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PORT OF TOKYO, YEAR 2024

You never forget your first love, everyone said. Even if you tried, that love would surpass every emotion, every thought, every principle, like thick blood warming a cold blade. Love was so boundless, so infinite, that simply comparing its 'superficiality' to any of the deep four oceans of the world was frivolous; a romantic would truly measure love as the Greek myth of Sisyphus, rolling a boulder up a hill for all eternity.

The boulder would roll back down, but no matter what, it would be rolled back up again. It was how Talia felt when her gaze lingered a little too long in the eyes of her long-lost love. A circumstance where they were both in the same room and she could not touch her beloved's face, cry out his name or fall into his arms was cruel. Very cruel.

As if things weren't already cruel enough, Talia's thoughts fell back into her chasm of memories, free-falling until she landed in the one memory that was shared last between her and her beloved.

"Even after experiencing hell time and time again, I'm only glad you were there by my side."

"If one day I leave too soon from this world, I can die happy knowing I got to meet you."

Talia was grateful she had her mask on to conceal her tears. Memories and wounds of the past were starting to re-open, and Talia knew her heart was one tap away from shattering into pieces.

Her beloved sensed that this 'Ketsu Yurei' was not a threat, so he put his weapon away. He then asked, "Who are you?"

Someone who has been away from you for far too long, was what Talia wanted to say but couldn't.

"Who cares who they are?!" The gruff and curtly voice said. Talia knew that voice. "Let's bring them in and grill them for intel!"

"I dunno," another voice— sounding much more silvery and high-pitched— put in, "you have to give them credit for the masks. So mysterious and menacing!"

"Forget the mask and costume," the female voice said seriously. "However, I do think bringing in this Ketsu Yurei soldier and interrogating them is the best course of action. This is the kind of head start we've been needing!"

"Best of all, we won't even need to take their mask off," the gruff voice said. "They'll spill everything when they see my fist."

Talia never knew how much pain one could feel when hearing voices from her past— voices that belonged to people she cared about, whom she laughed with, fought alongside with, whom throughout the darkest of times they could always lean on each other for support. It was hearing their voices and knowing the beautiful faces behind those masks that made her realize something: she would no longer be able to hold her emotions back and reveal herself if she stayed a second longer. She could not afford to give in.

"You're coming with us," her beloved decided.

I'm sorry. Quicker than lightning, Talia took out one of her smoke bombs and smashed it against the ground. The area was immediately billowed in a smokescreen. Her mind was too busy trying to escape as quickly as she could that she did not bother to retrieve the canister that had fell out of her hand and rolled to who knew where.

When Talia made it out safely and stopped somewhere she thought was far away enough from the docks, she took out a prepaid cellphone from her pocket (the only thing she loved about wearing this uniform was that it came with very handy pockets) and dialed a phone number. She held it to her ear, feeling a generous amount of unease and restlessness as she heard the line ring. Her other trembling hand went for her neck, her fingers pretending as though they were fiddling with a chain that was never there. She had hoped feigning such an act would somehow alleviate the tension of her muscles, her stomach coiling with discomfort, but her symptoms only tightened its grip for that exact same reason.

The person she was trying to reach answered the call. Talia did a poor job of controlling her breathing and the distress in her tone, so it was no wonder why the person on the other end asked if something was wrong. Plenty of things were wrong at the moment, but there was no time to explain. After making her caller temporarily settle for an 'I'm fine' even though Talia would not classify that as a definitive statement for her state of mind (and she had a feeling the person she was calling knew that too), Talia and the person finished their call by agreeing to meet at their usual spot.

Talia leaned back against the wall of the alleyway she was in, closing her eyes as she continued to fiddle with her imaginary necklace. Deep breaths, Talia. Smell the flowers, blow the candles. Her center was starting to become overwhelmed with too many faces, too many voices and too many memories. The more she was burdened, the more she felt like she was being suffocated until she blacked out. So she did the only thing she could to quiet her demons: hum— hum a wistful melody that made her feel so sweet with joy, yet bitter with anger. Everything around her faded into nothing; she was left standing, in a room that was as empty as the Devil's soul.

Only a bright light up ahead. It was a gateway— her escape. Talia hummed stronger, wrapping her invisible necklace around her finger.

A tinkle of laughter. Fragments of a smile. Kind eyes.

To the light, Talia, Talia told herself. To the light. . .

***

Another peek at the window. Glancing at the clock. Brushing the curtain away. Repeat. Talia did this dance so many times that she had started keeping track of this in her head. There was a reason why she and her contact had agreed to meet up in this exact seedy motel near the edge of Tokyo's dark underbelly: because it was per his insistence! If one should persist in a doing, was it not their prerogative to stick with it through to the end? Otherwise, why insist at all?

Talia looked back and forth from the clock to the door. Where on earth was he? Sure, in the past he was a few minutes late a time or two. . . but ten minutes had already passed. Ten minutes! There was nowhere he could be that was more important than this!

Talia took some deep breaths. It is alright. Calm down. Everything is fine. Perhaps there was a reason for his tardiness. Perhaps he was stuck in traffic with a flat tire. Perhaps he was on a bathroom break and was killing time trying to find toilet paper. Or perhaps he got distracted trying to ogle the pretty girls. Or perhaps. . .

Talia widened her eyes when she thought of the next scenario. Or perhaps he was captured on his way here. 'They' are probably trying to break him. What if he already gave me up? Would that mean they might be on their way?

Talia's breathing became abnormally rapid. Sweat collected on her temples and nape as if she were a sinner in church. She knew it. She knew agreeing to do any of this in the first place was a terrible idea! What happened to following her instincts? Did her gut not tell her anything when her contact first approached her? She should have learned by now. She should have learned that she had to carry out her mission alone. On her terms.

But first, she had to get out of here. Ten minutes was sufficient time for her enemies to beat intel out of her contact and lead a ferocious army to her whereabouts and finish her off. But dying was not what terrified her, no. What terrified her was what would follow after her death— the further carnage and damage that would be left in the wake of her failures— knowing the same cycles she swore to put an end to would restart all over again. Not even in death would she be able to forgive herself.

She took out her burner phone and threw it out the window. Then she unsheathed her wakizashi, practiced a few moves with it, and crept to the wall next to the door. Any undesirable crashers would taste her blade upon arrival.

Not a minute after came the sound of someone knocking at the door. However, Talia would not let herself be fooled by such an innocent noise. Maybe one would think it was room service or the cleaning maid, but there was no guarantee that they were really a wolf in sheep's clothing waiting for a second of weakness before striking. One could never be too careful.

Knock-knock. Talia still did not answer. She firmly clutched the hilt of her wakizashi. Her stance was on the defensive. All she had to do was wait for whoever was on the other side to open it and. . .

Click. The key card to the room had been swiped. Talia shifted her weight to the ball of her foot.

The door was pushed open and then. . .

Grunts. Then followed by the sound of a gun skidding across the floor. With a controlled flip, Talia wrapped her legs around her attacker's neck and used her weight to bring her to the ground. She was able to trap her attacker in a standing armlock, effectively rendering their arms useless as she held her blade inches away their throat.

"Ack! Talia, stop! It's me!"

Talia widened her eyes. Why did the voice that just spoke sound suspiciously like her contact?

Her confusion gave the perfect opportunity for her attacker to dislodge himself from Talia's grasp, disarm her and kick her away. The attacker then turned the blade to Talia, having a look that read 'come closer if you dare.'

The fancy suit and tie. . . The layered hairstyle that he never really bothered to change except trim it once in a while even though it had been eight years. . . That chiseled jaw. . .

Oh, it was her contact alright. Talia did not know whether to be relieved or angry. There were a million different ways this could've ended badly.

"It is you," Talia said.

Her contact huffed. "Were you expecting someone else?"

Talia composed herself for a moment. She put her hands on her hips. "In a way I was. That is what happens when someone is late to their own meeting and has me thinking something happened to them." She glared at her contact like it was his fault he almost died at her hand, which it was.

"I had to take a leak," her contact defended.

Talia raised her brow unconvinced. "A leak? For that long?"

"You ladies' take your time in the bathroom, us men also take our time, too."

"I would have thought that being an officer of the law would teach you to have some punctuality; clearly, you still lack in it. An assassin could have snuck in here, be done with me and be on their merry way. How would you explain to your superiors, then? That a 'valuable' informant has died on your clock—"

"Watch," her contact corrected.

"Huh?"

"It's 'on your watch.'"

Talia figured she had a love-and-hate relationship with American slang and sayings. "Anyway, such an act would have cost you your badge, no?"

"Okay, you're reasonably upset. I get it. But why don't we talk about how you should be lucky I'm not adding another charge to your file— the one regarding assaulting an FBI agent?"

Talia thought her contact would have followed with something like 'because we have known each other for so long', but he did not so she remained silent as her contact retrieved his weapon.

"Nice move there," she remarked after a minute of silence. "Do they teach you that in FBI school?"

"Oh, nah. Just doing some martial arts on the side just for, y'know. . . reasons."

Talia nodded, having a feeling what those 'reasons' probably were. Her contact pulled his eyebrows into a stern frown. "Is that all you have to say? After I clearly heard you close to tears over the phone earlier?"

Oh. Right. Talia rubbed her neck. Where would she begin? How could she explain? "I. . . I did not complete your task."

Her contact narrowed his eyes. Her failed mission? Was that really what it was? But wait. . . He then realized it and asked, "Talia, where is the canister?"

Talia's shoulders stiffened. The voices from the warehouse came back to haunt her brain. She ground out, "In the hands of others. I am sure it is gone by now."

Her contact slowly shook his head. "No, no, no. But how? Shit, shit. This isn't good. . ." He muttered to himself before turning back to Talia. "Well, we have to find whoever has it. We have to track them down somehow and take the canister back because if it ends up in that buyer's hands. . . Argh! Look, we can go back to my headquarters and from there we'll retrace the thief—uh, sorry, thieves' steps and—"

"No," Talia spoke. Her contact stopped talking and looked at her like he misheard something. She felt like sand had been emptied out in her throat. Her past had come knocking on her door, but she was not ready to open it. In reality, she was not sure if she ever wanted to open it. All the emotions and memories that would be unleashed like a tidal wave and crash onto her. . . it would be too much for her heart.

Her contact frowned. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"'No' as in 'I am done'. I am not doing this anymore. I did everything you asked of me, and that I did."

"That's not part of the deal. The deal was for you to retrieve the canister and—"

"I know, and I do not care," Talia snapped. "I shall do the one thing I swore to do before I can cross to the other side. And then we shall never see each other again."

"Just so you know, you came to me," her contact pointed out. "You came to me with information and the FBI was obligated to investigate!"

"Yes, and you have no idea how much I am regretting it right now! I came to you because I thought you would help me bring an end to the monster that has plagued my dreams and his empire! But now I see that I should have never reared my head out of my hiding spot! I should have stuck to the shadows and done everything my way!"

"So you thought you could come back, drop off some information, request I be your handling agent, and then off you pop again?! Disappear off the face of the earth and have me— everyone suffer another round? That's not how life works, Talia!"

Talia got closer to her contact. She tilted her head up to see him eye-to-eye. She also noticed he missed a spot while shaving on his clean-shaven face, but that was not important now, was it? "I shall not be swayed. It is better this way."

Her contact laughed in disbelief. "Better for who? You? If you walk away, you will give me and the rest of the FBI no choice but to brand you as a fugitive and every law enforcement agency out there is going to want your head! Is that what you want? The feeling of being hunted again? To watch your every step wherever you go? Because I swear, Talia, when I find you I will have the honor of putting you in handcuffs."

His words were clipped and nothing but severe. His tone tightened with every word he spewed out. His attitude reminded Talia of when she was surprised to learn that the same silly, obnoxious, and charming guy she met eight years ago was now this serious, no-nonsense agent. Just like her, he had suffered some great ordeals, too. Neither were the same person as they were before.

"Whatever happened to 'I will make sure that canister does not end up in the wrong hands and be used to take lives'?" Talia's contact crossed his arms. "You don't believe in what you preach?"

"That was before I realized who else was at the warehouse," Talia explained brusquely. "When I saw them. . ." She ran a hand through her hair. Her eyes prickled just thinking about her encounter with them. Her heart was beginning to feel a little too heavy for her body.

Her contact widened his eyes a bit. "You saw their faces?"

She shook her head. "No. But alas, I know who they are. And you know them, too." Her contact's face subtly contorted. "Do you see why I must leave? Why I cannot follow through this anymore? It is only a matter of time before 'they' know and you and I both know why that moment can never happen. It just can't. . ." Talia sat down on the bed, buried her face into her hands, and wept. Her tears were of fear, overwhelm, and heartbreak.

Her contact sighed deeply. If there was anything he couldn't handle, it was a woman crying; it was one of his biggest fears. But his face softened. Even if it didn't seem like it, he really did understand Talia's situation. He couldn't begin to fathom what it must've been like for her through these years. He knew the story, the details— everything. Tales of heartbreak that made him wonder: just how much more could Talia take? Hadn't she been pushed far enough?

Her contact bent down and placed his hand over her knee. At this act, Talia pulled her face away from her hands and with red and puffy eyes, saw her contact retreat his agent side, his face no longer granite-like. It was like he was trying to be there for her as a friend, not as someone from the FBI.

When her contact spoke, his voice was gentle. "They don't know, Talia. They still believe the story."

Talia wiped her tears away quickly. "One way or another everything reveals itself. You know this to be true."

"We will work together. We will neutralize this threat and you can return to everything and everyone you love and hold dear."

"How can I? I am weak. I am not myself."

"A wise person once said 'weakness is not accepting help whenever you need it.'"

"Who?"

Her contact smiled. "You."

There was a flash of a smile— for a second, and then it faded. Her contact was wrong; Talia was weak. And selfish. And pathetic. She was all of those things. She was every one of those things for staying hidden for so long, for running away from her feelings, for despite knowing she was the center of so much pain, choosing to do what was in her best interest.

Talia chuckled. "I never thought you would quote one of my sayings. You didn't strike me as the type to listen and remember any ramblings equivalent to a fifty year-old philosopher's."

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you quote some pretty damn good lines. Some of them have stuck with me; they got me through."

"And here I thought the only lines you would ever quote would be from movies."

"You're funny. The point is, you don't have to do this alone. You have to trust me on that."

Trust was one of the many things Talia had given up when she embarked on her journey. She feared taking someone's hand blindly and being led through the darkness all to be pushed off the cliff. But even with that mindset, she still went to her contact— a man whose job made him a candidate for her 'last person to trust' list— and asked for his help! She could never figure out why she did such a thing, but the little maybe poking the back of her head told her she already knew why. But she just refused to admit it.

This time, Talia's smiled managed to stay on a little longer. "I guess I am lucky I have a friend in the Bureau, don't you think, Agent Jones?" 

Her contact smiled back. He reached a hand— almost like he were about to touch her face— and double-tapped her temple. There was a warbling, crackling sound, followed by glitching of Talia's face and then. . . it was all pulled back like a curtain. Agent Jones wanted to see Talia— the real Talia. None of that disguise crap. With her wild curls, her eyes that were more powerful than any hurricane ever recorded in history, her aura burning with determination— everything admirable about Talia that Agent Jones knew he was the only one from her past that got to see it in such a long time— if not the only one who would ever get a chance to.

"I told you," Agent Jones said, "off the job, it's still  Casey."