Chapter Text
“So, everything’s in place, surveillance set all over the location, and we've also got Harumaki on standby. She's supposed to already be there, but I don't think we're gonna need an assassin’s help for this one. We're here, after all, right?"
The man across from him is smiling - has been ever since he walked right into the booth and sat himself confidently onto the comfortable leather seat. He tilts his glass of whiskey around, the liquid splashing against the sides, before he raises it to drink. He seems to change his mind halfway, however, as he moves it forward to gesture towards Saihara.
"Whoops, I forgot. Cheers, partner!"
"Cheers," Saihara answers curtly. This person isn't at all what he expected to get when he heard that he’d be teaming up with another agent, the man's demeanor being one of the reasons why Saihara has his doubts about the mission.
If Saihara were to give his honest opinion, rare as that is, the guy seems irresponsible and untrustworthy, even if his file says that he has a pretty impressive skill set. Proclaiming himself a legend first thing at the time of their introduction, as well as promptly declaring Saihara his new sidekick for the job, Saihara can’t help but wonder if things will go well. They're both fairly new at this, which is more or less a given in this line of work, but this person is acting like he's been in the service for years.
He tries not to worry about it that much. Shirogane is a good boss, after all, and he has no reason to question her judgement. They’re both supposed to be good at what they do, and their different methods are why they were chosen for this operation, supposedly.
"Hey man, did I ever tell you about how I wanted to be an astronaut when I was a kid?" One Momota Kaito grins at him, leaning forward. "Was real serious about it, too. All kids wanna be astronauts, but I had a plan and everything, trained for it every day. And then, get this, I'm on my way to take the damn entrance exam, when suddenly..."
Saihara tunes him out, uttering a 'Fascinating' here and there for good measure to fill the expectant pauses. Is it really a good idea to be talking about how you ended up with this job by pure chance?
"...Can you fucking believe that? Now, I'm pretty confident in my ability to improvise, so what I did was..."
Saihara lifts a glass to his lips and takes a small sip, turning his head slightly to the side. The sight through the window is empty save for the dark bushes and tree branches passing against a uniform black. The booth is nearly silent, its tremors barely detectable as the train glides towards its destination.
He hears a beep.
“Hold on,” he says, interrupting whatever story Momota had going at the moment, “Headquarters are trying to reach us.”
“Sure thing, pick up,” Momota tells him, giving him a thumbs up.
“‘Sup, fuckers, it's your favorite tech expert,” Saihara hears from the microphone in his ear first thing after he presses the button. He listens on, confused. Iruma is supposed to have finished giving them all the instructions before they took off. “I know how much you love hearing this beautiful voice, but don’t get your dicks up yet, ‘cause I’ve got some bad news for ya.”
Saihara frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that the mission’s a bust. Don’t know who talked, but you’re gonna have to be careful and not contact us for a while.”
“What the fuck,” Momota says.
“Fucking right? Now, it’s not all bad - you have a way to talk to each other, and you've got loads of awesome gadgets that you can still use, courtesy of this sexy genius. The comms still work, obviously, as well as the exploding pen - that one you can also use as a fucking dildo, I guess, so bet your virgin asses it'll come in handy - and the… moth… ing laser th..."
Suddenly and without warning, the signal weakens so much it's hard to discern anything their head inventor is saying. Saihara and Momota share a short look between each other.
"Come again?
“...what's…”
“Please repeat, we don't copy."
"...th…ell..."
For the next few seconds, Iruma's voice is coming and going, intermittent with white noise and something else, a new signal, like they're picking up conflicting sounds from two different radio stations.
"...ello? Hello, hello?" Says an unknown person's voice, suddenly the only thing they can clearly hear. It sounds like it belongs to a young man, perhaps around their age, maybe younger.
"What the fuck is happening?" Momota asks out loud again, more as a general expression of confusion than a question.
"Hello, hello, hello, he- Oh, hi there!" The person says after hearing Momota. His tone is mocking, like that of a kid at a playground rather than someone who just hijacked one of the government's most secret communication lines. "Having fun there? I like trains, myself!”
He knows where we are, Saihara thinks. This stranger knows our exact location, and probably our identities, too. Why aren’t we being attacked yet?
"I am, you know. Having fun, that is. Or maybe I'm not?" The man laughs. "My fun times might stop at aany second now, since you two are so incompetent. I'm like a ticking time bomb, teehee."
Leaning further forward, Momota looks alarmed, eyes focused, a serious look on his face.
"You mentioned a bomb?" Saihara asks cautiously.
"Aww, you caught on! Congrats, Mr Smartypants! You really are something else." The stranger laughs again, before his tone does a full 180 shift into something sinister. "A big one, that might or might not get hidden somewhere in the largest hotel in the city you’re heading to. I wonder where that is... A big bomb that can kill everyone in the building when it goes boom ."
Why is he telling them this? Saihara thinks rapidly, listing out all the possibilities in his head. They still aren't being attacked.
"Who the fuck are you?" Momota asks, teeth gritted.
"Oh, I like you ! You're probably a dumbass, but that's a pretty good question." The voice coughs. "You're speaking with Ouma Kokichi, a supreme leader of evil. Nice to meet ya!"
The name doesn't sound familiar at all. Saihara makes a mental note to ask the central to look it up in the databases after they're back, just in case, one that ends up crumpled in the metaphorical garbage bin shortly after. They can't talk with the central, as things are.
“A supreme leader,” Momota repeats flatly.
“Yep! Does that make you...”
Just as suddenly as it happened the first time, the voice they're hearing changes, after fading a few more times in and out of static.
"...opy? Do you fucking copy, you pair of lubed up toilet brushes, 'cause if not imma fuck your bitch asses so hard ur breath is gonna smell like-"
"We can hear you," Saihara says quickly.
"And I can hear you, too!" Ouma says merrily.
Momota swears.
"Who the fresh fuck are you?" Iruma asks, echoing Momota from earlier.
"Wouldn't you like to know!"
"Y-yeah, I would, so what? Don't screw with me or I'll..." She chases the question with a few more choice insults, voice slightly trembling.
"Wow," Ouma chuckles, "Who shat in your salad?"
"What was that, you-"
"Well, that was fun, but I gotta get going," Ouma cuts her off, "Being an evil mastermind is so exhausting. Also, I feel like soon you’ll have a lot more to worry about than a hijacked comm line. Toodles!"
The voice disappears and Iruma swears once again. “Can’t believe this. How did the fucker even find this? It’s supposed to be impossible without…”
Between her complaints and trying to come up with possible further courses of action, Saihara barely catches the moment Momota shouts, “Get down!”
Instinctively, Saihara ducks. A split-second later, a gunshot goes off and the window glass breaks, shards of glass spilling over the floor and the surface of the table.
When he raises his head, he sees three unknown men in the booth with them, two already moving to grab them, while the third holds them at a gunpoint. He ducks again, one arm above his head, and moves forward.
With the corner of his eye, he sees Momota move quickly to counter his own attacker, immobilizing him in an instant.
When the man attacking Saihara swings at him, Saihara makes a step to the side, grabbing the man and turning him so that he’s not in the line of fire. He takes his own gun then, firing before the man’s hands that moved to grip him around the neck start to squeeze.
He straightens up, breathing slightly heavier.
To his side, Momota has just finished with the third person, a body lying on the floor.
“Damn,” he says. “I did not expect this. We’re a good team, though, huh, sidek-”
“Watch out,” Saihara cuts him off, pushing him out of the way as he notices a movement on the side, where Momota’s first attacker is reaching for a gun. Saihara takes his and shoots before he gets to.
There’s a moment of silence, the two of them looking at each other over the aftermath of the scene just passed, spilled drinks and broken glass and the smell of gunpowder in the air.
“Thanks, man,” Momota says, only slightly ruffled. Saihara doesn’t answer, thinking about the speed and precision with which his partner moved. His file wasn’t lying, after all.
As Momota opens the window wider to get rid of the mess, Saihara removes the stray shards of sharp glass from the seat with his clothed forearm and sits back down. They need to move soon.
He tries not to worry, but it comes naturally to him; analyzing the situation, coming up with the ways this could go. Things are looking bad; they’ll have to be cut off from the headquarters until the end of the mission, but at least they’ve got a way to communicate with each other - provided Momota isn’t a double agent. In that case, he should...
"Hey, man."
Suddenly, he's very aware of the way Momota's looking at him, intently, leaning forward as soon as he sat down, elbows on his thighs.
"Dude, what's wrong? Why'd you look so worried?"
For a moment, Saihara is taken aback. He didn't expect him to notice. Another reason for his confusion is that he feels the source of his worries should be obvious.
"Ah, I'm thinking about the mission," he says, “And our next course of action, considering.”
"Oh, that?" Momota laughs. "What's there to think about?"
"Excuse me?"
"What I said! No need to worry," Momota says with conviction. "Bosses told me you were the best in your group. You're really good, aren't you? Perfectly fit to be my sidekick. We can do this thing easy."
The words should have sounded cheap, but something about them is reassuring. Saihara nods.
"An' besides, we got the most important thing to have on a mission.
“And that is?”
Momota tilts his head and gives him a grin. “Teamwork, and trust in each other, of course.”
Saihara isn't sure if he would put the two down as the most important, especially now that trust is a thing so fickle that he wouldn’t be surprised if one were to disregard it entirely. He doesn’t say anything, though.
The tabletop and its items are ruined, his glass of whiskey one of the rare items left still standing. He picks it up and takes a sip, rolls the drink over on his tongue before swallowing. He wonders about all the things that could be called an acquired taste.
He looks at Momota, who loosens his tie and takes a deep breath, glancing around. He's got a cut on his forearm and a spot of dark red on his white shirt, but doesn't seem bothered by anything. Somehow, absurdly, the man’s confidence is making him relax.
“Shit,” Momota says after a moment, alarmed.
“What is it?”
“Our suitcase is gone.”
“They can’t have wanted us dead,” Saihara thinks out loud on their way to the hotel. The rest of their ride was pretty uneventful, though this is not enough to trick him into thinking anything is over. “Two of them seemed reluctant to use their weapons, while the third just held us at gunpoint. The first gunshot seemed to have only been used to frighten us. They must have been attempting to capture us.”
He’s still thinking about the suitcase with mission objectives and most of their devices. The only things they’ve got left are the things they had at their persons.
Even the hotel entrance is gleaming, bright and polished, with a pair of guards on whichever side of the door. Momota seems to register his words, but doesn’t add anything as he walks straight in and towards the reception, arms loose on his sides, like he owns the place.
He leans against the counter and starts chatting with the receptionist in her native language. As he chatters happily with the woman, saying something that makes her laugh, Saihara stares, feeling somewhat like he’s suddenly lost his footing. German isn’t one of the languages their training required.
“Here we go. Fifth floor,” Momota says, dangling the keys in front of him. “Gonna have to use the elevator, she said.”
“I didn’t know you could speak German,” Saihara says.
Momota grins, striking a pose, and says, “Told ya I used to wanna become an astronaut,” as if that explains anything at all.
As they walk down a wide hallway towards the elevator, Saihara thinks about how, at this point, he really should stop underestimating this man. The doors slide open to let them in.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been underestimating me,” Momota tells him like he can hear his thoughts.
“A little,” he admits with a small smile.
Momota presses the floor number. “Pity. I figure, if we’re doing this thing, we’re gonna have to trust in each other’s abilities.”
“You keep talking about trust,” Saihara tells him, turning his head a little to the side. The polished, golden box is empty, save for the two of them, as it climbs slowly to their destination. “Do you really think that’s smart in the situation we’re in?”
“What do you mean?” Momota raises his eyebrows.
“You know we’ve been compromised. I could very easily be the double agent responsible for this.”
To his surprise, Momota’s grin widens as he shrugs, completely unperturbed. “No worries there. I’ve already decided to trust you. So, I will - simple as that. You saved my life once already, haven’t you?”
Saihara nods, thinking back to the train ride. The logic is ridiculously fallible, and he should call him out on it. He doesn’t, though. He’s never met anyone like Momota. Maybe their bosses were right. Perhaps someone like this is exactly what he’s been needing all along.
“See?” Momota says. “I got an eye for this thing, so you can rest assured.”
The elevator comes to a stop, the doors opening with a
ping
, and Momota walks out before him with big steps, shoulders wide. He almost bumps into someone on his way out.
“Shit, sorry.”
“You’re so clumsy, mister!” The other person laughs, the sound of it somewhat familiar. “I sure hope you don’t do any physical work for a living.”
Saihara frowns. He wonders why he finds the person familiar. He's a short, young man with an insincere grin, his shoulder length hair sticking out on the sides, and Saihara is positive that he’s never seen him in his life.
“Come on, I didn’t even fucking touch you.”
“Oh no, don’t be mad at me! I was just kidding about calling you a clumsy bitch! I’m a liar, you know.”
Saihara shakes his head with disbelief. He was positive that no one sane would go out of their way to introduce themself as a liar.
As the man steps into the elevator after them, and he and Momota walk down the luxurious, carpeted hallway, Saihara thinks about someone he used to know what feels like a lifetime ago. He remembers a conversation they had, when she told him that piano playing helped her become more sensitive to different noises, easily identifying voices when she hears them, but that anyone can do it if they try. That everyone’s voice is specific, unique in its color and tone, lilts and raises and intakes of breath.
It’s an old memory, unrelated, and Saihara is unclear why his mind decided to dig it up now, of all times. Shortly after, he realizes.
“What is it?” Momota asks, noticing how he’s suddenly stopped walking.
“It’s the same voice,” Saihara tells him. “The one we heard on the train.