Chapter Text
Alarms were blaring. Temari felt her blood run ice-cold as the discordant klaxons wailed, painting the corridor in spasmodic ribbons of red and white. She let out a vehement string of curses and darted for the nearest door.
Her shadow slipped in a second after, the door slamming shut behind him. She could see his pupils dilate, breaths coming quick through the lower half of his mask. “This wasn’t in the plan.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Temari gasped. She tapped the comm patch at her neck, other hand automatically straying to her waist where she usually kept her knife. Of course, it wasn’t there—it was safely stowed in the visitor’s locker outside security. “What the hell, Ino? You had one job!”
“I swear I disabled them!” came the staticky reply in her ear. “There must have been a backup system. Hang on—”
Taut seconds stretched like a garrote as they waited, breathing loud in the silence. Then the alarms abruptly ceased. “There!” Ino cried. “Cams are down in your sector, but there’s a security team en route to your location. You know where you’re going?”
“Yes,” Temari muttered through gritted teeth. “Choji, are you still in position?”
“Nearly there.” The big guy’s words were labored; he must be running. “You’ll have to hurry, though. These guards don’t mess around.”
“Understood.” Temari cracked the door open, poking her head out. The corridor was clear, the concrete walls returned to dull gray. “Come on,” she beckoned over her shoulder. “Unless you’ve got cold feet?”
Her partner silently fell into step beside her, his dark eyes flashing. “After you, lady.”
He’d stuck with that irritating moniker since the day they’d first met, despite the fact that Temari had eventually given him her name. Well, a name.
She’d had to resort to probing her network—gingerly so as not to arouse her father’s suspicions, like a fly delicately tiptoeing across the spider’s web—to track down the notorious InoShikaCho gang. As luck would have it, her sources had revealed they were frequent patrons of one of the Sundicate’s seedier watering holes—semi-reputable bar up front, illicit gambling den where the movers and shakers wagered everything from employee pensions to bodily autonomy in the back. She was familiar with the territory, at least. Still, it had taken weeks of careful surveillance before the trio showed themselves, and even then they stayed for barely an hour. They were certainly cautious. She’d have to remember that.
Temari had waited impatiently for the leggy blonde and the muscly dude to depart, leaving their dark-haired companion alone at the bar. Checking her reflection in the grimy window to confirm her telltale ponytails were still concealed beneath the headscarf she’d donned earlier as a disguise, she strode casually to the stools the other two had just vacated, scanning her mark surreptitiously.
Up close, he looked barely old enough to drink. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from his left hand, slowly ashing itself into oblivion. His profile was handsome, in a lazy sort of way—like he wanted to appear just respectable enough to avoid scrutiny but not so put together that he’d ever be mistaken for a threat. He probably thought himself quite clever for that.
She’d barely sidled up next to him—hadn’t even looked directly at him, she’d been sure—when he drawled, “What do you want, lady?”
Temari debated whether to feign ignorance, then decided on a more appealing tactic. Flashing him a demure smile, she answered, “A whiskey sour, if you please. On the rocks.”
“Not what I was asking,” the young man grunted, though he snapped his fingers at the barkeep anyway.
Temari’s smile didn’t falter, not even with his dark eyes boring into her. She’d had plenty of experience dealing with domineering men. Only once her drink materialized in front of her did she drop her gaze. Out of the corner of her mouth, focused on swirling the ice in her glass, she muttered, “I want to hire you.”
He took a languorous drag from the cig and swiveled slowly in her direction, as though he hadn’t heard her. But the fleeting tightness at the corners of his eyes belied his studied calm. “I don’t do freelance work.”
“Hmm,” Temari murmured. “I suppose you had a…personal interest in those priceless art scrolls that vanished from the National Archives last month, then?”
He stiffened almost imperceptibly, but Temari had been expecting it, and she missed nothing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your reputation precedes you,” she said pleasantly, taking a sip from her glass. It was definitely watered-down. She’d have to have a word with her father about the barkeeps he employed. Then she remembered he didn’t know she was here. “Let’s cut to the chase. My…employer has need of your unique skills. They requested the InoShikaCho gang specifically.”
“Who’s your employer?”
“Not important. We have the means. That’s all you need to know.”
“Yakuza?”
This elicited a rare smile from Temari. The Sundicate had long ago shed that label; they had no need for borrowed notoriety. “Worse.”
“How much?”
She cocked her head. “How much worse?”
The young man rolled his eyes, blew a smoky trail in her direction. “How much,” he repeated, leaning in, “are you offering?”
Against her better judgement, Temari inhaled, refusing to blink. Her eyes prickled with the smoke and she fought the urge to cough, but managed to hold her gaze steady. She wasn’t going to let him intimidate her. Too much was at stake. “Ten million ryo.”
To his credit, the young man only blinked at the astronomical number. That kind of payday would keep a small-time gang like his flush for years, she knew. But he merely sighed. “Maybe we don’t need your dirty money,” he said flippantly.
We, she noticed, no longer I. Progress, that.
“Your appearance”—she raised an eyebrow at the holes in his worn leather jacket, the scuff marks on his knockoff brogues—“suggests otherwise. Meaning no offense.”
“While yours leaves much to the imagination,” he returned, gaze tracking from her headscarf down to her boots and back up.
She leveled a stony glare at him, and he had the grace to blush. “What’s your name, lady? Can’t get where you’re trying to go with just a pretty face.”
Temari almost corrected him—she knew precisely how far she could get on those merits alone, although she preferred not to rely on them exclusively—then bit back her retort. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
The young man contemplated this for a moment. Then he shrugged and tapped his cigarette out on the bar, adding another burn mark to the countless others spotting the wood like pox sores. “Name’s Shika.”
Temari nodded. Not his real name, almost certainly. But two could play at that game. “You can call me Mari,” she said, extending her hand.
Shika didn’t take it. “I’ll see if my team’s interested,” he said, rising from his stool and drawing his jacket around his shoulders. “Come to the Memorial Stone at midnight tomorrow. If you’re lucky, we can discuss terms.”
Temari nodded. That had been easier than she’d expected. They must really be hard up for cash, she thought. Well, she could work with that.
If they survived, they’d never have to worry about money again.
“Hey!” the barkeep called after the young man’s retreating form. “You and yer cronies didn’t pay for yer drinks!”
Shika turned, his ponytail bobbing. With a lopsided grin, he jerked his head at Temari. “Put it on the lady’s tab.”
Temari had been right—they did need the money. Still, as the trio emerged from behind the Memorial Stone, their silhouettes spawning from the shadows, she felt a surge of trepidation. This was really happening. Once they committed, there was no going back.
“Here we are, lady,” Shika drawled, holding out both hands. “Ino”—he indicated the willowy blonde at his side—“Shika, and Cho.” With a flourish to the hulking strongman at his other shoulder, he dropped his head in a mock bow. “Beauty, brains, and brawn—at your service.”
“Honored,” Temari said, with equally feigned deference. “But I’m not looking to hire a couple of one-trick ponies.”
“Oh, I assure you, we contain multitudes,” Shika replied sardonically. “Ino is our hacker; Choji is our heavy.”
“And you are?”
He smirked. “The head honcho, of course.”
A burst of laughter startled Temari. She realized it was coming from Cho—Choji, a broad grin splitting the big guy’s craggy face. “Only because you can’t do our jobs, Shika.”
Temari smiled thinly, enjoying the sight of Shika’s jaw clenching in response. “Let’s talk terms.”
“Whose terms, exactly?” asked Ino. Her voice was like glass—airy, yet sharp enough to cut with a word. “We work for ourselves, Mari. Who’s pulling your strings?”
Temari eyed the blonde appraisingly. Easy on the eyes, to be sure; doubtless she was used to charming her way through the trio’s schemes. Well, that wouldn’t work on Temari. Can’t get where you’re trying to go with just a pretty face, Shika had said. She wondered if he’d been speaking from experience.
“I am the puppeteer,” she said coolly. Cut your own strings, and you can be anything you want. She stepped forward. “Here’s the deal. I need a team who can help me retrieve an extremely valuable payload from a highly secure location.”
“How secure?” Ino asked.
Temari hesitated. If she revealed too much and they got cold feet, the information could find its way back to Rasa eventually. But she’d planned for that. She cast a quick glance toward the dim outline of a tree behind the trio where her brother waited with a blowgun of poison darts at the ready, then said, “Konoha State Penitentiary.”
Choji’s grin faded. “No one’s ever broken into KSP—or out of it. If we get caught, we’ll spend the rest of our lives in there.”
“If you get caught,” Temari replied, “then I must have hired the wrong gang. Are you saying you can’t do it?”
Ino crossed her arms. “Of course we can. The question is—what’s in it for us?”
“You do this job, and you’ll be flush with cash. Plus, I’m sure plenty of crimelords would jump at the chance to bankroll the gang that robbed KSP. All you have to do is help me extract the…target.”
She watched them carefully for signs of skittishness, but the trio was stone-faced as the crimelords whose monstrous visages leered down from the cliffs overlooking the city. “To the tune of ten million ryo.”
“Each,” Shika said, his dark eyes meeting hers in a silent challenge.
Temari balked. “This isn’t a negotiation. Ten million, split however you want. Take it or leave it.”
“What are you on, lady?” Shika slouched forward, his lazy drawl belying the sudden intensity in his eyes. “You told me your employer had the means. Cracking KSP’s no cakewalk. If this target”—he paused significantly, as though to insinuate that he knew what her true aim was (though that would be impossible)—“is worth so much to you, I have a feeling you’ll pay any price.”
So that was how it was going to be. She didn’t dare contradict him, afraid he might read the truth in her eyes. The less they suspected about her ‘employer’—and the target of this job—the better. “Ten million,” Temari said icily, “for whoever survives. If you want it, you’ll have to work for it.”
Surprisingly, this seemed to satisfy Shika. He glanced to each of his cronies in turn, smirking. “Well?”
Choji plunged a meaty hand into the pocket of his leather jacket and Temari tensed, anticipating a weapon of some kind. But instead he drew out a packet of cigarettes and slapped it into Shika’s palm. Ino just tossed her blonde locks with a huff. “This is why I don’t bet against you, Shika.”
Temari rolled her eyes. So he’d bet he could pull one over on her—whatever. She wouldn’t be caught again.
Shika winked at her, then nodded at his cronies. “Don’t say I never do anything nice for you two.”
“One last question,” Temari said, deliberately casual. “How many people have you killed?”
Their reactions told her everything she needed to know. “Zero,” Ino said quickly, at the same time Shika answered, “Dozens.” Choji just doubled over in a coughing fit. She estimated the true number was closer to Ino, but decidedly not zero. It would have to be enough.
“We’re thieves, not mercs,” Choji protested, nonplussed. “I thought you were hiring us to steal something?”
“Someone,” Temari said, noting the way Shika’s eyes narrowed at this. She’d have to keep a close eye on him throughout this operation. Friends close, enemies closer.
Shika lit up one of his newly-won cigs and took a long drag. Exhaling smoke in her direction, he drawled, “Now, we can talk terms.”
In a flurry of weeks, the plan materialized. Time was of the essence, though Temari was careful not to let on how each day that elapsed was its own kind of torture. She’d run all sorts of jobs for the Sundicate over the years—extortion, trafficking, blackmail, even the odd skin trade entrapment scheme when Rasa demanded it—but planning a heist all on her own was an entirely new challenge.
For one thing, she wasn’t used to delegating. Each member of the InoShikaCho gang had a unique skill set, and Temari disliked being forced to put her life in their hands, but there was no avoiding it. The four of them set up base in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, rotating watch shifts around the clock while the other three worked out every potential kink in the plan. While Ino ran simulated attacks against KSP’s security systems, Choji pored over stolen blueprints of the prison’s labyrinthine corridors, and Shika devised escape contingencies for every exigence, Temari had her own hands full leveraging every link in her network to lay the groundwork for the heist.
And, of course, keeping her brother apprised of their progress. He would have his own part to play, one that could not be revealed to her accomplices. She updated him sporadically using a burner phone—she couldn’t trust that the Sundicate tech she’d previously relied on wouldn’t be bugged—and only during her watch shifts when she could be sure the InoShikaCho trio weren’t listening.
Of course, that backfired eventually.
“How’s your employer?” Shika asked nonchalantly, flicking his lighter as he strode up behind her. It seemed to be a habit of his, even when he wasn’t taking an actual smoke break. Some kind of nervous tic, she figured.
“Sends his regards,” Temari replied, stowing the burner phone away smoothly. “We’re equal shareholders, if you must know.”
Shika raised an eyebrow. “Which crimelord?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “You’re not fooling any of us, you know. It’s obvious you’re in it deep.” He leaned casually against a pillar, the lighter spitting sparks into the twilight. “This is some kind of revenge plot, isn’t it?”
Temari gazed off at the skyline, which at this hour was shrouded in mist. “None of your business.” So long as she kept her mouth shut, there was no way he’d be able to figure out her true identity. Unlike most other members of the Sundicate, she eschewed the characteristic full-body tattoos that broadcast their allegiance to the other gangs of the city. Kankuro had embraced the ink enough for all three of them, she felt. The one concession to Rasa’s demands—to earn her promotion to lieutenant—was a small hourglass inked over the small of her back. A reminder to herself (and anyone else who saw it, though she could count the number of people that entailed on one hand) that time erased all things. Even the Sundicate.
Even you, father.
Shika interrupted her musings. “Women,” he scoffed. “Always giving orders, never having to justify their whims. Must be nice.”
“I didn’t choose this path,” she said hotly. “I wouldn’t have sought out a lowlife thieving crew if I had any other choice.”
Shika didn’t seem fazed by her barb at all, which she found intensely irritating. Instead, he fixed her with a look equal parts thoughtful and piercing. “No, I can tell you’ve been in this line of work for a long time. Family business, maybe?” When she didn’t dispute this, a slow smirk spread across his face. “Let me guess—absent mother, daddy issues.”
Temari leveled a glare at him that would have made her brothers quail. “I think it’s time for your shift,” she said, the words icier than she’d meant. She spun on her heel and stalked off back into the warehouse, kicking herself. Stupid. You can’t let him get under your skin. The closer he gets to the truth, the more of a liability he becomes.
Not that that was any of her concern. Her brother would handle that when the time came.
At last the eve of the job arrived. They’d reached the point where running simulations and reviewing contingencies had become a crutch, a superfluous exercise that no one wanted to acknowledge meant there was nothing left to do but take the plunge. Temari was conducting one last perimeter sweep of their makeshift base while Shika and Ino erased all traces of their presence inside the warehouse. She thumbed out a message on her burner phone and hit send, then activated the switch that would brick the device into an inert hunk of metal and plastic.
Mole in position, all systems go. See you on the other side.
“How’s the view from inside, Choji?” Ino asked. The blonde’s lilting voice—piped directly into Temari’s ear—sounded like it was coming from right next to her, and she flinched instinctively.
“Dark,” came the reply, followed by a soft chuckle. “Quiet as a graveyard. Actually, kind of peaceful, now that you mention it.”
“Don’t get too comfortable in there,” Shika quipped, though Temari thought she detected an undercurrent of concern in his voice. For all the young man’s posturing, she had come to realize he truly did care for his teammates. And they for him. It almost made her envious.
That’s why we’re doing this, she reminded herself. That’s why I’m doing it.
It had been a surprisingly simple matter to get Choji inside. A convincing mental breakdown in a strategically public setting, plus a sham trial and a greased palm, and the big guy had earned himself a one-way ticket to KSP. The Sundicate’s influence did occasionally come in handy, Temari reflected grudgingly. More complicated had been making sure Choji could still remain bugged after the requisite full-body search. Thankfully, he’d been all too eager to leverage his sizable body cavities for the cause. Temari was glad she’d let him figure out the details of that part on his own. Some things were better left unknown.
“You know, Mari,” Choji said over the comm, “This plan is so crazy it just might work.”
Despite herself, Temari felt a smile curl her lips. “Get some rest, Choji. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
She finished checking the perimeter and reentered the warehouse as the trio were exchanging farewells over the comm. Ino nodded at her and wordlessly handed her a tank of gasoline. Together they doused the pile of blueprints and computer parts in the center of the building, then began crisscrossing the floor, haphazardly spraying dark, ropy trails across the cavernous space. Crude, but effective.
As she tossed her burner phone onto the gasoline-soaked pile and stood back to admire her handiwork, she felt Shika sidle up behind her like a shadow. She’d gotten used to his unnerving way of appearing from nowhere by now, but the hairs on her arms still prickled when he drawled, “You still haven’t told us who it is we’re liberating from KSP.”
Unbidden, her mind cast back to the fateful night that had changed everything, as vivid it had been six months ago. She and Kankuro had been out on collection detail—tracking down and shaking down the business owners who relied on the Sundicate’s presence to keep the city’s police force off their scent—when the message came. The fact that it was encoded was the first sign of danger. It was signed by Baki, who alone of her father’s right-hand men had always had a soft spot for her and her brothers. But it was the words themselves that had turned her bowels to water.
The Kingpin has imprisoned Gaara. You and Kankuro are next. Run.
In retrospect—not that she was in any capacity to appreciate it that night, not during her desperate flight from the city with Kankuro—she should have seen it coming. She and her brothers had enjoyed an elevated status within the Sundicate ever since she’d been old enough to fire a gun, the coveted lieutenantships Rasa had bestowed upon them the envy of every hardscrabble ne’er-do-well looking to climb the organization’s ranks. She was familiar with the whispered rumors, of course—that her father pitted the three of them against one another to determine who would succeed him one day; that combined they were more ruthless than even the Kingpin himself; that the youngest one (that strange and terrifying young man) could not be controlled, was carefully leashed lest he wreak havoc the likes of which the city had never seen.
These last had festered into a cult of personality, a breeding ground of speculation that Gaara was the fated successor, that he was hungry to claim his birthright well before Rasa deemed it time to step aside, that his people had infiltrated the organization’s top ranks and were ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Evidently Rasa had given in to paranoia—Temari knew Gaara had no intention of launching a coup against their father, for as much as he unnerved even her sometimes, he was still her little brother. Gaara’s demons were his own, and taking control of the Sundicate would not put them to rest.
But now Rasa had forced her hand. Their hands. And they would make him pay.
“I’ve told you,” she said, without looking at him, “That’s on a need-to-know basis.”
“Lady, I’m telling you that my team can’t perform optimally unless you tell us the identity of the target,” Shika said. His voice was maddeningly calm, almost patronizing. “We need to know.”
Temari turned to meet his gaze, held it until Shika blinked. “No, you don’t.”
She would not compromise. Could not, not when she was so close. Half a year she’d been on the run, living a fugitive’s shadowy half-existence, skulking and plotting and biding her time. She could afford to wait one more day.
Temari turned her back on Shika and Ino, twirling her finger up toward the ceiling of the warehouse. “Light it up.”
The conflagration warmed their backs as they strode away, flames licking high into the dark sky as the warehouse collapsed in on itself. Temari kept her eyes on the jagged skyline in the distance, the promise of a new day. One way or another, she knew, none of them would ever be returning here again.
We’re coming for you, Gaara.