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“Are you sure about this?”
It’s the third time Ann’s asked, each time further past the point of no return.
Akira nods, his mouth pressed into a grim line. He knew why she was asking. Not only was he agreeing to pretty much be the bait, but this was also unbelievably personal to him.
Of course, this plan didn’t hinge on having a regressor—Ann could’ve easily come in alone—but it does help add that extra layer of believability. Not to mention that it’ll be easier for Akira to get names from the victims if they think they’re on the same level. That’s not part of the mission, for sure, but they like to do extra good where they can.
So is he sure about this? Not in the slightest. But that’s a risk he has to take to save lives.
Their target is a man by the name of Suguru Kamoshida, who specializes in kidnapping and human trafficking. Half of the disappearances on Akira’s radar can be traced back to him even without sufficient evidence. Akira can only guess how many of these disappearances will be tied to him once they have enough evidence.
Kamoshida’s business caters to more… eclectic tastes. Rich assholes with specific wants, all of which Kamoshida is more than happy to fulfill. Kidnapping people and making them into “littles” available for purchase… it all makes Akira want to vomit.
He’ll burn this place to the ground if he has to.
Ann and Akira walk in arm in arm. If anyone asks, they’re the Takedas, married seven years and on the search for a “playmate” for Akira, the little of the couple. It turns his stomach to think people could ever come to these parties to drink cocktails and socialize, all the while looking for a trafficking victim to claim as their own.
Walking into the main hall, Akira wouldn’t think anything of the party. It’s the same socialites he always sees. The only thing that differentiates this from every other event is the “playroom” in the back. He doesn’t miss how there’s only one exit from said room, nor does he miss the sensors clipped to the doorway or the tracker anklets some of the attendees are sporting.
“May I take your jacket?” an attendant asks. She pointedly looks Akira up and down, as if sizing up his place.
“Yes, thank you.” Akira peels off his suit jacket and hands it to her. Ann smiles fondly at him, taking a moment to straighten the collar of his sweater. It’s a size too big, so the sleeves are just the slightest bit too long. He wants to look as childlike as possible… while also hiding the gun on his person.
Now that they’re in, here’s where their plan truly begins.
Ann will drop him off in the “playroom” and find some adults to socialize with. Mainly she’ll be on the lookout for Kamoshida, but Akira knows her well enough to know that she’ll be trying to memorize as many names and faces as she can.
Most people will be using a pseudonym if they’re smart, but knowing their faces will guarantee Akira and the others will be able to identify the culprits later.
“Stay here, okay? And be good!” Ann pats his head, making a show of forcing him onto his knees, one hand strong against the back of his neck.
No one’s watching them, but that’s no reason to let their guards down. Who knows where the cameras are or who’s watching them.
He gives one last glance out the door. Ann has already slipped into a crowd, and Ryuji should be arriving any minute now. His role is the most complicated. He has to lie low without looking suspicious, and once he or Ann spots Kamoshida away from his office, he’ll have to sneak in there and hook up a USB device to Kamoshida’s computer. Once Futaba’s tech is able to work its magic, they should have enough evidence for an immediate arrest.
And Kamoshida will come. He loves the attention too much to stay cooped up in his office all evening, and the victims that have been “matched to happy families” are only living reminders of the kind of power he holds of others. It’s not a matter of “if,” but of “when.”
Akira locates the nearest stuffed animal and takes it into his arms. He hopes it looks natural, that he just looked embarrassed about being little at a party than the actual disgust he feels being here.
It’s not safe here, but that’s more of a relief than anything. If everything were dressed up with rainbows and smiles, if this room even slightly put forth the idea that any of the people here were happy, it’d be that much harder for him to stay big.
In a way, the misery centers him, reminding him of the task at hand.
He approaches a woman, whose eyes go wide and scared as he comes close enough. It’s only when she notices the teddy hooked under one arm that she relaxes, but even then, she’s hardly comfortable.
“Do you… wanna play?” she asks. She’s holding a doll in both hands, and even then, she’s more fiddling with the arms than actually playing.
Akira nods, making sure to reach over her, close enough that no one could overhear when he speaks. There are only four other victims in the room, but anything could be a surveillance device.
“Give me names,” Akira murmurs. “Laugh like I just told you a joke and then give me names. Victims, kidnappers, anyone you can.”
She’s more than happy to oblige, even if her acting could use some work. Her laugh draws too much attention, but thankfully, most are too wrapped up in their own thoughts to pay her any mind.
The names she rattles off are expected but reassuring. Names he remembers both from previous arrest reports and from missing persons lists. They’re getting to unfamiliar names—names that might fall to the wayside if this mission proves successful—when she cuts herself off with a gasp.
Akira’s instincts have him looking at the door, right as one of the most notorious human traffickers strides into the room.
Kamoshida takes an immediate interest in him. Probably because he’s the only other man in the room. He’s bound to stick out.
“You’re a new face.” Akira can’t help but notice that everyone else in the room sinks down, as if trying to hunker down out of Kamoshida’s sight.
Akira runs a split-second calculation, trying to find out the best way of responding. From the way everyone goes still and avoid eye contact, Kamoshida likes his littles quiet. It’s in his best interests to act accordingly.
Akira nods, trying to mimic the wide-eyed regressed look he can do seamlessly at home. He never thought he’d see the day where he was actively trying to look regressed in the field.
Kamoshida’s eyes scan his face, then his ankle. Akira wonders, is he going to look out of place without a tracker anklet? He shouldn’t, considering their cover story, but maybe their cover story is the problem. Should Ann and Ryuji posed as the couple instead, with Akira pretending to be their hostage?
It’s too late now, he guesses, and the look of suspicion quickly passes, replaced by a kind smile.
“Well, then. All the more chance to get to know each other, don’t you think?” Kamoshida holds out his hand, as if to help Akira to his feet.
“I’m not supposed to…” Akira trails off. He gives a telling glance in the direction of the door, but Kamoshida only scoffs.
“Please,” Kamoshida says. “The security measures are for our ‘special guests.’” He looks Akira over again. It must be true, then, that Kamoshida personally looks over the entire guest list, matching names to faces so not a single person can slip in under his radar. “Takeda, right? I saw you and your wife’s names on the guest list.”
“Yes—” Akira pauses to clear his throat, like he’s making a grasp at maturity. Ironically, it’s only making him feel smaller. “Yes, that’s us.”
Kamoshida grins. “Always good to see new faces.” He nods toward the door. “Let’s take a walk.”
Akira doesn’t have much of a choice, does he? Saying no would blow their cover, and while going along with it puts him at extreme risk, it also puts him at an advantage.
By now, Ryuji’s probably disappeared into the vents to get a clear path into Kamoshida’s office, so Akira can keep a direct eye on him. If worst comes to worst, he can physically restrain Kamoshida as well, but he doubts it will come to that. If Kamoshida tries going back to his office, it’ll be as easy as pressing the button nestled in the folds of his turtleneck, sending a distress signal that’ll have Ann come running.
After a second of deliberation, Akira leaves the bear behind. While it may stick out, acting as a clear indicator that he’s a little and shouldn’t be out on the floor, it won’t do him any good when Kamoshida is the one leading him away. Here, Kamoshida is king.
Kamoshida leads Akira around the outskirts of the party, where he’s able to catch snippets of conversations incriminating to have people jailed for years. Kamoshida is unconcerned, offering the occasional chuckle or joking remark, as he and Akira approach an empty meeting room.
“I know it can be embarrassing for first-timers,” Kamoshida says. “Thought you might wanna discuss adoption in a more private setting.”
“Adoption.” That’s what he’s calling it. It almost makes Akira want to laugh, if he weren’t already so deeply disgusted.
“I appreciate it,” Akira says. He wonders where Ann is, if she saw him go, but he doesn’t dare glance at the door.
“I must say, I’m rather impressed,” Kamoshida says. His voice is light and conversational. “It’s not easy to get on the guest list.”
No, it wasn’t. He and Ann have been undercover for the better part of a month, and not once during that time has he actually regressed. It’s starting to wear on him, traipsing around red-light districts and kink bars and other places he least wants to be, but it’s about to be worth it.
All he has to do is buy Ryuji a little more time.
“Guess we just run in the right circles,” Akira muses. He didn’t think he’d be spoken to this much, so his normal, succinct speech patterns are bleeding into his façade.
“Lucky for you, huh? We can get you hooked up with a sub.” Kamoshida wanders over to the bookshelf, where he selects a thick three-ring binder. Akira can only imagine how many names are in that. “Is this more for the wife or for you?”
Kamoshida winks, and Akira’s stomach turns. Maybe he should be used to this, considering his line of work, but he can’t get over the fact that this is a human life they’re talking about, as casually as if it were a new couch.
“For me,” Akira answers. Another part of their story. Akira makes the money and Ann puts up with his eccentricities. Right now, she’s probably playing her part flawlessly, dropping snipes at her “husband” periodically through every conversation. How odd it is for him to crave vulnerability instead of power, she’ll say, and the others will agree.
“Take your pick, then.” Kamoshida flips the binder open to a random page and slides it across the table.
Akira fights to keep his hands from shaking as he reaches out to the binder. If this is what he thinks it is…
It is. A binder full of victims. Full names, past occupations, and medical conditions all carefully notated.
They’re sorted first by gender, then by “age ranges.” Of course, it’s no coincidence that each range has an equal number of candidates. Because none of this was their choice.
Akira looks through the names, lingering on each one just long enough to be believable. He doesn’t dare stick on one page too long. For a split second, he wonders if they could escape with this, but he immediately dismisses the prospect of too dangerous. The USB will give them all the info they need, while being twice as safe.
A giant hand lands on his shoulder, disrupting him from his thoughts. “You’re pretty good at feigning interest. Even better at pretending to be little.” There’s a dead seriousness in Kamoshida’s voice, daring him to blink at being caught.
Thank God they’re not facing each other. “Are you accusing me of not being a regressor?”
“Of course not. You are, and that’s the genius of it.” Kamoshida’s hand tightens around his shoulder. “Almost.”
Akira reigns in the spike of panic building in his throat, trying not to think about how much bigger Kamoshida is than him. In a one-on-one fight, especially when he’s stuck between headspaces, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
He doesn’t need to fight, though. All he has to do is run out the clock. The second Ryuji gets that USB chip into Kamoshida’s computer, they’ll have all the evidence they need to make an arrest on the spot.
Kamoshida’s massive hand moves from his shoulder to the back of his neck, able to slither around his throat in a single fluid motion. The threat doesn’t go unnoticed.
“But I’m guessing Mommy didn’t count on you actually being little right now, did she?”
Akira can’t help going pale. How did he know that? Was he able to tell at just a glance that Akira was feeling vulnerable?
“I don’t take calmly to spies,” Kamoshida growls.
In that moment, all his training fails him. Every self-defense course he’s ever taken is moot; every weak point on the body he was forced to memorize completely useless.
But to be fair, no amount of training could’ve prepared him for a mission where he had to be half in headspace to begin with, cornered by a man who looks too much like his father for him to feel safe.
Maybe a better agent would’ve been able to keep it together. Hell, a better agent would have had a way to avoid this scheme in the first place. Intentionally putting himself in harm’s way, putting himself in a position where he knew he’d be vulnerable for the sake of convenience, those were all foolhardy mistakes.
“I bet you weren’t told what a dangerous mission this would be,” Kamoshida says, leaning forward. His eyes are glittering, almost relishing in the memory. “Or about your little agent friends that wandered in here before you.”
Akira tries not to let his surprise show. He’s always been good at keeping a passive expression, even if it’s a fight now. He knew some agents had gone missing in recent months, but he hadn’t thought that too had been tied to Suguru Kamoshida of all people.
“Did you work with Kitagawa at all? If I’d had more notice, I would’ve invited him too. It’s just so hard to get ahold of his new family, though, all safely tucked away overseas.”
“Is that what you plan to do with me?”
Kamoshida hums in thought. “Maybe not as a little. Wouldn’t want you enjoying yourself too much.” His hand clamps around Akira’s throat, squeezing the breath out of him. “Now, don’t you think it’s bedtime?”
Akira only takes in one strangled breath before all of his combat training floods back. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing, how he’s pivoting his weight, until Kamoshida lies dazed on the floor.
Akira takes the gun from inside the waistband of his pants and levels it at Kamoshida’s face. “Don’t move.”
Kamoshida cracks a smile, and Akira can’t help but feel he’s being mocked, even when he so clearly has the upper hand. “You really think that’s a good idea? When my security’s all over the place?”
“You really think anyone’s left?” a voice asks from behind him.
Ann strides in, her face contorted in a fierce anger. “Turns out one of them got an anonymous tip that this place was being busted tonight. Everyone’s gone.” She grabs a fistful of Kamoshida’s hair, forcing his head back. “And I mean everyone. Probably not a good idea to draw it out if you’d been onto us for so long.”
“We’re good, then?” Akira asks her.
She gives a single nod. “HQ has everything. They’re sending a squad in to make the official arrest.” She gives another forceful pull to Kamoshida’s hair. “We just have to play babysitter until they arrive.”
Akira’s mind immediately flashes to the other guests. It was a necessary sacrifice for Ann to drop that anonymous tip, but he wonders how many of them will manage to flee the country and go into hiding before they can catch them. He can only hope the names and faces they’ve collected will be enough to secure an arrest for every one of these bastards.
Ryuji joins soon after, his scowl prominent as he walks into Kamoshida’s field of vision.
“Thanks for havin’ everyone’s names on file,” he says. He has the signs of a fight written across his face, but he doesn’t seem to be moving with too much difficulty. “Makes it easier for us.”
“What took you so long?” Ann asks.
“I was also findin’ the keys to those anklets,” Ryuji explains. “A couple victims were left behind in the shuffle.”
Akira breathes a silent sigh of relief hearing that.
He doesn’t move until Kamoshida is in handcuffs—or at least he doesn’t plan to. The arresting officers aren’t too comfortable with having a gun pointed at them while they work.
A hand curls over his, warm and comforting. “Put the gun down, bub,” Ann says softly.
The nickname is almost enough to make him crumble, if he could remember what crumbling felt like anymore. He’s been drawn to and yanked back from the edge of regression so many times in the last few weeks he barely remembers what it feels like to be truly vulnerable.
Ryuji sidles up to his other side. He doesn’t touch Akira yet, instead waiting until the officers have moved to different rooms, trying to secure as much evidence as they can, to speak.
“He’s gone, buddy,” Ryuji mutters. They still want to keep their voices low, for privacy’s sake, but no one is going to bother them now. Recaps will be saved for when they get back to HQ.
“You want a hug?” Ann drifts in front of him, opening her arms. All she has to do is lift her hands and Akira’s clinging to her like his life depends on it, his face hidden against her shoulder.
“We couldn’t have done it without you,” Ann murmurs into his hair. “People were starting to get suspicious of my story. If you two hadn’t gone back here, they wouldn’t have had anything else to talk about.”
“Not to mention that security started circlin’ the first floor just in case you tried somethin’,” Ryuji adds. “I don’t think I would’ve gotten the chance to put the USB in if that hadn’t happened.”
They’re words of comfort, he knows, but they only serve to remind Akira of the work yet to be done. “The binder,” Akira whimpers. “It has the names and—”
“Shh.” Ann cups his cheek. “No more work stuff, okay? Everything’s taken care of.”
That’s what does it.
Akira sniffles, the tears beading in his eyes before he can stop them. Ann tightens her hug and Ryuji joins in, both of them frantically whispering words of comfort.
“I didn’t like it,” Akira whines. “It was scary.”
“I know, honey,” Ann croons. “You were very brave. We’re so proud of you.”
“I wanna go home.” His actual home. Their shared apartment that’s a little too small for all of them, where it’s okay that he gets overwhelmed and needs to hide under the couch for a bit because Sissy and Ryu will leave snack packs and granola bars where he can get them until he feels safe enough to come out again. No more having to shake hands with human traffickers and kidnappers and act like it’s all normal.
Ann makes a soft noise of sympathy. “We have to go to HQ first.”
“We’ll have a few hours before we get there,” Ryuji points out. “You wanna be small?”
He did. So badly. He wanted nothing more than to be squished between two people that loved him and understood him and didn’t make his regression weird or icky.
“Let’s go then!” Ann chirps. “HQ just sent a car. They want us there ASAP.” She talks over Akira’s head for that last part, knowing he won’t want to hear it.
“You think you can be big while we walk to the car?” Ryuji asks.
Akira shakes his head. He’s too deep in headspace, too desperate for a sense of safety that he couldn’t have, that he won’t resurface unless absolutely necessary. Last he checked, he didn’t need to be big to walk to a car.
“That’s okay,” Ann says. “Just lean on me and act like you got hurt, okay?”
Akira can do that. After all, he’s good at acting.
No one even spares them a glance. On top of eyewitnesses, Kamoshida also left behind a treasure trove of evidence, even more than Akira had first anticipated.
When Akira is safe in the requested car, the privacy screen down and everyone’s espionage devices shucked off and put away, he folds in on himself, drawing his knees up to his chest. Ann and Ryuji curl around him, and finally, finally, he feels safe enough to break down completely.
His tears start fresh as the car rumbles to life. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until this moment, allowing the tight springs holding him upright to gently uncoil.
“I know,” Ryuji mutters. “There’s our brave guy.”