Fate/Lagoon Zero

"Word" = Over the phone/radio conversations

*Word* = Foreign language conversations

Chapter One

April 29th, 1993

Fuyuki City. A city on the north-eastern coast of Kyushu Island that's split down the middle by the Mion River into what can be considered two separate towns: the aged Miyama Town and the newborn Shinto, connected only by a large red truss bridge that spans the river's sizable width.

To the east, the previously empty wasteland has been rapidly reclaimed over the past one and a half years by the newer urban skyscrapers and shopping centres of Shinto that stand strong thanks to the steady influx of income from the harbour. At the current rate, the transformation of the previously unused wild land into a sterile area rich in pomposity and lacking in individuality will be complete in about two years. In the south east section of Shinto and away from the crowded streets of it's vast commercial area is a hill with a church which looks over a small graveyard. It's only constant inhabitant is a blind, middle-aged nun-turned-priestess from Misaki Town by the name of Suse Yuika. We get along well enough and sometimes enjoy chatting over a cup of green tea.

To the west of the river sits Miyama Town, which started as a village born a short distance away from a temple built beside a mountainside lake during the days of Oda Nobunaga after a potent leyline caught the attention of Eastern magi and monks. Over the years since the Sengoku era, the rural village has grown into a traditional town, and eventually a suburban city. Near the centre of Miyama town stands an intersection that connects to a modest shopping district, a road leading to slightly more urban commercial area near the bridge, and a school. As it does this, it also causes a subtle divide between the traditional Japanese housing district to it's north and the more European foreigners' housing district to it's south. Within the foreigners' district live two ancient and powerful magus families that I feel I should note: The Tohsaka and Matou. I have decided to maintain cordial relationships with both families while compiling extensive dossiers on them in secret.

Meanwhile, my home rests in the northern part of Miyama Town and is a former victim to the deteriorating march of time and disuse. It carries a style that is traditional to the point of being a piece of architectural history and is large enough that I could have easily converted it into a single-story ryokan had I so desired. However, aside from some simple but necessary renovations, the only things I've added are the magus workshop in the storehouse on the edge of the yard, the dojo where I occasionally practice kendo with Fujimura Raiga's granddaughter, and the Bounded Field that warns me of anyone who enters the perimeter with hostile intent. It is... comfortable and serves it's purpose.

This is the city of duality, the place I was born yet had no memories of, the place I returned to nine years ago and made my home. However, all that seems so far away. All I see before me is the azure of the South China Sea, stirring winds, and...

My vision shifts as I tilt my head to the left and feel the breeze on my right cheek from the fist that just flew past it.

"No need for that, you have my cooperation," I state while casually walking back from the origin of this violence and leaning my back against the deck railing with my arms folded, the sound of a gun cocking catching my attention. I glance at the middle-aged African-American male who just attempted to assault me, noting he's wearing olive army pants, an olive tanktop, and an open M69 flak jacket that leaves his muscular arms exposed. He has no hair on his head aside from the goatee adorning his chin, and his eyes are obscured by a pair of teashades.

"Okay then, listen up, Mr. Japanese. Where's the disk you brought with you from Asahi Heavy Industries?" asks the bald and muscular African-American male as he points his revolver at me, "You're supposed to be keeping it safe 'n secure 'till you passed it on to your local Borneo branch head... So where is it?"

"I have no idea about this disk you're talking about... But I have a guess as to where you could find it," I answer as my inky black trench coat ruffles in the light sea breeze, prompting a scoff from his partner.

"Dutch... we can make this much easier," says a burgundy-haired woman with tribal tattoos running up the slightly tanned skin of her right arm, from her elbow to the right side of her neck. Her attire consists of a pair of dark green combat boots, a pair of denim shorts left unbuttoned and held up by a US Army webbing belt, a black crop top that bears her midriff, a pair of finger-less leather gloves, and notably a pair of brown leather cross-draw shoulder holsters.

"A shot or two in the kneecaps..." She continues while gesturing at my legs with her pistol, "will make this little bird sing all we want."

"No need for that yet, Revy. He's already promised his cooperation," Dutch says with a chuckle before turning his attention to me, "So, Mr. Japanese, keep talking."

"Well, I'm guessing you're looking for a different Japanese man," I say while adjusting the tie of my black suit which prompts a raised eyebrow from Dutch and furrowed eyebrows from Revy, "A Japanese man who got his boat tickets mixed up with mine."

"Wha-?! Well, where the fuck is he?!" Revy yells while stomping towards me in a manner that implies incredibly imminent violence.

"Oh, I would say that within the hour he'll be wondering about how he managed to end up in the Tanzanian port city of Dar es-Salaam," I answer, unperturbed by the feeling of cold metal as she presses the barrel of her handgun firmly against my cheek.

"Why the fuck were you going there?!" Revy hisses through gritted teeth, grabbing my tie and jerking me down so that she can attempt to sear her glare into my soul from less than an inch away. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I absently register that she is about eight centimetres shorter than me.

Pushing that rogue thought aside I ask, "You hear about what's happening in Rwanda?", which causes the anger on Revy's face to fade away into a blank stare.

"Yeah, there's been a civil war going on for the past two and a half years," Dutch interjects, before grunting in realization and stating, "And you were planning on throwing yourself into it, right?"

"That... was my intent, yes," I admit with a sheepish chuckle as Revy rolls his eyes in what I can only assume is the typical disbelief at my undiluted audacity.

"Well, that would help explain this," Dutch says while patting the holster on his right hip that currently holds my M1911A1, "But I can't see getting involved in a battlefield with only a sidearm and no spare magazines to be a remotely smart thing to do. Which begs the question... Do you have any other firepower squirrelled away on this tub?"

"There's four briefcases in my quarters that contain my-"

It's at this moment that Dutch's radio hisses to life and a nervous voice is emitted from the speaker.

"Dutch... hey Dutch," the voice tepidly says as Dutch pulls the radio out of his pocket

"What's up?" Dutch answers.

"How much longer is this going to take? The scope's showing something heading straight for us from Subic Bay. It's a Philippine navy patrol ship!"

"Stay cool, Benny-Boy. We're almost done here," Dutch says before pocketing his radio and focusing his attention on me, "You. How quickly can you get to your briefcases and back here?"

"Less than five minutes," I answer prompting Dutch to stroke his goatee for a couple seconds as he weighs his options.

"Okay. Revy, go with him. You know what to do if he tries anything stupid," Dutch says before turning his attention to the other hostages and yelling, "Okay gentlemen! In five minutes we'll be leaving and you'll be free to go."

Dutch's voice becomes muffled as I enter the ship and rush towards my cabin, Revy following close behind with her gun aimed squarely at my back.

We reach it in under a minute, and I hastily shove open the door to reveal a small room with not much more than a pair of single beds and a desk with a chair. On top of the closest bed is a set of four metallic briefcases, one of them slightly smaller than the rest.

I pick up two briefcases and say, "Here, carry these," while passing them to Revy.

She tucks them under her left armpit and narrows her eyes warily before growling, "Remember, no funny business, dipshit."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I say as I grab the other two briefcases by the handles and stride out the door.

Upon returning to Dutch, he nods at me and Revy before saying, "Two minutes and thirty-six seconds. Not bad. Let's jam."

"Got it, Dutch," Revy says before turning her attention to me and pressing her gun under my chin, "As for you, you're not off the hook yet. You're coming with us, dickhead."

"Hmph, works for me," I mutter before I'm marched from the ship and onto an 80-foot Elco PT boat.

I'm dragged into the cockpit just in time to see Dutch push the throttle, quickly sailing away from the vessel and to an unknown destination. After telling Revy to take me into the hold, Dutch picks up a CB radio and says, "This is the Black Lagoon. Balalaika, do you read me?"

"Loud and clear," a deep and husky yet undeniably feminine voice responds, "How's business?"

"Bad news. Turns out there was a mix up with the tickets. The item might be in Tanzania, Dar es-Salaam to be precise. The boat should still be en route, but it's currently out of the Black Lagoon's range," Dutch replies, disappointment at failing one of his most frequent employers welling up in him.

"Oh, that's quite unfortunate. Well, there's no helping bad luck. Sorry things didn't work out this time, but it looks like I finally have a use for those favours that some Congolese owe me," Balalaika says before letting out a chuckle, "I feel sorry for the poor guy who's going to walk off that boat and into the hands of Congolese mercenaries. They're not known for being kind to their prisoners. Anyways, I'll call when I have another job for you. Here's hoping that it's a smoother run. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a Chinese rat that needs tending to. Do svidaniya, Dutch."

"Roger that, Balalaika. Over and out," Dutch says before putting the radio back and heaving a sigh, "Thank god she's understanding."

With that, Dutch rises out of his chair and decides to check on Revy and the hostage. The fact that his ears haven't heard any signs of aggression yet is a good sign, though with Revy that can change on a dime. As Dutch approaches the hold, he stops as he overhears the conversation in progress and decides to let it play out a bit.

I'm sitting on a metal bench watching Revy pace back and forth in front of a table as she irately mutters about how she's not going to get paid, and that all she has to show for it is four shitty briefcases and a stray Jap.

"I mean, seriously. What's in these fucking briefcases that's so damn special that we almost got caught by a patrol boat for?" Revy grumbles before she leans over one and cracks it open. Her eyes immediately go wide with disbelief and she looks over her shoulder at me to ask, "Is... Is that a fucking Walther WA 2000? With wooden frames and stock? Only 176 of them were ever made! I can tell by the silencer that it's second generation. You've got the standard S&B telescopic sight, an Elcan Spectre IR scope, and... holy fuck, how in the goddamn did you get an AN/PVS-4 scope? That's limited to the US military!"

"I take it that you're rather impressed," I reply with a wry smile as Revy eagerly turns her attention to the other briefcases, popping open the second one to reveal a Calico M950 that's been converted to full auto. After gushing over the specs she opens the third briefcase that holds my standard ammo along with four M67 frag grenades, three Model 7290 flashbangs, a pair of M18 smoke grenades, an M9 bayonet, and a couple bricks of C-4. Having held run-of-the-mill equipment, it doesn't particularly spark Revy's interest and she quickly turns her attention to the final briefcase.

Cracking open the noticeably smaller case, Revy let's out a whistle before saying, "Nice. A Thompson Arms Contender with wood frame and a modded 14-inch barrel chambered for the... .30-06 Springfield, right?"

"Well, now's the time for me to be impressed," I respond with a smirk as she pulls out my Contender and thoroughly examines it, "You not only know how to use a firearm, but you know your way around one too. You're a regular gun nut."

"Yeah..." Revy says with a slight smile while placing the Contender back in it's case, "I have to ask though, why are there twenty-nine extra bullets with the Contender? All the other ammo was packed in with the explosives. What's so special about these?"

"They're bullets designed for incredibly specific confrontations. They're likely the only ones of their kind that will ever exist," I explain while watching her pluck an Origin Bullet out of the case to closely examine it, "To give you context on how sparingly I utilize them, I started with sixty-six of them about ten years ago, and every single shot has been both necessary and successful."

"Hm, interesting array of firepower you've got there, Mr. Japanese," Dutch says upon making his entrance as Revy puts the bullet back in the case, "Throwing yourself face first onto a random battlefield sounds a little less foolish than it originally did. Here."

Dutch passes me back my M1911A1, with the chamber and magazine well emptied. I nod my head and reholster it on my right hip.

"Thanks. So what's the plan?" I ask which prompts Dutch to jerk his thumb over his shoulder at the stairs leading to the deck before walking up them. After following Dutch out of the hold we hunker down outside the cockpit. Dutch then pulls out a pack of cigarettes and hands it to me.

"For the time being, smoke 'em if you got 'em. Hope you don't mind, all I've got on me is this local brand," he says apologetically as I take a cigarette and light up before giving the pack back.

I chuckle and pull out my pack of Dragon Smoke before saying, "Don't worry about it, I've smoked far worse," before putting it back in my pocket. We pass the next few minutes enjoying our cigarettes in silence, until I decide it's time to continue the conversation.

"So... after we smoke what we got, what's next?" I ask between puffs before something else comes to mind, "Hrm, and what about our unmet friend? I'm sure he's not gonna be too happy to find himself on the East Coast of Africa."

"Right now we're headed for a Thai port, real scummy place but it's home. We go to a local bar and share a drink to mourn our bad luck, after that it's business as usual for us and you can do whatever you want," Dutch says as he finishes his cigarette before rising to his feet and walking towards the hold, "As for our unmet friend... No, I doubt he'll be very happy indeed. But our client has made it so he won't have to worry about his misfortune, or anything else, for much longer."

Upon hearing about my counterpart's imminent fate, I take a final drag of my cigarette before heaving a smoky sigh. Gazing out across the deck of the ship towards the horizon I flatly mutter, "Sou ka..."

Author's Note: Alright, not sure how often I'm going to do an author's note, I suppose the answer is: Whenever it's necessary. Anyways, the opening scene is inspired by the opening scene in iNFAMOUS X's "Fate Lagoon", which features Emiya Shirou encountering the Lagoon Company. I enjoyed that story and in my opinion, there's really no better way to incorporate an Emiya into the Black Lagoon universe, so I'm not even going to try to be cleverer. What I will do... is give credit wherever it's due, suggest you give them a read, and remember what Jean-Luc Goddard said: "It's not about where you take things from - it's where you take them to."

Also, if you see any typos, feel free to point them out to me through private messaging. This is my first story, but I've already noticed a tendency to read over my work after publishing it to catch any typos that slipped past me while writing and editing. Still... I'm only human and might not catch everything.