Star-Crossed Rivals

Stolen

"Target in sight."

"Copy."

The cold metal of Utahime's baby desert eagle chilled through her skin. Silvery puffs of smoke danced in the air with each of her steady breaths. This time of year it snowed almost every day, coating the pavement in layers of black ice and slush.

A man, short in stature, dressed inconspicuously in sunglasses and a navy blue parka strolled past her. Despite his disguise, Utahime immediately recognized him as a person of interest from the Star Religious Group. He came to a stop by a rusty park bench close to where Utahime hid behind a rosebush. Another man already rested there, arm draped casually over the edge of the bench, with a small leather briefcase lying at his feet. Soon after the short man sat down, the other man stood, leaving the briefcase behind. The artifact is in there. I'd bet my life on it.

It was time to act. Utahime loosed one last breath through her white balaclava and adjusted her grip on the revolver. Before she could take a step, a petrified scream cut through the silence of the desolate park. What the hell?

Her feet rushed out from behind the bush in a flurry, sprinting to the bench. But crimson blood already pooled at the short man's feet, and the briefcase was gone.

Snow and fallen leaves crunched to her right. Utahime's head whipped toward the sound and saw a flash of white disappearing down the forested path. "There's been an interference. I'm in pursuit now!" She yelled into her earpiece as she took off after the figure.

Frigid air burned her lungs. Her slim body flew over bushes and twigs and the world around her turned to a blur of winter's muted palette.

Her new target became visible through the copse of barren trees. Utahime raised the desert eagle, not stopping to aim, and fired indiscriminately at his tall figure. Deafening gunshots echoed through the forest and he ducked, barrel rolling into the brush and disappearing once again. Tiny circlets of crimson were left in his wake. I hit him!

Following the trail, she slowed to a jog, keeping her gun to her chest. If he was injured, he wouldn't be able to make it far. When the trail ended at the foot of an ancient ginko tree, Utahime cursed. She crouched, irises narrowing as she analyzed her surroundings, but the forest had become silent and still as a morgue.

The revolver flew out of her hands with a clatter. Its metallic finish glinted in sunlight before vanishing into the snow. A crushing weight toppled her over, knocking the air out of her lungs and lighting firecrackers in her vision. Her jaw throbbed as a massive fist carved an uppercut straight to her face.

Utahime grit her teeth, spitting blood. With a grunt, she swept her legs under the man's feet and sent him crashing to his knees. Their gazes connected.

Beautiful, piercing cobalt eyes stared back at her. Taken off guard, her reaction time delayed, and he leapt forward to tackle her. Her brain rattled in her skull when her head hit the ground, and suddenly the man was on top of her, holding a knife to her throat. He was so close she could feel the feathery warmth of his breath on her exposed skin. Pearly strands of white hair fell from underneath his black toque, his mouth and nose covered by a dark mask. Even still, he looked so familiar.

"You know you can't beat me. Who are you and who do you work for?" He asked roughly. The knife's serrated edge sliced into her neck, drawing a line of inflamed and bloodied flesh. He thought he'd won, but she had just noticed his weak spot.

Not bothering to answer, Utahime rammed her knee upward, right into the man's gunshot wound at his side. Groaning, his hold on the knife weakened. She wrenched the weapon from his grasp and pivoted so her stomach brushed against back. "Move, and I kill you. Where's the briefcase?"

At the soft pitch of her voice, he turned his head. "You're a woman?"

"Answer the question."

"Patience, sweetheart. It's right over there, see?" He gestured to the ginko tree, where a leather corner of the briefcase poked out from just behind its broad trunk. It must have fallen when he'd ambushed her.

"Stay right there. I'm serious." Utahime stood and began backing up, holding the knife in front of her defensively. The man remained crouched on the ground, eyes trained on her, a morose shadow against the forest. Her skin prickled under the weight of his cobalt blues.

"I hope it's to your liking."

"Shut up." Finally reaching the tree, she tore her eyes away from his form and bent to pick up the case. Triumph sparked through her veins and she couldn't help but smile at the feeling of leather against her palms. When she turned around again, the man was gone. Figures. Pompous coward.

"Has the package been acquired?" a staticky voice sounded through her earpiece.

"Yes. Over."

"Please confirm the contents and report back to headquarters."

Balancing the briefcase in her left hand, Utahime took one last look around her before undoing the metal clasps and prying it open. An ocean of ice washed away her triumph and froze her to her core.

The case was empty.

She ripped the earpiece from her head and crushed it. The pieces crumbled to a small pile at her feet."Bastard! Fool! I'll kill you!" But the man had vanished like a specter, and she screamed at nothing and no one.

A small ring buzzed from her pocket. Sighing, she leaned against the tree and took out her phone. Three messages glared back at her: her contact at Q asking why they lost signal, her friend Shoko asking how her day went, and...

Gojo.

Even through her crippling sensation of loss, Utahime's heart beat faster in spite of itself. Gojo was one of the regulars at the café she worked at on weekdays. She would never forget the day he first came in. His unusually tall figure had immediately incited curious whispers from the other guests, but his piercing gaze had been focused on only one person: her. From then on, Gojo came in almost every day at lunch time. Eventually, they swapped numbers, and two days ago he had finally asked her on a date.

We still on for tonight, love?

Utahime's lips curled into a pained smile. Tears glistened on her cheeks, born from frustration, self-pity, and, now, anticipation. No matter what she'd just been through, she wouldn't miss that date for the world. Of course. See you at seven.