### **Arc 7: The Civilian Variable**
#### **Chapter 29: The Target (Filler Chapter)**
Kuro's fingers danced across his keyboard, the holographic interface reflecting in his wide, intense eyes. He had been silent for six straight hours, subsisting on a diet of instant ramen and a level of caffeine that would be considered a Class C narcotic in some countries. Renji and Hikari watched him, the fate of their mission resting on the outcome of his digital deep dive.
Finally, he leaned back, a single bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple. "I've found him," he announced, his voice hoarse. "The weakest link in the StarLink network. The one man with the access we need."
He projected a profile into the center of the room. It showed a man in his late twenties with a friendly, slightly goofy smile, a shock of unruly brown hair, and a t-shirt that read, *"I'm not arguing, I'm just explaining why I'm right."*
"This is Dr. Alistair Finch," Kuro began, adopting the tone of a serious intelligence briefing. "He's a lead software engineer for the StarLink project. Genius-level coder, but a social media addict. His digital footprint is… extensive."
Renji stared at the man's smiling face. "What's his weakness?"
Kuro took a deep breath, as if steeling himself to deliver a devastating blow. "He's a cat person."
A heavy silence filled the room.
"That's it?" Renji asked, his voice flat. "His weakness is that he likes cats? So do we. That's not a weakness. It's a sign of superior judgment."
"You don't understand the *scale*," Kuro insisted, swiping his hand to bring up a collage of images. It was a digital shrine. Alistair Finch posing with a fluffy Persian named 'Chairman Meow.' Alistair Finch holding a grumpy-looking Sphynx cat named 'Fuzz Aldrin.' Alistair Finch wearing a sweater covered in cartoon cats. There were hundreds of photos, each one more absurd than the last. "He runs an Instagram account for his two cats that has more followers than the official page for the Swiss government. He spends an estimated four thousand dollars a year on artisanal, gluten-free cat food. Last week, he commissioned a custom-built, to-scale replica of the Millennium Falcon as a cat tree."
Hikari leaned forward, her amber eyes sparkling with amusement. "So, our master plan to take down a global shadow organization involves… catfishing a man who is literally obsessed with cats?"
"Precisely," Kuro said, completely serious. "My analysis shows a 99.8% probability that he will respond favorably to any communication involving a rare or exotic feline. We don't need to blackmail him. We don't need to threaten him. We need to present him with a cat-related problem he cannot resist solving. And I have the perfect bait."
He projected one final image. It was a picture of a breathtakingly beautiful cat with silver fur, piercing sapphire-blue eyes, and an expression of regal disdain.
"This is a Lykoi, a rare werewolf cat," Kuro announced. "Or, more accurately, it's a heavily photoshopped image of Yuzu after I spent three hours applying a custom filter. We are going to convince Dr. Alistair Finch that we are a rescue organization that has found his dream cat, but we can only communicate through a 'highly-encrypted, proprietary channel' to protect the animal's location from poachers. That channel will, of course, be my backdoor into his system."
Renji pinched the bridge of his nose, the familiar throb of a migraine beginning to form. "Let me get this straight. We survived a collapsing Siberian black site, we're being hunted by a multi-billion dollar shadow organization, and our entire plan to deploy a genetic kill switch hinges on you pretending to be a cat rescue so you can flirt with an engineer using a picture of your sister's ginger tomcat?"
Kuro nodded, his expression dead serious. "Yes. And we'll need a name for our fake organization."
Hikari clapped her hands together, a delighted smile on her face. "Oh, I know! We can call it the 'Covert Affection & Tactical' Unit!"
Renji stared out the window, seriously contemplating if it was too late to go back to being a simple, uncomplicated assassin.