Costa Rica: 2 weeks – 16 casualties
Mali: 1 day – 21 casualties
Latvia: 16 days - 3 casualties
Iceland: 5 days - no casualties
Russia: 1 years, 1 month - no casualties
Madagascar: 4 months - no casualties
Japan

The moment the lecture was over I gathered my books and left the room quickly. It was the last hour of the day, and I was in a hurry as always.
"See you tomorrow, Mitsui-chan!" I looked over my shoulder and plastered a fake smile on my face at the sight of the brown-haired girl that waved at me from the entrance of the classroom before she continued her way in the opposite direction. The long hall had slowly started to fill with students, one big chattering mass. After some effort I didn't stand out anymore, I had painted my hair a black colour, a common appearance in these regions. Also, it combined well with my eyes. The clothes I was wearing were especially picked out for this: a bordeaux so-called nude shirt and dark blue jeans, a light grey poncho, a chequered scarf that held white, bordeaux and black squares, black fingerless gloves and black trainers. Contrary to most common schools this university didn't have demanded uniforms, surprisingly. Most people argued I was from another region because of my slight accent (my Japanese was a bit rusty), but I didn't bother to change that status since people had grown used to me. The girls at school were quite unobservant when it came to such things, is my best guess.
Zzzzzzz
Something buzzed in my pocket as I pushed some of the books in my locker (which was white, like nearly everything in that building). My cerulean eyes closed for a moment in annoyance, but I chose to ignore it.
Zzzzzzz
With a groan I took the phone out, scanning the messages I had received.
where are you? be here it 30 minutes
JJ
And the most recent one:
skip that, you've got 10. new order
JJ
Walking all the way would at least take twenty, but since I had no money for a cab I didn't have a choice but to run. Dammit Jack, I'm going to kill you. Whilst stuffing my books in my bag I made my way to the exit, dodging the other students. I'd promised Annaisha - Kouumoto-chan - we'd study in one of the libraries (yes, plural! There are at least four as far as I know) but unfortunately that'd have to wait.
Saves me an explanation for my absence.

She'd understand, this happened more often.
All the way to the fence that surrounded the dark grey university buildings (.. of all colours..) and enormous campus I managed to maintain a steady walking pace. Slow enough to not raise the impression that I was running, but fast enough to, once out of sight, speed up to running in one fluent movement. Only once I'd dared to be late when Jack was expecting me. It had been an unpleasant situation, he'd made me clean the entire place. It's filled with the dirt of half Tokyo.

Without panting I finally reached a 2-storey building, exactly 9 minutes and 26 seconds later. In fact, my muscles were glad for this extra stretch. The building appeared to be the same as any other apartment block, with yellow brick walls, red doors and window-frames and a flat roof; except that, facing the street, there were two large garage doors next to a regular sized door. The latter I opened, barely wasting time in putting away my bag and black leather jacket. The interior couldn't possibly differ more from the exterior: fossil grey walls, cement flooring, and where normally the couch or kitchen would be there were large machines. Nearly the whole base floor was dedicated to the garage (because that's what it was), the bearing walls had been replaced by pillars of reinforced concrete. Workbenches covered the length of the walls, crammed with tools, metal and spare parts. And then there were the cars.
"You're late." a man with a Peter Weller accent grumbled from underneath a black Bentley Mulsanne whilst I gathered some of the tools I might need after I would've changed clothes upstairs.
"I arrived exactly in time," I responded calmly. "Ten minutes, just as you asked."
After having dealt with Jack for years I had grown accustomed to his bright personality. He was a relatively small man, with an overall oval body shape. That he seldom took a shower was indicated by the black, greasy hair that reached his shoulders and a stubble beard. He fit in the garage picture perfectly, him being covered in the same substances along the lines of dust, oil and whatever not. His big, indurate hands however were capable of delicate work, and his brown eyes could spot even the finest details. "Whatever. A customer brought a Bugatti Chiron a quarter ago, special order. It needs to be fixed in ten days so get it done will ya."
"A Chiron? But those cost more than this entire place. They must be unusually desperate if they bring it here."
He mumbled some inaudible things under his breath in response. And so far the conversation of my day. I raised an eyebrow now I recognized the grey beauty in the centre of the garage. An 8.0-liter sixteen-cylinder engine, four turbos, top speed of 261 mph, probably the world's first 1500 hp sports car. I wasn't that much into cars, but since I worked with them on a daily basis I had learnt the difference between the usual and the high-quality cars – and this one was definitely a royal.
"Only the rear brakes need to be checked – I want it to be perfect ya hear me? This customer could mean the future of this company!" Of course. It'd be a disaster if one of the richest families in Tokyo had fourteen cars at their disposal instead of fifteen. My sarcasm-filled thoughts however were interrupted by a text message.
Zzzzzzz
With a hand full of tools I took out my phone; it was Annaisha who'd sent it. What now...

I've been captured by the boys from the Karate Club, I might or might not have broken something.. I have to pay off by cleaning the mats. I don't think they'll let me out of here soon.
AK

Seriously, I told you not to play with the sticks. I've been called to work, but if I have to free you you'll text me.
Even though you deserve it.
SM

Aren't you just a little ray of sunshine. They're not asking for money anyways, they need me in the team. As long as it's just minor chores it's fine I guess...
AK

"Break is over! Get back to work!" Jack shouted.

Keep me informed.
SM

Too many hours later I decided to call it a day. I had the miraculous ability to get oil smeared all over my face, and this time was no exception. Wiping most of the grease from the screwdrivers and the shifting spanner I kicked the skateboard underneath a table.
"Jack! I'm done for now!" I shouted over the loud rock music. It was a good band, but why on earth did it always have to be so loud?!
"You done with the Chevron?" He was huddled over a piece of welding in the corner of the shop.
"All set!"
Not awaiting his inaudible answer I made my way out of there. I'd spent the whole afternoon checking the break system of the Bugatti, and the fan in one of the other cars had been replaced. Working at the garage was time-eating, but it also helped clearing my mind. A small door on the side of the room gave entrance to a smaller one, a desk and chair crammed in a corner underneath a forest of paperwork, and small wooden stairs which I clambered quickly without casting as much as a glance at the paper mountain. Upstairs the building parted into two apartments, the one on the right being mine. Warmth hit me like a wall, the central heating boiler on the left that was rumbling steadily being the cause.
My apartment wasn't very spacey, about 20 square metres – the smaller equivalent of a western 1-bedroom apartment – with a kitchen, living room and bedroom in one. The wooden flooring had warmed up thanks to the luxury floor heating. Before I had moved in here the walls had already been painted in the light-yellow colour they were, with red leaves here and there. There was one window on the right, a low table in front and a bed/couch opposite of it. Next to it was the small kitchen, and one door led to the bathroom – a bathtub, toilet and hand basin. Nothing more, nothing less.

After I'd changed clothes – at the moment I was wearing grey sweatpants with a black shirt – I took my phone out of the pocket of my jacket on the floor. I'd received several messages from Annaisha about how sore her fingers were, and I it'd probably be best to text her back.

How bad was it in the end?
SM

I had to scrub the mats for hours! I think my fingers have been replaced by enormous blisters. Lucky me I have paid off my debt now. By the way, I took a peek in the gym, did you know so many cute boys are doing gymnastics?!
AK

Let me guess. you quit karate and have joined the gymnastics Club.
SM

Aww, you're not being fair. I've wanted to do gymnastics my entire life! The people are SO kind. Why don't you come with me tomorrow, so you can see it yourself?
AK

No thanks.
SM

Of course you will! I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. I've got still some work to catch up with this evening and some blisters to tend.
AK

As you might have guessed, Annaisha is the ultimate tsundere drama queen. I'd been here for about 2 years and in that amount of time she'd changed her club twelve times already. With a small, this time true smile I turned off my phone, and instead gathered my books.

"Sir, we've located her current whereabouts."
The tall, sturdy man in the centre of the dimly lit room clasped his hands behind his back.
"Where?"
A smaller man behind a computer read the report.
"Tokyo, Japan." On the projector an ID appeared of a black-haired girl. "Mitsui, Sakura Kazumi. 24 years old, Japanese. Currently working in car maintenance and studying at the Tokyo university of Science. One of our informants spotted her entering a garage run by one Jack Jenkins, 43 years old, American."
"And the government?"
"We have a guy in CIRO, he'll cover everything up."
The sturdy man took a few steps forward to the screen. The light sharpened his bald facial features. A long, pink scar ran from the outer corner of his left eye across his cheekbone and lips to a point just underneath the corner of his mouth. His nose had once been shaped equal to the beak of a hawk, but it had been broken enough times to have given it an oddly crooked look. The dark brown eyes scanned the map that had been placed next to the ID, and slowly a grin spread across his face. The sharp, yellow teeth shimmered in the dark.
"Prepare the troops. Our little fox won't escape this time."

A high-pitched peep harshly penetrated my dream and drove sleep from me like a harsh wind blowing away the clouds. As I opened my eyes I immediately located the source; my laptop in the corner of the desk. A dim green light pulsated from the screen, but I didn't need more stimulation to put the alarm off; the 21,000 Hz tune was awfully painful. Pushing the sheets off I stumbled to the laptop and immediately inserted the passcode in order to make it stop. As soon as it disappeared I breathed a sigh of relief, and rubbed my eyes wearily.
D*** this thing, it's 2:26 AM... Suddenly the bells in my mind started ringing. Wait, the alarm went off. THE alarm went off. What the- you can't be serious.
With one finger on the touchscreen I shifted the screen to my personal creation. A black/green map appeared, with symbols of various agencies on the right. The standard: FBI, CIA, MI, NPA (Japan), CIRO (Japan). And then there was another underneath. A red skull with octopus arms.
And it was pulsating.
The blood in my veins froze. Sh**. Not them again. How on earth...
I opened a tactical map. Ever since Mali I had placed a mole inside the software of all the agencies that posed a risk to me. The mole had enabled me to set up an alarm system that would activate if anyone would use a trigger word in combination with my current hiding place in their communications system.

The tactical map showed the outlines of Tokyo, my current hideout indicated by a red dot. Around it, in a circle formation, were about a dozen triangles, the nearest only two streets away. And closing in.
My heartrate went through the roof.
Sanguin. Sh**.
My instinct took over, and without further hesitation I jumped up and ran to the closet. The lowest drawers were stuffed with rather unusual items: one contained a black tight backpack, the other weapons. And not just the standard gun, also some throwing knifes, wires and other technical try-outs. I'd been prepared for a situation like this, so everything I needed had already been packed. It took me less than half a minute to get into a familiar black jumpsuit, tie my jet-black hair in a ponytail, strap the backpack onto my back and attach the weapons to different parts of my body in a way that wouldn't be overly suspicious.
I'd done this before.
I had survived.
I could do this again.

I sent the tactical map to a special watch I was wearing before also placing the laptop in the backpack.
Two helicopters, five cars, two ground teams.
The silence brought me to a state of utter alertness, and I remembered the man I'd been working for, still sleeping in the other apartment. I couldn't take him with me, that was out of the question. A normal agency would cover everything up and prevent further casualties – but this wasn't a 'normal agency'. This was Sanguin. And in the competition they were running letting anyone escape was unforgivable. He didn't stand a chance.
I'm sorry, Jack.
Putting his inevitable fate in a far corner of my mind I turned to the window and looked outside. No heli's in sight yet, they're letting the ground troops do it this time – that should give me a head start.
The window was fairly small, half a square metre, but since it ended on a flat roof I didn't need more space than that. Slowly opening it I first put my feet through, clinging onto the lintel, and then went through it with the rest. It was still dark outside (though light pollution ensured visibility at any time), and the temperature had dropped to about 10 degrees Celsius due to the cold north wind. A quick look on my watch told me that the ground troops had penetrated the garage. Time to get running.
It was only a matter of seconds before the ground troops would reach the apartments, and when that happened the helicopters and cars would also be on the move. Staying up above gave me the advantage, since I would remain out of the cars' reach. The helicopters were located in the opposite direction, therefore the longer I would go unseen, the more distance there would be between us.
Staying low, I began to run under the cover of the night.

"Sir, the ground troops have found a man on the first floor. The target is presumably on the move."
They were sitting in the second helicopter, following the red dot on the screen with their eyes. And a night vision camera showed a white figure running several metres above street level. So far the surprise element.
Scar-face took out a communication device.
"Alpha four, block the streets. Beta one, diagonal formation in pursuit. We need her alive."
"Aye sir."

One great thing about the outskirts of Tokyo was the attached flat roofs. I was currently running from rooftop to rooftop, with the helicopters on my heels. No doubt the cars were also following in a parallel course. I was fast, thanks to the daily training I'd kept up, but the choppers were closing in rapidly. I needed to ditch them, favourably without causing any more casualties. But that wasn't the main problem: I was running out of houses. The end of the street was near, and my watch showed me there were two cars waiting for me.
There's a subway two blocks away. If I can reach it I might be able to get rid of these guys. The average speed of a Shinkansen is 270 - 300 km/h, that of a Bell UH-1 Iroquois (which is powered by a single turboshaft engine, with two-blade main and tail rotors) only about 200. Now I had a target. To the left the street was becoming narrower at one point, which I would be able to cross with an aimed jump, but upon spotting a fire-escape I realised that wouldn't be necessary.
A train would leave in exactly 6 minutes, and here in Japan trains left on the second. I needed to get rid of the heli's first. As I calculated the distance between me and them I spotted a house ahead that was taller than the others, resulting in an obstacle in the form of a high brick wall. Perfect. From one of the pockets of my jacket I took a small device. It was a flat, circular object, the outer layer was made of different metals. Meanwhile I was heading straight for the wall. Three.. Two.. One.. By using the horizontal speed I ran up, lifting myself several metres in the air and stopping the forward momentum. The reflexes of the pilot in the nearest heli weren't fast enough to keep up with the sudden stop, resulting it to hover next to me for a millisecond in which I was able to jam the device through one of the windows, shattering the glass in the process.
I landed safely on the cold roof, but that couldn't be said of the heli. It hovered forward, its passengers highly confused, before beams of electricity shot out of the device, destroyed the heli's systems and tasered the people. Welcome in the game, I thought grimly. Even though they'd probably survive the crash, they were the walking dead already. Another five casualties added to my list.

"Target has descended to street-level, sir. She's heading for the station." Angrily scar-face took the comn system from the messenger. "Then make sure she doesn't get there! Block all roads! Ground troops, go after her! Don't you dare to lose her again. She's not the only danger in the world." Despite the obvious threat the soldiers faces remained indifferent. That's how they'd been taught. Scar-face scoffed inwardly. These were nothing than disposable objects, pawns, in the game. One mistake and they'd never be heard from again, and no one would ask any questions. The girl on the other hand was a different case. In the game she was the queen, not unmissable but certainly worth sacrificing some pawns, bishops and knights for. This girl, however, had slowly started to become an irksome factor, refusing to cooperate. His hands were itching to take hold of her neck and slowly wrap them tighter.. But no, his superiors wanted her alive. And unfortunately, in this game he was a rook. And kings and queens stand above rooks.
"Ground troops are closing in. 200 metres to the station."
Do really two more take the place of the one cut-off head in her case?

Using the diversion the crash had caused I had taken the liberty to descend several fire-escapes to get off the roof at last. Because of the speed my fingers burned where the gloves didn't protect the skin, and they tightened into fists. With the cars on my heels I had to run all the way to the train station without getting run over by the opposite traffic or getting shot. The first caused more of a problem than the latter.
The train station was only a mere 100 metres away, and still the gunners hadn't hit. I even started to feel a spark of victory. But one should not celebrate too early, so I had to remain cautious. They could not fire however when there were citizens around, and that was my advantage. The train station is namely a public building, and Tokyo was online 24/7.
Once inside my heart rate slowed a little; a train had just started to fill out. To avoid being visible to the security camera's I pulled the hood over my head before continuing in a slower pace. The yellow light shone on the white walls and tiled flooring, the people's faces wearily underneath them. Once again, it was only 2:34 AM yet. It was a miracle that there actually were people around at this late (or early?) hour. From the moment I'd seen the garage being surrounded adrenaline had spread throughout my entire body, and after the sprint just now I was fully awake. The next train leaving was exactly the most useful one: the Nozomi to Osaka. It was the fastest of the three types of shinkansens – that was, it stopped at less stations.
My head turned at the sound of tumult behind me – the ground troops had entered the main hall, freaking out the midnight travellers. But they wouldn't be able to reach me in time, and they also seemed to notice that.
Their anxious, helmeted faces were the last thing I saw before the doors closed.

At the sight of the city down below scar-face planted a fist on the dashboard of the helicopter. "I told you not to let her get inside!", he basically screamed "Now arrest her before she reaches that train!" One of the passengers leant closer to another. "Is this normal?", he whispered as they watched scar-face shout threats into the comn. "No. Usually she wipes everyone out before she escapes.", was the reply.
"-SHE MADE IT IN TIME? HOW COULD YOU NOT HAVE STOPPED HER? WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE WAS TOO FAST AND THERE WERE TOO MUCH WITNESSES? SINCE WHEN ARE WITNESSES A PROBLEM?! YEAH WELL, I PROMISE YOU THAT THIS ENTIRE-" Scar-face was literally fuming, rumours went that he'd failed a mission three times already, and this was the fourth. "-IMMEDIATELY GOING TO FIND OUT WHERE SHE'S GOING! AND NO EXCUSES! I WANT HER NEXT LOCATION! I'M NOT GOING TO LOSE THE CHALLENGE!" When he threw down the comn, the two passengers as well as the pilot acted as if they'd heard nothing, and prayed they weren't the next target.

Japan: 2 years 1 month; six casualties