I am from the Military Intelligence Section 9

Moans of pleasure and muffled groans drifted continuously from the master bedroom. In the lavish suite’s anteroom, a statuesque woman lounged on a broad sofa, clad in a black tactical T-shirt that hugged her lithe curves. Her long neck, pale and graceful, reclined against the cushion; her sharp, determined chin bespoke her fierce will. Below, digital camouflage combat trousers clung to her slim legs, and on her feet were battle boots—inside one, the blade of an American-made “Defender” dagger lay silent, its keen edge brushing her skin with deadly promise. A pair of cries erupted inside the room. A cold smile curved her lips—excellent, time to work. She drew the silenced Colt 2000 at her waist, swiftly affixed its suppressor, tossed her black waves aside, and rose, moving toward the locked door. With a silver steel wire, she picked the simple lock in under two seconds—and the door slid open soundlessly. The decadent scent of lust poured out. Leaning in the frame, she brought her weapon to her lips, blew softly down the barrel, and eyed the couple tangled on the bed. A mocking whisper slipped from her throat: “Hey—enjoying yourselves?” Her words exploded like a grenade. Jason, who had been on top of the woman named Akemi, flipped up like a leopard, hand darting for the bedpost—only to have the “Defender” dagger strike with bloody precision, pinning his palm to the redwood headboard. Akemi’s eyes flew open, her lips swollen from his kisses, about to scream—when the silenced Colt barked once. A crimson bloom blossomed at her neck; her supple body convulsed, then lay still. Unfazed, the agent turned to Jason. “Jason, thrilling, isn’t it?” Blood ran down his wrist. He stared at Akemi’s corpse, voice trembling: “Ji—Ji’er, calm down! We were just playing around—I only love you!” “I’m not Li Ji’er,” she said softly, shaking her head. Her smile was a death-mark in his eyes. He tried to stammer an apology, but she strode over, leveled the pistol at his forehead, stepped on his chest with one boot, then pressed the muzzle into his mouth. “I told you—I’m Section 9, Agent 003. You have been tried and sentenced to death—by me!” He whimpered. Then the dagger’s point glinted at his throat. In a heartbeat, it sliced, and his body shuddered as blood spouted—his final gasp choked away by the pistol in his mouth. Mission accomplished, the agent whistled as she cleaned the blade and wiped away her prints. She placed a call to the hotel lobby, then listened silently. All traces erased, she vaulted from the balcony into the night. Sirens sounded in the hallway—but she landed on a soft lawn far below. Donning a trench coat and boots from her hidden bag, she strolled back toward the hotel. A flustered patrol officer blocked her path: “Ma’am, the building’s sealed—murder scene—please stay outside.” Feigning shock, she covered her mouth and switched to perfect Japanese: “A murder? Oh my!” He assured her the criminal would be caught—and she thanked him with a coy smile, offering her name, address, and phone. As she boarded a waiting BMW 760, the young officer stood star-struck. She flicked him a final glance, released the brake, and drove off into the Tokyo night.