"The boss knows and controls the complete network across all the executives and their subordinates."

"Then—"

"The Organization has a unique structure. Many criminal groups have leaders in higher positions who prefer plausible deniability. They are what might be called 'hands-off'. That places lower- and middle-level members at most danger in the case that police cracked down, or they were prosecuted. Here, that's not the case. Executives are expected to act for the boss in return for protection against prosecution. If an executive remains in favour, the boss accepts full responsibility for every action."

"Almost like a businessman."

"A reasonable comparison." Zero experiences a brief flash of amusement at this notion. "Should we call them a business, then the boss is a corporate leader collecting accomplished C-suite members for their abilities and their connections."

"Which means we'd also be able to eliminate their influence in society should we take down the executives..."

"Precisely right."

"Is that what you want?"

"To take them down?"

"Yes." Rei has known this answer from the moment he became Amuro Tooru to keep Hiromitsu alive.

On an indicator board, a flight code appears that Tooru has been waiting for. Zero looks at the screen for recent landings and remembers Gin's voice: I'll be watching for any indicators.

"Gin is keeping an eye on me for signs I might be acting for someone else," Zero comments.

"They suspect you?"

"He mentioned espionage indicators. My task is to guide an individual into becoming a future agent of influence. Perhaps you know the son of the Superintendent-General, a teenage detective—"

"Hakuba Saguru."

"So you've heard of the situation." Zero checks his watch and begins to relocate. "There's no time left. The Dr. Miyano intel, please."

Conan delivers, a boy of his word. "After cross-referencing timelines, you must have met Dr. Miyano at the clinic she attended prior to joining. Within the Organization, both Dr. Miyanos were working on a secret research project. A laboratory fire accident took their lives. Their two daughters died attempting to escape following the discovery that an FBI member was a NOC."

"One did. She was the woman who your friends met in the forests of Gunma."

The boy is silent for a few seconds. Then he drops the voice changer, saying in his own voice, "Yes. She was murdered on the Mystery Train by you and Vermouth."

"She wasn't meant to die," says Zero. "She was supposed to be captured. My men were waiting near the river. I prepared a parachute. Then she would be turned over to the FBI so they could finish what Akai should have done when her sister fell in love. I understand that Sherry—Shiho—used to study in America. The FBI has a system which is missing in Japan."

"'Witness Protection,'" says Conan, in accented American English. "Say. What would you have done if she chose to reject the FBI's Witness Protection scheme?"

"She wouldn't," says Zero. There's no doubt in his mind that the Organization would have used the sisters' relationship against them. "The alternative would be disappointing those people who tried to keep her alive."

A blond head of hair appears. Amuro Tooru's new charge is accompanied by an escort, an airport personnel providing careful service to the son of someone important.

"I have one last thing to give you," says Zero. "The drop will be in two weeks in a coin locker on the Touto Loop Line."

"I'll pick it up. Before you go..."

"Yes?"

"Hakuba-san is perceptive. He will notice you have a contact and attempt to deduce my identity."

"Then let's have you as 'Dinah', the cat companion of the girl who learned to make her own decisions in Wonderland."

"Ha ha." Conan groans. "You're the worst at asking for favours."

It's Zero's turn to laugh. "If I had asked for help, would you have believed me?"

"No. But I've decided." Conan switches to English. "I have the phone number of the Boss. But, the syndicate has data that I will require. I will give you the phone number, so long as you give me my mark."

"That's funny," Zero responds in the same language, "It's too bad. I already have that number."

Conan calls his bluff. "If you did, you would answer with a different reply."

13.

"You're so dark I couldn't find you with a torch."

He can feel it's a dream without needing to question his reality. He's younger. The colours of the world are just the faintest shade too bright. But the dream acts like a memory, seeping into his consciousness. The speaker is two feet away from him and dreams don't bother with directional sound.

The air shifts. He smells a natural perfume, the captivating presence of an adult.

"He's in trouble for fighting."

This is a memory. His parents called by the teachers. His father showing up, blond and tall, bowing profusely as if he's the one who's made a mistake for falling in love with a foreign world.

Another speaker, from so long ago he's not sure if it's spoken, imagined, or a figment of his consciousness.

"They named him Zero because that's how much he resembles a Japanese person."

He feels time passing in the turning of seasons. Bright sunshine, cool winds, white snow. Rainstorms. Humidity. Cherry blossoms. A park by his house, snapshot in green and white and gold. The insults get more creative. His ability to punch back starts to leave streaks of blood, fury, bullies on the ground groaning. It's not unpleasant, just nostalgic. The real him has accepted this tired history. He's met brothers and sisters who care nothing for his hair and skin colour.

Just when he feels his sleep becoming calm, he's back on the roof. The external staircase creaks under his weight. Vibrations shake into his soles. Moonlight illuminates his best friend's blood as Scotch dies without dignity. Dirty gunpowder lingers like candle ash. Under Rei's accusatory glare stands the broad planes of a traitor who stood back and watched.

Rye says, "He knew it was you coming to find him."

Zero wakes to the sound of breathing and an unpleasant taste on his tongue. He lays there, focusing his thoughts to a point.

Before his body grows cold, he kicks out of bed and retrieves a notebook.

Today, he jots down, adding the date. Hiro composed a deduction.

Then he thumbs through the pages. Little messages, all an individual record, written sideways, a tip from Date. It's a study of a human brain inventing different possibilities in efforts to rationalise tragedy and pain. Some have been ideas which interrupted everyday tasks. It's all useless gibberish powerless to change the flow of the universe and a single timeline.

The undercover mission was always risky. They learned it early, having to protect each other while being threatened by each other.

Hating Akai Shuuichi is infinitely easier.

What nobody knows is that the dreams once stopped. In the strange way that minds work, his subconscious appeared to forget the reason for his anger, and he could live a normal life as Bourbon. Then he met Akai in person while chasing Curaçao. He climbed the ferris wheel and saw Akai with a silhouette so similar to a forgotten memory. Like a faucet which had been blocked, the vivid images broke free, wildly expelled.

He followed the child's lead, unwilling to consider following Akai's, and—

(He threw the child. He's lost his sanity.)

They saved people.

(No wonder Akai looks at the boy as if he's a figure that creates miracles.)

The book has fallen to the floor. Zero picks up the notebook and searches for his smartphone. Tokyo's lights pass over his curtains and filter into his bedroom. He stares at the time on the clock, the light blinding against the near-darkness. Seven hours until he drops into the Mouri Detective Agency, food from Poirot with him. He'll hear about Conan's return from Hawaii officially instead of through the wiretap in the landline. Inserting Amuro Tooru is simple. The Mouris don't own a car.

Since Conan left, Vermouth has been more active. She's busy with something, watching Bourbon less closely. If he's going to finish anything it has to be now.

Zero's objectives intersect:

Save the boy.

Protect Japan.

14.

A fine chunk of fish, grilled to perfection. Tender with a strong miso taste, simple garnish, the only smell being its deliciousness. A restaurant like this would make broth with the tail and fins. Nothing put to waste.

Vermouth and Bourbon dine on a starless night.

"Well, I believe we have covered all that's required for you to be hired by the Hakubas," Vermouth says. A flash of a credit card appears in her hand. It's a habit that he's become accustomed to. She prefers to pay the bill whenever they eat out.

"About what I mentioned..." Bourbon begins.

"Your desire for the Executive Path?" The plastic exchanges hands. "I do owe you for your idea to paint the FBI as the villain for suggesting Chris was once Sharon Vineyard. With a death, they look like their accusations are false and responsible for a suicide."

"Hardly. I'll take any reason to paint the FBI in a bad light."

Vermouth glances at him as she sips from a glass. "Isn't death as a distraction Gin's style? You're quite honest for somebody who refuses to do the work yourself."

"'It's our decision to believe in the path to paradise as we walk the line to hell.'"

"Oh?"

"Wisdom from a woman I knew," Bourbon's reply.

He used to work at a restaurant like this. He thinks of the remains of filleted fish. Scraps of flesh attached to broad lines of exposed, bony spines. Streams of pink blood being washed off equipment, then the smell scrubbed clean. Bundles of stringy intestines. White foam in sinks.

The moon high in the sky when the last person leaves.

Avenge Hiromitsu. Protect the innocent. Destroy the Organization. The man with three faces has no miracles to believe in, just himself. Every group he's worked for has foul rot in its head.

Those comrades-in-arms of his are dead.

"I don't believe you left Japan," he remarks. "Who did you hire to kill your former talent agent? The Mafia?"

She lowers her glass and a shadow connects her hand to the image of a fish on one wall. "'A secret makes a woman, a woman.'"

Bourbon tips his glass and drinks to that.

"Rum is fond of sayings," Vermouth continues. "'Time is money.' And, 'when catching a big fish, wait for it to tire before you reel it in.' That's the kind of man that Rum is. Those who take the Executive Path succeed or die trying. With you knowing what you know, it would be unfortunate for me if you died."

"Then please take care of my success," he says, with the smallest quirk of a smile.

A/N: I'm working on this alongside a full-time job and other projects but I'm still focusing on updating as quickly with good quality as I can. The next update is currently scheduled for sometime in October.

Next Conan's hint: Illusion

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