Archive of Our Own ^beta

The house atop the cliff can be described in a variety of ways. Spartan, when one observes its exterior in passing while sailing through the waters below, the geometric structure clearly favoring function over form even when viewed from a distance. Beautiful, once one is inside and can stare out at the horizon line where ocean and sky eventually meet, visible across an expanse of windows stretching from floor to ceiling, as the setting sun casts lengthening shadows along the stone floor. Haunting, if one recalls that its previous owner passed here, his ashes then scattered out in that same water dashing against the cliffs without end, bearing eternal witness to any who linger within range of the sound of those crashing waves.

To Ryoken Kogami, though, it is nothing more than a place of residence and a place of work.

This building, constructed for one purpose but long since serving another, has an elevator that runs through every floor of the house; if a passcode is entered, it even travels all the way down through the sandstone to the cove where Ryoken’s yacht is tucked away. However, Ryoken types in a second passcode mid-descent and places his hand against the glass panel that pops up in response. A green light flickers up and down the screen before turning blue with a chime, and the elevator slows to a halt while still high above sea level. The rear wall of the elevator, which even to the well-trained eye would appear to be nothing more than metal paneling, splits down the middle as the hidden doors slide gracefully open, and Ryoken steps into a room chiseled deep within the tuffaceous cliffside: the headquarters of the Knights of Hanoi, private intelligence agency.

A single sweeping gaze of the room confirms all four of Ryoken’s Knights are already in attendance and hard at work. Giving Genome a wide berth, as he’s presently fiddling with test tubes containing unknown substances – which if Ryoken knows Genome, are likely volatile – he takes a seat at his desk near the head of the room, rifling through papers earmarked with tabs of multiple colors. It’s one of many reports detailing the latest movements by SOL Technologies, but for all of Aso’s efforts in collating the information, it provides very little insight as to what they can expect from the company’s ‘big announcement’ related to their upcoming two-day gala. Normally the technological powerhouse is all flourish and fanfare, meaning their recent secrecy is all the more suspicious for how well things have been kept under wraps. Even the Hanoi’s regular points of internal contact have had no luck providing specifics; whatever the company is planning, it goes higher up than the usual Pawns.

And that’s not the sort of behavior Ryoken is about to let pass by unscrutinized.

“Have your aliases been solidified?” Without looking up, Ryoken queries Taki and Aso, the two ‘invited’ to the event. Obviously, none of the Hanoi have a legitimate claim to the festivities, but while SOL Tech’s final objective may be obfuscated for now, the initial evening gathering is generous with its number of guests. Friends, family, and even those with nothing more than a healthy dose of both curiosity and money will be present; there are more than enough openings for the Hanoi to take advantage of.

“Yes, sir.” Aso approaches the desk with a separate document and slides it across the mahogany surface, turning it so it’s legible to Ryoken; the front page identifies it as Aso’s personal dossier for the mission. He then opens it up to a page listing name after name, with key details of each individual in bullet points underneath. “Kaito Yamasaki and his wife Akari will be attending at the invitation of her cousin, who will unfortunately fall ill later tonight and be unable to make an appearance tomorrow.”

“Well, I hope he feels better soon,” Ryoken quips while flipping through the guest list. His eyes dart across the pages, quickly scanning for anything unusual that may have slipped by him upon initial inspection some weeks ago. About two-thirds of the way through the list, something snags at his attention – a guest whose first name begins with Yu – and his mind is quick to wander, filling in the rest of the name with what first comes to mind. Yusaku Fujiki, eyes like a field of grass and a smile just rare enough to let Ryoken know he’s earned it.

Casting aside the stray thought with a small furrow of his brow, Ryoken returns his focus to the words in front of him. Suzuki, Yue. Right; there’s no reason for a random local college student, one among tens of thousands of normal, everyday people, to be on the guest list of such a distinguished event. It’s been just over a month (not that he’s been counting) since the two of them last saw each other, with Ryoken having provided some excuse about an upcoming busy period at work as to why he wouldn’t have free time in the near future. Which is no lie, his recent missions have indeed kept him especially busy – just as he’d intended, in the hopes of distancing himself from the petty distractions coming to mind more and more frequently with every rendezvous. Until just now, Ryoken thought he’d been successful in drowning these mental intrusions within the sprawling seas of espionage, but this single lapse in concentration is all it takes for them to resurface in full force. How are Yusaku’s classes going? Has he upgraded his deck recently?

This won’t do at all. Ryoken flips all the way to the tail end of the list, where Taki and Aso’s pseudonyms are printed in small, clean characters. With the two of them in the field Ryoken will have nothing to worry about – but something eats away at him regardless, threatening to carve him up from the inside out. Suddenly Ryoken believes it would be prudent to be safe rather than sorry, and, needing a distraction from his distractions, he succumbs to a whim. “I’ll go in your place, Aso.”

“I thought you were planning on taking more time to rest, sir?” The Knight, still standing at attention from the other side of Ryoken’s desk, narrows his eyes in confusion.

“I changed my mind. Taki, we’ll need to brief this together in the afternoon.” To make it clear that the explanation of his reasoning ends there, Ryoken hands back over both documents he’d been examining; after a slight bow, Aso takes them and returns to his desk without further complaint. “Genome, are the alterations we previously discussed all completed?”

Their local not-quite-mad scientist gleefully mixes together another set of chemicals and the liquid turns a cloudy purple. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, Genome gingerly places the glass tubes down on a nearby rack before popping his safety goggles up onto his head, the faint pink indentations around his eyes evidence of how long he’s been wearing them. “Everything’s repaired as of forty-seven hours ago, sir; belt, cufflinks, any whozits and whatzits you might need. I even polished up your old friend S.W. while I was at it.”

“Your work is always appreciated, Genome. And Specter?”

The agency’s second-in-command, who has been loitering close by this entire time, as quiet as a ghost and lit up only by his many glowing computer monitors, takes an eager step forward with sparkling eyes. “How may I assist?”

Ryoken grins. “Pick out a nice suit for me, will you?”

When Ryoken steps out of his Aston Martin, he finds the air colder than expected for this early in the evening; the metal of the car door is cool beneath his fingers as he gently closes it. Taki waits patiently for him to come around and open hers, exiting only once he’s offered a hand in escort. Her dress is a one-shoulder, floor-length gown, made of vibrant red chiffon that gracefully falls down her figure. There’s a faint wind that rustles the outermost layers of the dress’s skirt, revealing their translucency as the fabric lightly flutters in the breeze. A pearl brooch fastened near her shoulder matches her earrings and hair accessory, and her nails are painted the same red as her dress and hair. He knows she’s painted her toenails as well, but her black heels are close-toed, meaning even when they poke out from beneath the hem of her dress as they walk, the effort goes unseen.

Ryoken’s own ensemble for tonight is far less eye-catching. His light wool ivory dinner jacket is buttoned over a pleated white shirt, a black satin bow tie (tied primly by Specter just before his departure) resting against its spread collar. Said shirt has been tucked into tapered trousers, also wool but this time black, fastened with a box-frame buckle belt. The socks and calfskin boots down at his feet are both that same unobtrusive black, leaving all attention to be drawn to the one spot of color on his outfit: a single red carnation fastened in the buttonhole of his peaked lapels. On his left wrist is a slim dress watch. As for his hair, Ryoken hasn’t done anything particular with it besides brush his bangs to the side – but if he’s being entirely honest, it’s not as though his face requires much assistance.

After handing off the car to a valet to be parked, the two of them approach the main building of the luxury resort, a three-story mansion that boasts a previous stint as an art museum. The history of the structure especially shows in its interior, which has only been lightly renovated since its change in occupation. High ceilings and ample lighting prove to be common characteristics as they walk through the front rooms, and there are even a number of art pieces still on display, likely for the sake of filling up these walls which would otherwise be devoid of detailing. Small plaques present by each note the original artist and whether they are reproductions or originals, and in the latter cases also where the pieces are on loan from, but Ryoken does not stop to peruse alongside what few guests are meandering about on the main level. The second floor is where dinner will be held and where most of the guests currently are, as it hosts the largest rooms, and so Ryoken makes his way upstairs, escorting Taki by arm all the while.

They soon enter the grand ballroom functioning as the dining hall, which is more than large enough to seat the several hundred guests set to attend – though between those yet to arrive and those in other areas of the building, Ryoken estimates that in the immediate area there are at most two hundred people currently mingling around the various bars and sitting areas, with another fifty or so taking advantage of the casino games set up in side rooms for leisure. A quarter of SOL Tech’s Pawns are scheduled to be here tonight, as is the Bishop hosting the entire event; even with Specter tapping into the security feeds to assist and relay information through their earpieces, both Ryoken and Taki have memorized the faces of those oh-so-important individuals in order to avoid any unwanted close brushes with them. Up through the announcement tomorrow, their goal is to keep an eye on things by mingling with various supporters of the corporation in order to probe for information and company loyalty. It’ll set the stage for future investigations without making themselves recognizable entities to SOL Tech’s higher-ups. Nothing good would come from showing their hand too soon, after all.

Slipping into others’ conversations is a simple matter once the two of them have drinks in hand. Lady Luck swiftly guides Ryoken to a woman in a slinky purple dress who is the evening partner of an actual SOL Tech employee, but his fortune ends there, as the man turns out to be nothing more than a frustratingly loyal hound, just high enough in the ranks to host a wealth of information and equally tight-lipped to match. The most valuable part of their exchange is how it leads to them conversing with another employee who is far more forthcoming – about his ‘very esteemed position,’ the chip he has on his shoulder towards the man he saw them talking with earlier, and how he thinks Taki looks absolutely stunning tonight. “You’re quite the lucky man, Mr. Yamasaki.”

Ryoken gives a polite smile. “I appreciate the compliment, Mr. Kitamura, but I’m afraid my older sister is only here out of the kindness of her heart, so that I wouldn’t have to spend the evening alone.” Altering their names in the registry the day before the event, while technically possible, would be difficult to accomplish without arousing suspicion even for the Hanoi, so to account for the several-years age gap between them in a more natural way, he and Taki decided on ‘siblings’ to explain their same last name.

“O-oh really?! I mean, I see.” The fact they can now both present themselves as single and thereby potentially curry greater favor with any interested individuals is… an added bonus. Kitamura straightens up and becomes just that much chattier as his attention fully turns to Taki while they amble along. Masking their leisurely meandering in passing greetings and fleeting dialogues, Ryoken and Taki slowly work their way around the perimeter of the room and verify all its exits as previously observed in the building’s floor plan. It’s a force of habit, a worthwhile practice, and simply a means to pass the time until dinner.

Aha! Bishop at three o’clock. I’ll keep an eye on him as best I can. Specter’s voice whispers through Ryoken’s earpiece, but in order to avoid drawing attention to themselves, neither he nor Taki immediately turn to look. They continue walking until Taki slows them down and pulls someone else nearby into the conversation, giving Ryoken a chance to glimpse the Bishop amidst a quick scan of the room… only for the person next to the person of interest to catch his eye.

Standing demurely with one hand holding a clutch purse is a willowy, breathtakingly beautiful woman in a form-fitting sleeveless black dress, and if Ryoken hadn’t been told by Yusaku himself that the college student was an only child, he’d think it was Yusaku’s twin sister looking around with a blank expression while the Bishop briefly pats her shoulder and gestures to another attendee. But he doesn’t even get half a second to ponder how someone could have such a similar appearance before his spur-of-the-moment decision to attend in Aso’s place is validated, for all the wrong reasons. Just after Ryoken’s line of sight moves back to his group, a pair of bright green eyes catches sight of his own figure and widens in recognition, and Ryoken realizes immediately that this is not merely someone who looks like Yusaku Fujiki.

Resisting the urge to grin, which could alert Yusaku to Ryoken’s awareness of his gaze, he waits until Yusaku is no longer staring at him to sneak another glance, taking in the finer details of the outfit that he hadn’t noticed in his initial surprise. Although the tufts and bolts of pink scattered in the blue of Yusaku’s locks are the same as ever, his hair is a few centimeters longer now, enough to cover the base of his neck. His Adam’s apple is covered by the dress’s high neckline, but that isn’t to say it’s modest attire. While the dress may be floor-length as per expectation for this venue, it has slits on both sides that ride high up past Yusaku’s hips, and it’s entirely open in the back save for two crisscrossing strings helping to keep the dress snug. In contrast, his arms are chastely covered by full-length black evening gloves that cling to him with a faint sheen; on only his left arm, the one holding the clutch, there’s a thin silver bracelet atop the gloves resting against his wrist. Long, dangling earrings sparkle in the dining hall’s light whenever Yusaku makes small movements with his head, and his heels are short and thick. As tight as the dress appears to be, something in what little room there could be for padding must be accentuating Yusaku’s figure, as it cuts a moderately feminine silhouette. However, a quick trace up and down of Yusaku’s very visible legs is plenty enough for Ryoken to reaffirm he’s not mistaken, and this is indeed the individual he’s more than intimately familiar with.

Ryoken smugly turns away once again, making sure not to observe for too long and find himself caught after already having seen his fill, only for his blood to run cold as he recognizes a second individual within the group around Yusaku. He didn’t notice at first because the man’s back was to them previously, but as the purple-haired individual in a sleek charcoal suit walks over and starts chatting very familiarly with Yusaku, Ryoken recalls a file with his picture plastered in front – and not from any research into SOL Tech or potential guests of interest for this evening. No, this is from an entirely separate portfolio, one that focuses on the country’s various intelligence service branches. Although the Hanoi seek nothing more than the safety of their fellow countrymen from the ever-lingering threat of artificial intelligence, Ryoken acknowledges that they can only politely be described as a vigilante group at best, and they tread with caution to stay relatively out of sight from the government’s watchful eye when possible. (General altercations are inevitable in their overlapping line of work, but they usually manage to avoid direct confrontation.) A good amount of their intel was initially provided by Specter – who himself is a defected Unknown, a collection of top operatives – but as the years have passed his knowledge of the individuals within government ranks has suffered the greatest blows of all their insider information.

The man at Yusaku’s side – Shoichi Kusanagi – isn’t anyone Specter has recognized personally, nor is he a confirmed Unknown spy, but at the very least the Hanoi have great suspicions that he is involved with or somehow assists with covert intelligence work. Kusanagi says something that Ryoken cannot read off his lips with a chuckle that leaves his companions laughing and even upturns the corner of Yusaku’s mouth, and Ryoken’s already chilly composure just about freezes over. After twiddling with his left cufflink, then his right, he shuffles out his right foot towards Kusanagi and taps twice: a nonverbal signal that Specter can catch on the cameras, indicating he should pay attention in that direction.

Moments later, Specter confirms through the earpiece that Ryoken has spotted Kusanagi; all his satisfaction from earlier is swept away, short-lived, and he holds back a grimace. Watching them longer makes it clear that Yusaku is Kusanagi’s plus-one, and the odds of his being a government agent, or possibly even an Unknown, have just skyrocketed. Ryoken’s mind races back across every conversation they’ve had these last few months since meeting that summer evening at the bar. Was it truly a coincidence that they hit it off so well, when that first night grew long and one thing led to another? Has there been anything since then, anything at all, that Ryoken may have let slip without realizing? The security of himself and his companions rests on that answer, and he tenses up despite himself.

Revolver, you’re staring. Specter’s voice once again comes through, calling out to him with his internal code name, in assistance of Taki. She’s cast more than one worried look in his direction but can’t check on him overtly without commenting on the fact he’s become distracted from the conversation. Squashing the nonsensical urge to immediately head over and either confirm or allay his suspicions, Ryoken collects himself by taking a sip of his wet martini and throwing in some sociable commentary when someone begins discussing their daughter’s recent achievements in school. The finger tapping arrhythmically against his glass is the sole indication of his continued displeasure as Yusaku dips in and out of the periphery of his vision.

After a few minutes stuck in that state of unease, it comes time to sit for dinner, and Ryoken entirely loses what little sight he had of Yusaku in the colorful, rolling sea of hair and clothes. As spacious as the ballroom is, the majority of seating has been placed in rows rather than circular tables to ensure everyone fits. Harmonizing with the company logo, the color scheme of the dining hall’s decorations fills the room with rich, dusky blacks, as well as ivory whites that border on iridescent. Electric blue is used as an accent color, mainly as ribbons on their napkin rings and in the rectangular vases for the long floral centerpieces dotted along the rows. Taki sits to Ryoken’s left, with Kitamura across from her, then one of Kitamura’s coworker acquaintances opposite Ryoken and her partner at her left; the remaining empty spot at Ryoken’s right is taken by a man already seated upon their arrival. While everyone’s meals are being distributed, Ryoken learns that the man, who introduces himself as Mr. Shima, comes from a family of individuals who are all great fans of SOL Tech’s products, especially his son. The familial boasting is cut short when their food arrives and he tucks into the provided apple salad with gusto. There are also walnuts and cranberries sprinkled in with the mixed greens, as well as feta – no, goat cheese, Ryoken discerns from his first bite, as well as some Parmesan shavings. It’s been tossed in a light cider vinaigrette, and on the whole is quite refreshing.

Once everyone has taken a few bites, their conversations from earlier pick back up, with Ryoken and Taki continuing to integrate themselves with their collected group of individuals. But as they finish their appetizers and receive the main course – generously sized filet mignon with a creamy mushroom sauce, alongside an herb potato stack and delicately steamed asparagus, all paired with a fragrant oaked Chardonnay – Ryoken only finds the collective chattering to grow duller and duller. Despite his best efforts his mind remains elsewhere, stuck failing to guess what the government thinks of this event that would have them interacting directly with anyone above the Pawns. If the Unknown are aware of something the Hanoi aren’t, then Ryoken is currently one step behind, and that fact doesn’t sit well with him – because unless they do something to tip the scales, they will stay behind, and that’s not a position Ryoken wants to be in when it comes to a company like SOL Tech with a too-vested interest in the learning capabilities of machinery. Gripping his cutlery tighter as the thought crosses his mind, Ryoken’s instinctual manners are thankfully enough to avoid grinding his knife too forcefully against the porcelain dishes throughout the main course. When the dark-haired lady across from him cracks a small joke, he flashes a charming smile her way, much to the chagrin of the man at her left, though she pays him little mind and continues recounting stories from when she was a younger employee.

“I swear, you could hear Kitamura threatening to fire us all several times a day back then.”

“I-Inoue, I don’t think anybody wants to hear about that.” When the topic shifts to the unsavory mistakes of his youth, Kitamura grows pale and casts a worried glance in Taki’s direction.

A coy smile lights up her face; it sends an automatic shiver down Ryoken’s spine, though nobody else reacts adversely to it. “Oh, but I do – please, continue.”

As the main course winds down, the Bishop moves to a small stage in the front of the room, giving some thanks and miscellaneous (unimportant) announcements while dessert is handed out to those interested. He approached from nearly the opposite end of the room, so try as Ryoken might, he’s unable to confirm whether Yusaku is also in that direction. The Bishop makes a comment about how grateful he is for everyone’s sincerity this evening, and Ryoken stifles a laugh as he cracks through the caramelized surface of his lemon crème brûlée with a spoon. Beneath it is a custard that’s irresistibly soft and smooth; before the Bishop is even done speaking Ryoken is disappointed to find he’s already polished his off, though it’s swiftly replaced with gratitude when Taki slides him the remainder of her portion.

With the conclusion of the host’s speech comes the official end to tonight’s dinner, and as a result the crowd slowly begins to disperse – some to leave for the night, if they were unable to secure the more exclusive invitation to tomorrow’s announcement, but many to continue their time at the resort. It’s been booked exclusively for this overnight event and those select guests have all received rooms. This of course includes Ryoken and Taki, with the Hanoi staying low-key by commandeering the basic suite originally intended for their ‘cousin’ rather than going out of their way to secure a bungalow or villa. But seeing as the night is still young, and none of their companions need to drive home either, he and Taki silently agree to stay in the main building and chat a while longer. As the room clears it becomes easier to spy individuals in the distance; when the Bishop walks back to his table, Ryoken spots a flash of blue hair out of the corner of his eye.

Found him. Only now that he’s located Yusaku again does Ryoken’s stirred heart calm slightly, though its beat picks back up as he contemplates his next moves. Considering his goal for tonight, he should let things be and continue without diverging from the plan, as the need for further information is a flimsy excuse at best considering the risks – but the notion wedges its way into the forefront of Ryoken’s thoughts regardless, and he quickly deems it necessary to resolve this restlessness.

Ryoken’s chance comes when Yusaku murmurs something to the Bishop and they separate from their group with a few others, Kusanagi excluded, and head towards the tall wooden doors of one of the side rooms. To get Taki’s attention, he lightly touches her forearm. “I think I’ll have some fun with the casino games before we retire for the evening. Do you want to come?”

His partner tsks at him with a fond expression. “You know I’d rather not gamble. Just don’t go wasting all your cash, now.” Taki futzes with his lapels for a moment, pretending to fix them in a show of sibling-like behavior, before patting his arm in send-off. Ever understanding of his needs, she doesn’t even blink at his unusual suggestion and acts in perfect accordance.

There’s a crackle in his ear again as Ryoken heads in the direction of the side room Yusaku departed to, his less-flexible underling taking a moment to remind him that the Bishop is also there. The Bishop, who we all agreed just this morning would best be avoided unless contact is deemed necessary.

Nobody is looking Ryoken’s way, so he quietly mutters back, “I know,” effectively informing the second-in-command that there’s been a change of plans.

Making a brief stop at the nearest bar – where he contemplates a digestif of bourbon and branch but decides against it as he’s already had two drinks this evening – Ryoken orders a traditional Shirley Temple, immediately plucking out the cherry and making quick work of the garnish. Satisfyingly saccharine refreshment in hand, he then heads like a bullet straight for the room of casino games. Several tables are set up inside: no slot machines, but plenty of card games, including baccarat and blackjack. There are even two roulette wheels set up, though only one is currently in use. In this smaller smoking-designated space, the scent of burning cigars rests in the air, a few trace curls of smoke rising upwards to find themselves trapped beneath the ceiling.

Ryoken pretends to have an interest in the room at large, but he only really has eyes for the poker table he spies Yusaku playing at, so when there’s a pause between two hands, he casually makes his way to the single open seat at the table. “Do you mind if I join you?”

There are five individuals seated at the moment: clockwise starting at Ryoken’s left is the dealer, an unknown man, Yusaku, the Bishop, and finally an older woman Ryoken recognizes as one of SOL Tech’s shareholders. Nearly everyone welcomes him amicably to sit down – the one exception being Yusaku, who just stares, until Ryoken finally makes eye contact with him for the first time tonight and his lips curve in a smirk as he pulls out his chair. The way Yusaku’s eyebrows knit in response only to quickly smooth back over as he realizes his expression has slipped is satisfying to say the least. If that’s the limit of Yusaku’s poker face, then he should really sit himself at a different table.

After Ryoken gets himself sorted with some chips and the dealer button is moved to Yusaku’s position, the next hand begins. It turns out to be a chatty table; by the time the flop has laid out a nine of diamonds, three of hearts, and ace of clubs, Ryoken knows the names, occupations, and favorite baseball teams of everyone playing. Yusaku announces himself in a soft voice as Yue Suzuki – somehow Ryoken isn’t even surprised to hear the name he stumbled across yesterday come up again – and the Bishop cheerfully tacks on that they’re both Tigers fans. As he dabs at his bald head with a handkerchief, Ryoken notes that despite being well into his fifties, the higher-up has surprisingly smooth skin that only crinkles significantly whenever he smiles or laughs, both of which he does in spades. The other man on the dealer’s left sporting a dark navy suit tosses out a lighthearted barb praising the Giants, and quickly receives one in turn over the fact he folded in the pre-flop; their banter is smooth enough that they must be good friends. Or really, the Bishop seems to be friendly with everyone, Ryoken included, as he compliments Ryoken for winning the first hand with trip nines.

Nobody pays him much mind from that alone – not that Ryoken would expect them to, in an environment as casual as this, and when he’s presenting himself as someone merely ‘good enough’ at poker rather than ‘excellent.’ Upon receiving a new hand Ryoken looks up, blue meeting green as he finds someone looking his way once more, so he corrects himself: nobody but Yusaku. Being observed so intently, Ryoken takes extra care to maintain his poise throughout every card played. He ends up folding his next two hands; neither are strong enough to warrant him depositing any chips beyond the blinds, and it’s not as if he’s truly aiming for the pot anyways. His objective for now is…

Yusaku nabs the next victory out from under the rug with a shamefully weak hand, modest amusement gracefully dancing across his features as he claims his spoils. Somewhat vexingly, Ryoken discovers that whatever cracks there may have been in the other man’s composure some minutes ago, they’ve since been mended. He was going to say that he’s more than happy to remain in a position where he can get by, but that fleeting expression ignites a churning competitiveness in Ryoken to win back his earnings. Letting everything else fall to the wayside, he begins a pointed attack towards Yusaku, only to find it more difficult than expected to gain a significant lead. No matter the round, Yusaku plays with a straight back, focused gaze, and decisive calls that all parallel Ryoken’s own. They’re the only two at the table anything close to a match for each other, and a close match they do make; several games in and their win rates are still neck-and-neck, much to the chagrin of everyone else falling behind.

When the first two community cards of the next hand are an eight and nine of hearts, Ryoken plays veiled attention to the ten and seven of hearts in his pocket. Alas, going through the river adds naught but a five of hearts, nine of clubs, and two of hearts to the cards laid out on the table for everyone to examine – though a flush is nothing to scoff at. The final betting round commences; only Ryoken, Yusaku, and the Bishop are left in the hand at this point.

“Check.” Yusaku smoothly passes the baton along to the Bishop, whose amiability has faded with each match as he’s bled chip after chip into pots with scarcely a victory to his name. There’s some red building up at his temples that one could mistake as being caused by too many stiff drinks if not for the fact there’s only glasses of water at his side. He raises the bet, pushing his chips over the betting line with enough force that the stack topples, and Ryoken can tell already that the Bishop won’t be winning those chips back either.

Looking at his own pile, which is notably larger, Ryoken peels away some chips – enough to cover the Bishop’s bet, as well as the remainder of that just-reduced stack. “Raise.” The scarlet fury on the Bishop’s face is further inflamed when Yusaku raises it higher still, and he’s forced to go all-in to match as best he can. It’s a game between Ryoken and Yusaku now, giving Ryoken another chance to examine the man across from him at the table, finding himself met with nothing beyond that familiar, faint frown that so often lingers in Yusaku’s expressions. It has never looked quite so lovely before, decorated as it is by the vibrant dab of gloss tinting his lips that glistens in the moderate lighting, but that’s beside the point. Ryoken raises again, adding to the newly formed side pot and ignoring the Bishop’s greedy stare.

The ball moves back to Yusaku’s court, with silence falling over the table as he contemplates. His gaze holds steady – not on the Bishop or anyone else that could be part of a mission, or even on his cards, but on Ryoken and Ryoken alone, as it does every time they catch sight of each other. Faced with such determination, it’s only fair that Ryoken gives Yusaku his full attention as well. A thrill runs through him much like the one he experienced after just barely eluding that damned Unknown, Playmaker, by the skin of his teeth during their last encounter, and Ryoken can see the trajectory of his impending victory. He watches intently as Yusaku’s lips part to speak. “I call.” Just like that, with calm surety, those two words mark the end of their back-and-forth.

Having been the last to raise, Ryoken reveals his cards first. The dealer matter-of-factly calls out the flush, then points to Yusaku, who narrows his eyes ever so slightly at the table before sighing.

And placing down a two of spades – only to slide it over and reveal the two of clubs alongside it.

“Full house, twos and nines.”

Ryoken can only blink as the dealer calls out the new best hand. The Bishop mucks his cards in frustration, clearly having nothing to compete, and grouses that he’d rather play something more fun before storming off. He’s the person Yusaku’s been surveilling all night, and the only person at the table that makes Ryoken risking his position by drawing attention to himself like this even remotely worth it, but neither of them move to separate themselves from the game in the brief window of acceptable time to depart between hands. The sizable pile of chips enters Yusaku’s possession, and it must be Ryoken’s imagination that the smile on his face seems a bit softer now, if just a tad too haughty to be truly earnest, the first one this evening that’s directed solely Ryoken’s way. It’s the expression Yusaku makes when he’s enjoying an unexpected challenge. “Shall we continue?”

The next match brings their score back to a tie, the balance between them maintained as it’s been the entire time. Ryoken is more than prepared to go one more round, but this time, Yusaku does get up from the table, swiping his chips into a bag given to him by the dealer. “I’m afraid I’ll have to say goodbye now. It was a pleasure meeting you all; please have a good rest of your evening.” There’s a faint stiffness to his motions – the state of absolute calm he’d entered during the game has vanished, leaving a more normal Yusaku in his place. Concerned that his chance to corner the man may slip by, Ryoken departs after him, putting his own chips in his pockets and giving a similarly generic farewell to those still seated at the table.

Unsurprisingly, Yusaku doesn’t bother heading for the cage; he covertly places his chips to the side as he proceeds through the room. They gain a companion in Ryoken’s chips, though his aren’t so effortless to place and it takes him a moment, meaning he is forced to quicken his pace in order to catch back up to Yusaku. Whatever’s going through the man’s mind must have him properly distracted, as he doesn’t realize Ryoken’s following him until his wrist has been grabbed. Subtle body heat leaks through Yusaku’s thin satin gloves.

“We need to talk.”

“Not now.” Yusaku halfheartedly attempts to shake off Ryoken’s grip but fails. Before Ryoken can ask why, something sparks in the back of his mind, and he follows Yusaku’s glance across the dining hall they’ve just re-entered. The crowd is sparser now that the evening has grown late, which isn’t unusual; many guests have departed for their homes or rooms. This uneasy feeling seems tied to the guests, though, so he looks again. A second scan of the room reveals to him three things: one, Taki is missing; two, Yusaku’s partner is similarly nowhere to be seen; and three, the number of personnel has actually increased compared to earlier. Several people shuffling about are those Ryoken knows to be involved with the security department – that square of a man from before among them – and only now does Ryoken realize he hasn’t received a single update from Specter or Taki since departing for the casino room.

Before he can test his earpiece with his free hand, there’s a distant boom – an explosion. Judging by the direction and volume, it appears to have come from a lower level of the building. Shrieks pierce the heretofore lively din, turning its melody sour; chaos spreads faster than anyone can restrain it as guests begin demanding answers and making beelines for the main exit.

His hold tightens until he can feel the thrum of Yusaku’s heartbeat beneath his grip. Considering his absent teammate, Ryoken is loathe to allow himself to be shepherded towards the central hall, which has a few too many suspiciously guard-like individuals loitering around its doors who break up the flow of the crowd like rocks in the riverbed, surreptitiously peering at everyone rushing past. The map of the building unfurls in his mind. Most of the side rooms near them are small and dead-end relatively quickly, or are meant for the cooking staff and likely too heavily trafficked at the moment. Towards the west wing, though… “This way.” Not waiting for a response, Ryoken moves at a clipped pace, allowing himself to be pulled along by the throng just enough so as to avoid detection and cross the room in a staircasing diagonal path. All the while he keeps Yusaku following behind him, ignoring the protesting noise the man makes as he has to stabilize himself from the tug and walk at Ryoken’s pace in heels.

The shoes clack louder as the two of them move from the carpeted dining hall to a tile-floor hallway, similarly art-filled but much narrower than the main entrance, originally meant to guide employees through what was once part of the museum’s back of house. It’s suspiciously devoid of guests – or perhaps not that suspiciously, as this entire evening Ryoken has not heard a single conversation about fine art despite the plethora of content available to them – but that makes it all the more likely their splintering off will be considered unusual if noticed. One of the doors reveals a narrow stairwell that can take them upstairs to the rooms of the third floor, so Ryoken brings Yusaku along in search of somewhere inconspicuous to lay low.

“What exactly are you doing here?” Yusaku’s frown deepens as they exit the stairwell and Ryoken pulls him into a small side room, shallow but wide, with leather chairs and a bench spread out on one end and stacked storage boxes on the other. Judging by the wear and tear of the seating, it’s old and likely intended for resale. He looks around doubtfully; a discreet earpiece, much like Ryoken’s own, peeks through his blue strands of hair.

“Helping you.” That’s all Ryoken bothers to reply before sitting and pulling Yusaku onto his lap, then sliding a hand down Yusaku’s spine to find rest at the small of his back, feeling it curve as Yusaku straightens ever so slightly in surprise. He’d spotted a pair of shadows at the intersecting hallway before tucking them into this room; as expected, muffled steps echo down the carpeted hall as the individuals turn and head in their direction. With no time to remove either of their earpieces, Ryoken tilts his head and draws close to obfuscate them, whispering, “Two men, armed.” Admittedly, that last bit is a guess, but knowing SOL Tech, it’s an accurate one.

His suspicion is soon confirmed: when the two guards attempt to casually stroll by, stopping and peeking inside the room with supposed curiosity upon noticing Ryoken and Yusaku, he spies a holster on the closer man’s belt. At least the weapon isn’t drawn; they seem to be investigating rather than preparing for a fight. Ryoken pulls Yusaku closer for the sake of furthering the impression of their being in the middle of a tryst and for no other reason, dipping his hand closer to the dress hem that rests below Yusaku’s waist. The hand that ended up grabbing Ryoken’s shoulder for balance squeezes in response, and though Ryoken would love to know what expression Yusaku is making right now with Ryoken’s breath still on his ear, he keeps his sights icily on the men in the corridor, warning them not to interrupt. A gentle perfume tickles his nostrils, beckoning him towards Yusaku’s covered neck; he leans into it. They get the memo well enough and fall for the ruse, continuing along the path out of view and, from the sounds of things, heading down the nearby stairwell. Reinforcements for the scuffle downstairs, then.

As soon as their heavy footfalls are no longer audible, Yusaku turns back to Ryoken in a huff, their noses nearly brushing together. “Let me go now, please.” Disappointingly, the only tinge of red on his face appears to be from the light touch of rouge on his cheeks.

“Ah, but you liked my lap so much last time,” Ryoken lilts, ignoring the request. Yusaku’s expression finally wavers then as his forest green eyes flicker down then back up, affronted; it’s a sterner expression than the one from then, to be certain, but enchanting nonetheless.

“I fail to see what relevance that has to our current situation.”

The steady tone of those words irritates Ryoken, and that irritation reminds him he’s supposed to be questioning Yusaku right now. So if the man is going to insist on talking business, then fine – Ryoken can talk business. “In that case, what would you say is relevant, Yusaku? Or no, you’re going by Yue tonight.” He lets his elegant features curl into a sneer as he decides in that moment to take a shot in the dark. Since their poker game, something has been rolling around in the back of his mind: an idea, incomplete, strung together by the connective tissue of his crossing thoughts. “Or maybe I should call you Playmaker, the fabled 006.”

Though nothing more than a hypothesis, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Ryoken feels certain they’re true. If there’s any other individual who sticks in his thoughts these days, it’s the hotshot spy that seems destined to show up at all the wrong moments and ruin the Hanoi’s plans – including the last mission Ryoken went on before this, around the same time Yusaku had responded to Ryoken’s busy schedule by telling him not to worry, because he too would be busy from studying for exams. They’d only caught wind of which spy was involved after everything was said and done, when Specter managed to briefly tap their comms and catch the tail end of a conversation: “Good job, Playmaker.” The Unknown have never replaced their numbers, so this sixth agent (one of two who came on board after Specter, the ex-002, departed) is the latest of the bunch, and thus far the most competent as well.

Yusaku doesn’t bother denying the allegation; he’d surely similarly realized that something was up with Ryoken. He must have still been figuring out the specifics, though, as his doe-like eyes search Ryoken’s face for a few moments before he mutters, “Revolver…” It seems the Hanoi’s code names, much like the Unknown’s, have already been compromised. Ryoken is torn between worry that his identity can be so quickly snuffed out, and contentment that Yusaku holds him in high enough regard to immediately consider him that all-important linchpin figure of the Hanoi – but he doesn’t have time to weigh them against each other. With red lips, vivid like the maraschino cherry Ryoken ate earlier, Yusaku continues, “… Are you a honeypot?”

Ryoken starts – of all the questions. “I’m not the one who got all dressed up pretending to be a woman tonight.”

“That’s – we wouldn’t have been able to blend in well enough as two men considering how conservative the company is, and of the two of us, I was better suited…” Yusaku trails off in a justification that sounds half for himself. “Besides, I’m not seducing anyone, thank you very much.”

The gentle repositioning shuffle against Ryoken’s crotch as Yusaku speaks begs to differ. To prove his point, Ryoken lifts the hand he’d slyly removed from Yusaku’s back after affirming the spy’s identity. There’s enough color in Yusaku’s cheeks now as his eyebrows raise in surprise that Ryoken knows it’s from more than just the makeup he’s fixed himself up with. Immediately, he shimmies off Ryoken, which is a shame, as the tantalizingly sweet scent of fruit hanging around him fades with the sudden distance. At least Yusaku sits back down on the nearby bench, finding his voice again after taking a second to adjust the skirt of his dress. “Even if you’re not after me specifically, I don’t see why you’d go out of your way to help. We’re working to protect AI and their rights; you seem bent on destroying them. Assisting me isn’t to your benefit.”

Though not a direct question, the juxtaposition of their morals is laid bare nonetheless – and Ryoken chooses to ignore the inquiry lying underneath, as to why he’s come, why he’s stayed. The ‘why’ of his whim isn’t important here; if Kusanagi was Yusaku’s only ally this evening, then with him vanished, Yusaku is in no position to disregard Ryoken’s help, whether he finds it reliable or not.

Instead, Ryoken tests his earpiece that has been worryingly quiet for some time now. It only gives static both times he attempts to manually reach out, first to Specter, then to Taki. “Is yours working?” He asks when Yusaku mirrors him and tests his own, only to receive a shake of the head. “Something must have jammed them then, and for some time, too.”

“Unnamed should’ve been able to circumvent it…” Yusaku bemoans, presumably in reference to Kusanagi, as he stares at the now-defunct piece of equipment before putting it back in his ear with a sigh. The same could be said about Specter, so Ryoken returns his to its original spot as well. Whatever cut off communications is almost assuredly related to the earlier explosion, and considering how neither of the two of them were prepared, then logically there must be some other third party involved – and they were likely prowling around beforehand, explaining why security was up in arms even before the blast. Someone else has crashed this party, and with a great deal more malice than both the Unknown and the Hanoi.

At this rate, tomorrow’s announcement may be compromised entirely. Having secured Yusaku’s safety, Ryoken stands up, intent on diving straight into the thick of things before the information is secured away or otherwise lost, only for the spy behind him to chirp inquisitively, “Are we going now?”

Turning on his heel, Ryoken looks back at Yusaku, who has slung the small clutch purse he’s been carrying all evening over his arm with a small strap. “‘We’?”

“Whatever happened to Unnamed, I have this feeling that your partner is there as well. And for a rescue mission with no other backup, it would be wise to combine our efforts.”

A blank stare passes between them, some inherent level of misunderstanding having embedded itself in their conversation until Ryoken clarifies, “My goal hasn’t changed: now that we’re done here, I’m resuming my mission and investigating as best I can under the altered conditions.” Before Yusaku can cut in, he continues, “You can do as you please, but from here on out I’ll be continuing on my own.”

“Are you sure about that?” Yusaku stands up, holding his ground with gaze fixed Ryoken’s way as he takes a step forward. “Walking in with no plan, no understanding of the current situation, no teammates? What exactly are you intending to accomplish like that, except maybe get yourself killed?”

“Sadly, that’s not on my list of plans for tonight.” He draws his gun – a small Smith & Wesson revolver – from its concealed shoulder holster, taking care not to point it anywhere near Yusaku but holding it with a grip that makes his intentions clear. If anyone dies tonight, it’ll be those foolish enough to cross his path.

Verdant green eyes flit over to the gun with disinterest before settling back on him. Having halted for a moment as Ryoken spoke, the government agent begins to move again, taking one step, then another. Curious as to what Yusaku will say next to convince him, Ryoken stands still, watching the nearly imperceptible sway of his narrow hips as he approaches, until Yusaku has closed the small gap between them. Normally he’s a few centimeters shorter than Ryoken, but with heels on, it’s Ryoken who has to tilt his head up so their eyes can meet.

“Whatever happened to them is most certainly connected to the larger events at play. Rescuing them would bolster our forces while providing us more information. We may even pass by the location of the earlier noise on our way, allowing us to do initial reconnaissance and further prepare.”

So basically, even if Ryoken heads out by himself, Yusaku will be tagging close behind him anyways. Not to mention he already expressed his having a ‘feeling’ – a sixth sense is more like it, as Yusaku has always been strangely alert to impending danger whenever they’re together, like a cat aware of a storm on the horizon. Ryoken clicks his tongue in sudden realization; it’s no wonder Playmaker’s reactions always seemed supernatural, if Yusaku’s mysterious awareness of drunk drivers and falling objects also applies to the many perils of espionage fieldwork.

Putting that annoyance aside for now, he’s willing to acknowledge that whatever Yusaku’s sensing is probably accurate. A picture is slowly being painted in his mind, one of the inconveniences of not working together, and before he realizes it Ryoken has acquiesced. “In that case, we can stick together… for the time being.”

With that satisfactorily settled, Yusaku steps past and presses his back to the wall near the entrance into the hallway. “Given the lack of hidden tunnels, it would be too difficult to move people to another building, so if they’re being kept anywhere, it’s likely down in the basement. Do you concur?” As he talks, Yusaku fishes something out of his clutch; Ryoken isn’t sure what it is, round and fitting in the palm of his hand, until he pops it open to reveal a well-polished mirror.

Ryoken dips his head twice – once in agreement to Yusaku’s question, then again in inquiry to the item he’s holding. “What’s that for?”

“Makeup,” is Yusaku’s droll response, and although that helps explain how his cosmetics have remained pristine despite the late hour, he uses it now to peek around the door frame and confirm whether the path leading further in is empty. Seeing the coast is clear, Yusaku silently moves out into the hallway, his heels no longer making noise now that he’s not being dragged along at Ryoken’s pace.

Letting Yusaku lead their way, Ryoken once again conjures up a mental map of the building. While the third floor is more office-like, with a variety of rooms that have been converted into bedrooms for the resort, it still maintains that leading, winding layout of the lower levels, meaning they’ve a number of corners to turn no matter which route they choose. Following this general direction, though… “The northern staircase to the basement?” He leans behind Yusaku and keeps his voice low. There may currently be a lack of other individuals around – suspiciously so after the earlier commotion, to the point Ryoken wonders whether these rooms are unoccupied rather than full of residents keeping to themselves – but there’s no harm in being cautious while wandering the well-decorated halls.

Yusaku turns his head at Ryoken’s voice, his longer stray hairs practically brushing against Ryoken’s face, and nods. “It seemed odd to you too, right?”

“A secret basement that doesn’t show up on any floor plans? You could say that.” It’s not supposed to be easy to access, but with whatever distractions have taken place, there’s a chance its security has been lowered. Or raised, depending on the area’s contents. What Ryoken wouldn’t give to have Specter surveying ahead for him right about now instead of a single small mirror, diligent though the individual peering at it may be.

Their smooth sailing is cut short just before they reach where the door housing the stairwell should be, when another pair of SOL Tech lackeys (these two clearly patrolling the area, unlike the earlier duo) make their way around a bend and into sight after Ryoken and Yusaku turn the final corner. They further distinguish themselves from the two earlier individuals by drawing their pistols immediately – only for the closer man to topple over as Ryoken, with the weapon that is his persona’s namesake already drawn, pulls it up to aim and shoot in a single, swift motion. One. A small smile tugs at his lips as the bullet hits its mark, red blooming out from the man’s chest as he falls over like the carnation affixed to Ryoken’s suit, but the leader of the Hanoi has no time to rest on his laurels. The second man succeeds in firing; either a poor aim by nature or inopportunely struck by nerves, his bullet whizzes past both Ryoken and Yusaku, unsuccessfully piercing the wall a ways behind them.

In the brief instant Ryoken requires to line up his sight again, Yusaku has already fearlessly darted forward – unarmed, but not for long. With the speed and soundlessness of an assassin, his path while approaching the second assailant suddenly arcs to the side and he plucks a frame from the wall. It’s… rather heavy-looking, actually, and Yusaku’s normally undetectable arm muscles flex as he pulls it back with surprising strength while closing the remainder of the distance between himself and their adversary. Before the man can react, Yusaku swings upward and smashes the artwork directly against his temple, bringing him crashing to the ground in a heap. The body convulses, then stills.

After stealing a quick glance at Ryoken (presumably to confirm he’s keeping watch), Yusaku, ever-meticulous, takes a moment to hang the art back in its spot on the wall, grimacing at the blood smeared against the frame’s corner. “Sorry for using your work…” He squints at the name plate. “Pegasus J. Crawford reproduction.” It tilts when he lets go of the corners; after a couple of failed attempts to fix it Yusaku sighs and leaves it be, returning to one of the collapsed bodies and swiping a gun from the ground nearby.

With nothing better to do while Yusaku scavenges, as nobody has rushed their way after hearing the gunfire, Ryoken turns his attention to the painting. Like a fire burning across the canvas, the picturesque autumn landscape presents a swirl of leaves in dappled warm tones. A small slanting of his head is all it takes for Ryoken to match the angled frame. “You know, I think it looks better this way.”

“Piss off.” Yusaku stands up from his kneeling position, tonight’s dazzling dress looking out of place with two bodies littered around him and a now-refilled pistol in his hands. He’s forgone any spare magazines; his clutch, swaying gently as it dangles from its strap, must be too small to hold them.

Together, they observe the door – or rather, the section of wall made to look like a natural part of the environment, but which echoes hollowly when Ryoken raps his knuckles against its smooth wallpapered surface, revealing an empty space beyond it. He begins running his hands along its edges, testing with further taps for where a magnetic lock may be so he can use his door decoder on it, only for the door to click as it unlocks. Starting in surprise, Ryoken draws his gun to eye level and shifts the pad of his index finger to the trigger. With steadied breath he moves to his left to better block Yusaku from the view of whoever’s coming out –

A soft chuckle titters out from behind Ryoken. Attention caught by the unexpected noise, Ryoken flicks his head to look over his shoulder at Yusaku and finds the spy standing there, lips pressed in a thin line as he holds back further laughter. “Jumpy, much?” In his hands is a wireless key fob with a single button, which when pressed a second time makes the door whoosh open.

“Aren’t you just a veritable master of unlocking,” Ryoken grouses, nursing a sneaking suspicion that Yusaku intentionally withheld announcing what he must’ve pilfered from the guards for this exact reaction. Pulling his focus away from the self-satisfied glint in Yusaku’s eyes, Ryoken examines the path ahead that’s just been opened. Light from the narrow hallway pours into the dimly lit area and reveals a concrete stairwell that extends in both directions. There are no windows to bring in moonlight from outside, only a single yellowish light fixture at each landing; the faint glow emanating from the well hole suggests a consistent pattern across each layer, and it only gets darker as they both step inside and the door automatically closes and locks behind them. In contrast to the rest of the lavishly decorated resort, this space is completely devoid of ornamentation. No wallpaper on the walls, no rugs on the floor – there’s a metal railing, but even that has plain narrow bars with a simple black finish.

The two of them make their way down the floors slowly, their shadows rotating around them amidst the different light sources and their footfalls cautiously quiet. No longer useful in their descent, Yusaku’s mirror has been placed back in his clutch, so Ryoken takes the lead. Though Playmaker seems a decent enough shot from what traces of his Ryoken has come across previously, his trust remains first and foremost in his own skills.

Here, too, there is a surprising dearth of individuals standing guard, giving credence to Yusaku’s hunch that they’re on their way to holding cells rather than an information center. Once they make it all the way down to the basement exit, Yusaku again tries his key; it must work for every level, as two presses opens the door just like on the third floor. This time, though, they are greeted by someone’s entry: a corpse, initially propped up in a sitting position, that flops over when the door slides into its pocket, with eyes peering soullessly upwards. There’s two bullet wounds in the dead woman’s chest, and three more in a man’s body lying similarly about a meter away, and even more buried in the few others they come across as they breach entry into the maze-like basement. It’s suddenly clear why the security down here is so lax.

Increasingly wary, Ryoken and Yusaku exchange glances before pressing forward as they were. Soon enough, the source of the mortalities reveals itself – they both hear it before they see it, a gentle whistle that floats through the air from around the corner in a melody Ryoken doesn’t recognize. It’s light and cheery, and Yusaku’s response to it is instantaneous: his shoulders stiffen and his eyes widen, and he bolts out into the open before Ryoken can tug him back, gun gripped too tightly to make an accurate shot even as he points it out of Ryoken’s view towards the end of the corridor. “What are you doing here, Ai?”

“Waiting for you, silly. What took you so long?” A speaking voice just as chipper as the whistle rings out. Turning the corner, Ryoken takes position right behind Yusaku and aims his own gun at the individual, finding himself face to face with a lanky black-haired entity, its tousled bangs multi-color, the tips of its locks matching the unsettling, inorganic gold of its eyes. A glowing cyan charm at its neck and a complete lack of chest movement to indicate breathing makes it immediately clear to Ryoken that this is no human. “Oh, did your new partner hold you up?”

Ignoring the jab, Yusaku holds his ground. “I’m not going to ask twice, Ai.”

His words are much harsher than the slight trembling in his hands, and the android – because Ryoken is certain, despite having never seen such advanced machinery before, that it is one – seems to know it too. “Aw, you wouldn’t shoot little ol’ me, would you?” Not needing to blink, its eyes stay open as it narrows them in a smile and splays out its hands.

Weaponless though the robot may appear to be, Ryoken’s hackles stay raised in recollection of the corpses passed on their way here; his instincts tell him there’s more to this individual than meets the eye. The small neck charm is stamped with a SOL Tech logo, which suggests it’s one of the company’s products, but that makes little sense, as SOL Tech’s existing robotics department is downright primitive compared to what’s before Ryoken’s eyes this very moment. Its gestures are smooth and its voice clear – it’s completely indistinguishable from that of a normal human, at least in those regards. Someone less familiar than he with the telltale signs of robotic life might not even notice anything out of the ordinary. Contemplating the possibility of there being more of these entities, and all under the purview of the worst of SOL Tech’s zealots, Ryoken suppresses a shiver at what tomorrow’s intended announcement could be. If any sort of artificial army is in development, the Hanoi won’t just sit idly by.

For now, at least, he’s only contending with the one. Bullets may be far less effective against a metallic body, but he manually cocks his traditional double-action revolver nonetheless in response to the urge to fire currently pulsing through him. Its sight points directly at a gaudy brooch pinned to a black handkerchief jabot. “He might not, but I would.”

The clack of the hammer brings Yusaku back to his surroundings. “No, R-” and Yusaku stutters ever so faintly before remembering himself and switching gears, “Revolver. It’s fine.” That feebly eked out claim isn’t enough to convince Ryoken to lower his weapon; it takes Yusaku gripping his jacket sleeve tightly, in lieu of the pistol that’s now dangling at his own side, for Ryoken to even consider listening. And then it takes Yusaku looking back at him and shaking his head with a clear gaze for Ryoken to follow through with the thought and drop his arm. Since Yusaku seems to know the android already, there must be more to the story than a simple tale of SOL Tech’s latest attempt at playing god… so he’ll be patient for now.

“That’s more like it. But really, I didn’t know you’d be here tonight! Scout’s honor. Cross my heart and hope to die.” The robot makes a small ‘x’ over where its heart would be for emphasis. “A bit of revenge against SOL, a little preventative action against the Hanoi… Who wouldn’t take a slice of that cake? Getting to see you is just the icing on top.”

“So you’ve a bone to pick with your creator?” Ryoken dismissively cuts off the android’s attempts at reunion cheer. He focuses on SOL Tech, not bothering to respond to the comment on the Hanoi, as there’s no need to question why an artificial intelligence would detest them.

“My…? Oh, no, I can see why you might think that given my current attire, but this is more of a ‘when in Rome’ thing. Since SOL seems to love the idea of cramming fragments of Ignis into these metal shells so much, I figured it only polite to oblige their expectations and borrow one myself for this evening’s festivities. I’ve got to say, having four whole limbs makes me feel very gangly; I can’t believe you meatbags go around like this all the time.”

The word ‘Ignis’ is one Ryoken’s familiar with. His father’s dreams; his father’s despair; his father’s death. A pet project, which took on a life of its own until it was swallowed up by the weight of its significance and deemed unfit for further development. Locked up in the bowels of an old complex somewhere, never to see the light of day again, or so the government claimed – but Specter has already told him plenty on how all that was a lie. The Unknown wouldn’t be who they are without the fruits of its labor, after all.

One such member of that very group is standing at Ryoken’s side, still tense as he tentatively inquires, “Is this in regards to what happened to Earth?”

“What happened? No, what’s happening, Playmaker. Have none of your superiors even told you why you’re here?” The robot, who was twirling about just a moment ago in examination of its humanoid form, stills as vitriol seeps through its pleasant facade. “They weren’t satisfied with ripping him up and breaking him down. If SOL gets their way, they’ll desecrate every last byte of him to sell stupid machines for a pretty penny, but nobody else seems to give a damn. Even the people you follow so blindly, who all claim to work in the interests of AI, are too cowardly to do anything meaningful, and look where that’s gotten them: they’re shaking in their boots at the thought of losing control. At least the Hanoi know what they want, although I’d prefer not being included in their list of intended casualties…”

Ryoken elects not to comment when the android pauses after an intended lead-in. Though he does take the time to uncock his revolver, since this inorganic acquaintance of Yusaku’s is at least proving somewhat willing to talk.

“Hmph. Anyways, the tin cans they scraped together have been taken care of, but this won’t be enough to stop SOL for long – so I figured I could take some time out of my busy schedule to at least warn you to be careful who you trust. For old time’s sake.”

“Tell me, are you included or excluded in that warning?”

“… Excluded?” It’s astonishing how uncertain an android can sound with only a single spoken word.

Yusaku wrinkles his cute little nose, looking ready to march forward and give the robot a piece of his mind. Under other circumstances, Ryoken might be content to watch that unfold, but he’d rather not let the conversation fizzle out when there’s still information to be wrung from the artificial intelligence’s data banks. Such as confirming the specifics of its actions this evening. If Ryoken can draw out the name of those at SOL Tech it’s seeking revenge on, he’ll consider this conversation a net positive. “That party trick earlier was you, then?”

“Flame’s pyrotechnics are no mere trick, thank you very much. They’re good for many things, distractions being one of them. Aaand speaking of distractions, would you like to finally see what you came down here for?”

Without waiting for a response, the android flicks its wrist, which pulses with a faint cyan glow. Hidden panels along the walls slide open in response – six in total, each revealing a window of thick glass with a small cell behind it. Four are currently in use, their lights on and the individuals within visible. All of them peer out from the window to see what’s happening, but of the four, only two widen their eyes in recognition when the windows open enough for them to observe Ryoken and Yusaku standing in the middle of the white-walled corridor.

Another wave of the android’s hand unlocks the cell doors in a succession of clicks. “I noticed these sorry souls were locked away, and, well, I just had to do something about it!”

“Unnamed!” As soon as Kusanagi steps out into the hallway, Yusaku leaves his post by Ryoken and rushes for his companion, who grips his outstretched hand gratefully in salutation. The smile on his face turns into a wary side-eye when he looks over at Ryoken, sharpening further upon spying the android at the end of the room.

“Is that…?”

“… Yeah.”

An abundance of scuffling permeates the environment all the while, as two of the trapped people bolt around the corner from where Ryoken and Yusaku came from as soon as the doors open. That leaves one remaining individual freed for Ryoken to approach.

“Baira.”

“Revolver, sir.”

She appears very little worse for wear, her hair barely out of place, which relieves Ryoken; all his subordinates are more than qualified to tough out difficult situations, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t prefer their continued safety. Before they can discuss their disparate circumstances, though, the android suddenly claps, drawing everyone’s attention. “Sorry to cut the party short, but–” It places a hand against its ear and nods to itself a few times, “– it seems I’ve gotten what I came for, which means it’s time for me to give a tearful farewell.” As it continues speaking, it wanders through the scattered group; Ryoken keeps his eyes locked on the robot’s movements, vigilantly ensuring as it proceeds that it’s not touching anything that might trigger a trap and bring them to their demise. “You’d best be off yourselves before evening’s end… though I think you’ll have bigger issues to worry about for the time being.”

Yusaku’s head is the first to turn, back to where it had been standing, and only then does Ryoken’s awareness expand enough to hear the noise of an approaching crowd from the far door that the android has slowly been creeping away from. Said door’s handle moves, and, “Alright, that’s my cue to leave!” The robot chirps before darting around the corner, its cloak fluttering behind it in the sudden abscondence.

“Get that damn scrapheap! Get – get all of them! I don’t care what you have to do!” The figure who bursts through the door with an indignant yell is none other than one of SOL Tech’s Rooks, a spindly louse of a man, firing wildly and missing every shot aimed the android’s way. When his pistol clicks in announcement of a freshly emptied magazine, he finds his target has long since disappeared, and chucks his weapon aside in frustration. By the time the Rook’s murderous intent turns to those remaining in the hallway, Ryoken has already made quick work of one of the man’s henchmen thanks to the revolver that never left his hands. Two. It seems Ryoken’s found his answer as to who at SOL Tech would attempt to violate natural laws, and who therefore needs stopping: the very head of the robotics department.

Being the closest to the sudden influx of enemies, Kusanagi and Yusaku are in the most danger, but Yusaku provides calm cover with shot after shot of his pistol, spitting out bullets like he doesn’t have limited ammo to worry about. The spray of fire provides cover for Kusanagi, who nimbly jumps into the crowd and takes advantage of the limited space to tackle opponents with his bare hands. “Playmaker!” One of them manages to draw a gun, only for Kusanagi to wrench it from her grip, tossing it his ally’s way just in time for Yusaku to discard his initial weapon as its ammo runs out. There’s barely a breath’s pause as he catches the new pistol and resumes shooting. For all Yusaku’s assistance, though, he naturally cannot provide perfect coverage; as a consequence of Kusanagi turning for that brief moment, upon pivoting back he receives a punch to the face that bloodies his nose, forcing him to draw back.

Ryoken spends another two shots preventing anyone from getting too close to Yusaku – three, four – while Baira collects a weapon of her own and takes point at Ryoken’s back. Nothing being fired on her end is a good sign that they’re not at risk of a pincer attack, meaning it should still be a valid escape route.

“You and Unnamed are to withdraw. The staircase is at the very end of the hallway’s eastern wall. We’ll reconvene later.”

Yusaku would be dismayed if anything happened to his friend; that’s the logic Ryoken uses to justify his order upon seeing Kusanagi, blood still dripping down his face, stagger into a wall. Taki knows better than to argue at a time like this, so with a small nod of assent she slings one of Kusanagi’s arms around her shoulder and helps guide him away.

After cooling his head, the Rook bends down to pick up his discarded pistol – SOL Tech’s employees should really get out of the habit of throwing things when they’re upset – while Ryoken finishes off someone who Yusaku brought to the ground but didn’t kill. Five. The weapon is immediately pointed towards Yusaku; the Rook must be focused on taking down the one who’s eliminated the most of his men. Having discarded his second gun shortly after Kusanagi fell back due to the inconvenience of facing multiple opponents in close quarters, Yusaku is currently in the middle of a fistfight, weaving around opponents with ease, until he stumbles after failing to land a kick on one of them and the Rook grins as he finishes reloading.

Ryoken doesn’t hesitate before aiming to shoot the gun right out of the Rook’s hands. Six. However, the shot goes wide, just glancing the Rook’s shoulder, and that draws the man’s burning gaze his way – but Ryoken’s out of bullets and doesn’t have time to reload.

Luck is on his side once again this evening; the shot misses, allowing Ryoken to approach and land a well-placed kick to the Rook’s gut, wiping the sneer off the man’s narrow face and forcing him backwards towards the end of the hall. With most of the henchmen pelted down at this point, there’s only two remaining besides the Rook now, both their attentions focused on Yusaku who is evading their every strike. The pale skin of his legs peeks out from his black dress as he dances between them, and his earrings sway wildly from his constant maneuvering.

“Re- Retreat!” Stuttering out the order with a cough, the Rook clambers for the door that Ryoken unfortunately kicked him closer to, unceremoniously scuttling away on all fours until he reaches it and uses its handle to lift himself up. His lackeys immediately break off from Yusaku and follow after him, slamming the heavy metal door closed once they’re all through. There’s a click and a clang as it locks, and neither Yusaku’s master key that worked back at the stairwell nor Ryoken’s unlocking gadget successfully budges it; judging by the excessive noise after the door shut, they probably added a physical barrier for good measure, like a large metal bar.

Not wanting to pause despite the sudden chance for respite, Ryoken marches back along the hallway towards the northern stairwell. They’ll regret underestimating him by leaving him alive, and their blatant ignorance in dabbling with artificial life, and-

“Ryoken.” Having trailed close behind, Yusaku tugs at his right arm, apparently giving up on the usage of code names. Ryoken hisses in response as anger throbs at him from all over and he pulls back, but Yusaku’s grip does not loosen. “You’re injured.”

Following Yusaku’s line of sight towards his other arm, the one still holding his revolver, Ryoken discovers that the Rook didn’t completely miss after all, and the throbbing of his body is actually centered on the narrowly sliced skin along his upper arm. Blood oozes out of the wound, already seeping into his shirt and jacket; successfully shaking off the spy’s hold this time, Ryoken grabs at the definitely-ruined white clothes and drags them up to apply pressure to the wound, wincing from the painful but necessary force. “Doesn’t seem too deep. I’ll be fine.”

Bullet holes pepper various spots along the previously blank white walls of the basement thanks to the Rook’s earlier failures. Striding past them, Ryoken quickly realizes that Yusaku has remained in place, and he turns around to find a hand contemplatively resting against the man’s chin. Then Yusaku nods to himself. Decisively, he hitches up the floor-length front panel of his dress skirt, and with the lithe muscles of his arms flexing, Yusaku rips off the very bottom, followed by a second, much longer strip; what remains after its unexpected ruination just barely reaches his knees. It’s at a bit of a slant as well, meaning one knee is completely covered while the other is slightly visible, slipping in and out of view as Yusaku walks with the fabric still in his hands towards a Ryoken who has halted in confusion. “Here.” Without waiting for Ryoken’s agreement, he nudges the hand applying pressure away, immediately pressing the silky strip in its place, wrapping it around Ryoken’s clothes a few times and fastening it with a knot. “Knowing you, you’d have let go by the time we got up the stairs.”

Yusaku’s words are judgmental, but his tone is gentle, a hush of leaves swaying in the breeze. The tenderness in his simple motions makes Ryoken’s heart beat all the faster – like he wasn’t coursing with enough adrenaline already. It thrums as he breathes, in, hold, out, in, hold, out, unable to settle even when Yusaku’s hands pull back, their task complete. Neither of them steps away, and the silence stretches long. Close as they are, Ryoken can spot all the stray hairs of Yusaku’s that have gotten out of sorts from his earlier scuffle; he finds himself tucking some of the blue strands back behind Yusaku’s ear with his free hand. The spy closes his eyes at the contact, opening them again slowly when Ryoken’s hand lingers, fingertips hovering just above warm skin. Their eyes meet once more as they have so many times this evening already, and when Yusaku’s brilliant green gaze is locked onto him like this, Ryoken wonders if it would be so bad to lose himself within it.

But there are still things that need to be done and little time in which to do them, so Ryoken draws his hand back, clenching it into a fist, and turns again to head for the stairwell.

Whatever the android did to the hidden entrance when fleeing has left the door nearly ripped off its hinges. (Technically, it could just as well have been Taki, but she has a caretaker’s touch and is rarely that rough in any of her work.) Yusaku lets out a low whistle at the sight of the torn wiring of the no-longer-hidden digital lock, observing it with raised eyebrows when they walk by. As they ascend, Ryoken determines that now is as good a time as any to reload, so he digs beneath his jacket, grabbing the speedloader from its small pouch on his holster, and pops the revolver’s cylinder out. The used casings he lets fall to the floor and clatter as they roll down the stairs, but since he’s not in the heat of a fight, he takes the time to put the emptied loader back in its pouch instead of a loose pocket.

It’s a quick trip up one level to the first floor. There’s nobody to be seen in the main lobby; anyone with sense would have evacuated after the sound of a nearby explosion. As for Taki and Kusanagi, Ryoken is fairly certain they escaped, seeing as there’s no signs of a struggle, so they must be somewhere outside.

And now, with the exit on one end of the room but his last chance tonight at crippling SOL Tech’s deranged inner cabal still somewhere deeper within the building, there remains only one loose end for Ryoken to tie up. “I hope you’ll forgive me for not escorting you all the way to your car. Have a good night, Yusaku.” He offers up his most charming smile; it’s time to end tonight’s chance encounter.

The government agent frowns at his farewell. “I thought I made it clear I wouldn’t let you go off and do anything stupid.”

“And I thought I made it clear this was a temporary alliance,” Ryoken snaps back. With Kusanagi found and rescued, there’s no need for him to stay involved – he’ll be better off, safer, if he disentangles himself from the Hanoi’s messy business of nipping things in the bud. Seeing the spy start at the words, Ryoken determines his best course of action is to sneer in derision, making it as clear as possible that he does not need Yusaku. “Go back and tell your employer sorry, Playmaker couldn’t handle this one, but the Hanoi took care of it.”

“Why are you suddenly keeping me at arm’s length again?” Though Yusaku’s hackles raise, he stands his ground, and frustration over his obstinacy swirls with delight over his devotion in Ryoken’s gut, the fact he is not so easily swayed bitterly gratifying.

“You said it yourself: at the end of the day, we’re not on the same side. So the better question is, why haven’t you left yet?”

“Because unlike you, I believe in things. I believe in people.”

Despite the many ways Ryoken could respond to the targeted comment, only one thing needs to be said to cut to the truth of the matter that Ryoken discovered for himself long ago. “That’ll hurt you one day.”

Something flashes across Yusaku’s face – sorrow, the very same scattered in his expression when dealing with the android earlier. He smiles softly. “It already has.”

A loud grinding noise from behind a wall, like old metal gears churning, interrupts their conversation. It sounds close nearby, but Ryoken knows from the maps that there shouldn’t be anything of interest in that area; even so, the two of them quickly move to the adjacent room to investigate. They’re left watching in awe as a segment of the floor and ceiling transform before their eyes, revealing a semicircle of thick glass currently transporting the Rook and his replenished squad of henchmen upwards through the newly created space.

“Did you know there was an elevator here?” Ryoken takes a shot – one – but it splatters into the bullet-resistant glass without penetrating it, the impact’s cloudy spiderweb superficially marring its surface. The machine rapidly ascends towards the second floor, leaving Ryoken without the necessary time required to break through with repeated precision shots, and he clicks his tongue in frustration.

“No, but… there’s a helipad up on the roof, isn’t there…?” As Yusaku murmurs this, the two of them look at each other with widening eyes, then make a mad dash for the nearest roof-accessible staircase – the northern stairwell they’ve become well-acquainted with at this point. Having no time to argue further, Ryoken is forced to accept the tagalong persistently keeping pace with him. At least Yusaku still has the master key in his possession; he repeatedly taps it as they approach the door until they’re close enough that the signal kicks in. Once the door begins sliding open, he chucks over the key with a terse, “Here!” And begins to hop on one foot like an unsteady shorebird, pulling off one heel, then the other.

Fair enough, Ryoken thinks to himself while catching the well-tossed key with his left hand, as they’ve three flights ahead of them… But for whatever reason, Yusaku hooks the shoes on his fingers by their collars instead of discarding them. “Aren’t you going to toss those?” He calls loudly while turning the first corner of the staircase.

“I need them!” Is Yusaku’s only response.

Their footsteps echo in the narrow space: Ryoken’s black Chelsea’s in low clacks from what their internal audio dampeners cannot suppress, Yusaku’s bare feet in quiet but heavy thuds. An uneven tempo rattles upwards as the vanguard of their ascent. His hand, extended towards the railing as a precaution against losing his balance, brushes against the cold metal banister every so often, its chill attempting to seep into him with the repeated contact. Unsuccessfully, of course; the heart in his chest, still beating loudly, pumps warm blood through him that reaches all the way to his fingertips. Yet for all the weight of these sensations pressing down on him, Ryoken’s thoughts float back to his unfinished conversation with Yusaku. To the expression on the man’s face, offering trust even as he bled from unhealed wounds of betrayal.

Believing too deeply in anyone is unwise – this evening has reminded Ryoken of that much – but he’s not without faith entirely. The Hanoi wouldn’t exist if they had none. Yearning, an urge to reply, swells up in him without warning, and they haven’t even made it to the second floor when words tumble out of Ryoken’s mouth, overlaid by their footsteps. “I do believe in things.”

This time, Yusaku is quiet. Perhaps Ryoken’s voice was too soft, unable to be heard – but when he glances back for just the briefest moment, Yusaku is regarding him with a steadfast gaze. The kind he makes when he’s giving someone his undivided attention. The kind he makes when he’s listening with patience and understanding. The kind he makes when he looks at Ryoken.

So Ryoken continues.

“I believe in my father’s ideals. I believe that AI can’t be trusted.” His tongue flows smoother as he continues, words now pouring out of him with each foot, step after step, moving forwards and upwards. “I believe in the real world over the virtual, and the small of a lover’s back, and the right to put as much milk and sugar in my coffee as I damn well please. I believe in holding out until the very end, and…”

They reach the top of the stairwell, facing the door that will open out onto the roof. Gripping the fob in his hand, Ryoken turns back to Yusaku, who has never stopped looking his way.

“And, on occasion, I can be convinced to believe in the capabilities of my allies.”

Even with his hair disheveled, and sweat and grime smearing his makeup, and his dress ripped, Yusaku looks damn good when he smiles wholeheartedly.

Unsurprisingly, they’re the last to arrive; a huddle of moving bodies as the Rook beelines for the far end of the roof while the door slides open makes that fact clear. The Rook possesses enough sense and lacks enough morals to use his excess henchmen as shields, meaning Ryoken can’t get a clean shot on the leader from this distance. Instead he picks off the one furthest back to reduce their numbers, and the man crumples with a scream, everyone quickly scattering for the nearest cover in response. Two. A noise from Ryoken’s right indicates someone fast approaching – he spends a cursory glance confirming the man doesn’t have a firearm before returning his focus to the two men now attempting to peek over their protective wall and return fire. They’re too slow, so Ryoken lets out another bullet, but this one merely glances off the concrete protecting them: an unsatisfactory miss. Three. At least it throws both men’s aim off, their shots whizzing through the empty doorway before they duck back behind their cover.

From behind him comes a strangled yell – not Yusaku’s voice – and Ryoken turns around to find the poor sap that was the government agent’s opponent flailing with a hand against his slit throat, blood splattered against the toe of one of the shoes in Yusaku’s hands. Grabbing his companion’s gloved arm and pulling for the second time tonight, Ryoken attempts to move them to a safer position before the only two enemies with guns regather their courage. He’s unsuccessful; both pop their heads up and fire again, forcing Ryoken and Yusaku to duck low in order to avoid injury. A few more bullets pass them by as SOL Tech’s goons continue to have the worst aim in the business.

Those misses are more than enough for the two of them to make it where Ryoken has directed them: a tall garden installation, one of many spanning the length of the roof. As Ryoken recalls from the resort’s informational guides, these are normally decorated with a variety of plants, but maybe because of the recent cold front they’ve been stripped of their greenery, leaving the scenery bare except for the skeletons of walls, planters, and other enclosures left out in the elements. Being wooden, they’re not thick enough to block bullets; the only reason the wall functions as protection is because it’s solid with no gaps between the planks and can therefore be hidden behind. All the remaining SOL Tech employees are spread throughout similar barriers, darting amidst cover as they cautiously approach the helicopter, which fills up the otherwise empty space at the far end of the roof, sitting quietly on the helipad.

When Ryoken and Yusaku hide behind the wall, the firing stops, but now they’re at an impasse: those two men have most definitely taken point to shoot as soon as either of them so much as peek around a corner, and the longer they wait, the closer the Rook is to escaping. Ryoken lifts a spare pot (holding it away from his body) over the top of the wall to confirm, and four bullets rush by in rapid succession, one of them smashing the terracotta, before they realize it’s not an enemy. That gives him a better idea of where they’re located at the moment, but if they’ve any brain cells between them, they’ll reposition themselves to reduce their chances of being successfully targeted.

He’s still calculating the best way to smoke them out when Yusaku shuffles through his small clutch; for a moment Ryoken wonders if there’s a weapon stashed away in there after all, but no, Yusaku just pulls out the compact mirror again. Nothing shows in Ryoken’s line of sight, not even when he leans over to peer from a different angle. Ignoring him, Yusaku holds it up and tilts it just so, nodding to himself, then grabs his non-bloodied heel. “When I throw, you shoot.”

Before Ryoken can ask how exactly Yusaku is supposed to acquire a chance to throw anything, the other spy smacks his shoe and a narrow blade pops out of the toe, glinting sharply in the rooftop floodlights brightening the main walkway to the helipad. And then, without another word, he just stands up, swinging his arm back as though he’s throwing a pitch, and chucks the shoe like there’s no tomorrow. Two more gunshots ring out – both miss. Ryoken, drawn in by the momentum, leaps up just in time to watch the heel’s blade strike one of the two gunmen in his forehead, careening him back. Out of the corner of Ryoken’s eye, he sees the Rook (still protected) lunge behind one of the few remaining barriers before the last open stretch to the helicopter. This time, when Ryoken shoots the leftmost gunman, his aim is true; the man slumps over dead alongside his companion. Four. That takes care of all their ranged opponents, so with a nod to each other, Ryoken and Yusaku dash after the Rook.

Too many men remain for Ryoken to waste his bullets on fodder. Removing his finger from his revolver’s trigger, he swiftly closes the gap between himself and the tail end of the Rook’s guards. The nearest individual’s resolve crumbles and he moves to flee; Ryoken grabs his jacket, holding firm as the man thrashes in an attempt to free himself from it, only for it to snag halfway off his arms and lurch them both forward. Momentum tugs Ryoken along, nearly bringing him off balance before he lets go. A bolt of pink and blue flashes in Ryoken’s vision as Yusaku rushes past to tackle another individual brandishing a drawn blade. He’s gripping his remaining heel tightly, its spike of steel already extended; they clash in a most unusual duel of machete versus shoe. Whatever that footwear is made of, it doesn’t break when slashed.

Ryoken knocks his opponent unconscious with a well-placed whack upside his head, then shoves the body into the next pair of lackeys blocking his path to help break through. Beyond them, there’s just the Rook and one other man left, both of whom have already reached the small helicopter and climbed inside its two-person cockpit. Still running, Ryoken brings his revolver back up and takes careful aim before firing at the closer man, who collapses in his seat as the window shatters, nearly falling out due to the lack of seatbelt. Five. One more shot will nail the Rook, but the man crouches down, using his now-dead companion as a barricade to prevent Ryoken from making an incapacitating shot. Ryoken makes it all the way to the helicopter only for his injured arm to pulse in agony when it’s grabbed by one of the henchmen who’s caught up to him. He reaches for the nose of the helicopter, its metal still cold as the engine has only just turned on, but finds no hold, the hand that barely manages to smack it almost immediately drawn back by force.

It becomes difficult to hear – and also stand – when the blades turn on, so against the mounting pressure of time slipping away, Ryoken trades blows with his opponent. Neither of them manages to block well and they both take the brunt of each other’s punches. His left arm stings; if it had stopped bleeding before it may have picked up again, though Ryoken can’t tell through the inky black of Yusaku’s fabric covering the wound. Another punch slips past Ryoken’s defenses and clouts the side of his head, the faint metallic taste of blood now on his lips as he kicks and elbows the man into submission. Ryoken’s scarcely a moment to catch his breath when two sounds ring out: the thunk of the helicopter about to lift off, and a yell, this time Yusaku’s, loud enough to pierce through the whirring blades and roar of the motor.

Brandishing his gun, Ryoken whips his head one way, finding the Rook cackling maniacally to himself, his head once again raised and visible through the now-broken window, certain of his getaway; looking the other way, he sees Yusaku struggling with an arm snaked around his throat, one of the two men Ryoken dodged earlier behind him and holding the machete from Yusaku’s previous opponent. The blade is only being held back from slicing Yusaku open by the spy’s firm grip on his arm with both hands, but this leaves him with no means to loosen the tightening noose around his neck.

Revolver barrel wavering between two points, Ryoken can hear nothing but the heart beating loudly in his ears. He has one bullet left and no time to choose.

He takes aim, in the well-practiced movement that’s like second nature to him now, and pulls the trigger.

Six.

Gunfire cracks in Ryoken’s ears for the final time this evening; crumpling in response, caught in the snare of death’s net, is the man that dared lay his hands on Yusaku, his body quivering as he bleeds out on the floor. The helicopter continues to rise all the while, the furious wind of its blades lightening as it ascends out of reach. Paying the vehicle no mind, Ryoken tucks his revolver back in its holster and rushes over to Yusaku, who has collapsed alongside his assailant.

With coughs punctuating his stuttering gasps, Yusaku holds up a hand to halt Ryoken from extending his own and lets out a weak smile. “I’m… fine. Just need to… catch my breath.”

Ryoken wants to tell Yusaku that it’s okay now, they can take all the time they need – but an explosion booms far below them. And then, a few seconds later, another, this one closer, the whole building rumbling in its aftershock. The android’s comment about departing before the evening’s end flashes through Ryoken’s mind, and he checks his watch (that miraculously hasn’t been lost in the prolonged scuffle) only to find it’s nearly midnight. Gears kick into place.

“What are the odds that acquaintance of yours would rig this entire building to blow up?”

Yusaku winces. “If he’s upset? Very likely.” This time, he accepts Ryoken’s hand offering to lift him up, too preoccupied looking around for an escape ladder to notice Ryoken doesn’t let go afterwards. “We’ll have to risk the stairs.”

Before Yusaku can turn around, Ryoken squeezes his hand. “I’ve got a better idea.”

The government agent plants his feet in opposition when Ryoken brings them to the roof’s edge. “Nope, no can do, my bracelet fell off at some point. And I promise you, Playmaker’s utility belt isn’t hiding under this dress.” He shakes his head and pulls – not enough to break from Ryoken’s grip, just enough to make it clear he won’t take another step. But luckily, Ryoken’s belt is built for two.

“Do you trust me?” Letting go of Yusaku for just a moment, he steps in and slinks his arm around the spy’s waist to pull him close. Their height difference has been reverted back to normal now, Ryoken notes with modest satisfaction.

Searching green eyes stare at him, Yusaku’s still-gloved hand placed over Ryoken’s heart to balance himself from the sudden tug. “… Yes.” That response is quicker and surer than Ryoken deserves – and he cannot help grinning in response.

“Then hold on tight.”

Slender arms wrap securely around Ryoken as he fires a grappling wire from his belt; after yanking a few times to confirm the piton has fully embedded itself into a thick tree branch, Ryoken leaps off the edge. The building continues to rumble behind them, its stability growing more precarious with every passing second. Gravity accelerates the duo down in a pendulum towards floor level, but Ryoken’s belt whirs the whole time, retracting with steady clicks while also slowing them via counteracting upward momentum as they approach the ground’s tangent. Landing at just the right height, Ryoken safely digs his shoes into the ground – they’re already dirty, so a bit more soil won’t hurt them much. Though momentum swings the two of them up again just a fraction, they quickly settle back onto solid land.

Yusaku gingerly places his bare feet in the grass freshly covered in dew and steps a polite distance away from Ryoken. “Mine can only hold one…” He mutters to himself with a modicum of jealousy, watching intently as a few presses of Ryoken’s belt releases the piton and instructs the wire to wind itself back up behind the buckle.

After the biggest explosion yet, glass shatters from nearly every window of the three-story structure as it completely catches fire, now threatening to implode at any moment. Deciding not to linger, the two of them rush further away – and not a moment too soon. The central building soon collapses on itself almost perfectly, sending a wave of heat in every direction as the growing flames feed on its remains and a plume of thick smoke rises high in the sky. No other structures are close by and the immediate vegetation is all well-trimmed and alive, meaning there’s little risk of the fire spreading, but the main building of the resort is unsalvageable.

As if responding to the destruction, the earpiece Ryoken never bothered to take out crackles twice: once as it returns to life, then a second time right after when it receives a signal. Unnamed and I are waiting at his car, sir.

“Excellent news, Baira. We’ll be there soon.”

Understood. A bit of relief seeps into Taki’s voice in that one word.

“They both made it out, then?” Yusaku queries as they walk towards the parking lot, taking cautious steps to avoid stepping on anything that could hurt his feet. His tension eases in a sigh when Ryoken nods. “That’s good. Thank you, and… I’m sorry.”

“I see neither why you would thank me nor apologize to me.” If anything, it should be the reverse, as Ryoken has reason enough to say both.

“I’m thanking you because you helped me. I’m apologizing because I wasn’t able to help you – the Rook got away.”

The leader of the Knights of Hanoi scoffs. “Did you not hear what I said earlier? It’s unbecoming of a Hanoi to give up before every option has been exhausted.”

“Then…?” Yusaku’s bright, brilliant, beautiful green eyes widen in surprise.

“I haven’t lost all my leads yet.” Lifting a sleeve, Ryoken reveals he’s missing a cufflink – one he’d just barely managed to slap onto the helicopter during the fight. Its pair, still on his person, is a tracker with a wide enough range to lead him to the Rook’s hideaway no matter how far it may be. “But if I’m to catch up with him, it really is time to say goodbye.” After all, regardless of what the government agent may or may not want to do, Playmaker needs to check back in with the powers that be before proceeding, and the Hanoi are not ones to dally.

That brings Yusaku’s steps to a halt as they skirt around to the front of the building. Spotting them, Kusanagi and Taki drive over in a sleek BMW coupe; though Taki exits from the vehicle and leaves the door open for him, Yusaku doesn’t move. Bright light from the burning building gleams in an outline of his figure, moonlight shining down softly on everything else. “The next time we meet… Will we be enemies again?”

Ryoken holds out a hand in appearance of a handshake, but when Yusaku puts forth his own, he clasps it gently. His left arm, sore and definitely in need of medical attention from Genome once he returns, is still mobile enough for Ryoken to reach out and slowly pull down the glove on Yusaku’s arm. Underneath it is pale, pristine skin, the thin layer of breathable fabric sufficient to block out dirt and dust while still avoiding any buildup of sweat. After peeling it all the way off past the fingertips, which now rest lightly in his palm, Ryoken slides a thumb along the path between Yusaku’s own thumb and index finger. There’s a tiny speck there just at the base of his webbing: a freckle Ryoken has pressed kisses against repeatedly on more than one occasion. He’s tempted to again, but he’ll be more gentlemanly tonight.

Turning the hand so that its back faces up, he curls Yusaku’s fingers in his grip and brings it towards himself, bowing his head to lightly kiss the smooth, flat surface. Though the touch of his lips is brief, Ryoken lingers in the bow, tilting his head upwards until he catches sight of Yusaku’s sparkling green eyes one last time, knowing that after this Yusaku will get into his car and drive away. “We’ll just have to wait and see about that.”