Fractured

Nothing is more intimidating than standing before your chief of operations for a formal review, especially when the operation ended with an Agency fatality. The initial debrief went quickly: gear and weapons checked back into the armory, a summary of events, casualty reports, medical evaluations. The review is different. Now I have to explain how I got involved, what my role was, what the plan looked like, where it bent, and why Eric isn’t standing next to me.

The date is October 20^th, 2026. The time is 10:00 A.M., and the weather outside is nice: sunny, with the temperature sitting at fifty-six degrees Fahrenheit. The landscape is a vibrant range of colors, from yellows and light oranges to reds and light browns. However, inside the boardroom used for reviews, the temperature is kept at sixty-seven degrees, and there is nothing on the bare white walls to take your focus off of the reviewer—or their focus off of you.

Jackson Puller, the Chief of Operations conducting this review, is a stern-looking man in his fifties. His black hair is starting to gray, and his blue eyes are no less piercing than they must have been when he was young, maybe more so. He has a sharp, chiseled face, and though the current expression on it is severe, I don’t get the impression that he’s trying to be threatening from behind that mahogany desk.

Once the designated recorder is in her seat, Jackson finally speaks. “Ayame Kurose. You were team lead for the element designated Reaper Element, which led an operation to extract an agent, Nicholas Valdez, on October 16th. I understand you were a late addition to this mission because of your network security expertise. Walk me through what that meant in terms of your role.”

Fuck. He hasn’t even blinked once.

“Sir, to keep things straightforward, I was brought into this operation to gain access to the security cameras at the target location two days in advance so that the exterior and interior of the building could be more thoroughly mapped out. There were several smart devices inside and outside the home that provided significant intelligence on the layout of the residence, as well as the daily routines of its inhabitants,” I state plainly. He cuts me off here.

“And did this intel prove to be useful?” he asks.

Well, if you would just let me finish…

I work to keep my breathing steady as I continue. “It didn’t give us a perfect picture, but in combination with blueprints obtained by Oni Element, it gave us a much better idea of what we were walking into. Additionally, I was able to intercept wireless communications originating from the residence. Those communications are recorded and available for review, directly in line with agency protocol.” I didn’t have to add that last part, but I’m not the one who fucked this up.

“Communications between known hostile elements indicated that the agent was falling under increasing suspicion within the organization he had infiltrated. The situation was quickly becoming an unacceptable risk to our other operations in the area, and the decision was made to advance to a contingency plan designed to extract the agent before his increasingly scrutinized cover exposed other agents and assets,” I finish.

He still hasn’t blinked, and the constant clicking of the designated recorder’s keyboard is starting to irritate the fuck out of me.

“Well, that explains why you were there, but now I’d like you to expand on why you went from providing what appears to have been a support function to taking on a direct-action role. That is far from typical protocol, even given your past in Barry’s unit.” His eyes narrow as he says that last bit. Everyone knows what Barry built. What his unit did.

“If you know I was running with Barry, then you know why Weston asked me and my team to aid in the assault. Tyler, Conrad, and Eric were operatives I had worked closely with before. Eric more so than the other two, since we remained operationally close after the unit was disbanded following Barry’s passing. They seemed like the best team because they were familiar, so I knew I could work with them on short notice. Reaper Element’s objective was simple on paper: secure the first two floors of the target location to prevent hostile elements from making their way from the lower two floors to the third and fourth floors while Oni Element carried out the primary objective,” I say. At least my team fulfilled their part in the operation by the book.

“Reaper Element’s secondary objective was to intercept any hostile reinforcements called in after the assault began. We would engage them while falling back to the third floor, hold until Oni Element secured the agent, and then self-extract. No reinforcements arrived, but that does not make the mission plan unsound from my team’s side.” I finish.

Jackson looks down at a portfolio on his desk, flipping through several pages and seeming to take an extra moment to focus on one document in particular.

And there it is! An actual blink. At least now I know he’s human.

Finally, he looks back up at me and speaks. “The action phase of the operation, from commencement to completion, occurred within approximately five minutes and thirty-three seconds. Unless those reinforcements were coming from the neighboring residences, I don’t see how they represented a realistic variable. However, I’m not going to hold the exercise of caution against you after the fact. I would also like to know why you chose to exfiltrate the building from the balcony down into the alleyway instead of exiting through one of the ground floor doors to make your way to the waiting vehicles. That seems like an excessive measure given the circumstances.”

I let out a sigh. That part of the plan wasn’t something that I was particularly fond of either. “That part of the plan was a contribution from Oni Lead. He seemed to strongly believe that neighboring residences could contain hostile elements. His thought process was that lowering from the balcony into the alleyway would keep us mostly shielded from the line of sight of those residences. In my mind, I viewed the alleyway as more of a fatal funnel if things went horribly wrong. I raised concerns about Officer Weston’s plan when it was proposed, but all of my alternative proposals were shot down as quickly as I had raised them. He was sure that his plan was the best course of action, and while I disagree, there’s really no way of knowing for sure now if my plans would have yielded cleaner results.”

Yes, there is. It was a horrible plan, and Jackson already knows that. If we hadn’t added that fancy bullshit, Eric would probably still be…

He folds his hands in front of himself and leans forward onto his desk, his eyes narrowing. “Understood. Now, let’s go over the death of Eric Johnson. At what point did it occur, and what circumstances led to his death?”

I stiffen. This is the moment I’ve been dreading most. I fight the urge to swallow, unwilling to let him see that this is getting to me.

“Sir, the circumstances were as follows: Tyler Manvell was positioned at the base of the stairway leading to the second floor. Eric Johnson, Conrad Smith, and I were clearing the second floor as we advanced toward the stairway leading to the third. That’s when we received a report from Oni Lead that the agent had been secured. From that point, I instructed Tyler to regroup with the rest of Reaper Element on the third floor. The plan was to rappel into the alleyway from a third-floor balcony on the south side of the building. After we entered the third-floor common area leading to the balcony, three hostiles appeared approximately six seconds later,” I say, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as I’m forced to relive the event.

“Their fire was erratic, but Eric was subsequently struck in the head by one of their rounds. I eliminated one of the threats shortly thereafter. By that point, Tyler had regrouped with Conrad and me, and he and Conrad eliminated the remaining threats. With Tyler’s assistance, I recovered Eric’s body, and we proceeded toward the extraction point. As for where those three hostiles originated, none of our intelligence indicated an obvious route by which they could have reached us from the lower levels without being detected. More than likely, they were missed by Oni Element during its advance toward the agent on the fourth floor. Given the urgency of reaching the agent before he could be harmed, I believe a thorough clearance of the third floor was deprioritized by Oni Element.”

For the first time since the review had begun, genuine frustration takes over Jackson’s face. “And who in the fuck made that call?” He flings the portfolio against the wall behind him. “We have guidelines, protocols, and planning structures in place for a fucking reason! Our operatives are given considerable discretion in the field, but this is a monumental chain of avoidable fuckups. Savannah! Stop fucking typing.”

The designated recorder—Savannah, apparently—flinches at the command. My own body goes rigid because his attention is now squarely on me. “And you. Do you agree with Weston’s decision to ‘deprioritize’ a thorough clearance of the third floor?” he asks.

Oh. I see what’s happening. He wants my personal opinion on Weston. Fine.

“No, sir. Not only did that create operational risk for every other element involved, it also created unnecessary risk during the extraction itself. If Oni Element had been engaged during exfiltration instead of us, the agent could have been killed, and the mission would have failed.”

Jackson runs his fingers through his hair, exhaling before drawing in a slow breath. When his gaze settles on me again, he has somewhat regained his composure. “That answer is reason number one you’re not on my shit list. Reason two is that I can’t blame you for an uncleared floor you hadn’t even reached yet. You trusted your senior counterpart to produce the same results you yourself would have produced. Unfortunately for you, your counterpart seems to have grown complacent with how he carries out his operations,” he says.

He leans back in his black office chair, looking toward the ceiling. “The messy look you all left behind I can understand. Nothing to see there but the result of a rival cartel hit. But actually making a mess is a completely different story. As of right now, I’m placing you on administrative leave. Not as punishment, as a lifeline. This is going to require a more detailed review by people with considerably more authority than I have. More than likely a congressional committee. Eric Johnson’s death is one thing, but the operation was a lot louder than what was presumptively authorized by the powers that be. The one saving grace is that all of you had the sense to make it look like the aftermath of a war between two rival organizations. While that review is underway, it’s imperative that nothing else happens involving you that could negatively color their assessment.”

His eyes meet mine directly, and it feels like they’re piercing into me. “I am very familiar with your history, Ayame. Troubled childhood, hacking Harvard’s data servers to manipulate tuition and housing records, cyber thefts targeting major criminal organizations. Your subsequent recruitment into the Agency, your rough beginnings as an analyst, your transition into field operations,” he lists off.

My jaw tightens and I go as straight as a board as he lists some of the less savory parts of my past. How long has it been? I was nineteen, almost twenty… has enough time passed?

He continues, apparently oblivious to the change in my demeanor—or simply indifferent to it. “There’s already plenty there for someone to scrutinize. I don’t believe any of it is particularly relevant to who you are today, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be dissected once this reaches higher review. Someone is going to answer for what happened, and I need you to cooperate if you don’t want that someone to be you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I can feel my teeth grinding before I open my mouth.

“Loud and clear, sir.”

He stands from his chair and walks around the desk, closing the distance between us before placing a hand on my shoulder, and I jump. I’m not one for casual contact. “For what it’s worth, I think Barry did an extraordinary job training you. He saw something in you that everyone else was struggling to see. Don’t let that legacy be tarnished so early in your career. Now get out of here. Enjoy your taxpayer-funded vacation. Pay your respects to Eric when the time comes. Do anything but think about coming back here before you’re called to do so. Is that understood?” he asks.

I step back, maintaining eye contact, though continuing to do so is starting to wear on me. “Yes, sir. I’ve been meaning to do some spring cleaning anyway. I’d say that’s a bit behind schedule,” I say.

I turn and exit through the mahogany doors before he has a chance to say anything else. I keep walking until I round a corner, and only then do I let out a shaky breath. Gunfire and explosions I can handle, but being dissected like that? I haven’t felt this exposed in a long time. I can feel the sting of tears forming, but there’s no way in hell I can let them fall here. Definitely not here.

I have to get out of here. I have to be anywhere but here.

“Aya?”

Fuck.

I know that voice: sweet and slightly tinged with the heart of the South. I take a deep breath before I turn around to see a shorter young blonde woman with blue eyes and a tan that doesn’t quite line up with her career choice as an analyst working for the CIA. I force down the emotions trying to claw their way out, but there’s not much that I can do about the faint red rimming around my eyes.

“Oh! Hey, Claire! How you been, girly?” I ask, trying to keep my voice cheery, but it's still tight with the strain of the humiliation I feel after being deconstructed.

I blink twice to clear my eyes, desperately hoping she didn’t notice that I was just on the verge of tears. Claire tilts her head, looking more closely at me than I would like her to. Her words are soft and slow when they come.

“You okay, Hun? You look like you could use some Benadryl. Or maybe someone needs their head knocked off. One of the two,” she says.

God dammit, she did notice.

The comment about someone getting their head knocked off makes my heart clench, but I just smile at her attempt at humor. The mental image of this tiny woman, who is just over five feet tall and can't possibly weigh more than a hundred and five pounds, clobbering Jackson Puller is the only reason part of that smile is real.

I hope it was fast for you, Eric.

“I’m okay, Claire. Really,” I say reassuringly. “How are you doing, though? It’s been a few months since we last saw each other.”

Her face lights up like it always does. Not everyone at the Agency is so severe. Some of us are just normal people who look at data and say, ‘Something isn’t right here’.

“Oh, girl, let me tell you. Rachel could use one of your famous beatings again. But all in all, it’s just the same thing, different day,” she responds. Her smile falters for just a moment, but it’s enough for me to catch. “Actually, I’m going back home to Shreveport for a few weeks. My boyfriend was supposed to go with me, but he decided to show me that he was for the streets, so now I don’t know who I’m going to go with. And I had tickets to a concert in Orlando too. Gosh, what a waste.”

I let out a small laugh. “For the streets, huh? Coming from you, that means he’s irredeemable. You always were too forgiving until the line was sprinted over,” I reply.

Her face flushes slightly as she gives me an indignant pout. “Hey! Don’t tease me when I’m being vulnerable.”

Now I’m really laughing. “Relax, my little ray of sunshine. I was only kidding. What concert, though?”

She starts beaming again. “Motionless In White! November fifth in Orlando! Oh, I just love them!”

My eyebrows actually shoot up in surprise. “Motionless In White? I didn’t take you for a metal fan. That’s… a little surprising to say the least.”

Claire takes up a defiant pose. “Oh yeah? Country girl mentions an artist outside of Luke Bryan and it turns your whole world upside down? Although, you obviously know who they are. Have you listened to them before?”

I feel a faint smile form on my face. “Where some might tell you that ‘Creatures’ was their introduction, I can take you back to ‘When Love Met Destruction’. I am a Scranton girl, after all.”

Suddenly, Claire is very serious. “Oh, girl... Now you have to come with me. Please tell me that you’re free. Have you heard their new music?”

I frown, rocking my foot from side to side on its toes. “When you’re at the beck and call of the government, you start losing time to enjoy the things you love… but as it turns out, I have a lot of free time I wasn’t expecting to have until five minutes ago. So, is this an official invitation?”

If she was beaming before, she’s a literal star now. “GIRL YES! And while we’re in Shreveport, I have to introduce you to my cousin, Heath. He owns his own business, and he’s an artist. He’s on the fence about going to the concert, but maybe you can help me convince him to go with us?”

I tilt my head at the mention of the new name. “Heath, huh? And just how am I supposed to convince him? Are you asking me to seduce your cousin so you can manipulate him into doing something you want? Pretty wild request, even if we are friends.”

The look on her face is priceless. She looks like a scandalized princess. “Aya! That is not what I said, and you know it!” She pauses. “But... do you think you could?”

Now my smile is downright devious. “Oh, little Clairebear... The CIA may have given me my training, but some would say God himself is responsible for all of this.”

I gesture to... well, all of me. I’m not overly vain, but I’m not dense either. I know what I look like. I’m tall, fit, have smooth skin, and I stand out in all the right ways. My face is an unusual blend of East Asian and Eastern European features, with straight, dark black hair that falls over my shoulders when it’s not tied into a bun for operations. My steel-gray eyes tend to make people hold eye contact a little longer than they probably intended.

Unfortunately, that means I’ve had to learn pretty quickly who’s genuinely interested in me and who’s just trying to figure out how fast they can get me out of my clothes. Not that I have much room in my life for a real relationship anyway. Still, if I’m taking someone home, I’d rather know he’s a decent guy than discover afterward that I invited some scumbag into my apartment.

“As a matter of fact, I’ll put a grand on the table that I have him wrapped around my finger by the end of the first day,” I say with confidence.