Haruhi Fujioka awoke with sand on her lips and bruises on her body - but as she blearily rubbed her eyes and warmed up stiff joints, she quickly surveyed herself in Hideaki uniform. No broken bones, so it wasn't a bad landing. I'm okay, so far… She lifted herself into a sitting position with some effort, and listlessly gazed at the sunset on the shoreline, not sure where she was, what time it was, or anything.
For several minutes Haruhi simply sat on the beach and let all thought escape her. It was quiet, and (supposedly) this island was to be a relatively safe location in that the Kenpeitai, Japan's imperial military police, thought of it as deserted.
Water. Her thirst consumed her thoughts - she shook off her damp hair and pulled off the crinkled mylar blanket she was covered by. A quick glance around displayed her pack to her left, and with hydration on the mind she ruffled through its contents, looking for sustenance for her tired bones.
She pulled out a nondescript bottle of water, opened it with some difficulty, then drank as if it were her first time consuming water. Smacking her lips, Haruhi held the bottle out in front of her and stared satisfactorily at it, and set it down on the ground behind her. Legs splayed out in front of her, Haruhi drew the blanket over her legs and stared blankly at it.
Warm. She wondered how a mylar blanket that looked so cold could keep heat in this well.
Her stomach grumbled next. Food. She reached back into the pack and found tins of unidentified preserved mush. Finding one that had the least confusing labeling, she greedily tore it open, fumbling a little and cramming the contents into her hungry mouth. It tasted as it looked - a brownish-grey pile of mystery - but it immediately abated the pangs in her stomach. She was alone on a foreign shore. It would have to do.
Haruhi was nearly two mouthfuls of lumpy goo away from finishing the tin when a clear, smooth voice cut across the fog in her mind.
"Eh? Dare desu ka? Daijoubu desu ka?"
Haruhi's head snapped up. That was not one of her so-called colleagues from the plane - that was a clearly male Japanese voice, and it rang with charisma and confidence. She surveyed the coast again - nope, nowhere to hide.
A look down at her body told her that thankfully, she was not dressed in American army uniform (or any identifiably American dress), and she quickly realized why she was chosen for the job. A Japanese face, short hair, and a flat chest - she would be immediately taken as a Japanese soldier, but not one who posed any sort of real suspicion. Her small size and feminine features woud allow her to go overlooked within the Japanese ranks.
Her only choice, then, was to lie.
She heard the panting of the man as he drew near. She heard a sharp gasp behind her, followed by a clearing of the throat and tentative steps toward her.
"Sir, are you alright? Is something the matter? How did you get here? Oh goodness. You look distressed. Can I help you?" The man's voice sounded like a cross between degrading, worried, and demanding. The charisma and confidence was still evident.
"Yes, I - I'm sorry, sir, I just woke up here with injuries and - forgive me sir, I'm new here-" Haruhi's linguistic skills seemed to come to good use as she put on her best Kansai accent. Her cover couldn't be blown this early on. "I'm from Osaka, see, asked to step in and -"
"Goodness. You seem disoriented. Follow me; I'll take you back to my house. We'll get help for you there." The man took a gentler tone, although something else was laced into it. Haruhi tried to get a glimpse of his face, but what with the darkness and shadows she ended up not succeeding. This, of course, put her on edge - she needed to know who and what she was dealing with, and soon.
As Haruhi and her "rescuer" of sorts made their way to a narrow dirt path with dim lamps every so often, she snuck a closer look at him and was surprised to find a tall man of about her age. He had an air of the utmost intelligence, a pair of elegant wire-rimmed glasses perched delicately on his nose, and raven-black hair that fell gently around his face. Haruhi blinked and tried to figure out why he was oddly familiar - she was certain she hadn't met him before. But as her bruising and hunger continued on, she found herself only able to sustain basic levels of espionage vigilance.
He led her to a handsome black car and got into the driver's seat - that was the last that Haruhi remembered before waking up a two hours later and finding the car parked before a Western-style villa. The sight was a warning sign to Haruhi; a few could afford Western homes at this point in time, and of those few most were likely in high military rank. Who was her mysterious companion? She had the inkling that if her secret was found out - she would be in a very bad situation, indeed.
In the house, the man led Haruhi to a bathroom, and instructed her to wait for him. He returned to her carrying a fresh naval uniform (Haruhi again thanked her lucky stars that Jefferson had sent her off in Japanese dress) and Haruhi closed the door behind her, relieved.
Haruhi stripped off her wet clothing and stepped into the hot bath, relishing the warmth of the water. The man seemed nice and that nicety, she figured, was because he suspected nothing. So far, so good.
Haruhi sat there for a while, rubbing her hot muscles and allowing them to finally relax. Her mission was not intended to be physically intensive - the primary goal was to pretend to be a soft flowery fiancee to this Kyouya Ootori person, not an officer on a ship.
Finishing her bath, Haruhi dried off and donned the new uniform, peering around the bathroom for her supplies. Then she froze.
Oh, no. Shit!
While she had arrived in Japanese uniform and had been given a nondescript pack with generic supplies, they would be a dead giveaway to the fact that she was not a true Japanese officer.
She caught a glimpse of the plane, one engine emitting an alarming quantity of black smoke. It was certainly struggling to fly properly, but it should be able to land on the other engine - if the pilots were skilled. She hoped none would perish on that flight.
The frigid air slapped Haruhi in the face constantly, and she reached awkwardly behind her to find the parachuting goggles. Locating them, Haruhi placed them in a death grip as she placed them on her face. She looked upward to see the large parachute stretched out in the expanse of sky, and fear overtook her. Haruhi scrunched her eyes tightly to block out the sight of the sea and ground coming closer to her at every second. As the wind billowed in her parachute and her rate of descent slowed, Haruhi emptied her mind and let a semi-conscious state take over.
After what seemed like days, she landed somewhat roughly on the surface of the water, feeling the brunt of the impact but somehow surviving, and Haruhi swam a half-mile or so to the distant shore. Once she reached her destination, she gasped for air, and with fumbling fingers found the emergency blanket in her pack and slumped to the sand, unconscious.
Haruhi - or Hideaki - had to think fast. 'He' crept out of the bathroom and glanced around the vast hallway, looking for either Hideaki's pack, the man, or both.
Hideaki silently but briskly traveled through the turns in the massive house. He passed by a door that was slightly open, but stopped abruptly when he heard a voice behind it. Pressing himself to the side of the doorway, Hideaki strained his neck to hear what the person inside was saying - and through the crack, he saw his pack lying on a coffee table in what appeared to be a beautiful office den.
His stomach sank and he felt nauseous.
"Yes. Yes, I've found an Allied soldier. No, he was on the beach. He seemed disoriented. Yes. Yes, Tojo-sama. I understand. I only request that I may interrogate him myself before sending him to the camps. Will that be excusable? I thought so. Thank you. Good-night."
It was the smooth voice of the man. Haruhi heard the click of a phone being placed back on its stand and she took off in a run for the exit she'd found while exploring the home.
The door opened behind her, and Haruhi heard a shocked gasp.
"HEY! Where are you going - sir!" The man began yelling in a rage, but immediately controlled his voice and slipped back into a cooler facade. "Sir, what seems to be the matter? I'm trying to help you -" Still - with every word, the man was jogging towards Hideaki in pursuit.
With far longer legs than Hideaki, the man nearly caught up with him, his fingers brushing the hem of the naval jacket he had borred from the bespectacled gentleman.
Thanking his stars that he was on the first floor, Hideakii turned his back and leapt through a gorund-level window, turning in the air to face the ground. He immediately scrambled to get his feet on the ground, then sprinted as fast as he could. He needed to find the location he was meant to report into - thank goodness he had taken measures to ensure his casefile was sewn into his undershirt, even if it was now a slowly-drying, soggy mess crumpled in his jacket pocket.
Kyouya Ootori slowed his pace in the street, watching the back of the smaller man disappear into the Tokyo night. He was frustrated that he hadn't caught the man.
"Damn it!" He exclaimed, running his hands through his hair. He glanced back at his open window, darkly glaring at it and promising never to have any window in his home opened more than a few centimeters. Kyouya had lept through the window himself, and he cursed himself for stooping to undignified lows without successfully catching that obviously Allied Japanese man.
The small man's Kansai accent had been perfect. It was impossible. The only Allied powers capable of such deception would be America and China - and Kyouya was determined to see his search through. He would find that traitor and bring him to his knees.
Disclaimers as usual.
Author's Note: Kyouya's debut, at last! Each of the other main characters will also find their way into this story in some way, shape or form. Please please please leave reviews and/or constructive criticism!
Also, if you read carefully you would notice that Haruhi is written about as Hideaki in come cases but not others - I write her in as Hideaki when she forcibly makes herself take on that persona (consciously so, not simply by wearing Hideaki's clothing). So if you see the narrative labeling her as Hideaki, it's because she is consciously making herself be him in that narration.
Research Notes: I'm imagining that this small fictional island is somewhere off the coast of Chiba, with a small bridge that cars can access. It's a long stretch, but what can you do - please exercise your imaginations! As such, Kyouya's beautiful mansion is a few hours' drive away in the Kanagawa area (Yokohama, of sorts) - I didn't want him to be too centrally located (e.g. in central Tokyo by the Imperial Palace), but obviously with his job, he couldn't be more than 60m away by a vehice.