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It is 10:28 PM in the Leninskiy district, Irkutsk, it is 30 below zero, and Aomine has just rage-quit his job. (Although yelling ‘I quit!’ at the top of your lungs at a burning building that your employer has blown up around you is perhaps only a formality.)

Sadly, it doesn’t change the fact that he is now a) stranded in a foreign city without help and b) bleeding from what appear to be several wounds caused by flying debris.

And his Russian is shit to boot.

He wasn’t even supposed to talk all that much. It was a simple in-and-out job. Get access to the warehouse, retrieve the package, head back to the airport. No muss, no fuss.

He should have known it was a trap. In reality, there was no need to send an agent of his caliber. Any rookie could have broken in there and stolen a fucking hard drive. But they sent him, so either this job wasn’t as easy as it looked, or...

Well, the problem with retirement from this sort of profession is that you hardly ever see it coming. Especially when it’s your own side doing the retiring.

Be that as it may, it leaves Aomine with limited options. There is almost certainly a satellite searching for his heat signature - which is going to be zero if he doesn’t find medical supplies soon - and the Agency won’t be dumb enough to not scour the area for his remains. So he really needs to get his ass moving.

He struggles up from the heap of snow where he has landed, wincing and quickly inspecting the damage. For someone who just got violently ejected from a building, he doesn’t look too bad. He took cover early, so that might have helped. However, he didn’t escape unscathed: there are some cuts and slices in his jacket, the down filling’s spilling out, tainted red in places, and his right leg isn’t responding as it should, but all in all, he should be able to make it to the nearest clinic if he doesn’t linger.

The worst enemy of blood loss is cold, and Aomine is pretty sure in a few minutes he is going to have difficulties picking a lock.

He sticks his hands under his arms to keep them warm and starts making his way towards the city lights.


Aomine Daiki hasn’t always been a government-approved killer. There was this time when he was sixteen and he wanted to be a professional basketball player, for example.

Somewhere down the road, something had obviously gone phenomenally wrong.


The veterinary clinic he breaks into is the shoddiest thing he has ever seen. He wouldn’t even bring a dying dog in here if it was the last place on Earth.

But it will have to do for now. A quick patch-up job to stop the bleeding and provide some support for his leg is all he needs, anyway.

He tries calling Momoi from a payphone two blocks away, afterwards. Secret agents don’t have friends, but if he had one, it would be her. She has been his handler ever since he joined the Agency, and even Aomine has to admire her tenacity. He has always been a problem child - all the Agency did was give him a gun and point him in the right direction. Momoi’s tolerance for his bullshit is beyond staggering.

But when he calls her number now, it is disconnected. He tries not to worry. She is a trained operative just like him. She either went off the grid when she heard about his mishap with a building or she was reassigned. Granted, that would be quick, but the Agency is nothing if not swift to count its blessings.

Either way, he has other means to reach her.

He pays a little boy off the street to send a note with a time and place to a P.O. box. It’s a delicate system of Chinese whispers, basically, but it’s worked before. Incidentally, there goes the last of the cash he snagged from the clinic’s ‘Save the Oompa Loompas or Some Shit’ piggy bank, but at least he knows it’s money well invested.

He does make it out of Russia in the end. The ID he is forced to use barely fools the customs officers, but he exits Warsaw Chopin Airport before anyone can start asking questions.

Warsaw wouldn’t have been his first choice to lay low and get a new cover ID put together, but beggars can’t be choosers.

He can’t go back to Japan. It used to be his home base and there are too many people who might recognise his face. He briefly considers catching a freighter to Hawai’i. He still has family there from his mother’s side, but he drops the thought. It’s the first place the Agency will look for him.

It’s an option for much later, though; when enough time has passed and the Agency has downscaled the importance of such a man hunt. Either way, he needs to make it into the US first.

So he takes baby steps; going from Poland to Germany, to Portugal, to the UK, and doubles back once or twice before finally heading to the US.

He lives on stolen IDs and cash that barely gets him from one country to the next, grabbing suitcases off the baggage claim and hoping that the clothes inside will fit him. Not just once does he end up with a woman’s luggage. Hey, it’s not like every woman’s suitcase is pink, so it’s a fifty-fifty chance.

Since he can’t rely on any former Agency contacts, he has to forge his passports himself. Within Europe it’s relatively easy to slip by undetected, but his identity needs to be airtight if he wants to get into the US unnoticed.

Fortunately, not all of Aomine’s contacts are on the government’s payroll, so when he tracks down Sakurai he is delighted to find that the man is still in business - and as apologetic as ever, which makes blackmailing a new ID out of him a piece of cake.

With a bit of luck and Sakurai’s stunning ability to create documents that would even fool Aomine’s own mother, he’ll make it through security. Hopefully, the Agency hasn’t figured out yet that the roasted corpse deposited not too far from the warehouse isn’t Aomine but a generous donation from the local morgue.

Otherwise, he might as well hand himself over, and this time they will make extra sure that he stays dead.