Diana had suspected she was being watched the moment she arrived in Korea. It wasn't until Myung's comment about having eyes on her that it clicked. Drystan couldn't stick around all the time, so naturally they needed others to play bodyguard. And a disposable source of stalkers sounded right up the Shelter's alley.
But after a few days in Korea and sticking to a rigid routine, she knew how they worked.
Diana constructed a rigid routine during her time here. After leaving her apartment, she headed straight for a popular cafe for coffee and breakfast.
A man she nicknamed 'Ruffled Hair' would arrive minutes later. He always followed in alongside a group, keeping close enough to appear a part of their clique, but always separated and disappeared into the crowd. He usually wound up alone at a table with a laptop.
Once she figured that out, she added another step in her schedule: chatting. Roping in strangers at the coffee shop to talk about tourist areas, occasionally politics, or about life.
It was through this she discovered the cycle of couples that sat in her proximity. They never wore the same thing and occasionally dyed their hair or changed the cuts, but some parts of them never changed. Diana named them accordingly; Mole Neck, Lip Biter, Large Nose, Look Around, Scarred Ear, and Confident Smile. At most, they sat three tables away from her, but she noticed they tried for closer seats, presumably for her conversations.
As soon as they finished speaking, Diana would let the stranger leave first. Two of the agents stationed outside followed them.
It was during one of these days that she waved over an older gentleman. A neck pillow still hung around his shoulders, and he blanked at any bit of Korean. To anyone else, she was simply helping out a lost tourist. Even today's couple of Large Nose and Confident Smile didn't pay much mind, having lost their closer seats to the morning rush, and used to Diana's magnanimous attitude.
"You seem lost," Diana remarked. "Mind if I lend a hand?"
Erich Soders stuffed a crumpled map into his backpack. "Thanks, miss. Today—hell, the past months—have been torture for the mind. One of our employees led me on a wild goose chase, and then she had the gall to call in another favor."
She chuckled, taking another sip of her latte. "My sympathies. But despite your disgruntled words, you appear perfectly at ease?"
"Fortunately for her, my instincts are still up and running. I know her well enough to realize things aren't over. Reminds me..." He swung his backpack around on his lap, digging through its stuffed pockets. Soders retrieved several newspapers, sliding them over. "Did you hear the news? Crazy world, these days."
Diana snatched them up, sifting through, intrigued. Beneath their disguises were files. Names of every supplier formerly affiliated with the ICA. All went off the grid some way or another. Birdie. Zodiac. Halo. Many more.
"It must've taken him ages to gather those names; all of their original paper files, as his friend requested. I imagine he had to dig through several facilities to find those. Everyone must have looked at him like he was crazy, because who needs paper in this day and age?"
"I'm sorry he felt that way," Diana said with a smirk. "But it's good he followed his friend's advice. In this day and age, it isn't hard to track someone's digital footprint."
In terms of accessibility, Birdie was her best shot. He was the most tech-savvy of the list, and it wouldn't have been hard to reach him. This was in comparison to Zodiac, who went on a killing spree of civilians, attracting far too much public attention than ideal; and Halo, who retired and returned to Khandanyang to try and help its citizens.
She'd have to meet him as soon as her business here was done. "I believe your hotel is two blocks down this very road." Diana pointed out the window. "And be careful of pickpockets. There's been reports of two individuals following customers of the cafe."
Soders chuckled as he rose. "Don't worry about me. I've dealt with things like this for the better half of my life. I'll be fine."
"My, it's like you never retired."
His smile sunk a little at that. "If only..." With that, he left the cafe. Diana finished her breakfast a little later, and then she was en route to Myung's estate.
When it all became overwhelming, it always helped to write down everything that ailed her mind. A slip of paper and a list of things to tackle one at a time.
She hasn't had time to do that.
Since the phone call, Nozomi has been moving on autopilot. She had their bodies sent home to Mizukiri, just as she and a host of CICADA guards took a private plane there. She considered taking leave from work. Then realized, with her responsibilities, that would've spelled the downfall of her career. And the thought of her work being relegated to less competent people horrified her.
During the plane ride, she handled another one of hundreds of calls from Warren Paxton and his deliriousness. He rambled on about government and politicians. Asked for more reinforcements and guns. 'Graced' her with his spiritual advice, as if getting high was the same thing as enlightenment.
She regretted agreeing to protect the man, the hassle of him being far worse than she realized. How someone like him was the technical genius behind the Black Pyramid was beyond her. But Providence couldn't lose his brain just yet, unfortunately.
Then Nozomi looked over the CICADA roster. His voice lingered in her head. Whoever it was wanted her to hear her son die, and they presented themselves as CICADA. Nozomi quadruple-checked the profiles of everybody accompanying her, when just once over took about an hour and a half.
Now and then, she'd look at her constant email chain. Messages from other Directors, higher-ups, those lower on the food chain. Nozomi handled them all accordingly. Some asked about the resources she was pooling to Jamaica—questions she expertly deflected with some satisfying answer.
In the few moments of silence, she pondered. Thought about her children—if she had the right to call them that with how she handled them. Such melancholy ended just as quickly, as the cycle repeated.
By the time she looked at the clock, it was reaching early morning.
Before she knew it, they were driving through Mizukiri. When they entered town, and the nostalgic lines of buildings divided by the rock river bed appeared, she felt withered. She thought of how long it has been since she's been here. Then her mind returned to the plan as they drove past civilization and toward the mountainside.
Nozomi thanked her past self for enacting a battle plan and sending her men here ahead of time.
The convoy took her through the forest of ancient cedar trees and up the single road leading to the famed Buddhist temple, Shōgetsu-in. Etched into the mountainside and being a safe distance from Mizukiri, the massive complex presented itself as a hidden tourist gem. Its outer walls stood on the edge of its natural pedestal, several meters above where the steep cedar forest slope ran into the rock face.
Save for the local monks and devoted visitors on pilgrimage, especially at this time, it was a path seldom traveled. That made it simple enough to lock down.
Her bodyguards stepped out of the vehicle first, and when the all-clear was given, Nozomi followed. Her hair was tied simply with a band, keeping it from touching the black kimono. Scores of guards protected the front gate, and the monks who would normally be chanting sutras stood warily. All eyes were on her, and she felt it going up the stairs.
Waiting for her was the family's ever loyal lawyer. "Yamazaki." She greeted her with a taut, professional smile. "Has Myung picked up?"
"I'm afraid not." She joined the entourage deeper inside. "I tried her number several times. Does she have to do with the immense security?"
Nozomi didn't answer. They entered the main hall, and the silence became palpable. Three coffins lined up against each other, each adorned with white lilies. Two open—her sons, almost unscathed yet unrecognizable to her. One closed. At the end of the hall, a tremendous statue of the Buddha, gilded with gold leaf, watched over them.
A monk tended to caskets. He offered incense and fruit, wishing the dead nothing more than a peaceful venture to the afterlife. As for Nozomi? She couldn't read his expression. He had every right to be frustrated. It was on her orders that temple grounds were now tainted with weapons and thugs.
But something told her it was more than just that.
"If Myung is still leaving me in the dark... That's it, then. I'm next. To her, I'm already dead." And her first mistake was falling for their trap. That much was apparent the moment she took the plane here. Before that even, when her son's killer wanted her to hear Satoshi's last breath.
Yet, she came. Just like Myung knew she would. If she caught Myung's assassin, Providence would be safe, and it would be the chaebol's turn to run. And my children's deaths would have been for something, she thought.
Dozens of footsteps filed into the main hall, stopping and starting like military. When Nozomi turned around, her loyal team awaited their orders. Myung has played her best card, no doubt. Best give an equal performance.
"Listen up!" Nozomi shouted. "Our opponent wants nothing more than my life ended! They will try to ignore you, play you for fools—you, the life and soul of the Yoshihara-gumi! You, who fought bloody wars and battles to bring glory to our name! To that I say, detarame!
"I want check-ins every one minute. Every entrance—every possible entrance—must be covered! Constantly check ranks, do not leave any equipment or resources out in the open, and watch your backs. Anyone you even think you don't recognize, have them verify their identities! Stay in pairs, retread ground as much as you can—especially when the mist rolls in. Do us proud!"
They shouted in a unified chorus, "Hai!" and synced their bows. Dividing into pairs, the CICADA team got into position.
"Powerful as always," Yamazaki remarked. "Do you honestly think our would-be attacker stands a chance?"
Nozomi kept staring ahead. Thinking. "Honestly?" she started. "Not at all."
Back in Mizukiri, a bus of visitors pulled in. With them came the suited hitman.
"Hello, 47. Welcome to the quiet town of Mizukiri, located in the Izu prefecture. Your target is Nozomi Yoshihara, the Director of CICADA's branch in Japan. She is the youngest of the long defunct Yoshihara-gumi, a Yakuza clan absorbed by the Yamaguchi-gumi—until your assassination of Masahiro Hayamoto. In the ensuing gang wars over the power vacuum, the Yoshiharas disappeared without so much of a fuss.
"Nozomi resurfaced in the public eye vowing to make up for her family history. Using her in-depth knowledge of the syndicate, she easily found work in Japan's crime departments. Eventually, she left to perform global work with freelance detective Lars Roth and his assistant, then-Choi Soo-min, acting as their consultant.
"After the Blue Seed case shunned him from the public eye, Choi returned to her family business, marrying the Nunchi Tech CEO Myung Chul. She used her power to ensure Nozomi's status, which she used to get into CICADA, a global PMC. The two have remained in their positions for decades now. Unfortunately, it seems any good graces are long gone.
"We followed the caskets to the Buddhist temple in Mizukiri, Shōgetsu-in, albeit just in time for Nozomi to take advantage of her CICADA assets and put the temple into lockdown. As you can see, the suited mercenaries roam the streets in patrols. They follow rigid check-ins, know each other's faces, and the temple's bases have all been covered. Preceding her reputation, Nozomi has crafted a well-oiled machine. But with the plan you've set into motion, I have confidence you will see this through. Good luck, 47."
Agent 47 and the visitors filed out, most of them heading their separate ways with a destination in mind. As the bus left, 47 gazed up at the distant mountain. Obscured by fog and trees, the grand Shōgetsu-in towered above Mizukiri from its throne. The target chose an excellent base to fortify.
But just as the strongest chain has its weak point, even a well-oiled machine will grind to a halt, when you force another gear into the crammed mechanisms.
Location: Izu, Japan
Target: The Scapegoat
There was still time before the third party arrived. Best to learn what he could about the temple.
Traditional buildings lined the narrow streets, their irimoya roofs gracefully curved as red paper lanterns hung and swayed in the breeze. They seemed to disperse the fog-like mist that rolled in from the nearby hills.
One building, the local tourist hotspot that was the Mizukiri Onsen, just now saw its doors unlocked. A woman on the older side stepped out, broom in hand and setting to work on clearing the entrance.
"Excuse me."
She jumped, the broom almost flying from her hands. Once she saw Agent 47, she sighed in relief. "I'm so sorry. I didn't see you coming."
"It happens."
"Can I help you?"
"That's what I'm hoping." The hitman retrieved a worn notebook and a pencil with enough finesse to leave no room for doubt. "I'm here to write a book on Japanese temples. The Shōgetsu-in caught my eye, and I was hoping to learn more."
The woman nodded. Shōgetsu-in was the second draw for visitors; more than her onsen, that's for sure. This man seemed like another tourist, although with a more in-depth purpose. "Have you heard the tale?"
"I have, but I was hoping to learn more about the intricacies of the story. I want to know what parts are true, how Jōren theoretically made it inside, and much more."
In-depth, indeed. She could only shake her head with a smile. "I wouldn't know."
It was then a younger boy popped out the doors. He spared a frantic look at his mother. "I'm off to see Fujiwara-san!" he said.
But before he could speed away, his mother snatched his arm. "Not so fast!" She waited until he reluctantly met her gaze. "I know you and your friends like to head into those woods, but stay away from the temple. I mean it. Who knows what those CICADA people would do to you?"
"I know, mom, I'm not that stupid."
She smiled warmly, then letting the boy go. Turning back to 47, she continued, "That goes for you, too, unfortunately. Do you know CICADA?"
"I've dealt with them before, yes."
"They've taken over Shōgetsu-in today, and I don't know why. But I doubt they're letting anyone inside. Tokuda-san down the street saw lots of armed men along the trail, and they asked him to turn back."
"I see."
"If you want, I could convince the inn to give you a discount. I know the owner, and—"
"No thanks. I don't plan on staying for more than a day." Agent 47 flipped through the notebook, subtly reminding the woman of his reason for being here.
Not one to disappoint, she said, "Go find Tajima-san at the gift shop. He's kind of a temple nerd, so he knows everything about that stuff. Tell him that Nagano sent you."
"Thank you," he said with a nod, then looking toward her son. "You let him head into the forest?"
Nagano sighed. "That boy wouldn't listen to me, anyway. But he and his friends have been going out there for years by now. Who knows what they do out there, but they always come back."
After giving thanks, Agent 47 departed soon after to find the gift shop.
Down the street, it was a rustic building, and looked more like a showcase with the way the souvenirs were displayed. A shelf of colorful tea sets remained outside to poach would-be tourists. Its shoji door was left wide open for 47.
He approached the older man behind the counter. "Excuse me. I'm writing a book on Japanese temples, including the Shōgetsu-in. Nagano told me you were the go-to?"
Tajima took a moment to process it, but before long his business demeanor gave way for eagerness. It wasn't often he met someone who shared his passion. "You've come to the right place! How much do you already know of Shōgetsu-in?"
"I've memorized the tale of the temple. How Mizukiri was suffering a drought during the Heian period, and the arrival of the monk, Jōren. He'd heard stories of the then-dilapidated temple and its abilities to restore balance to the lands. He vowed to restore it for the sake of the people, but found that all its entrances were blocked, and thus prayed for guidance. Moonlight then directed him through the dense forest and to an ancient stone gateway, leading into the temple. Inside, a spirit revealed to him the history of the place, saying that if it was restored, the lands would be saved."
"And that he did." Tajima nodded. "That much is true. You can find Jōren-san's handprints on many of the ceramic roof tiles."
"Interesting. But how much of the tale is true?"
"Realistically? That's the only physical evidence we have of its story. Jōren-san worked for many years to repair the temple, and that's recorded in our history."
"Then I'm curious: How did Jōren access the temple if all entrances were blocked?"
That gave Tajima a moment to think. "I admit, I haven't given that detail much thought. Let's start with you and work our ideas out. How do you think he got in?"
"If I had to say, he likely found some hole in the temple. It was long in decay."
"I can see it. But..." Tajima's eyes glimmered with realization. "The tale describes the moonlight leading him into the forest. It's entirely possible that the 'ancient gateway' was some natural tunnel. Shōgetsu-in does have a myriad of basements that were not refurbished by Jōren."
Agent 47 added that to the notebook. "Thank you, Tajima. This has been very helpful."
"It was my pleasure! If you're interested, I have plenty of temple souvenirs for sale. I'll let you have a discount for—"
The hitman was already leaving.
So, a possible tunnel entrance into the temple basement. Keyword being possible. The idea of hiking through the forest mountainside up to the temple's rocky pedestal for a backdoor that may not exist wasn't appealing. But by the sound of it, the other entrances weren't much better.
Across the street, a group of teenage boys passed by, among them being Nagano's son. He heard them mention the forest, and that was enough to have him tailing them.
"I don't know about this, Fujiwara. I saw them with my own eyes—they're going around the forest like crazy!" Nagano said.
"We've gone into places we shouldn't have in the past. All that's different here is there's a little bit of security!" the ever-confident Fujiwara replied. "I know the forest like the back of my hand. We'll hide in the bushes and run around the rocks, follow the jizō statues all the way to the temple, and we'll take back our treasure. Nobody will see us!"
"Yeah, no, they're going to shoot you dead within 30 seconds," a third boy chipped in. "These guys have guns. We'll never reach the tunnel alive."
As he said this, a rumbling down the road caught everyone's attention. Nagano's mother stopped sweeping. Tajima stepped outside. Another convoy of black cars with tinted windows rolled through Mizukiri, but something about them was different than the CICADA vehicles. The older residents felt a chill, and made themselves scarce.
As for Agent 47, this was his cue to move.
...
Matsumoto stood stationed at the temple's front doors with his partner, Morikawa. Everything about today felt off. He's accompanied Director Nozomi into million-dollar establishments that break the law like no tomorrow, followed her into war-torn countries, but never has he seen her this serious. In a temple out in the countryside of their very home, nonetheless.
So when a convoy rounded the bend, he was sure the threat had arrived. Tapping his earpiece, he said, "Front Gate to Director. A convoy of five vehicles is approaching. Allegiance is unknown."
"A convoy?" she repeated.
"Wait," Morikawa interjected. From a vehicle, a man stuck his head out and waved. He pulled his sleeve down, revealing a tattoo snaking up his arm. Morikawa laughed. "False alarm! It's the Yoshihara-gumi! Are these reinforcements, Director?"
No response.
The convoy pulled to a stop, and the Yakuza emerged. Scores of people marched in a wave. They blocked the path, moving in sync with unanimously icy glares, and Matsumoto realized where his peers picked up their imposing demeanors. Their tattoos—the irezumi—flashed in their hands or neck, and the rest of their bodies were covered by formal suit and ties.
In the middle of them all was a wheelchair-bound man with sagging wrinkles blanketing his skin. His own irezumi crawled up his neck, a dragon's claw scratching at his cheek. He wore a kimono with a haori wrapped around his shoulders, all similar shades of black. Anzai Yoshihara appeared nothing but indignant.
"O-Oyassan?" Morikawa shouted, his indomitable form immediately dissolving.
"Morikawa-san, right?" He met the soldier with a warm smile. "It's been a while! How have you been? CICADA treat you well?"
Unlike many others under Director Yoshihara's lead, Matsumoto was not part of the 'legacy' that was their Yakuza. He'd heard so many tales from them that he could've pieced together the family's history alone. While Anzai and Morikawa exchanged pleasantries, Matsumoto kept the Director updated.
Nozomi answered with a cold order. Matsumoto approached Anzai. "Your daughter wishes to meet you inside."
"She cannot even walk me in?" He scoffed. "Whatever. That's the least of my concerns."
"She also requests that only her father comes in."
The statement stirred a barrage of murmurs and sneers from the crowd. "You can't be serious!" The loudest came from the enforcer beside Anzai, a stubbled man missing his pinkie finger. "Some kind of daughter she is! She abandoned us for decades, and now she thinks she can control us?!"
An arm grabbed his sleeve, and Anzai's gentle voice called, "Easy now, Kamiya-san." The enforcer backed down. "My family nor I will accept the humiliation of being treated as lessers. All of us are coming in."
"I'm sorry, sir," Matsumoto said. "It's protocol. The Director believes there is a serious threat present."
"Can't we make an exception?" Morikawa asked, to which his partner denied with a shake of his head.
"What is your name?" Anzai asked.
"Matsumoto, sir."
"Matsumoto-san." The oyabun nodded. "You seem very capable. I respect a man who upholds his duty, and your loyalty is to be commended. In our glory days, honor was the one thing binding us together. We fought in bloodied wars and contested powerful foes—much like the wars you CICADA folk have seen."
"With all due respect, war is not something that many things can compare to."
"Then you didn't grow up the way we have." Anzai motioned to his crowd. "These men are the same. Even when the Yamaguchi-gumi crushed our assets and claimed us like dogs, they followed me to the ends of the earth. They followed me here. And they will see that I enter, as much I wish for them to enter."
Matsumoto shook his head again. He looked across the crowd and their hardening glares, yet did not move. "If you are suggesting that my allegiance to the Director is misplaced, I'm afraid you are barking up the wrong tree."
Anzai laughed. "Why, I wouldn't dream of it! I merely wished to inspire some loyalty."
A gun cocked, and Matsumoto stared down the barrel aimed by his partner. "I'm sorry, Matsumoto-san. I will take full responsibility for this, I promise. But I cannot turn my back on my family..."
He returned the promise with a glare. Wordlessly, he tapped his earpiece to say, "Director, I'm afraid all of them are coming in."
...
Although the side and back of Shōgetsu-in was naturally defended, Nozomi spared no effort in her plan. That became clear as Agent 47 hiked the absurdly steep mountainside, the untrekked woods laden with mud threatening to give beneath his feet. He clung onto the trees whenever he came around one, his eyes on the distant temple walls.
And as he neared, patrols of CICADA agents entered the scene. Pairs of them scoured the woods near Shōgetsu-in. Despite their tough demeanors, each step was slow and cautious, and they constantly glanced down at the never-ending trunks down the slope. They, too, anchored next to the trees.
As if matters couldn't get worse for them, the dreaded shroud of mist finally descended. It made their fingers stick each time they bent and made the air feel stuffy. Within minutes, they could only see a few feet ahead.
And with changing conditions came procedure. The Director's voice came over the comms. "I imagine you see the mist as well as I do. Do not let it weigh on your nerves. Remember the protocol and act accordingly."
"Hai. We won't let you down." The guard parroted her orders to the rest, drilling it into their heads. Fog was an infiltrator's greatest ally; they were to speed up their patrols to cover more ground.
Agent 47, from his cover of shrubbery, heard their voices faintly above. Though an ally of the infiltrator, it was up to the latter to take advantage of its aid. He emerged from the bushes, slowly climbing up the slope. He noted the path using the jizō statues as checkpoints.
The hitman approached from the temple's outward corner. As he took a step up, a pair of footsteps crunched through the mud. 47 kept close to the ground, listening. They were coming ahead from the left. He shrunk into the flora.
The guards' footsteps grew louder. Their lower halves soon appeared through the mist, just barely in 47's sight. They wandered further, bouncing between the trees in search of would-be intruders. One skirted the shrubbery masking 47, and just a glance up told him the color of the guard's eyes. He tried squinting through the fog, already plenty frustrated by the environment.
"All clear," his partner called, and he went away.
"Is it true that the Yoshihara-gumi are here?"
"That's right. A whole lot of them, by the sound of it, even their oyabun. How do you think they learned about this?"
"I bet Yamazaki-san told them. She's the only one of us still deeply involved with them—more so than the Director."
"I doubt it. She and the Director are close. Yamazaki-san's career is all thanks to her."
"Whatever the case, I just hope they don't interfere with our posts too much..."
Their voices faded along with their steps, and Agent 47 continued. The rock face holding the temple came into view, covered with hanging vines and moss. None were thick enough to climb, and the flat walls built on the edge made it impossible to get in that way.
He only stopped his trek upon finding a jizō statue at a tree bordering the rock face. If everything added up, the tunnel was nearby. Only another pair of footsteps neared, forcing 47 to retreat into the shrubbery.
And just like last time, the CICADA guards ventured into the woods. Agent 47 heard one of them trudge through a patch of bushes, holding onto a tree as he kicked it away. His partner scoured through the fog in case there was anything hiding in plain sight.
47 threw a pebble, bouncing off a nearby trunk. Both guards turned to the sound—during which Agent 47 emerged from his cover and ducked into the bushes next to the first guard. The guards exchanged a look, and the second hiked over to investigate.
The noise took him right below his partner.
As the second guard kicked the bush again, Agent 47 wrapped around the tree. He gave a slight, yet forceful nudge to the heel of his remaining foot.
In an instant, his hands ripped through weak branches and plants as he flattened on his back, and he felt himself fall. The guard screamed out, losing all control as gravity took over and slid him down—colliding with his partner. They and their voices disappeared in seconds into the mist, leaving behind a trail in the mud of the unfortunate mistake.
Having bought time for himself, Agent 47 ran up to the cliff face and dug through the vines. He took a second of searching before he paused. Piercing through the mist and the canopy was a singular ray of light. It was faint, barely passing through. But it illuminated a spot in the greenery.
As legend foretold, the tunnel had revealed itself.
Passing through the vines, 47 crouched down to enter. But the mist seeped in, revealing a faint red line. He stopped just inches away from the laser tripwire. They accounted for this, too.
The device, likely an alarm, was deeper inside the tunnel. They planted mirrors along the tunnel to extend its range, sealing away the hidden entrance from people like him.
Agent 47 retrieved his Silverballer, thinking. If he could get a line of sight on the device, a well-placed bullet could deactivate it without setting off the alarm. It was around a turn, but climbing around the lasers was not impossible.
47 followed the initial laser from mirror to mirror, visualizing the pattern in his head. He removed his suit and tie, leaving only the white shirt on. Taking a breath, he went in.
Agent 47 found a hole in the ceiling to anchor a hand in, configuring himself so that he was upside down. With that alone, he pulled his body near the top while his feet lingered on the floor outside. He remembered the laser bounced just ahead, and he curved his back to tilt his head down, sliding uncomfortably against the rocky terrain.
47 lifted his legs up, pinning one foot in a blind spot against the ceiling and another farther apart. He threaded his left arm to the side, finding support in a rock sticking outward. Light shone from the other end. Latched near it was the tripwire alarm's silhouette.
Keeping his breath steady to not lose balance, the hitman reached for his holster, carefully pulling the Silverballer against his chest. He ducked the weapon below a laser as he took aim... and fired.
A satisfying crackle filled the tunnel.
Agent 47 crawled into the basement, emerging behind a pillar with piles of junk strewn beside it. Sitting at a crate and playing cards were two guards.
"Of course it was Mano-san who slipped. The guy loses his footing at least once on every mission. I do not envy him or his partner."
"You're telling me. The Director is bad enough when she isn't losing it. What do you think will happen to them now?"
The first man shrugged. "I doubt we'll see him again. And now that you mention it, I've never seen the Director this worked up before. This temple's become a military camp. The only things missing are the watchtowers."
"I bet the Director would've built us watchtowers if she had the time."
"We're already more than enough to deal with the ICA."
"ICA isn't even that scary. It's just that they're the only one with global connections and resources, and the scope of their operations is more than say, the Puissance Treize. Their average success rate is nothing impressive—minus the outlier."
"Outlier?"
"They call him: 'Agent 47'. A bald, killer clone with no known history or identity. Came out of nowhere as the perfect killing machine. He boasts a 100% success rate and is the sole reason that ICA is at the top."
They both break into laughter.
"Masaka! That's one hell of a marketing ploy, I'll give them that! I bet all the big moneybags are lining up for that!"
With how engrossed in their game and conversation they were, Agent 47 walked around them and up the stairs.
...
After going through the main hall, Anzai and his followers rolled out into the Zen garden behind it. The enormous mountainside was visible from here, and mist ran down its slopes like waterfalls. Shōgetsu-in was still the same as he remembered from the tranquil surroundings to the divine feel of the air.
The same could not be said for the monks, whose patience faced the ultimate test. The temple's several residents tried going about their day, but armed mercenaries and now Yakuza made it difficult for them to focus. Anzai smiled at each passing monk, only able to find the humor in the situation.
Placed awkwardly in the center of the garden was the comms tower, crudely set up and surrounded by canopy tents that housed a slew of guards.
Many of the CICADA mercs stopped to gawk. Some, the former Yakuza members, left their posts just to bow for their Oyassan, then hurrying back. And before meeting with his ungrateful daughter, Anzai gave his followers one last command—an effort to show how much he cared about her.
At the other end of the garden was the five-story pagoda. The location of their meeting.
It was here that Nozomi sat eerily still at a table. "Father," she began. "Your men were supposed to wait outside."
He rolled over with an equally scornful look. "Is this really how you greet me? After all these years, you're still a pathetic woman."
Nozomi did not miss this. "It's for security."
"Are you saying you don't trust my kobun? These men have put their lives on the line for loyalty beyond anything you can fathom!"
She took a deep breath through her nostrils. "I never said that. Someone is out there to kill me. I cannot afford to take risks with people I do not know."
Anzai looked at her incredulously. "Have you forgotten? We are Yoshiharas! We are immortal! We are the life and soul of Yakuza! Challenging us is a death sentence, and never have we hid behind procedure and protocol like cowards!"
Because pride in the name worked so well for the Masahiros. "I pray you are not confusing cowardice with caution."
"Is it part of your 'caution' to not invite your own father to his grandchildren's funeral? I had to learn of this through an anonymous informant! A garbled voice on a phone, over my own flesh and blood!"
"You say that like you ever cared about them. You threw Hideki when he was six years old!"
"And you put all three of them in a glorified prison for three decades and a half! Guess neither of us are great parents, hm?"
Nozomi's eye twitched, the only blunder in her composure. "I'm wasting my time here. It's fine if you want to attend the funeral, but keep your men out!"
"For your love of security, you are very short-sighted! I already had them take positions around the temple. If anything, your measures are ten times as powerful now that we're here..."
Her throat dried. Suddenly, all of her preparations against the unknown—the non-stop background checks and memorizing of the patrols—felt totally useless.
"Don't overestimate yourself. You're a lady, after all, and I have almost a century of experience on my shoulders. I could do your job while sleeping!" He laughed while rolling away, leaving Nozomi and Yamazaki alone.
A second later, her phone rang.
She had left it in Yamazaki's possession to manage, so it was she who read, "It's Warren Paxton."
Nozomi rubbed her temples. "I'll handle it. He probably wants more troops and guns, and I'll keep denying him."
She handed the device over for the time. "Nozomi... As a friend, I only ask that you rely on me. Even I can tell this is too much for you."
Going in one ear and out the other, she regained her energy and headed for the exit. "Walk with me. We'll see where my father's men have taken position and add that to the plan. This is not irreparable..."
Agent 47 watched them leave the pagoda from underneath the engawa and through the wooden steps. He saw the enforcers carry Anzai down, followed by Nozomi's black kimono.
"That is Nozomi Yoshihara. Yakuza daughter, a former forensic analyst from Surtr's old freelance team, and the current Director of CICADA's Japan branch. Quite the resume."
He remembered Katsuyama-jō castle and the endless patrols in the surrounding snowy forest. Not even a disguise helped against the guards and their insistence on verifying ID. If Nozomi was any wise, she'd have trained these mercs with the same meticulousness.
47 learned his lesson there. That's why he roped in the wild card of a third party.
The Yakuza had dispersed throughout the temple, many of them attaching themselves to CICADA patrols. As many were old friends reuniting, it was easy for some to forego procedure and catch up. Among them was a pair of CICADA mercs patrolling the nearby preaching hall's perimeter, now walking with an enforcer.
"So, you guys are defending against this organization of assassins called the ICA?" the enforcer asked.
The first guard nodded, looking at his friend rather than the surroundings. "It sounds ridiculous, but I wouldn't let my guard down. Rumor has it that one of their hitmen killed Masahiro Hayamoto."
"Masaka." He waved that idea off completely. "There's no way an outsider could have done that! Someone betrayed him from the inside, is what I believe."
"It is just a rumor," the second guard added. "Still, the Director is dead serious about this. It's our obligation to do our best."
"Hear, hear," the enforcer agreed.
Meanwhile, Agent 47 passed by behind them and to the shoji door, quietly opening it just enough for him to go through. It led him into an empty hall with a few furnishings, but a chorus of chanting sutras echoed from further in. Heading towards the noise, the hitman peeked around an entrance to find a crowd of monks praying to a line of four Buddha statues, much smaller than the one in the main hall, but just as shining and cared for.
Encircling the monks were a pair of CICADA and a singular, mask-wearing Yakuza member. The enforcer paused at a doorway, sitting on one knee. This left the mercs patrolling the interior. The looks they shot at him told 47 that they weren't former Yakuza.
The hitman's best bet for a disguise was the enforcer. And knowing what was coming next in the Buddhist prayer, he traversed the halls to his side.
The monks suddenly rose all at once. Hands in prayer, they repeated the Sutra in a unified chorus. Keeping their eyes on the backs of the person in front of them, they oriented themselves in a singular line. At once, they all moved together like a snake. The monk at the front led them around the room, effectively dividing it in two—and separating the Yakuza from CICADA.
The leading monk then led them to the doorway, and the enforcer stepped aside. He anchored at the doorway behind him, leaning against it.
Agent 47 wrapped an arm around his neck and a hand over his mouth. To the song of chanting, he choked the enforcer until he fell unconscious. After taking his clothes, 47 shoved him into a nearby closet.
He added the mask to his outfit, ensuring that he'd be safe from suspicion from at least a distance. Or if they weren't attentive enough. And with Nozomi taking it upon herself to learn the new variable, CICADA was in the dark until she finished. But when she did, he doubted it would take long for her to learn about the missing Yakuza enforcer.
The monks returned to their seats. The two mercs spotted him from a distance, glaring at Agent 47, but did nothing more. He left the preaching hall soon after.
Although it was much more liberating to walk in the open Zen garden, the hitman knew not to let his guard down. As long as he kept distance and used cover, nobody would think much of him.
He returned just in time to see Nozomi approach the comms tower. She checked in now and then, recognizing the important of communication in a defense like this. Other than Mano and his partner slipping outside, there was no cause for concern yet.
"Any interference?" she asked.
"No," the operator answered. "Connection's clean as a whistle. And everyone's accounted for, and Mano-san has returned to his position."
It lined up with what she knew. With no news being the good news, Nozomi turned to leave.
"This is Adachi and Omura-san." The basement guards, she recognized. "The tripwire in the tunnel—it's destroyed..."
Nozomi's throat dried. "This is the Director," she said, stifling a cough. "Is there any indication as to how or when it broke?"
"We don't know when, but a bullet hole ripped right through its circuits. It's completely dead. But nothings come in! The only things alive in this basement are us. Maybe some insects, but nothing else!"
Adachi and Omura. Tough as nails on the battlefield, but blase loafers for defending. A basement was the easiest thing to protect and was why she placed them there. The tripwire should have done their job as well! Logically, there's no way someone could've gotten past the basement...
Nozomi pinched the bridge of her nose. "Adachi-san, you and Omura-san stay there. Ground Team, fall in. Perform a—"
Her phone rang. Yamazaki dug it up. "It's Warren. Again." Nozomi's look told her what to do, and she picked up. "This is Yamazaki..."
"Perform a sweep of the temple. While you're at it, tell me where the Yakuza have dispersed when you come across them, alongside a description of their appearance." That way, she could map out the rest of them while double checking the ones already in memory.
The order was met with a resounding "Hai!"
Now to deal with Warren. Yamazaki was holding the phone away as incessant rambling peaked from the other end, and she gladly returned it to its owner.
"Calm down, Mr. Paxton. It's me."
"Took you long enough! I thought your culture was all about respect and whatnot?"
"My apologies. There is a lot on my plate at the moment."
"I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm all out of fucks to give. The U.S. and Spanish government are hot on my tail—I know they are! Any minute, they're gonna come rolling out with tanks and choppers to shoot my ass down! I need ten times more men and guns! Pronto!"
"Like I said the past dozen times, neither governments have you that prioritized. You are safe. And you already have enough to fuel a city-wide militia. Not to mention CICADA will catch on if I keep deploying more resources to you."
"You haven't seen what I saw! You don't know the things I've been through! I have survived over 100 assassins and bounty hunters and hitmen, all wanting the generation of ideas plaguing my mind! The Constant made you my servant for a reason, and I expect a god damn army at my beck and call!"
These damn Westerners. Nozomi perked up. As if fate laughed in her face, Anzai was coming over. "We will discuss this later."
"Like hell we are—!" She passed the phone back to Yamazaki, hiding the fact that her mind pulsed with pain.
"Nozomi," he greeted. "What time is the funeral set to begin?"
Nozomi recognized that look. He used it when he told her that he won't be gone for long. That he'll return and whisk them away to a life of luxury once the Yoshihara-gumi was back on track. He used it when he told her he was sorry about her husband's death, and when he asked to 'borrow' CICADA money for the 'last time'. So with a breath, she spat, "We both know you're not here for my children's funerals. Why did you come?"
His demeanor did not change. "I wanted to see if you had learned your lesson. Ever since you joined that detective around the globe, you've constantly spat in the face of your family's honor. Of my honor."
She wasn't surprised. "The Yoshiharas lost decades ago. The Yamaguchi-gumi absorbed them—why can't you just accept this? If you truly valued honor, you could admit that much!"
"But look who's still alive! The Masahiros only grew so much because of their wide face, and look where it got them! We could've rebuilt into something far grander! And if only you made yourself a better wife, your husband wouldn't have offed himself!"
"Don't you dare bring him into this."
"If you didn't get these Western ideas about 'independence', your children could have reached greatness! I saw it in them after Himura—they would have made our family great again! I know it!"
"Keep them out of your tongue! And is it not from you leeching off CICADA funds that you're barely keeping things afloat?!"
"You left me no choice! You've done every single thing wrong as a lady. No family has ever had such an ungrateful daughter, and we've become a laughingstock because of you!"
"I don't have time for this." Nozomi spun away. "We're done here. I have more important things to worry about!"
"Yeah. Turn your back on me. I bet this is what your husband saw before he killed himself." She stopped. "I bet your kids saw that when you abandoned them! You only know how to run, run, and run!"
Her hand dropped to a hidden holster... only for Yamazaki to snatch his wrist with an iron grasp. "I know what you are thinking, Nozomi," she uttered. "Don't."
Anzai rolled away a moment later, repeating the same rhetoric even as his voice faded. The mercs and enforcers, only now realizing they'd stopped to watch, resumed their duties. Agent 47, realizing he gained a lot more from involving the Yakuza, brainstormed a plan.
Nozomi ran a hand through her hair, fighting the urge to pull out every strand. "I'm one of the most powerful people in the world... yet I can't hold a finger to my father, or a hand to my children... It makes you wonder if any of this was worth it."
"Don't speak like that," Yamazaki said. "I've met countless people like your father. He's weak, and the only person he can take it out on is you."
The Director nodded. "You're right... and soon enough, I won't need to worry about him again."
Then the phone rang, and Yamazaki glanced at its contact. "It's the Board this time. They're inquiring about our use of resources here at Mizukiri."
"I'll handle them." Nozomi took the phone, and it was business as usual.
Agent 47 returned to the comms tower, the first obstacle that needed to go down. It was surrounded by five mercs, a few enforcers, and tents covering an array of machinery facilitating the comms. Nozomi knew her priorities in security.
As he neared, he overheard their conversation. "So, one of the Yakuza people has gone missing. The Director is having the perimeter team search the temple. Me? I reckon this is bait. If there was someone out there, maybe they paid the guy to vanish, knowing she'd pull the outer patrols away. And that's when they sneak inside."
Another guard nodded in thought. "Way too complex, but not impossible. These enforcers look to type to chase after dangling money like a bone."
"Hey, we're right here!" a third chipped in. "We're not the dirty delinquents you think we are. And Konya-san would never disappear like that—something's up."
47 approached one of the outer devices, a signal amplifier. He messed with the panel, and a chorus of pained cries erupted at once—including distant ones across the temple.
"I thought we told you damn Yakuza, don't mess with the equipment!" The accusation was aimed at the three wandering enforcers. Convenient scapegoats who lacked the mandated earpieces, spared from the deafening screech.
"It wasn't them!" an enforcer-turned-merc shouted back. "I'm tired of you referring to us like scum! What was the Director thinking, pulling you lot out of the woodwork?"
Another came to his defense, and one to the other's aid. The squabble put the guards against each other, even attracting nearby patrols curious about the piercing noise from before. Among them was Agent 47, ignored by these normally diligent guards as if he wasn't there. He got to the comms tower, working his magic.
"Gentlemen!" Nozomi's voice peaked over the rabble, pausing the soldiers in their tracks. One by one, they turned to the Director's frigid gaze. "To think all of you consider yourselves honorable!
The crowd quieted. Gravitated by her dark glare, they organized themselves before her like obedient school kids.
"I am not a fan of this arrangement as much as many of you are. But need I remind you that my life is at stake? Our livelihoods are threatened by the ICA, and you feel it is more important to squabble like chickens!" Her head pulsed in harsher waves, adding to her grimace. "You are all dismissed. I don't want to see you all squabbling like chickens again."
"Hai!"
Everything should have been in perfect order. But as she turned to leave, one of the mercs stopped her. "Director?"
"What is it now?"
"I... The comm tower is down."
Nozomi froze. "What do you mean it's down?!"
"I sincerely do not know. It was fine just a minute ago..."
She ran over to the tower's terminal where a couple of others fiddled around with it. It was completely shut down, but how? There was no way someone could have tampered with it in that time... There couldn't have been. "How long until it is fixed?"
"By the look of it, it'll take an hour, minimum, before all systems come online again."
Nozomi kicked the tower, the clanging of metal echoing throughout the garden. This was followed by her loudest yet: "Chikushou!"
Agent 47 returned to the pagoda, remembering that Nozomi's laptop was kept here. It was more secured than some place like the preaching hall, though, as CICADA turned it into their war room. A table in the center was cleared out for papers of patrol routes and positions. On it was the laptop, albeit surrounded by mercs.
Fortunately, his efforts with the comms tower paid off.
Running short of breath, a CICADA soldier in a suit slathered with mud and debris hopped up the steps and into the pagoda.
"Mano-san?" one guard noticed. "So it's true! You did slip on that mountain!"
"Yeah, yeah, very funny," he said. "The comms tower is down, and Nozomi has new orders: conduct a full sweep of the temple. Non-vital posts like the pagoda are dismissed."
Upon hearing that, some guards tried their earpieces, finding out what everyone else knew. "Hai. Let's move out, then!"
Agent 47 watched them all file out of the building. He slipped inside soon after, getting his hands on the laptop. It opened straight to her emails, and there were already plenty of new messages for her. First, he figured he'd help Warren Paxton's situation. Finding her CICADA profile, it took a little navigating to place a new order: to deploy 1,000 soldiers directly to Jamaica alongside plenty of care packages, each costing substantial CICADA funds.
He also learned something new. There was an unfinished draft in the emails, with the receiver being an official of the National Police Agency. Nozomi was ready to turn in the entire Yoshihara-gumi to authorities.
"I don't understand how nobody has even felt a trace of him!" Nozomi stormed inside, accompanied by Yuki Yamazaki. "I thought these were the best trained professionals CICADA could offer! I awarded these men with medals for their prowess!" She stuffed her laptop into a case, then gathered the strewn papers.
"What is the play now?" Yamazaki asked. "I want to help however I can. Are we still trying to find this assassin?"
"If our men can succeed, then good for us. But I know better. We're leaving as soon as we can. I'll pay my respects to my children... Then we're gone."
As fast as they arrived, the two left the pagoda. Agent 47 crept out of a closet, setting his sights on the distant main hall. He tapped his earpiece. "Diana, send another anonymous tip to Anzai. You know what to say."
The hitman darted after them. CICADA mercs combed every walkable surface, all while the Yakuza watched on, having never been part of the plan. A tense mindset settled over CICADA, in part thanks to Nozomi. With urgency in their minds, they scanned for one thing only: an obvious foreigner who should not have been here.
They checked under engawa, behind shoji doors, any hiding spot. Never the Yakuza members loitering around, nor the masked enforcer walking along.
Upon reaching the main hall, Agent 47 found the three coffins. A couple of monks added finishing touches to the room. Their eyes were not on the coffins as 47 left Nozomi one last surprise. Then he hid behind the giant Buddha statue and waited.
...
"They're just through here," a monk said softly, letting Nozomi through the door.
She offered a swift bow as thanks. The entire ordeal left her nauseous, and she kept looking over her shoulders when it was just Yamazaki there. She kept replaying the scenario in her numbingly aching head. The assassin should never have gotten in. They had everything going for them! Every patrol should have been perfect!
Just how was it possible?
It was a question to dwell on during the plane ride back home. Safety was just beyond those front doors and down the beaten path. But first, the reason she came here... a reason buried beneath so many more, that it was forgotten.
Nozomi walked beside Satoshi first. He was always the brightest. Aoki kept her up to date on him. She knew how much he wanted to see her again, despite her telling herself otherwise. She didn't dislike them... but what did she feel? It wasn't love; she knew that much.
There was Hideki. The one she blamed for what happened to them. It never escaped her mind just how Himura slipped under her nose. 44 days. Nozomi didn't come home once in those 44 days. She thought about him the most, albeit indirectly. What if she and her husband never had a third? What if she put aside work for once and came home during those 44 days? What if? What if...
Then—
The world spun. She came face-to-face with her only daughter. "That's... Kayoko?"
It was nothing she hadn't seen before. Images of war revealed far more graphic scenery; bodies far more mutilated and disturbed than this. Such was CICADA's entire business, descending into these pits of hell. It was nothing more than a Tuesday for her. Yet... this was different.
This was her daughter.
The same one who, at five years old, tried and failed to cut her hair, resulting in a disastrous bowl cut. The same one responsible for one of Japan's most heinous crimes, and who spent the rest of her life in the Academy.
At what point did it all go wrong? If she spent more time at home than worrying about her career, would they even be here? Would Kayoko's face still be the angelic one plastered in memory? Would her face still be smashed in, her eyes bulging out from the sheer impact of the rock that lodged into her skull?
Nozomi slammed the casket shut.
Her mind spiraled, and her vision wobbled. She clutched her stomach as Yamazaki called her name, asking if she was alright. Nozomi couldn't even think to reply. She made it to the Zen garden pale-faced as she found a patch of plants in the corner.
She clambered to her knees when the vomit finally fled her mouth.
The phone rang. Nozomi vomited even harder.
"This is Yamazaki. Yoshihara-san is... occupied." She nodded at Warren's words, though she scrunched her face.
This went on until Nozomi finally got everything out of her system, taking in deep breaths.
"It's Warren Paxton," Yamazaki said, confirming what she knew. "He says he received confirmation of the batch of troops and supplies you sent, and that he is delighted..."
What? Nozomi couldn't even rinse her mouth, pulling her laptop out onto the floor then and there with trembling hands. Over a dozen new emails appeared, many from her peers. Their titles were all accusatory.
Then there was a receipt. Confirmation that she, in fact, sent an absurd amount of supplies and troops. Enough to warrant an investigation from CICADA's brass. "How... How is this possible?!"
"Calm yourself, Yoshihara!" Yamazaki snapped. "The day is not yet over. We will find how this happened and who was responsible. We will clear everything up with CICADA, and—"
The phone rang. "It's the Board."
"Give it to me."
"You are in no condition! Please, let me handle this!"
But Nozomi didn't have a chance to argue. Rolling across the gravel, Anzai's furious shout of "There you are!" reached her ears.
"Not now. Please," Nozomi said, almost breathless.
"Like hell! You were about to sink my entire legacy to the authorities like a dirty rat, and for what? Why did I even bother raising you?!"
"What are you talking about, Father?"
"Don't play stupid, you ungrateful daughter! I know you were planning to turn me in! I saw the email!"
"H-How did you know?!"
Yamazaki excused herself from the phone call, stepping between them. "Oyassan, please, that's enough—"
"You shut up!" He shoved her away, rolling closer to a now-trembling Nozomi. "So much good this 'freedom' has done you! I always thought you were useless, but dirtying yourself and what little honor you had left? What is with you?"
"Shut up..."
"You've already proven yourself to be a terrible wife, and now a terrible mother! The least you could be is a decent daughter, but even now you've failed at that!" Nozomi stopped shaking. "You can't get one thing right in your life! It's no wonder your retarded children wound up—"
Five gunshots rang out. Anzai rolled back in his wheelchair, slumping to the side. The revolver clicked empty a dozen more times. "Shinjimae!" she screeched, straining her voice. "Shinjimae!" She stumbled over to Anzai's lifeless body, striking him with the butt of the revolver.
Footsteps converged around her. Shouts exchanged. Then a pair of arms pulled her away.
"Nozomi!" Yamazaki cried, her voice finally reaching.
When she took a breath, the scene unfolded before her. A dozen Yakuza surrounded Anzai. Some screamed his name in desperation. Others knelt beside him, breaking down in tears. The rest burned with rage, their sights set on his murderer.
"For Oyassan!"
"Nozomi! Run!" Yamazaki cried.
More gunshots rang out. The Yakuza had opened fire, but Nozomi's loyal CICADA soldiers came to her defense. The Zen garden descended into bloodshed, and Nozomi escaped to the main hall.
Yakuza came running through the front entrance. She left through the other door, leading back into the temple.
Nozomi didn't know where she went. She never looked back amid the shootout, charging straight for cover and buildings. She stumbled behind a rock, and the next thing she knew she was clinging to a tree. The revolver vanished at some point. There was a CICADA soldier briefly accompanying her. Then he shouted something and left.
She made it to what looked like a dojo. There was a stand with a tantō. She took it. It felt awkward in her grasp, but it was a weapon. Nozomi scrambled down a hall, into a dark storage room. There, she backed up against the wall, blade pointed at the door.
It felt like only a few seconds had passed when she heard someone enter the building. There were footsteps. Whoever it was came closer.
Into the main training room.
Down the hall.
In front of her door.
It slid open.
A foreigner in a suit and tie. Bald with an unfazed expression.
Nozomi couldn't even feel the blade in her hands anymore. She felt light. Like there was no more weight on her shoulders, and no pressure anchoring her mind. She cracked a smile—and laughed. "I see you," she said in absolute joy. "I see you!"
He took a few steps toward her, and she sighed. Nozomi rested the blade on her lap. "What does any of this matter for? I've worked the better half of my life away. For what? I've made nobody happy. My children turned out miserable. My father does not care what I've done. My longtime 'friend' wants me dead. I have billions in yen and am accompanied by the most powerful people, yet I have never felt more powerless."
They locked eyes. Nozomi felt her breath ease. She could lift her shoulders again. Feel the air run through her nostrils. "Not anymore. I'm taking fate in my own hands for once." She lifted the tantō again, this time aimed at her belly. She looked up at the ceiling. Tears dripped down her face. "I will see you soon, Myung."
The blade plunged inside with a squish. Squirming, she sliced cleanly across her stomach, the kimono flooding with red. Her body twitched up and down. Blood spurted from her mouth. Nozomi managed one last look at 47, grinning—then slumping with a hard thud on the floor.
"Target down," Diana said. "It's time to go, 47."
The hitman was already on his way. He left the dojo, emerging into the aftermath of the gunfight. CICADA's professional training won over the emotional Yakuza, and the mercs were busy rounding up the surrenders. With all protocol of searching and defending thrown out, Agent 47 easily slipped through their grasp.
"Nozomi! It's safe to come out!" Yamazaki yelled. She clicked her tongue. "Where is she?"
47 strolled down the path, leaving the scene of carnage for the tranquility of Mizukiri. Tourists were pouring in by now, and Nagano's onsen was filling up. Tajima had his own steady flow of customers as well. Many awaited the resident tour guide to take them to the famous Shōgetsu-in temple.
The hitman was one of the few people taking the shuttle away.
CICADA RULES DIRECTOR'S DEATH AS MURDER-SUICIDE
CICADA releases a report regarding the Shōgetsu-in incident.
The nation shined a spotlight on the quiet village of Mizukiri following a shootout. Located in the famous Shōgetsu-in temple, reports claim that an altercation occurred between the Yoshihara-gumi Yakuza clan and the global PMC of CICADA. Director Yoshihara Nozomi and her father, the notorious oyabun, were both killed.
The CICADA report suggests that, during the funeral of her three children, Yoshihara did not plan on meeting her father or the clan. The Yoshihara-gumi's arrival was unexpected, prompting tensions between her security and the Yakuza. At some point, the tension reached a breaking point, and a shootout occurred.
Yoshihara Anzai was killed by gunfire. Yoshihara Nozomi, however, was found alone in a dojo's storage closet. She had taken a tantō on display, using it to commit the act of seppuku. It is currently unclear why she committed suicide, but it's speculated that the deaths of her children drove her to the edge.
In the aftermath, it has been revealed that the three deceased students from TARR were none other than Yoshihara's three children. This has fueled conspiracies around the globe, suggesting that all five deaths were a result of foul play. These range from rival Yakuza clans, a plot within CICADA, and even Yoshihara's friend, Myung Soo-min, being involved.
South Korean tech mogul Myung Soo-min, an old friend of Yoshihara Nozomi, expressed solace and sorrow in light of the news: "Words cannot convey the devastation I feel, knowing Nozomi is gone. I pray for her in the afterlife, and that whoever is responsible be punished for their actions..."
THEORIES ABOUND OF SURTR'S IDENTITY
In the months after Surtr's first broadcast across the U.S., his hackings have continued, albeit not as widespread, thanks to increased technical security. His leaks of classified documents and active calls have spurred riots across the country. The efforts have been aided by Corvus of the now defunct TruthSpeakers hacker group.
Public opinion is split on Surtr, some hailing him as a hero while others condemn him as a terrorist. Many criticisms are aimed at his calls for violence and rebellion. But birthed from this mysterious hacker are hundreds upon hundreds of theories about his identity.
The popular theories include Surtr being a ploy by President Garton Rogers as revenge against America following his disappearance. Another points the finger at disgraced CIA operative Devon Osborne, whose name was revealed in the Free Bird files as an accomplice in Justice Sandra Blanc's acquisition of the nuclear codes.
Others discuss Surtr's motives. The prominent suggestions include him being paid off by Russia or China to create strife in the U.S. But many don't believe that to be the case. As this comment on CNN's poll reads, "Is it so hard to believe that someone out there just wants to do the right thing, expecting nothing in return?
OVER 100 DOXXINGS AND 32 CONFIRMED DEATHS
Corvus is a terrorist and murderer capitalizing off of the Surtr Leaks. I do not care if he reads out my name and address next, or if he sends his little army after me. What matters to me is getting the truth out.
Since the first Surtr hack, Corvus has taken online with a cult following of violent killers. He then doxxes the "guilty", actively telling his viewers to find and hunt them down. He describes these individuals as selfish people who exploit the masses for personal gain, explaining what they've done. At first, it could have been argued he was telling the truth—despite the fact ordering their deaths is very illegal.
He has read out over a 100 names, and of them, 32 have been found dead. All of which were linked to foul play. Authorities have put a warrant out for Corvus' arrest, but they have no leads. Corvus blames this on corruption, and that the police want him gone for doing their job and not taking bribes.
But let us look at the most recent of his victims, 20-year-old Gavin Jacobs. According to Corvus, his crime was flaunting his wealth and mocking the lower class. Two days later, his family reported him missing. After 12 hours, he was found in an alleyway, beaten to death.
What exactly did Gavin Jacobs do? He bragged on social media about spending over $1,000 on a luxurious dinner with friends with snobby pictures, to boot. Annoying, yes. Worthy of violent death? Here's to hoping the reasonable audience says, "No, that's crazy!"
And here's to hoping someone puts an end to Corvus...
The Black Pyramid
"Providence is safe," Yates declared. "Thanks to the efficiency of Myung, Tamara, and Bronson, they rooted out Yoshihara Nozomi as the mole and dispatched of her without so much as a fuss."
A quiet applause from the Heralds. Though the relief was undeniable, the TruthSpeaker situation was far from over. And of the three named individuals, only Myung seemed proud of her accomplishment. "It was an impossible choice," she began. "I knew Nozomi better than anyone. As soon as I learned about her betrayal, it was only a matter of time before she made herself impossible to reach."
"A wise call," Nolan said. "But killing her feels premature. If we captured her alive, we could have unearthed information about the TruthSpeakers."
"Nozomi was CICADA," she snapped. "No amount of interrogation would have yielded results."
"Sorry. Let me rephrase. If we captured her alive, I could have unearthed her secrets."
Yates stepped in with a tired call of, "That's enough. What's done is done. All that matters is that Providence is safe. Not to mention we still have Mr. Briar in our custody, so that's one leg up we have."
The two answered with a harrumph.
"That is all for now. Keep yourselves safe, and if you learn anything about the TruthSpeakers, it is imperative you share that info. We've already lost three Heralds, and I plan to keep it that way."
Yates' figure glitched away as he removed his headset. The others followed suit. Soon, there were only three left in the Black Pyramid. Myung on one end, and Tamara and Dione on the other.
"Thank you," Myung started, "for sharing what you learned with me. Providence is built on trust, and you two have proven stellar in that aspect."
"Of course," Tamara said. "I did not expect you to act as quick as you did, but the rationale makes sense. Congratulations, Myung."
"Yeah. Congrats," Dione added, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
Regardless, she bowed politely. Then she removed her headset, and it was down to two.
With a sigh, Dione said, "At the very least, we know it's her."
"And our proof is entirely circumstantial. Lawyer Yates won't like that."
"And Myung will most certainly be keeping an eye on us... Was telling her about Nozomi the right call?"
Tamara thought for a bit. In the end, she did not sway. "I believe it was. Had we told Nozomi, she'd have confronted Myung all on her own. If we roped in the other Heralds, Myung would become nothing more than a cornered animal. And with ICA in her back pocket..." She sliced her thumb over her neck.
Dione nodded. "Then from here on out, it's war. I'll join Cassidy in Germany and try to finish things up with the captive. Right now, he's the key to breaking open this conspiracy. The TruthSpeakers likely realize this as much as we do."
"Throwing caution to the wind for the sake of Providence," she remarked. "This is why I like you. Watch your back."
"Yeah. Same to you."
The two removed their headsets, and the gears kept turning.
When Diana first put on the headset, she didn't know what to expect. She was set to leave Korea in one of Myung's private jets, but Lars had called for an impromptu meeting. Other than meeting Drystan, Madelyn, and the ICA personnel, she'd never seen the other two, more or less all the TruthSpeakers together. She knew their names, of course, courtesy of Lars leading into her initiation.
Her vision morphed and sent her into a dingy meeting room; far less of a war room than she imagined. They were confined by glass windows and doors, all of which were blacked out. Diana was already placed in her assigned seat, and familiar faces surrounded her. Myung and Clera sat together as usual, with hushed conversation. Drystan and Madelyn eyed her, though were silent. As for the other two...
"All these resources spent, and you still haven't found your mother?" Fedyenka asked, amused.
His neighbor, Hasani, shook his head. "Whatever she's doing, it's working. The people in my employ have found almost every fleeing wealthy individual except her. Surely she's seen what I've become! She had no reason to hide! And our prisoners that do know of her..."
"I didn't peg your country's rich to be steeled against torture."
"Torture? No! I vowed not to resort to such measures after Sagira's death..."
Fedyenka nodded slowly, finally understanding. "But you've run into problems upholding that."
Hasani opened his mouth, but no proper answer came. Resigned, he said, "I don't know what to do for them."
"See, that's the problem!" he said with a hearty laugh. "It's the same hellhole the West found themselves in, what with 'due process' and whatnot. Once they know you won't hurt them, they're gonna hold out until the end of days. Not until you give them enough money to buy an island and a promise to never punish them for their actions. People would rather bleed the nation dry than own up to their actions."
"There has to be another way."
Fedyenka shrugged. "I wish I could help, but my people are tied. Russia is about to become great again, and things are busy. If you want my advice, if you know that someone's hiding something from you, that's justification for whatever it takes to wrench it out of them."
It was then the Russian saw Diana, and he grinned with crooked teeth. "So, you're the woman behind the bane of my agents' existence!"
Diana sensed a premonition of unpleasantness from the man. His boorish grin masked a very familiar aura of resentment. Mirroring his countenance, she said, "And you're the man who got fired because of them!"
Drystan sputtered.
Fedyenka's face grew red at that, and his thin veil of peace faded. "Shut it, you damn cyka! Unbelievable. Let a woman ride on the back of a man, and this is what she becomes."
"I don't know about that. It worked better than the three men and three women you fell off of."
Drystan sputtered into a dry cackling.
"Why you—!"
Another user joined.
"Good evening, my friends." Lars glanced between Fedyenka and Diana. "I trust we're all getting along?"
"Never better," she answered. Fedyenka kept quiet.
With a slight nod, he began, "I have called us here in solemn celebration, for I have consigned the death of someone who I once considered a dear friend of mine. Once upon a time, Nozomi sought the same things we did. We walked the same path, saw the same stars... but in the end, money tore us apart."
Silence lulled over the group as Lars pondered, eyes on the ceiling as if those stars were visible from here.
"A corporation ruined our lives, forcing her back into the Yakuza business, and for Myung to embrace a chaebol to secure her own future. And now, I gave the go-ahead for Nozomi's death. Although I mourn her, I have no regrets. This is a future that I am banking my whole life on, and I will do my damnest to ensure it succeeds..."
He turned his head slow. His eyes locked with Diana's. "With that out of the way, I would like to talk to Ms. Burnwood alone. The rest of you, please entertain yourselves."
The group interjected with questions and statements, but none got more than a word in before Lars sent the two of them into a private call. Their digital bodies vanished, leaving only them in the room.
"What do you think?" he asked. "Still unsure of us?"
Diana took a breath, a wistful smile forming. "It was a good speech. I don't know about the others, but it resonated with me. It's like nothing's changed; you're still the same man seeking justice in the world no matter what, and so many times I've wishes this world had more people like you. But..."
Lars' face sunk. "But you're not convinced."
"Because this is not the way to heal humanity. Are you even aware of what your allies are doing in the name of 'the people'? Not a single thing's changed about the position of Egypt's poor—in fact, conditions are worse than before. People are starving in their streets. The money isn't flowing to the them... it's going to all of this, isn't it?"
He did not retract his sullen expression. "I'm not proud of that. The reality is, this operation needs money as much as all things do. Hasani doesn't understand the things he's doing, or the things happening without his control. But I will uphold my promises to him, and Egypt's people will be rewarded for his efforts. That's the least I can do." One part of her argument stuck out to him. "However, his people should not be hungry. I ordered Hasani to keep at least enough funds to feed his country."
There was part of the problem. "And did you know Drystan is sentencing people to death for eating at expensive restaurants? I thought your targets were the wealthy who reached their status through corrupt means. People who screw over others for the sake of a pretty penny. Is purchasing a luxury car now the same as hoarding untold billions?"
Lars nodded. "No, no, I agree! That's not what we fight against at all! I've been aware of his activities, and I plan to reproach him today. I was going to tell him to focus on the primary task, and if he couldn't do that, I'd step in myself."
Diana was quietly surprised by his willingness to listen, but she couldn't back down now. "This is the problem, Lars. People are fundamentally flawed. Nobody is entirely good or evil. No amount of reprimands or orders will stop it; people will look out for themselves. It's the same reason no system is perfect. If there was an ideal one, it only exists in our imagination."
He nodded slowly, mouthing every word after her. "You're right, Diana. You're absolutely right. And to be frank, it's easy to forget those when you're lost in emotion. But I want to ask you: is it really fine to write these ideas off as 'imagination'?"
Diana pondered his question. Of course, not every idea was outlandish or impossible. She herself almost took down all of Blue Seed at a young age. "I'll let you speak first."
"Thank you. I don't want to imagine things. I can dwell in lands of escapism and dreams as much as the next person, but nobody can put those thoughts into reality. Why is that? They're brainwashed into thinking they can't. That it's impossible. The government tells them this. Schools and teachers do. Parents do. Friends who've heard those lessons from their parents do, too! And that's the thing: so few people take action or brainstorm solutions for our problems, because everything tells them it's pointless! I believe we should always strive to improve things, and the best way to do that is through action."
She nodded. "I concede on that point. It's important to let ideas prosper, but it's also vital to set limitations. If every single person's wish were to be granted, our world would cease to exist. That's an exaggeration, but the point still stands. Not everyone has great ideas."
"But what decides if an idea is 'too radical' or 'harmful'? As for the obvious ones, why is it that those people come up with those dangerous ideas? Plenty of today's standards came about from revolutions or movements seen as clinically insane back in the day. Some never took off—and maybe for the better, maybe for the worse! How do we, as a society, judge ideas fairly? What creates those very standards we base our judgments on?"
Diana inhaled deeply, finally seeing where his view came from. "Our fundamental education."
Lars clapped, just as he did years ago whenever someone caught on. "And that's exactly where my train of thought led me! We often say that ideal societies cannot exist because there will always be more than one human who is selfish and wants more for themselves—that there will be one person not educated enough to do what's best for humanity! But as that's the crux of the issue, it's just as contaminated by the problems we've been trying and failing to fix.
"It's too marred by politics across the globe. It's embarrassingly easy for politicians to throw wads of cash and nudge education in their favor, and it ruins the point of learning. So then the average person's education is flawed from the start. The individuals who influence education are raised on the same corrupted teachings. We can vouch for a higher focus on schools and lesson plans, but how much will that change of our future generation's knowledge? And what are the odds that some dying old man's ideas will spread around the globe? Zilch."
It was rare for Diana to fall quiet. Despite everything, this was still Detective Roth. This was the same passion that carried his career, and the same mind that aided his hundreds of cases. Through it all, Diana only wondered one thing: Why?
"Again, I concede on that. You've put plenty of thought into this, and I can only admire that. Yet... this only confuses me even more about 'Ragnarok'." She watched his passion subdue itself into something else. Remorse? Resolve? Resignment? "Drystan briefly explained it. You're going to release classified details and information from many countries around the globe. Secrets that, if the superpowers knew of each other, would plunge us into a conflict none of us are ready for. You, of all people, would know this..."
It was Lars' turn for silence. He sauntered around the table, considering his words. Upon reaching Diana, he put his hand on her shoulder. She couldn't feel it because it was all digital, but there was a hint of warmth. "The reason I'm doing this, Diana, is because there's no other way."
Her heart sank at that. This was the same Detective Roth, down to his determination for justice. "You're counting on 'Ragnarok' to wipe the slate clean..."
Donning a warm, confident smile—the same one he gave her parents all those years ago—he said, "I am he who wields his bright sword. He who will slay the Gods, and whose flames that he brought forth will engulf the Earth. And what emerges from the inferno is a world full of life and peace."