Last Supper

Interpol Unit 7 HQ, Apron F2  //  Itami Airport

The conference room hums with tension as Unit 7 takes their seats. Ray leans over the wooden table, a holographic projection of Osaka Castle grounds shimmering above it. The 3D blueprint rotates slowly, showing an X-ray view of the inner layout.

“This is the layout of Osaka Castle before the renovation. God knows what it looks like now. Mika, what is the game plan?”

Mika takes over.

“This is the plan the Madame has given us.” She traces lines on the map as she speaks. “Jade, Dell, once the United Army softens the defenses, you join their push through the front gate.”

“The Army?” Jade asks, acting incredulous.

Ray chimes in. “ The Council has their own plans. They’re furious enough to display the full weight of their power. Best we can do is work around it.”

Mika continues. “We’re gonna need numbers on our side. The Madame estimated theres enough Accel Order members to be classified as a battalion. Ray, and I are going to infiltrate from West, hopefully catching them off guard. We can break their positions, allowing an opportunity for a full charge of the main gate. Once inside, we do a total clean sweep of the compound, destroy their weapons cache, and capture Icarus alive.”

“Alive? After all the times they tried to kill us?” Dell asks.

“And how do you propose to do that?” Jade asks skeptically. “He’s not going to go quietly in handcuffs.”

“You leave that to me.”

Ray interjects. “The Madame trusts her judgement. So we should trust Mika.”

“Why not a hot drop again? We could clean up before the Army even sets foot on the castle grounds.” Dell suggests, his impatience evident.

“No. Aircraft is out. Not with those 'firearms' in the hands of every Order member,” Ray counters.

“But they have the high ground. They are behind the castle’s fortified walls and a moat. If we can’t close the distance before the reload, we’re dead.”

“So we have to fight them at our level.”

“Hence the Army's involvement. Overwhelm them with numbers, soften them up for us.” Dell grimaces, clearly not thrilled about the idea.

“Once they do the heavy lifting, we can close the distance and fight them the right way: Our fists and blades.”

Jade scoffs, “Jesus.”

“So they want a spectacle. Set an example for the death of Councilor Five. Meanwhile, we do all the hard work,” Dell says, his tone bitter.

“Precisely,” Ray nods.

“So, same old shit, every time,” Dell mutters

"I don’t like it either, but…” Mika begins, searching for the right words.

“This is why we’re Unit 7,” Ray finishes with a tinge of pride.

Jade sighs, resigned to the task. “Saving the world isn’t easy.”

The door slides open as Inspector Bradshaw enters. Tomomi follows, grunting behind him as she struggles to wheel in a rack of combat new gear.

“What is all this?” Ray’s widen at the sight of the equipment.

“You are facing a new type of weapon. The old equipment won't suffice anymore. So, as a gift,” Bradshaw announces with a flourish, “I present to you Interpol's prototype combat armor.”

Jade immediately snatches up her set, examining the sleek, dark material with a delighted grin. “Look at this!”

“Thanks to Tomomi’s data on your katana blade, I had Unit 2 perform a reverse analysis of the firearm’s projectile. Lightweight ceramic on the limbs, weaved carbon fiber lining on the center body,” Bradshaw explains, his voice crisp and professional. “Should be able to absorb and dissipate the impact of a fast-moving projectile. But make no mistake… It will hurt. And I can’t guarantee that you’ll survive if you're hit a second time.”

Mika’s gaze is drawn to a set of gear bearing her nametag, “Shinkawa” embroidered in white thread. She picks up the chest rig, the material cool against her fingers. She straps it on, the rig hugs her, yet reassuringly strong.

It’s perfect.

“Thank you, Inspector.”

“Don’t mention it. Get some rest. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.” Bradshaw replies with a nod.

Everyone begins filing out toward their sleeping quarters. But Mika stands still, her fingers tracing the sleek lines the familiar Interpol insignia, in cool gray sewn into the fabric. This is hers.

“Nervous, Mika?” Ray asks, watching her lost in thought.

“I just never thought it would come to this,” Mika admits.

“This is what it is, tough work,” Ray replies, his gaze steady on hers. “Do you regret it?”

“No. Do you regret bringing me on?” she counters.

“Nope,” Ray says with a shake of his head. “Oh. One more thing.”

He reaches behind his back and produces a new sword wrapped in a dark cloth. He hands it to her, and she unwraps it, revealing that it’s her own katana, with some changes. The blade is the same, but the handle and hilt are completely redone: a sleek, modern design with ergonomic features replacing its previous, more traditional look.

“More durable handle. Not as pretty as before, but it should feel better in the hand.” Ray explains.

“My sword. You fixed it.” She grasps the end, testing the changes.

“Tomomi said the ancient steel is better than anything else on the market today. Your sword really is special.”

“Thank you, Ray,” Mika’s voice cracks as her heart fills with emotion. She suppresses back a tear.

She perks up with an idea. “Hey, come with me for a bit.”

“To where?” he asks.

“There’s one thing left I need to do” A hint of mischief sparkles in her eyes.

***

Matsuyama-suji Avenue, Under National Route 1 Overpass // Tennoji Ward

The streets are dead quiet, the only sounds the rumble of cars zooming on the overpass above. Windows in glass office buildings and sleepy residential complexes completely dark. The twin glow of a FriendlyMart sign bookending each side of the street indicates the only open retail shop during witching hours.

Yet there is a long line of people wrapping around the block.

Mika and Ray stand in the middle of the line, shivering slightly in the cold. Unusual for her, Mika is giddy from barely contained anticipation. Ray, however, is utterly confused, wondering why Mika has dragged him so far from any of the restaurant districts.

“Is this really necessary?” he asks, his breath forms a cloud in the air.

“The longer the wait, the more it’s worth it,” Mika’s eyes are fixed on the distant end of the queue.

As the line shifts forward, the unmistakable smell of fried food permeates the chilly night air. It wafts down the block to the back of the line, making everyone in queue antsy for a taste.

Finally, they reach the front.

Behind the tiny cart is a couple in their 20s, both wearing a bandana and a dirty black t-shirt, working in perfect harmony. One constantly spins dozens of dough balls on a large iron plate ensuring every surface is properly golden brown. The other picks up the finished Takoyaki with sticks and arranges eight steaming spheres on a paper tray. Like an artist with a canvas, she makes precise zigzags of their custom sauce over the top.

Without exchanging words, Mika holds up two fingers and drops the correct change in the money tray. The female chef nods and hands over two portions.

They step to the side, and finally ready to eat their prize.

“I don’t see the difference,” Ray says, staring at what looks like any other Takoyaki prevalent in all of Osaka.

Mika blows on the Takoyaki and takes the first bite. She makes a stupid wide grin as she savors the experience.

She stabs another Takoyaki with her skewer and waves it in front of Ray's face. “Try it.”

Ray blushes slightly, leans forward, and bites into the warm snack. He chews slowly, judging the taste. He perks up at the deliciousness.

“Wow. That is good.”