Final Chance

I got a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach as soon as I saw the note. There wasn't anything in particular about it to make me nervous - just a plain white envelope, stuck in the slots of my locker, with my name on the front in bold, cursive writing. It wasn't the first time I'd gotten a note like this, and it probably wouldn't be the last - ever since the girls at the high school I'm assistant coach for found out that I used to play in J-League, I've gotten one or two anonymous love letters in my locker every month.

The teasing started the moment the other two assistant coaches saw the little envelope, as always. Ignoring their playful banter - they were good guys, really, and gave no evidence of jealousy over the treatment I sometimes got as a 'former star athlete' - I plucked the piece of stationary from the grills and pulled the letter from inside, scanning it quickly. It was short and to the point, and it made my blood run cold.

Siberian. Report to the Koneko, ASAP.

That was it. Six little words, and they had the power to make me shake in my shoes. It wasn't signed, but it didn't need to be - and I recognized Manx's handwriting from the few times I'd seen it anyway.

Something must have shown on my face, because the ribbing from the guys fell off. Hesitantly Daisuke spoke up. "Oi, Ken-kun, is something wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost."

I shook my head and crumpled the note in my fist, carefully blanking my expression. "No. Just a note from an old acquaintance. Sorry guys, I'm gonna have to skip bar night tonight." It was tradition for the three of us to grab a beer or two at a local bar after practice sessions, but one way or another, this little invitation had changed that. Grabbing my jacket and helmet, I left the locker room without another word.

I seriously considered not going. After all, Weiss had been over for more than two years, and I hadn't heard a peep from Kritiker or the others in all that time. Not that I can blame them - I was no more eager to maintain ties to that bloody period of my life than I'm sure they were. Though I had kind of expected Omi to keep in touch, at least. Well, maybe he'd found something better to do with his life. I sure hoped so - the kid was the most innocent of us all, even after what he'd been through, and he deserved a break for a change.

Still, having received the summons, I knew I couldn't just ignore it, no matter how much I wanted to. Despite the fact that it might very well mean that the simple, pleasant life I'd built for myself would come crashing down around my ears, I had to know what was so important that Manx would try to drag us back into it. I assumed the others had been contacted, since my codename had been used. I was also curious to see who else would actually show up.

'Curiosity killed the cat,' as they say - of course, most people don't know the second line of that little truism. 'Satisfaction brought it back'. Omi taught me that one. It had suited us both, at the time, and I imagined it still would. Truth be told, I was kind of looking forward to seeing him.

I parked my bike in the little shed at the back of the Koneko no Sumu, feelings of déjà vu washing over me like waves over a beach. Nothing had changed - the little flower shop was still doing brisk business, though the crowds of fangirls had lessened since we were no longer there to drool over. Momoe-san was still nodding over her rocker, petting Tama the neko. I waved to her in greeting, and she opened her eyes wide to see me.

"Ah, Ken-san!" she smiled in return to my wave. "It's good to see you again. You look well. How are you doing?"

"I'm pretty well," I answered, stopping long enough to chat a little. I admit it, I'd missed the old lady. Despite her outward appearance she was sharp as a tack, and had a dry wit that most people never got to see. She'd always taken good care of us, bringing us chicken soup and the like when we were sick, and doing an excellent job of covering for our rather erratic appearances in the flower shop. She was in on the whole thing, of course - she'd been a Kritiker agent long before any of us were born. This shop, tending her beloved flowers and enjoying relaxation with her cats, was her retirement. We had been her way of keeping her fingers in the pot. I absently wondered what she was doing for stimulation now that Weiss had folded.

"I'm the assistant coach at St. Agnus' high school," I added, and her smile widened. "Looking to make head coach within the next five years or so. Not bad for someone who was once accused of gambling on his own games, ne?"

"That's wonderful, Ken-san. I wish you the best of luck." She gestured vaguely towards the back of the shop. "The others are waiting for you."

Just that quickly, the tension was back again. I nodded thanks, and moved past her into the main part of the shop. Some pimply kid was watering the flower arrangements. He couldn't be more than 15, and a quick once-over dismissed the possibility that he was using the job as the same sort of cover we had. On his worst day, Omi'd had twice the muscle this kid ever would. More than that, he didn't move with the grace of a fighter. Granted, both Omi and I had had our clumsy moments, but not to the extent of this kid!

He blinked at me, a little bewildered, through coke-bottle glasses. "Oh. You must be with the others. Momoe-baa-san said to let you through to the back." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and for a weird moment the gesture reminded me of Crawford. I shook my head with a snort, dismissing the image, and moved past him.

The winding metal steps down into the briefing room were the same as ever, and the déjà vu flooded over me again. As the room came into sight, I could make out two sets of fiery red hair - Manx and Aya - and Youji's lanky frame sprawled out over one of the couches.

As my foot left the last step, my eyes swept over the room with a practiced ease, noting what was different and what was the same. The furniture was all still there, but it was covered with sheets and dusty with disuse. The TV/VCR set we'd gotten our mission briefings from was missing, as was Omi's beloved computer system from the corner. The whole room had an air of disuse hanging over it.

There were changes in my teammates, too. Aya was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as always, but there was a smile of greeting on his face, directed at me. I blinked and blushed a little, startled to see such a welcoming expression from him. I'd had the worst crush on him back then, and spent much of our two years in Weiss chasing him around like a love-sick puppy dog. I was grateful to see both that he had forgiven me, and that my own hormones were staying quiet. Apparently I was over him. He must have seen the relief in my face and guessed at the meaning, because the smile widened another notch.

Youji's hair was cut neatly short, and though he was sprawling, there was less of a sense of indolent leisure and more of watchful waiting in the pose. The ever-present shades were missing as well, and wide green eyes sparkled at me. "Yo, Ken-ken!" He greeted me using the familiar nickname. "Long time no see."

"Yo-tan," I replied in return. "What's with the hair cut? You look almost respectable or something!"

He snorted delicately, and waved a long-fingered hand at Manx. "They don't let you have 'individualist hairstyles' on the force until you reach detective, at least. I'm being a good little rookie until I get my promotion."

I had to gape at him. "You're a COP?" I blurted, then was embarrassed at my bluntness. Well, obviously I hadn't changed much, either.

Aya laughed - he actually LAUGHED - from his post at the wall. "That's nothing," he said in that soft voice of his. "Wait until he tells you about his fiancee."

My jaw dropped a little further. "Fiancee?" I repeated, feeling like a parrot. "You're ENGAGED? YOU? The ultimate playboy?"

Youji snickered. "Yeah, well, she's worth it. You're invited to the wedding, by the way - I've been trying to get a hold of you, but none of your old email addresses or phone numbers work."

I smacked myself on the head. "Gomen! Someone leaked to the press that I was still alive about a year ago, and I was bombarded by letters from all my old fans from my J-League days. I had to change all my contact info to get them - and the damn press - off my back. I never thought to tell you guys!"

"We are all responsible for losing touch," Aya shrugged in that graceful way he had. "You no more than we. When I took my name back and resumed my life as Ran, I changed a good deal of my contact information as well, and didn't bother to inform anyone."

"Ah..." I blinked at him. "Right. I guess you couldn't very well keep calling yourself 'Aya', with Aya-chan awake and around, huh? I'll have to remember to call you Ran."

He shrugged again. "Don't worry about it. I still find myself answering when someone calls Aya's name. Though I would prefer it if you used my proper name."

Manx cleared her throat, bringing our attention to her. During our little catch-up session, she'd been perched quietly on the arm of the chair, a large manila folder in her hand, waiting for us to finish. "If you boys are done for the moment, I'm sure you're wondering why I've asked you all to come here. I assure you, it wasn't just for a reunion."

"Aren't we waiting for Omi?" I blurted, then remembered Momoe-san telling me that the others were all waiting for me. She'd implied that I was the last one to arrive - but Omi was nowhere to be seen. A chill ran through me, and from the uneasy expressions on Ran and Youji's faces, I could see they were as surprised as I was.

Manx shook her head, her expression inscrutable as always. "Bombay will not be joining us," was all she said. She drew several papers from the envelope, and passed them around. I glanced down at mine, saw that it was full of the usual pertinent info on the target - known hideouts, typical movements, places we were likely to find them - and returned my attention to her, knowing from experience that she would give us the basics of the mission aloud.

Youji apparently was not as blasé as I was about the whole thing. "Manx," he said slowly, shaking his head. "You can't seriously be expecting us to take a hit, can you? After all this time - we're not a team any more, we don't think like one. I'm a cop, I'm hardly the appropriate person to call on for an assassination. Ran's in the middle of college, and Ken is... a... what are you doing now anyway, Ken-ken?"

"Assistant athletics coach for a high school," I supplied. He blinked, gave me a thumbs up, and then continued.

"We're not killers any more, Manx. And why give this to us, anyway? We've been out of the loop for more than two years. Surely Kritiker has other groups like Weiss, to do this sort of thing now?"

"And why are you involved?" Ran suddenly threw in. "After we assassinated Takatori, you turned things over to Birman and said that we were going to be dealing with her - that you were Persia's assistant, and with him dead, you weren't going to be heading missions any more. Why the sudden change?"

Manx sighed, and in that moment she looked older than I'd ever seen her look before. Gesturing to the data sheets, she replied, "This mission could have been handled by one of the active groups, true, but I pulled some strings to get you three assigned to it. The target is known to all three of you. As for why I'm involved... I pulled strings for that as well." She hesitated, then pulled a glossy black and white photo from the envelope, and held it out for us to see.

"The target... is Omi."

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