Huang paced up and down the small hotel room. He'd only been waiting for half an hour, yet had gone through five cigarettes already. It wasn't like him to be this anxious. But he hadn't needed Baseball Hat Guy's not-so-veiled threat to know that these next six months would be a high stakes operation. High stakes for himself, at the very least. He didn't give a shit what happened to the Syndicate's mysterious plans, but if his team - and by extension, Huang - screwed up, then that was it. No second chances, no do-overs, do not pass Go on your way straight to hell.

The first member of his little band of freaks and misfits had been waiting in the room when he'd arrived. The silent doll had been perched on the edge of the bed, her small hands folded neatly in her lap. All dressed up as if on her way to Sunday morning church service. She hadn't said a word when he'd entered, hadn't even looked up. That was good; he was used to dolls being indistinguishable from the furniture. He liked what he was used to.

However, he'd never used a doll with such advanced programming before; he wasn't really sure how he was supposed to talk to her. Like she's just another one of the monsters, he decided. That's what she is, anyway. So he pulled out the two photos of the Frenchmen that he'd been given and held them in front of her face. "We need to find these two. One is enough, but both would be better."

The doll reached up and took the photos without once looking at Huang.

"Water," she said quietly. Her voice made his skin crawl. He wasn't used to dealing with dolls who could respond to him as if they understood.

"Hang on." There was a sink in the bathroom, but he didn't like the idea of her being out of his sight, even if she was technically in the same room. Instead, he grabbed the small ice bucket from where it sat next to the outdated television and filled it with tap water from the bathroom. Not trusting a doll to manage something complicated like balance a bucket of water and two photographs, he thunked it down on the chest of drawers. A tiny bit sloshed out. "Here," he said.

The doll seemed to understand. She stood, still holding the photos (Huang wasn't entirely sure that she'd even looked at them; something was funky about her eyes), and approached the bucket. Then, almost delicately, she placed her free hand in the water.

And stood there. Saying nothing.

She continued to say nothing while Huang spent his first cigarette setting up a map the city across the bed's stained coverlet, along with a police scanner tuned to Section Four's usual frequency. There was a lot of chatter about a particular star, but he had no idea if it was one the Frenchies or not; that hadn't been in the intel. If it was one of their guys, Huang had to make sure that his team got to him first.

If his fucking team ever showed up.

They were supposed to meet at eighteen-thirty. Huang checked his watch: it was one minute til. Still no sign of the other two. He grunted to himself and lit up another cigarette. Number six. If he got lung cancer it would be these goddamn contractors' fault. Contractors were usually punctual, unless they had a rational reason not to be. Figured he'd get assigned the only two slackers in Tokyo, he thought to himself. So much for the Black Reaper's so-called reputation; kid couldn't even show up on time.

He exhaled a long stream of smoke; the tiny cough that followed was like a foghorn in the otherwise silent room. He turned to the doll - Yin, was it? - to see her standing in the same attitude, still staring blindly at the hand in her bucket of water. Taking another puff, he studied her closely. She coughed again, though her expression never changed.

Well, it was probably reflex. Did dolls have reflexes? He'd never paid any attention.

A scratching sound at the door startled him out of his contemplation. Huang stubbed out the cigarette and strode over to the door. He placed his eye against the peephole and looked out: the hallway was empty.

The scratching sound came again, more insistent this time. Huang narrowed his eyes. Placing one hand on the butt of the pistol tucked discreetly under his coat, he turned the handle and pulled open the door.

And looked down.

A pudgy black cat sauntered in.

"Huang, right?" the cat said in a surprisingly tenor voice. "Took you long enough to answer the door."

Huang closed the door behind him, struggling to mask his shock. He'd known what to expect, but knowing still hadn't prepared him for the reality. "You must be Mao," he replied gruffly, as if talking cats addressed him on a daily basis. "You're late."

"Relax, I'm right on time." The cat, bell on his collar jingling cheerfully, leapt somewhat heavily onto the bedside table, where the alarm clock read 6:30. The red zero blinked into a one as Huang watched.

The only thing more obnoxious than a cheeky contractor was a cheeky cat. A cat. Fucking hell. "Whatever. We're still missing one."

"Hm." Mao crossed over to the bed, where he gave the motionless doll a once-over before sitting down next to the wrinkled map. She made no indication that she knew he was there. "Everything I've heard about Hei says that he's an exceptionally careful contractor, until he's not. My guess is that he's watching the place from outside, making sure that everything is clear before he makes his presence known."

That sounded like something that a rational contractor would do, Huang thought. Irritating. "Whadduya mean, careful until he's not?"

"Have you read his file? He seems to be fairly impulsive for a contractor - it's strange. I'm very interested to meet him in person."

An impulsive, deadly killer. Great.

"Interested," Huang muttered. "That's one way to put it."

A soft, almost hesitant knock on the door made him nearly jump out of his skin. The cat flinched too, he couldn't help notice with a smidgen of satisfaction.

The satisfaction didn't last long, however - not with the looming prospect of having to open the door to the Black Reaper. Huang wiped his sweating palms on his trousers. He's just another asset, he told himself. Just another one of the endless line of freak shows that you have to deal with.

He pressed his eye to the peephole. On the other side of the door was the same kid from the photo - same dead eyes, same lifeless expression. Here goes nothing, Huang thought, and opened the door.

"You Hei?" he asked as the kid slouched in, carrying a black gear bag, a paper shopping bag, and a long cloth-covered case on a shoulder strap.

The kid nodded once, but didn't answer. Outwardly he appeared relaxed, but his eyes darted about the room as expecting to see an enemy in every corner. Hair that needed to be cut, scrawny frame under worn, casual clothes that were one size too big - he looked more like an underfed college student than a deadly assassin.

Then again, ain't that the point? Huang cautioned himself.

"I'm Huang. The cat is Mao."

Hei didn't seem perturbed in the slightest to see that his new partner had four legs and a tail. Rather, he eyed the cat as if sizing up an opponent. Then, seeming to dismiss him (it was a fucking useless cat, after all), he turned his gaze to the doll.

"Oh, right," Huang said. "And that's Yin. Doll," he added, as if it wasn't completely obvious. As when both Huang and Mao had entered, the doll gave no indication that she was aware there was a new arrival.

Hei dropped his packages onto the bed next to the map and sat there, hands stuffed into the pockets of his grubby green jacket.

The dumb silent type, huh. Huang motioned to the cloth case. "What's the deal, carryin' somethin' like that all over town? I've got all the sniper gear we'll need." And the kid's file hadn't mentioned anything about a proficiency with ranged weapons.

Hei looked down at the case blankly. "It's a telescope," he said with zero inflection.

"A telescope?" Mao wandered over to the case and poked at it with a clawed paw. "Why?"

The kid shrugged minutely. "I like to watch the stars."

Just as weird as the rest of the freaks. Huang shook his head. "Right. Well, looks like the gang's all here, so let's get to it. Here's the mission debrief." The doll had left the photos sitting on the chest, Huang noticed for the first time. He scooped them up and passed them over along with the folder that Baseball Hat Guy had given him.

Hei took it with a total lack of interest. He opened to the first page, eyes skimming over it. Mao moved to look over his shoulder.

"Can cats read?" Huang asked.

The cat gave him what looked like an annoyed glance. "I can read; though I already downloaded the file on my way here."

Half robot, half cat - fucking creepy.

"Gravity nullification and matter exchange," Hei commented.

Huang couldn't tell if he was concerned about what he would be up against, or merely reading aloud. He found himself struggling to buy into the idea that this was the infamous Black Reaper, the Syndicate's top asset. "That's what it looks like - that a problem?"

"Gravity nullification sounds silly," Mao said, "But if it hits you you're toast - I can't be any help if you're floating up to the stratosphere."

"It's not a problem," was all Hei said. He turned to studying the photos.

"Speaking of problems," the cat continued, "Your file doesn't have an obeisance listed - anything we need to worry about?"

"No."

They both waited, but the kid didn't say anything more. "Whatever," Huang said at last. "We -"

"I have him."

The doll's soft voice almost seemed to echo in the room.

Mao leapt up onto the chest next to her ice bucket. "Who?"

"The blond one. Code name Louie. He's on a rooftop five blocks away, moving south on foot."

Heading south on a rooftop? The statement made no sense, until Huang remembered the creep's power - gravity nullification. Probably flying around out there like fucking Superman.

"Good," he said gruffly. "We'll mobilize from here."

"Right," Mao said. "Hei, time to gear up."

But the kid had already stood and was starting to unbutton his shirt. Then he glanced at the doll, who was still staring into her water. Without a word, he grabbed the handles of his gear bag and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Huang could have sworn that there was a faint blush on his cheeks.

"What the hell?" Huang muttered.

The cat shrugged. "He's a strange one, it seems. But then, that was pretty obvious from his file."

Without further comment or concern, the cat turned to study the map, asking Yin for clarifying details. The doll answered each question precisely. Occasionally she paused first; Huang imagined that she must be consulting the specter she had out there on the streets.

It creeped him out, the idea of those invisible ghosts zooming around the city, spying on people. It wasn't just intelligence or criminal organizations that used them - the police had set up their own network not long after Huang had left the agency. Sometimes he wondered what his former colleagues thought about that; then he'd remember that they probably had no idea. Only Section Four and the specific patrol squads they utilized were in on that little secret.

All those cops out there, ignorant of the true monsters that lurked in the shadows. The world really had gone to hell, hadn't it. He lit cigarette number seven.

"Huang, you take the doll and get in a better position to track him," Mao said. "Hei and I will try and cut him off."

"You're pretty bossy for a cat." No way in hell was Huang taking orders from a fucking cat, contractor or not. Baseball Hat Guy could shove his threats up his ass for all Huang cared.

Before Mao could respond, the kid emerged from the bathroom and Huang nearly choked on his cigarette. The too-large street clothes had been replaced by black, form-fitting athletic gear. Gone was the scrawny kid in need of a hot meal; now he could have been mistaken for a professional gymnast.

Black cotton-soled shoes erased the sound of his footsteps as Hei walked back towards the bed, apparently oblivious to the fact that he seemed to have transformed into a totally different person. He dumped his gear bag and pulled on a pair of black gloves, then removed a sheathed dagger from the bag and strapped it around his thigh; he was already wearing a full chest harness that held at least two nasty looking knives that Huang recognized from photos in the Syndicate's file. This was the killer from that two-inch-thick file, the almost supernatural rumor from out of South America made life.

The killer who blushed at the idea of changing in front of a female doll.

Fucking weirdos.

"Is that the jacket?" Mao was saying. Hei had pulled a long black trenchcoat from his gear bag and was shrugging it on.

"What jacket?" Huang vaguely remembered seeing something about that in the file, but his attention had been on the kid's job records, not his wardrobe.

"It's made from an experimental material developed from Gate technology," Mao explained. "The cloth becomes impervious to bullets when a low-grade electrical field is passed through it."

"Huh," Huang said. He was about to ask what use that would be if it had to plugged in, when he remembered that BK-201 basically was a low-grade electrical field. At least, if his high school understanding of physics could be trusted. "Does it work?"

"Yes."

"Outside of a laboratory, I mean?" Lotta good it would do out in the field if the lab tests hadn't been thorough enough - shit always happened in the field that you couldn't predict.

"Yes." Hei's inflection didn't change, but the look in his eyes did, and Huang knew that that jacket had been tested many times out in the field.

Huang cleared his throat. "Good. We're wasting time - let's get moving. Put your comms on channel three. Yin, you heard the cat - you're with me." He had no idea if she'd heard the cat or not, but he was finding that it substantially reduced his feeling of heebie-jeebies if he treated her as if she understood more than she probably did. "Hei, you're not walkin' out in the hall like that, are you? Someone sees you, they're calling the cops."

In answer, Hei moved over to the window and placed his hand on the wall next to it. Huang nearly choked on his cigarette again when the faint glow of synchrotron radiation outlined the contractor; then there was a sharp pop and the two lamps in the room abruptly went out, plunging them all into darkness.

"The hell are you -"

Light from the city outside streamed in as Hei pulled aside the curtain and opened the window.

That made sense, Huang realized. Leave through a dark window, no one would see him. But still - "A little warning next time, right?" he demanded.

Hei ignored him. He scooped a white object out of his bag - that creepy mask - and settled it over his face. Then he turned to gaze out at the city while Huang tried and failed to suppress a shudder.

"Hang on," Mao said, sounding nervous for the first time. "We're three stories up. That may be fine for you, but I'm not -"

But his next words were cut off when Hei gripped him by the scruff of the neck, swung his legs over the window sill, and dropped out of sight. Yin stood watching silently.

His new team. Huang sighed to himself, cigarette burning down to the filter between his lips. This was going to be a long six months.