Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Seed. This disclaimer is true to all the next chapters of this story. Any identical circumstances and scenarios to other fanfics is purely coincidence.

A/N: So, here we are! This is shamelessly AU. And I have no beta, so any mistakes and/or confusions please let me know and I'd do my best to make it more readable. As I am occupied with my studies, please don't grudge me if updates are late, or very late for that matter. I'm an asshole by nature, so if you're someone who whines about updates, well, we're not going to be friends. To those who are patient and cool, thank God people like you exist. ^^

Warning: I believe that characters tend to go out-of-character when placed in an alternate universe. I myself hate it when they go OOC, because duh? But then I realize and learn as I was writing this, that yes, circumstances and environments shape a person. This is not canon, therefore we cannot completely base these characters from canon; we can just do so loosely. It is its own story after all. The foundation of personalities of each character will be cemented from the originals though, which I hope I could pull off. These characters have their own story, so please have an open mind when reading, and don't judge until you know the whole story behind them, k? And to the kids, go read something else. Seriously.

Thanks for reading this awfully long note, enjoy what's beyond!

AKATSUKI

By: WeSailShips

The static of his earpiece is a familiar disturbance. Footfalls that are too quiet to detect gait the grounds around the dilapidated factory, soundless and close to the shadows for cover. Eyes that are far too trained sweep every corner, sharper so as not to miss a thing. He waits, patient and unmoving as he observes the abandoned factory behind the secure jacket of darkness.

He presses his left wrist to his mouth. "Status report" he murmurs.

"Not a damn thing." The static cackles to the impatient hiss of Joule.

"Negative, Commander," reports Elsman. There's a series of 'negatives' from the various agents situated around the perimeter, all blanketed by the shadows like him.

Remaining patient had never been in Agent Joule's list of specialties, so when the man opens the communication, he conveys as much. It's irritating, but Joule is right. They've been waiting for nearly fifty minutes, and there is still no sign of their target.

"Zala we are wasting time, goddamn it!" Joule argues hotly, hissing quietly.

"Be patient Joule," MacKenzie interrupts calmly, and as though an afterthought, adds, "And there should be a Commander there somewhere."

Athrun shakes his head almost unconsciously. It's amusing how they could still bicker under extreme pressure. Briefly he wonders if Elsman's too tense (or really, just scared shitless) to join the two idiots, usually he's the one who starts their childish arguments. Athrun inches forward, keeping his back to the worn concrete wall. Joule and MacKenzie are still at it in the background, lightening the tense air a tiny bit with their quiet squabble.

"I have a visual on the target," the feminine voice cuts through their comm link, immediately silencing any sound. They all still, hands in their customized rifles and pistols, eyes and ears alert.

They all wait with bated breaths, their usually professional compartmentalization of emotions barely surfacing. Where this team was normally professionally calm and composed, today they are tense and anxious. Athrun can't blame his team really; this target singlehandedly had Tehran on its knees just a couple weeks ago.

Her codename is 'Akatsuki'.

She was a ghost story until a few months ago.

There's been a bounty on her head for years apparently. In the depths of the criminal world, where the world's toughest and nastiest bastards are bred, she was as alive to them as she was a ghost to the oblivious. Underworld huntsmen have gone far and wide just to see for themselves why such a girl has gold piling on her cute little nickname. Many searched, few saw, most died.

Other than the knowledge that she is both exceptionally beautiful and deadly, no other information was known of her. Akatsuki is a spy, a wicked master in her craft, a clever tool of international espionage. Highly skilled and vastly intelligent, and given a significant amount of aesthetic beauty, she manipulates men and use them to her discretion, murdering them when she's deemed them useless. A femme fatale who's far too excellent at what she does. A Black Widow made flesh.

Recently, Akatsuki's kills have been a little more pronounced; her marks have been those the public has familiarity of.

There is disquiet in the International Security Committee. The higher ups want her hunt down and as much as possible, bring her to custody, question her intensions, and well, basically, ask her what the hell she's up to.

For this woman to have had rumpled these old folks' manicured feathers, she must have done some really awful shit.

Unlike these agents, Athrun Zala has never heard one speck of this Akatsuki. It has only been a few months since he'd been recruited. Warfare was his forte primarily. Afghanistan. Iraq. He's a veteran, has been on the service since he was sixteen. Is a decorated war hero, has been on hundreds of different assignments, rescued lives far more than he cares to count. He excels in tactical combat, hailed a brilliant tactician both by his men and superiors from the army.

During the length of his service, he's been given breaks more than most. Due to his outstanding clean-cut record he suspects. He comes home for a few weeks more than once a year. But more than half a year ago, his father ordered his release. His mother is dying. And she is asking for her son. He agreed to his father's order immediately and also requested for his release, which he was given a few months afterwards.

A good ten years of service.

"I see her" Elsman murmurs. "Damn, she's hot."

"You don't even see her face idiot," Joule mocks, obviously rolling his eyes by the sound of it.

"Dude, Yzak, my friend, if you are not as ramrod-straight as I thought you were, I would accept you. You know that," Elsman dramatically whispers. The others are probably too tense to laugh, but quiet snorts burst from a few. Athrun included. Joule's silence is deafening. It probably promises torture after this.

"Man, look at those curves," Agent Aiman sighs, the breath he releases slightly unpleasant with the volume of their earpiece. "What I'd give to feel 'em."

"Shut up Aiman. All 'ya stop praising the bitch. What's so great about her anyway? She ain't even punctual, the wench." Another masculine voice—that has an accent that should come out funny, but isn't—grumbles.

"Suck it up. A woman is never late."

It's hard to believe some of these men are amongst the deadliest human beings. That among these men are the best soldiers ZAFT has in its very long list of secret agents, among the best in the world even, is quite hard to believe. As unbelievable their individuality is relative to their jobs, this team has rarely failed a mission. This team is the higher up's go-to asset when things are too difficult to handle, and who they send to missions of extreme importance. Even in the most difficult of environments and situations, these agents are deadly. They are ZAFT's assault team, the one who first stopped evil before it actually comes out to the world.

So the fact that Athrun is leading this group of highly professional killers is equal parts overwhelming and confusing. He must have made one hell of a reputation.

For this girl to have employed the service of an entire ZAFT team—this team, no less—she must be real trouble. They badly need to bring her in.

"Target is approaching contact, countdown: three minutes to assault," another reports.

Athrun finally has a visual of their target. Dressed completely in a stealth black bodysuit, Akatsuki looks every bit the scant stories of her told—dangerous, lethal. Neither an inch of skin nor hair is bared. Twin pistols are strapped on either side of her thighs, two long knives crisscross against her back, and tiny discs peeks out her utility belt where all her other toys are carefully concealed. The fabric around her head supports a black plastic mask of sorts where her eyes are supposed to be, Athrun supposes that's what makes her see.

Their guy goes directly as been ordered. He talks to her, the silver case he's holding out as silver as his tongue. In it contains a serum of complicated chemical design. Unbeknownst to her, it's a sham. Their guy breach topics with topnotch skill, bringing up her uncharacteristic clashes these days. "Your nature, he says, the British lilt in his voice casual, "is destroying from the shadows. It's peculiar how public your last mission was." She doesn't breathe a word.

The agent continues extracting her of what little he could get out of her—which to their dismay, is next to nil.

"Twenty-three seconds to assault."

Their guy is talking still, calm and collected, setting down the grounds of their false negotiation, luring her attention. The one-sided conversation is carried smoothly by the microphone installed on their guy's glasses. Akatsuki doesn't speak, only nods. When she does though, it leaves them momentarily breathless.

"It's about time your friends come out."

She pulls off her gun before any of them even realize she'd moved. She shoots their guy point blank.

A pause, and then a curse, distinctly Joule's.

Athrun comms Elsman—who's manning a 50 cal Sniper Rifle up on a roof—ordering him to shoot her leg. "I don't have a clear shot!" the agent responds hotly, frustration palpable in his voice. "She's moving way too fast."

Damn it.

"Open fire!" Athrun bellows, blowing his cover as he runs out of the shadows, the cacophony of gunshots in his wake. Akatsuki hides behind empty metal drums, behind the shadows where she easily fits in, shooting down agents with lethal precision, all the while defending herself flawlessly. Athrun can hear his teammates' voices in his comm link as he unloads his handgun, some grunting, some whimpering, much hollering, and a whole lot of cursing. He dashes forward, towards where Akatsuki disappeared seconds ago, eyes sweeping the grounds like a hawk as he goes, stops for a breath, and ultimately decides to chase.

He gives chase, running towards the entrance of the lobby of the factory where his keen eyes detects a tiny shift of movement. "Surround the factory!" he orders over the roar of gunfire and voices. The innards of the factory are steadily crumbling into rust, with some of its metal gangways inclined and its chains almost corroded. Inside, light is limited only in the form of shafts of moonlight pushing through the countless holes of the walls and roof, small and gaping alike. With gun held in both his hands, Athrun strains his senses, glancing left and right and up, treading boot-covered feet softly on the dirty concrete.

Several of his men follow closely behind him. When they're at a passable distance, Athrun makes a hand gesture and what agents there nod uniformly. Sudden movement is caught by a male agent and he empties his clip towards the moving target's direction as the shadow ran and dart quickly behind a wide metal shaft. They rush to surround it, adrenaline pumping, ringing in their ears, pushing at their steady, strong beating hearts. Too late tough, as a pistol's sleek form peeks from behind the beam, the silver of its metal catching the moon's eerie light, and two agents drop dead from its successive bang, bang.

Athrun's men ask for orders, both those still outside hurrying to get to them, and the ones with him inside. He periodically reminds himself that this isn't war, isn't a battlefield where the tank's roar can drown out his hollered orders. He cannot compromise their positions. Akatsuki may only be just one person but damn the girl has a pretty head between her shoulders.

Somewhere above them, Akatsuki is striding the catwalks with silent feet, throwing her tiny discs towards their strategically scattered ranks. Yet another one of Athrun's men went down, the one farthest from him. He looks behind where Aiman lies prone with his face scrunched in pain, clenched teeth showing as he fights against a scream, grunting and growling. A tiny disc has penetrated the left skin on Aiman's neck, sending who knows how much bolts of electricity down his chest, into his spine, up his brain. MacKenzie's eyes are a little less composed now, his voice loud in the cavernous space. "Fuck. Aiman! Aiman! Get up, come on man, I'll provide cover!" The nearest exit is approximately twenty five meters away from them. Aiman isn't going to make it. "Aiman's down! Where the hell's the medic?!"

"Sir, we got company! What the-! Shit, shit!"

"Bynes!"

"Oww, that tickled."

"The hell's that?!"

"Report, report!"

"Commander, she brought friends! Goddamn it Eul! Get back, get back rookie!"

"What the-? Are those fucking drones?!"

"Are you fucking kidding me!?"

"Why do these assholes always get better toys?"

At Elsman's confusing huff, Athrun's patience snapped. "Report, damnit!"

"They've surrounded the area. Asking permission to activate Dal-"

"Denied!"

"I wasn't even finished!"

"This is still the outskirts of a civilian area, Yzak! We can't be reckless!"

"Argh, fine! Don't blame me if we all die!"

Something snapped and Athrun twists and points his gun towards the sound. Akatsuki's standing with knives in both her hands, the pale lights catching the metal of the blades and the thick liquid dripping from it. She wields it like an extension of her arms, cutting and slicing through air and skin and muscles as she advances towards them. Already, after only a damn ten seconds, two bodies litter the dirty floor. Her movements are too fast to follow even with their trained eyes, but it's down six to one, agents are shooting at her in different angles. Still, not a bullet manages to hit her. She attacks another, weaving through the shadows and jumping from behind one female agent. The agent drops, the hilt of the knife jutting out the back of her black combat vest. Before she died though, the shot she fired from behind the Akatsuki sails true while their target is busy hitting a male agent across the head with a lever.

"Take that, bitch" she breathes out. Akatsuki snatches out something from her belt and turns, throwing a thin blade straight through the agent's brain. Akatsuki spins around, arm muscles tautening as the steel rod in her hand hurl towards the male agent in severe speed, knocking him out as the thick metal collides against his skull.

The shot does affect Akatsuki. Sort of.

Akatsuki slows a tad bit, her movements less graceful. Her aim though…well, all they can do is pray for reinforcement seeing as the ones outside are busy getting their asses handed to them.

There's only four of them left, one of which is an angry Rusty MacKenzie.

Their guns howl in the silence, poised and professional still even as the glaring evidence of an impending loss is staring them in the face. They do not falter; they attack the assassin with cool desperation, relentless in the feeble lighting of this claustrophobic warehouse. Akatsuki's feet makes a soft and fast dull sound on the inclined gangway as she ran away from their unyielding bullets, the screech of metal hitting metal harsh but familiar. Grabbing the rail at the top, she hauls herself over it, ducks down, and throws something circular at them.

Oh shit.

Beep, beep, beep.

The grenade goes off.