It had been two weeks since Hiroshi Kobayashi and his elite unit first stepped back onto Tokyo's soil, shedding their covert identities from far-flung corners of the globe and slipping silently into the city's hidden underbelly. Under the pretense of routine desk jobs, they embedded themselves deep within the PSIA Kanto Branch, each adopting a meticulously crafted persona designed to evade suspicion.
That night, far beneath Tokyo's streets in their safehouse war room, Hiroshi's team gathered to trade updates. The atmosphere was tense but electrified with purpose under the dim fluorescents. A city map dotted with pins and a sprawling network diagram of suspects adorned the walls – fruits of their clandestine labor.
Hiroshi stood at the head of the steel table, tie loosened and shirt-sleeves rolled up. He looked around at his people. "Report," he said quietly.
Aki Hayakawa stepped forward, his stance crisp and military-precise. His voice cut through the silence like a scalpel. "The surveillance grid is nearly complete. We have wiretaps on all internal lines, and microbugs planted in key executive offices." He tossed a glance toward Madoka, who sat hunched over a rugged laptop, pushing his glasses up his nose as he pored through intercepted emails. "Madoka confirmed several large payments flowing from shell companies linked to the Shinomiya Group directly into Director Takeda's offshore accounts."
Madoka looked up, his calm mask unbroken. "There's also confirmation that Section Chief Mori and two sub-directors were directly paid off by Shijō Conglomerate." He passed Hiroshi a tablet showing detailed transaction logs. "We've got hard evidence—bank transfers, offshore holdings, meeting records. They've left a messy digital trail."
From the shadows, Kishibe gave a gravelly laugh, his single eye glinting like cold steel. "Rats always fatten themselves before the slaughter. Now it's our turn."
Denji, leaning against the wall, muttered under his breath with tightly coiled rage, fists clenched. "So what're we waiting for, huh? Let's drag these traitors out into the street and make 'em pay. We've got enough dirt to bury them."
"Easy, Denji," Himeno interjected, placing a hand on his forearm. With her other hand, she absentmindedly twirled an unlit cigarette – her go-to coping habit. "We've waited this long. A few more days isn't going to kill you." She gave him a small smirk. "You can beat up whoever you want when the time comes." Himeno's light tone belied her own simmering anger; the one-eyed agent's jaw was tight. She'd spent the evening reviewing a recording of a traitor-delayed raid that cost several honest officers their lives. Listening to the culprits laugh about it had made her quietly leave the room for a breather earlier, before her temper got the best of her.
Denji scowled. "Meanwhile they're still out there screwing people over. It makes me sick." His fist clenched on the table until his knuckles went white. "Today I had to tail that creep Sako for two hours and watch him hand off a case file to some Shijō goon – probably to bury it. I could've snapped a picture and confronted him right there…" He trailed off, frustration evident in the set of his shoulders.
Hiroshi met Denji's gaze steadily. "And then what?" he asked, voice firm but not unkind. "If you confronted him, he would deny everything. He'd warn his contacts that we're onto them. We'd blow the entire operation for one mid-level mole."
Denji opened his mouth, then shut it, anger warring with understanding. Aki patted his back, tacitly thanking him for holding back earlier. Across the table, Power was sprawled in her chair, red hair askew and boots propped on an empty seat. She snorted loudly. "If it were up to me, I'd just barge in and bonk all the bad guys on the head now!" She mimed swinging a club, eyes gleaming with violent glee. "Then drag them to jail by the feet! Easy."
Kobeni, sitting beside Power, winced at the mental image. "Th-that would… cause a lot of issues," she mumbled. Her hands were fidgeting with a pen, betraying nervousness even now. "We need to catch them all at once, remember? Or the rest flee…" Kobeni's voice was soft but resolute – despite her timid nature, she understood the high stakes. She had spent the day crunching terabytes of stolen data, and every new secret unveiled only heightened her anxiety that something might go wrong before they could act.
Power rolled her eyes exaggeratedly at Kobeni's caution, but didn't retort. It was clear even she grasped that acting now was too risky; she just didn't like it. Angel watched the exchange in silence from a corner, arms folded. The serene young man spoke up in his quiet monotone. "I don't like it either, Denji. Letting roaches roam free in our house." He tilted his head, expression thoughtful. "But imagine the satisfaction of seeing their faces when we torch the nest with them all inside."
A vicious smile spread slowly over Denji's face at that thought. Himeno gave a low chuckle. "Angel's got a point. The grand finale will be worth the wait." Kishibe raised the flask he'd been nursing and muttered, "Hear, hear," before taking a swig of presumably terrible whiskey.
Hiroshi exhaled, the ghost of a smile touching his lips as the team's rancor cooled to determination. "No premature moves," he reminded them, voice low. "We cannot afford to trigger their defenses now." He gestured to the map on the wall, where dozens of red pins marked corrupt individuals, and blue pins marked their external allies. "They've built this web with years of deceit. We'll dismantle it in days – but only if we continue to act from the shadows."
At that, Daisy the Gardevoir – standing silent guard near the doorway – nodded almost imperceptibly. Her telepathic voice brushed everyone's minds gently, a wordless wave of reassurance and resolve. She and the other Pokémon present understood well: the predators they stalked must not sense the net closing until it was far too late.
"Speaking of shadows," Aki said, moving to a different table cluttered with devices. He picked up a slim black case. "We got the new voice modulators in. State-of-the-art." He opened the case to display a set of small throat-adhesive patches. "Pair these with Hiroshi's mask machine and Daisy's illusions, and we can mimic just about anyone for our stings."
Hiroshi joined him, taking one patch and examining it. He recalled how earlier that day he'd also prepared new prosthetic face molds – the disguise printer in the safehouse had been running non-stop. Already, a replica of Director Takeda's lined face sat on a mannequin head, ready for use. Another mold, of a Western arms dealer's scarred visage, was curing for Kishibe's next undercover meet. It was time to activate the entrapment phase of their plan.
"We'll draw them out starting tomorrow," Hiroshi said, addressing the group. He tapped the list of target names spread on the table. "Staged leaks, dummy deals – let them betray themselves openly." He looked to Himeno and Power. "You two – the Shijō biotech meet is set for Wednesday. Himeno, you'll go as the liaison from that 'Middle Eastern buyer' we invented. Power, you're her bodyguard. Kishibe's already arranged the location – neutral ground with our surveillance set."
Himeno grinned, giving a mock salute. "One honey trap coming up. I'll have Dr. Schneider spilling all his secrets over champagne by midnight." She winked, referencing the rogue scientist they planned to ensnare. Power cracked her knuckles excitedly; a covert mission with the possibility of cracking skulls suited her just fine.
"Aki and Denji," Hiroshi continued, "tomorrow you'll plant the last wave of bugs at Shinomiya Group's office. There's a board meeting – perfect chaos to mask an infiltration. Daisy will project a little distraction to draw security off." Aki's face set in a grim smile – he lived for these high-stakes tasks. Denji flashed a sharp-toothed grin, clearly hoping someone noticed him just so he'd have an excuse to brawl.
"Angel and Kobeni – keep monitoring every communication. If anyone suspects they're compromised, we need to know first and respond with misdirection." Angel inclined his head lazily, and Kobeni gulped but nodded, determination in her eyes. They had already orchestrated one clever ruse earlier: when a low-level traitor grew suspicious of an office bug, Kobeni swiftly fed a fake memo about a foreign hacker's attack. The panicked traitor believed it and redoubled efforts to "secure the network," never realizing the real infiltrators sat two desks over. In fact, Makima had even arranged for an "arrest" of a scapegoat – an innocent temp employee framed as the hacker's inside man – to further lull the traitors. Framing an innocent man was regrettable, but he would quietly be released once this was over; in the meantime, the traitors rested easier, thinking the threat had been contained elsewhere. Such were the ruthless games they had to play.
Hiroshi surveyed the room as the team absorbed the next steps. Despite fatigue etched on some faces, they were resolute. Just a few more days. He allowed himself a moment to acknowledge their efforts. "We're doing this the right way," he said softly. "No half measures. When the hammer falls, it will crush the entire network – no escapes, no cover-ups."
Kishibe raised his flask again in a silent toast. "To the hunt," the old hunter rasped. A chorus of quiet assent followed. Denji's earlier agitation had cooled to steely anticipation. Himeno lit her cigarette at last, exhaling smoke as if releasing her misgivings. Even Kobeni managed a small smile, bolstered by the camaraderie in the room.
Hiroshi felt pride well within him. They were all sacrificing comfort and safety for this cause, walking a knife's edge among dangerous foes. We'll make it count. "Alright," he declared, rolling down his sleeves and straightening his posture. "Time to get some rest. Tomorrow, we will continue tightening the noose. Just a little longer, and we'll watch them fall." The team dispersed into the safehouse's dorm-style quarters and communication stations, each agent checking gear or messages one last time before the short night ahead.
As Hiroshi turned off the lights in the briefing room, his secure phone buzzed in his pocket – one of the few lines not monitored by anyone but himself and Makima. He stepped aside, opening the encrypted channel. A single text from Makima blinked on screen: "Status?"
Hiroshi typed back promptly: "Proceeding as planned. Evidence volume increasing. Team ready for the final phase." He hesitated, then added: "No moves made on targets yet. Maintaining cover."
Her reply came almost instantly, yet Hiroshi imagined the measured cadence of her voice with each word: "Good. Stand by for further directives."
He knew Makima well enough to sense the tension behind her usually terse messaging. The Director-General was juggling knives on the political front so that when they struck, no one of influence would block the blow. Hiroshi trusted her to that task – almost as much as he trusted himself with his. With a weary breath, he secured the safehouse and headed to snatch a couple hours of sleep. The next few days would demand everything they had.