Chapter Text
Edirne District, Turkey
Natsuki’s finger clicked the gun’s chamber shut. She didn’t need to look at Yamada to know he was doing the same. “Twenty-five. No friends. Can't keep a relationship because of this damn job. At this point you're basically the only person I’ve got left, which is... frankly pathetic and kinda embarrassing.”
Yamada didn’t miss a beat as he checked his weapon, the sound of the slide reverberating in the dark. "Quit being hard on yourself, kid. We’re a damn good team, and that’s why we work."
She grunted. He was right. It was a weird kind of truth. For the last seven years, they'd been in this together—fighting, surviving, no questions asked. But tonight... tonight was different.
The compound loomed ahead, a shadowy silhouette against the cold night sky. Neither of them spoke as they stood outside, the tension thick in the air. Natsuki gave him a sharp glance.
“Ready to do this thing, old man?”
Yamada’s eyes narrowed, his hand already reaching for the door as he gave a curt nod. “Let’s get this over with.”
They moved like ghosts through the dark hallways, silent and lethal. Natsuki’s senses were on high alert, her mind razor-sharp. Her heart pounded in her chest as they descended into the depths of the building, the stale air pressing down on them.
“Any sign of him?” Natsuki’s voice was a whisper.
“Not yet.”
Every step, every breath, was calculated. Every muscle in her body screamed with purpose. Years of training, pain, and sacrifices led to this moment—the most dangerous target of her career was behind these walls.
But something didn’t sit right. Natsuki’s gut told her this was too easy. They were walking into a trap.
“I don’t like this, Yamada. It’s too clean. This place should be like fucking Fort Knox, not some abandoned warehouse. Feels... off.”
Yamada didn’t respond at first. Then, after a pause: “I like easy.”
“Gross.” She knew the smirk was there, even without looking at him. Seven years of this—the quiet moments, the chaos, and the bond that had formed between them. They’d been partners and best friends since she was only nineteen years old. Natsuki knew everything about him, and it was a two-way street.
They’d seen each other at their lowest. At their worst. She’d watched him kill. He’d seen her do the same. They didn’t need words anymore. They just... knew.
Natsuki never realized how he became the only person in the world who knew her, knew all of her. To everyone else in the world, outside of confidential personnel she could count on one hand, Natsuki was just a financial analyst. Not tonight, though. Tonight, she was the furthest thing from that cover.
The stairs beneath their feet creaked, the building seemed to groan, but they kept moving, side by side. It wasn’t conscious anymore; it was instinct.
“When we get the fuck out of Turkey, I’m drinking everything in sight,” Natsuki muttered under her breath.
Yamada’s voice was dry as ever. “You already know it's a done deal. We'll hit the bars hard.”
But just as they rounded another corner, the ear-piercing static crackled in their earpieces: "Two coming around the corner."
The first shot missed by a mile, a warning. Natsuki hit the floor in a fluid motion, crouching behind the corner, her partner right there with her. Her heart thundered, the adrenaline surge spiking through her veins.
Her senses sharpened—she was alive, awake, and the world moved in slow motion. Fear didn’t shut her down. If anything, it lit her up like a damn Christmas tree. Her dark green eyes scanned for the shooter, finding him just as he was aiming the barrel of his gun at her.
She didn’t hesitate. She never did. The gunshot echoed as she squeezed the trigger, her bullet sinking into the shooter’s skull before he could even blink. A clean shot.
"Nice," Yamada muttered, but Natsuki didn’t wait for his praise. They sprinted down the corridor, their footsteps now a drumbeat of urgency they no longer bother to conceal, now that the sound of her gunshot gave away their position.
Ahead, a figure they recognized from intelligence briefings stood unmoving, as if waiting for them. His hand stroked his grey beard with unsettling calmness. Natsuki's blood ran cold.
"Good evening," he said, his voice soft, almost too polite.
Yamada’s lips thinned, eyes narrowing. "Not sure I’d call this a 'good evening,' Greer."
Natsuki wanted to snap at him—shut up, don’t provoke him. But there wasn’t time.
“Why the formalities?” Greer smiled, his tone chilling. "Please, call me Joseph. You’ve been following my work for so long, it feels as though we already know each other."
"We’re not interested in pleasantries," Yamada growled. "People are very interested in what you're selling."
Greer’s grin widened. "Ah, yes. A portable nuclear device. A rather... dangerous thing to be in the wrong hands, wouldn’t you agree? But it’s nice to have the attention. I'm quite flattered, really."
Natsuki’s sharp hearing picked up the telltale sounds of movement behind them—footsteps, weapons drawn. Five more, at least. She didn’t have to look to know they were surrounded.
The odds were stacking against them. But Natsuki didn’t back down. She never did. Her mind instead began running through scenarios on how to get out of this. The odds were stacking up against them quickly, although she and Yamada had gotten out of worse situations before. Three years ago they’d both nearly bitten it in Argentina.
They still laughed about that one.
In her earpiece, a voice crackled to life. "You’ve got five closing in behind. Extraction is thirty seconds out. Move."
Yamada’s hand clenched around his gun, his face set in stone. He wasn’t leaving without that bomb, no matter the cost.
Don’t overthink. Overthinking makes you hesitate, and if you hesitate you go home in a box.
So she didn’t hesitate.
Natsuki opened fire, one shot after another, bodies hitting the ground with a sickening thud as they fell. The hallway rang with the deafening sound of gunfire.
Her eyes locked on Yamada, who was moving fast. He’d closed the gap to Greer, gun pressed to the man’s temple. "Tell us where it is," he demanded, voice cold.
Greer chuckled, his voice dripping with contempt. "You think you can intimidate me, boy?"
Before Yamada could react, a shot rang out from behind, and Natsuki felt a searing pain explode in her shoulder. Her body buckled, her legs giving out beneath her.
The younger agent heard a warning from her earpiece. “More coming from behind.”
"No shit." She groaned.
Everything went blurry. Her vision faded in and out as the blood poured from her chest, where the bullet exited. Or was it where it entered? It happened too fast for her to be certain. The metallic taste of it flooded her mouth as she looked at Yamada, his eyes wide, his mouth open in shock.
Huh. It was rare to see the old man surprised. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d witnessed real shock on his face. Concealing emotions, that was a large part of the job.
The world spun as she collapsed, her hand gripping the floor for support. The pain was unbearable, but she couldn’t stop. She had to keep moving. Had to find her gun. She’d been trained for this, too—how to focus under extreme pain, though this was the first time Natsuki had been shot. Her vision was starting to blur. She began running facts and figures through her mind. The average person could lose 15% of their blood volume before they were dead. The average woman walked around with 4 liters of blood. What is 15 percent of 4? Think.
Her hands brushed the cold steel of her gun, but her body was shutting down. Before everything went black she heard a struggle.
Her finger weakly curled around the trigger, and then—
Another shot. Yamada’s body hit the ground with a sickening thud.
Pain. Everywhere.
Natsuki came to, her body aching, naked and cold underneath the thin fabric of the nightgown. The sterile scent of a hospital surrounding her. The steady beeping of machines pierced through the fog. Her head swam. She reached for the tubes, pulling them out, but her hands wouldn’t cooperate.
A voice broke through her haze—Smith. This must have been pretty special to drag him out from behind his desk.
"Kuga," he said, trying to keep her down. "Take a breath. You’re in a hospital in Instanbul. We got you out. You’re safe."
The words didn’t register at first. All she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears, the fear clawing at her chest.
"Yamada," she croaked, her voice hoarse. "Where... where is he?"
Smith’s face hardened, his eyes flickering with something she couldn’t place. "Yamada didn’t make it," he said quietly. "There was too much blood... too much damage. I’m sorry, Natsuki. He’s gone."
The words hit her like a freight train. She didn’t register them. She couldn’t.
“No... no, I need to see him,” Natsuki whispered, pulling the oxygen tubes out of her nose. "I have to see him. I need to see him.”
But her body wouldn’t listen. She ripped the IV out of her arm, attempting to get to her feet. Nurses flooded in, struggling to pull her back down even in her weakend state, even as pain wracked her body and soul. The last thing she felt was the sting of a needle and the cold hand of despair closing around her.
She passed out shortly after, broken and alone.
A week later...
“As Deputy Director of the CIA, I’ve never had a more difficult duty… than to bid farewell to colleagues taken from us. Toshiro Yamada was more than just a coworker or friend. He was a part of our family.”
Natsuki looked over to the photo next to the casket, tuning out every word that came from Smith’s mouth. His practiced speech and good intentions meant less than nothing. His praises for the fallen hero only grated on her nerves. She would have walked out already if that didn't mean the height of disrespect to the organization.
Everyone knew the senior agent. Everyone loved him. But Yamada had actually been her mentor, her only family she had left.
Yamada had known her completely, taught her everything, and now he was dead and she was left behind, with nothing but strangers offering their condolences and pitying looks. Natsuki had no one without him. She had nothing.
Nothing but this damned job.