Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

DEPLOYMENT NOTICE--EFFECTIVE AT 0600 HOURS

IN COOPERATION WITH US FORCES

TOP SECRET--FOR YOUR EYES ONLY--BURN AFTER READING

Well, that seemed like a bit of responsibility to throw onto someone who had only been in this job for a year. A bit of excitement, too. Akira Kurusu knew that Japan's military--sorry, Self-Defense Force--did not deploy. Well, there was that one time in 2004 when a few hundred guys went to Iraq for two years, but since then, excursions outside Japan had been limited, almost hesitant. There had been lots of mumbling recently about reinterpreting the pacifism thing and whatnot, but it hadn't really bothered Akira. After all, he figured, what were they going to do? Flip off Korea?

He had never considered that any deployment might be secret, though. He read over that stamp on the little yellow envelope in his hands a few times to make sure he was reading it right. Then he sighed, leaning back in the couch he was sitting on. "Of course it'd be secret," he mumbled to himself. "Why wouldn't it be? Less trouble that way."

He opened up the envelope, pulling out a white piece of paper and scanning his eyes over it. No logos, just text.

Unit is being deployed to Shibuya. Two weeks ago, there was an assassination attempt on a high-priority researcher: Isshiki Wakaba. Unit is to perform bodyguard duty for her and her family until further notice. Family/friends are to be informed that deployment is for routine exercises. Report to base for details. BURN THIS DOCUMENT.

That was both less and more exciting than Akira had anticipated. The whole unit to Shibuya for a bodyguard mission, in cooperation with the US? That seemed a bit overkill for one family. Why couldn't the police handle this one? Wouldn't that draw a lot less attention if anyone truly was watching? And why was something so secret and urgent being passed down to him of all people?

On the plus side, Shibuya barely counted as 'deployment' at all. It was only maybe a half-hour away from his house. That meant no being shipped off to go get shot at, which was a relief. This was going to be easy. Maybe that's why I got it, he thought. Even someone fresh out of training could handle this one.

He sighed, going to the closet to go get his uniform. He did wish he had had a little more notice. But what was a man to do?

Just wait. Don't look up, don't talk. It'll be over in a few minutes. Just wait.

Futaba Sakura kept staring at the little 3DS in her hands as the armored car rolled down the street. The RPG being portrayed by the pixels was vapid, cliched and dull. Probably what she got for taking the random hand-me-down from the driver. But dammit, she needed anything to get her head to shut up for a few minutes.

There's no guns outside. They can't shoot us in here. It's bulletproof. Just wait a few minutes.

There was still no information on who the person who had shot at them was, or how they had gotten ahold of a sniper rifle. Or if there was, some not-quite-teen, not-quite-adult girl who still lived with her mom wasn't going to be told about it.

They're hiding things from me. They have to be, have to be.

No, they wouldn't. They're protecting me, too.

Are they protecting me? Really?

Futaba shut her eyes. That line of thought wasn't good for her. No, it wasn't at all. Better just to turn off her brain and try to pretend this game was cute and charming, rather than pandering and annoying,

At least the combat's good.

...Am I allowed to play stuff with fighting like this what if it gets those thoughts back in those thoughts those thoughts those

She clapped the 3DS shut and closed her eyes tight, cupping her face in her hands. "Just wait a few minutes," she whispered to herself, with some frantic fervor. "Just wait a few minutes. Just wait a few minutes. Just wait a few minutes..."

Life never had been the easiest for Futaba on the mental health front. Autism isolated her, made it hard to connect. But autism had been manageable, for the most part. This, whatever it was--PTSD or paranoia, maybe--this was all new for her.

It was just two bangs. Some broken windows. I shouldn't be like this. Weak. You're weak, Futaba, you're weak.

She hated it. She absolutely hated every second of it. Every damn day had become agonizing.

Just wait. Don't look up, don't talk. It'll be over in a few minutes. Just wait.

Just wait. Just wait.

She heard her mother's voice. "Futaba, we're here. Come on."

She looked up. Outside the car was an uninviting condo tower, cold in its design, looking more like a prison than a place where people lived willingly. It loomed over her, casting its shadow seemingly endlessly. It was crushing. It dampened what little joy was in her head.

Just wait. It'll be over in a few years. Just wait. Just wait forever.

Chapter Text

The first thing Akira noticed upon stepping into the safehouse was how cold it was. It was like they forgot to turn on the heater for the place. As he was led deeper inside, away from the windows to the outside world, it only got bleaker. The already drab white plaster gave way to gray metal, making the whole place feel like a bunker.

To be fair, that was probably the intent.

He, along with a small group of other men, was led into what looked like a  conference hall. There was a large foldout table in the center, surrounded by foldout chairs, all in the same dull gray. There was a projector on the table, pointed at a sheet of cloth on the wall, but it wasn't on. For now, the spot it was pointing at was reserved for a large, muscular blond man in a US Army uniform. Akira had dealt with US soldiers before, mostly in exercises, and noticed that the insignia marked the man as a colonel. He looked the part, too--intimidating, imposing. He stood as if he owned the room. He held pen in his hands like a cigarette, occasionally putting it to his lips--probably an addict who couldn't get his fix, Akira figured.

When Akira and the other five or six men with him sat down, the colonel nodded, speaking in a deep voice with a slight Southern accent, not pronounced but definitely there. "All right, listen up. You may have been led to believe that this is a Japanese operation with American backup. Let me make this clear, that is not the case. This is an American operation with Japanese backup. Mrs. Isshiki no longer serves Tokyo, she serves Washington. And as long as you're all here, I'm your commanding officer, straight from the Pentagon."

Everyone just nodded. Akira could tell that the others were more resigned to this than anything. Personally, he had nothing wrong with serving under Americans. He just wished that this man didn't have to rub it in their faces.

The man continued. "I am Colonel Alexander Mann. You are to refer to me as Colonel or sir. But I'm sure you all know that basic stuff already. Let me get you on to how it's going to work around here."

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a remote and turning the projector on, stepping out of the way. The cloth now showed a simple titlecard, both in English and Japanese. Operation Deep Chessboard. There were also three photos beneath the operation name, with their real names and apparent codenames underneath them.

In the center, there was a woman in her thirties, with short black hair. Wakaba Isshiki--Red Queen. On the left, an older man in a fomal suit, with a goatee and a hairline that had clearly been gone years ago. Sojiro Sakura--Red Bishop. And stuffed in the right was a teenage girl, with bright, orange hair long enough to give Rapunzel a run for her money. Futaba Sakura--Red Knight. Collectively, the family was referred to as the Red Court.

Mann pointed to Isshiki's photo. "This lady here is researching string theory for us. That's all you get to know about that. The man is her husband, and the kiddo there is her daughter. You defend all three of these people with your lives, but if it comes down to it, save the Queen first, then the Bishop, and the Knight comes last. Just like in chess. Chess names make everything easy, don't they?"

He chuckled to himself, changing the slide to a floorplan of the building, with twelve floors above ground and four below. "Not that it should come down to that. If all goes well, you shouldn't have to even touch your weapons at all. We've split the building into four sectors, each with four floors. Your team gets Sector Bravo. That's Zero--ground floor--to 4--third story. You'll also be escorting the Court on any excursions outside. Groceries, research supplies, heading to base, that sort of thing. Rules of engagement will be handled on a case by case basis for those, but for the most part, you will appear as civilians. Is that understood?"

More nodding. "Good, good. You'll all go meet your new friends, then you'll be given your posts. Let's roll."

When all the guys in military uniforms came into the family's new apartment, Futaba kept her headphones on. There was no audio coming through them--in fact, they weren't even connected to anything. But it made her look distracted, and that kept people away.

Unluckily for her, it didn't last long. She felt a tap on her shoulder and looked up. Sojiro was looking at her. "Come on, now. We have company." His eyes seemed to say please don't make this any harder for me.

Futaba sighed, taking off the headphones and getting up, staying behind Sojiro as she reluctantly approached the military men. Only one of them--a black-haired boy a bit taller than her who was mostly staying quiet--looked her age. Why someone so young?

She shut herself down before she could think of all the horrible reasons there might be someone younger in the group. The age of enlistment was eighteen, it wasn't out of the question. Stop being so paranoid. Just stop. Everyone hates it.

The boy--she couldn't help but think of him as a boy--looked to her. "And you're Futaba. Right?"

Don't freeze. Do not freeze. Paralysis is death. She nodded, not adding any words.

The boy nodded back once. "I'm Akira Kurusu. If I say 'Knight', that's you, and you can call me 'Prisoner'. Can you remember that?"

Prisoner? What kind of a codename is that? She nodded silently again, a little more frantically. Not my business, not my business.

And with that, Akira looked away, seeming to notice her agitation. Futaba sighed in relief, slinking back behind Sojiro.

This wouldn't be too scary, right? She could just stay in the apartment for a while. She wouldn't have to deal with anyone.

Her mother kept talking to the men. "I'll need to make weekly supply runs, for my research. Might need to go to remote places, too. That's alright?"

Futaba didn't even have time to hold her breath before her bubble was burst with Akira saying, "We'll handle escort."

Why are they letting us leave this place? On a weekly basis, even? Do they want us to get shot? They probably want us to get shot. Maybe just me, I'm useless.

She let out a small whimper. Sojiro looked to her--please don't say anything please don't say anything please don't say anything--and then back to the soldiers. She shut her eyes, trying to block the world out, even as she heard them settle on Sundays for trip days.

I'm going to die on Sunday. I'm going to die in a week. Please, God, no, I'm not ready. I'm not ready to go.

Stop it. Breathe. You're supposed to breathe, right? That's what mom said. What she's been saying for years, you dumb, lazy girl. Why don't you ever listen?

She opened her eyes again. For once, the dark wasn't helping, not at all. But with her eyes open, she had to deal with the various men in the apartment.

Eventually, she elected to stare out the window. Yeah, that worked. It would work for the time being, anyway, while she tried to collect the pieces of herself off the floor and stop embarrassing herself and her parents in front of soldiers.

Chapter Text

The next several days were uneventful. Disgustingly, crushingly boring. Every day was more or less the same--patrols up and down the halls, rooftop sniper duty, more hallway patrols, check up on the family, more of those damn hallways. Sometimes, on good and exciting days, a weird banging noise would come from the basement, presumably from whatever Wakaba was researching down there.

Akira and the Bravo team did not get to go check that. The basement was for the Alpha team--exclusively Americans, all elite units, clearly sending the message stay away to anyone who might get a bit too curious. But it made everyone go on alert, which was at least a change of pace from the damn patrols.

 The family wasn’t exactly interesting to socialize with, either. Wakaba was not allowed to talk about her research, and it didn’t seem like she had very much else to talk about. Sojiro was gruff and standoffish, as if the soldier’s very presence was making his life harder--which it probably was, to be fair. And Futaba...Futaba never talked. Akira found himself looking to her often, not out of lust, but out of curiosity and concern. She seemed to have two modes, sad and scared. That couldn’t be healthy for her.

 But that wasn’t his responsibility, apparently. He was there to look out for the family’s physical wellbeing, not their mental states. There were other people for that. Or so he was told, anyway.

In any case, the first six days were mind-numbing. He had a feeling that Wakaba and Sojiro felt the same way. And he knew Futaba felt that way, just from her behavior. And so, Sunday came as an incredible relief for Akira.

Futaba opened her eyes slowly, whatever horrible dream she had been having thankfully slipping out of her mind as she stared up at her mother’s loving face. Wakaba was holding her shoulder tightly, and smiled a bit. “Time to wake up… we’re heading out soon.”

Futaba blinked a few times before registering what she meant by that. “...Why do I have to go with you…?”

“Because I won’t let you just hide in your bed the whole time we’re living here.” Wakaba brushed some hair out of Futaba’s eyes gently. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But we need to keep living.”

Futaba considered that, biting her lip and turning her head away. “...Sorry. I shouldn’t be like this.”

Wakaba shook her head. “Don’t say that… again, I know that you’re scared, and I understand. I’m not going to give you platitudes and snappy sayings, either, because I know I hated them when I was your age. All I want to say is that… you have to push on. You really do.”

That pep talk did little to calm Futaba’s mental state, but she knew that there wasn’t going to be many ways to argue about this one, and she hated arguing with her parents. So, she just sat up in bed, silently accepting her fate.

I wonder if there’ll be anyone to miss me when I’m gone.

Wakaba smiled again. “Thank you. We’re having a small breakfast. Nothing heavy, just a couple granola bars and an apple each. That way, you’ll get the energy and you won’t need much of an appetite for it.”

Futaba just muttered and slurred her words a bit, mostly due to her drowsy state, made worse by not making any real attempt to wake herself up more. “Prob’ly a good idea…”

Wakaba squeezed her shoulder. “You’ve got this. I know you do.”

Just nod away. She won’t think you’re worse than you are that way.

Akira personally found the itinerary for this excursion to be oddly mundane for whatever esoteric research Wakaba was up to. Some kind of hardware store and a grocery store. Didn't the government provide them the same basics you could get from those stores? But then, none of the situation that Akira was in with this assignment made sense so far.

As he sat in the front net to the driver of the small, black armored car, he tapped his jacket, near the chest, feeling the concealed pistol. He was sent with Wakaba and Futaba with said driver--someone from the Alpha team he didn’t know. He was on his own outside the vehicle, which was fine--no engagement was expected, so more would just be unnecessary attention.

He was to pose as Futaba’s brother. That was believable, though probably awkward for Futaba, and definitely awkward for Akira by extension.

The car suddenly slowed to a crawl, but when Akira looked out the window, he could see neither the hardware store nor the grocery store. In front of him, on the other hand, was traffic like he had never seen, even during rush hour, at least back home.

He looked to the driver. “Any idea what all this is?”

The man actually shut off the ignition, leaning back in his chair with a look of disgust. “Oh, I know exactly what this is. Look at that.”

Akira looked to where the man had just pointed. It was a bit hard to make out from the distance they were at, but he could see a stage and podium, with some man making an impassioned speech.

Akira leaned in. “Who is that, a politician…?”

The driver raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know who that could possibly be?”

“I keep my head out of politics, far less stress that way.”

“Understandable…Masayoshi Shido, he’s running for prime minister and he’s pretty much going to win.”

Akira shrugged. “Well, you don’t know until the results come in.”

“His party’s lost exactly once since the War, he’ll win.”

He let out a sigh, leaning back again. “Well, again, I stay out of politics, so I wouldn’t know. I just do my job.”

The man shut his eyes. “And I would love to do my job, but the politics is blocking the damn road.”

Akira thought for a second, then unbuckled, looking behind to Wakaba and Futaba in the back. “Looks like this isn’t dispersing soon. Is this stuff light enough to carry?”

Wakaba shook her head. “Neither that light nor that urgent.”

“It might be that urgent. We’re on a time limit, have to keep stuff away from the safehouse short.”

Wakaba thought about this, briefly looking to notes she had written down in a pocketbook. “…We do need the radio stuff today. The rest can wait a week, I think.”

Akira tilted his head a bit. “They can’t even supply you a radio?”

“It’s important that I build it on my own. It’s custom.”

Akira looked to Futaba briefly, sensing that she was just as confused and mildly annoyed at all of these strange needs as he was—she had her arms crossed and was looking away from everyone, the universal gesture of I hate you so much, Mom. Then, he sighed and nodded. “All right, I’ll escort you to the hardware place.”

Wakaba nodded, tapping Futaba’s shoulder to get her moving out. The driver looked to Akira and gestured to his ear, indicating the earpiece. “You know the drill, anything happens and you call for backup.”

Akira nodded. “Yes, I know. I don’t think anything will happen, though, it is a hardware store.”

“You never do know these days…” The driver shut his eyes again. “You never do know.”