007 is walking along a London street, minding his own business, when the sense for danger that has kept him alive in one of the world’s most dangerous jobs for years kicks in and he ducks. Ducks a fireball. That incidentally is coming out of a man’s mouth (aimed at someone else who dodges far more ably than James) and it’s the middle of the night. And hell, who hit him with a hallucinogen? He rolls and then scrambles to his feet and dodges into the nearest building. Which is a weird looking half-thatch hut, half-modern looking conglomeration that he’s pretty sure is a house. And if this is London, still, he’s going to have words with Q about not warning him about a new generation of hallucinogens.
Provided he survives, of course. He takes a moment to catalogue what he’s seen vs what he has on him for weapons. A couple knives (cuz going without would be stupid) and a sedative, three extra strength acetaminophen, and a very small ankle gun which carries two shots and he forgot to bring extra bullets for. Vs. some guy armed to the teeth who looked and moved like a ninja, and some guy with red? eyes, who can breathe fire while carrying a sword that he holds like he knows what he’s doing with it.
James would write it off as a movie set, except if there’s anyone who can recognize rage and killing intent, it’s him, and both of those guys were dead serious. Not to mention there had been others he hadn’t gotten a look at further away, equally serious. How he figures into it, he doesn’t know, but he’s staying away from the fireballs and edged weapons as long as possible. He eases through the house, switchblade in hand, still folded in case a punch is more useful, but ready to flip open if a blade is needed. It’s empty, but nothing tells him anything useful, so he decides to risk moving to the next house.
He’s by the door, when it opens suddenly and he freezes as some guy with a creepy blank mask walks in right past him, and it’s completely instinct that has him jabbing his switchblade into the base of the skull and twisting, letting the body drop quietly to the floor, then dragging it aside so it’s less likely to be found by someone tripping over it and realizing that there’s someone else around willing to kill them.
Cleaning off his blade doesn’t take long, nor does ascertaining that the creep’s weapons are strange and useless to him. Looking outside again, he decides to go for the smaller of the two houses closest to this one and slinks through the dark like a blond shadow. He notices another masked creep near the door of this place, and decides it’s a good opportunity for information and trades his knife for his gun. It’s hard, but not impossible, and he gets the drop on the man, an arm around his throat, and pistol to his temple. “Who are you?”
The only answer is a rather competent attempt to stab him and slip free. Fuck it. He doesn’t need information this badly. He pulls the trigger and drops the body into the shadows against the wall. One shot left. He might need it later. Right it is. He trades out the gun for his switchblade again. The sedative is useless he can find someone who won’t kill him on sight and somehow get them to consume it. Good for cocktail parties, not so good for open fighting like this. Likewise, the small blade meant for cutting through ropes if he gets tied up is not very useful in a situation like this. He slips inside, checking out the rooms one by one. The second room is not empty, and he hits the floor as a light suddenly flares. Only not throwing the knife because he doesn’t want to miss and be weaponless.
“You’re not from Konoha.”
James squints as his eyes adjust to the lantern light and realizes that he’s surrounded by kids who look sort of Asian with their black hair and eyes, and there’s an old man with freaky red eyes with swirling tomoes in them holding the lantern. “No shit, Sherlock!”
“Where are you from?”
He’s not convinced the old guy can’t do some fire breathing magic trick, but it’s unlikely that he’ll do it surrounded by scared and solemn kids. And one thing James does know is that he’s never seen ‘Konoha’ on any map or heard of it in any context. He doesn’t know why he’s here, but the fighting going on doesn’t seem to have anything to do with him or England. “London.”
The old man’s eyes narrow, then he nods. “I have not heard of it. Then you are the one I begged Kami to send. My clan has been betrayed, and we will not live to see the sunrise. We have brought it on ourselves out of bitterness, but I would have the children spared. This is not all of them, only the ones I could get to. I beg you, messenger of Kami, please save my clan’s children.”
“Bloody hell!” Obviously ‘Kammie’ is a code name, and M has sent him on a rescue mission. The least she could have done was given him a heads up. Bloody M.
The man blinks, then grimaces. “Yes, war and betrayal is. Will you grant my request, messenger of Kami?”
“Of course.” He’s going to have words with M and Q for not briefing him, and hell if he knows how he’s going to get these kids out alive, but he’ll do his best.
There is a footstep behind him, and he turns and lunges upwards, burying his knife in someone’s solar plexus, twisting it free and kicking the dying man backwards, only to lose it as another attacks and he ends up flat on his back. Pulling his gun out again, he shoots his attacker in the knee just as the old man hurls the lantern at the intruders and then rushes past him to engage the third attacker. James sees the old man fold as a sword slides into his gut and swears, lunging to his feet but pretty sure they’re done for no matter what he does now. Not that he’s going down without a fight. Then the room seems to flare with fire and the floor is glowing in a weird pattern, and the light and fire seems to rush up and all around them in an overwhelming wave and-
Suddenly, he’s back in London, disarmed, blood on one fist, bruised, bleeding a little from the cut on one side. Surrounded by black haired, black eyed kids, except for a couple of them seem to have red eyes now, which is probably a bad sign and-
The kids take one look around them and practically lunge for him, clinging to him with wide eyes. Cringing at each vehicle that drives by. Apparently they’ve never seen cars before. He supposes it’s better than them wandering into the street accidentally.
Bloody hell. He looks up at the sky that is comfortingly overcast and starting to drizzle. He’s going to have words for M, but teleportation? It’s got to be Q’s fault. No one else would bother figuring it out. He’s usually better about warning people that they’re about to be guinea pigs, but he does have a thing for expediency in emergencies, so James kind of gets it. Still. Couldn’t he have spared thirty seconds to warn him?
“So, brats. Who are you and-”
He breaks off with a wince as his earpiece crackles without warning.
“007, report! Your tracking signal disappeared for twenty minutes just now. Your communications were also disrupted.” It’s Q, sounding a little frantic and angry.
James frowns. “Well, you could have given me a little warning on your teleportation bit, even if you were sending me in for a rescue, Q.”
There is silence on the other end of the line before Q says, very, very calmly. “007, what are you talking about?”
Oh, bloody hell.
“Um. We’re the Uchihas.” One of the older girls offers timidly, flinching closer as some asshole on a bicycle rushes past too close for her comfort.
“Q, are you telling me that you did not just teleport me without warning to some backwoods village in Asia to rescue approximately…” He counts. “Thirteen kids and four babies belonging to a clan named Uchiha? And then did not teleport me back to London in the company of said children? Mission codename ‘Kammie’.”
“007.” Q’s tone is now very careful. “Have you been drugged? Because, I will say this once, no one is even close to developing teleportation. Certainly not me. I’m far too busy pulling stubborn agents’ arses out of the fire. There is no mission with the codename of ‘Kammie’.”
James sighs. “No, I don’t think so. And if this is a delusion, it’s one that includes missing weapons, blood, and more kids than I have any clue what to do with.”
There is a pause, and then Q curses. “We have a problem. Because I’m seeing you with a bunch of little humans practically plastered to you. No offense, but I think I’d rather it have been a delusion on your part.”
He kind of wishes the same, actually. Because he’s fairly sure that this means something very, very strange has happened to him. “Send someone to pick us up, will you?” Then he remembers. “I’m pretty sure the brats have never seen a car in their lives, so you’d better send something big. I don’t think they’ll be willing to be separated.”
Bloody fucking hell. Kids. What is he going to do with kids? If this wasn’t some MI-6 mission, M is bound to make him take care of the brats. If he protests, she’ll point out he has his ancestral estate sitting empty and enough savings to take care of them, he just knows she will.