Tokyo, Japan, February 24, 2012.

The air was thick with cautious tension. Gruff men sat in suits and leather around a large table crowded with casino chips, playing cards and burnt out cigars. Narrowed eyes darted around the tables occupants and the only sound to be heard was foreign music blaring out of the high tech speakers nestled in the corners of the roof.

Asuma Moriyaki sat, vast and intimidating as ever, two young girls in garter straps and lace, their faces hidden by their hair, running their hands over his dark suit. The balding man held his cards close to his face with his large grubby hands. He took ahold of a few chips and tossed them into the growing pile in the centre of the table. The other men saw the action and gulped nervously. One man grunted and threw down his cards. Others slowly sighed and lowered their cards.

Moriyaki grinned in triumph, a low chuckled humming in his throat. His stony eyes landed on two hands holding fanned out cards and his smile dropped.

"Well, March?" he barked, "What are you waiting for?"

The cards lowered to reveal a set of gleaming hazel eyes. He brought his cards to his chest and gave the man a wide grin.

"What's so funny?" the older man demanded.

He simply waved a hand dismissively, "Nothing Asuma," he reassured, his white teeth still on full display, "I was just admiring your place."

Every man gathered around the table was now staring at him in confusion. What was he doing?

Moriyaki squinted his eyes suspiciously at the young man, dressed in a bright red suit and fedora, sitting across from him.

"Are you playing, or not?" he asked slowly.

"Oh, I always play," he answered brightly, lowering his cards to the table, "I never miss a game."

Moriyaki took a long drag of his cigar, blowing the smoke out slowly. The grey mist still flowed from his lips as he spoke, "then I suggest you make your game. I don't like to wait."

The curly-hair man tipped his hat in agreement, "You're right," he went on, "I should just skip to the chase."

He finally slapped his cards onto the table and they all read the same thing in a small print: You're busted, bitches!

In one second, the room went from confused to frantic. The two men beside Blaine leapt at him. Blaine swiftly hooked his right hand under the arm of one man, gripping the back of his scalp and smashed the heads of the two goons together,earning him cries of pain that only increased when he launched his knee into one mans back and kicked the others side. The two crumbled to the floor and Blaine jumped onto the table, angry shouts and orders in japanese being yelled. 

Blaine ran straight for Moriyaki, the girls at his side fleeing and used the enraged mans face as a step as he flew straight over his head. He locked his arms around the neck of a man on his feet, a gun pointed at him. The man let out a strangled choke and shot a bullet. The lights over the table shattered, sparks of electricity zapping as the men all cried out in surprise. 

Blaine brought the man to the ground, his face crashing into the hard wood. Blaine didn't wait to see if he was out as a muscled man in a leather vest lunged for him. Blaine tried to pounce out of the way but the man caught a fist of the fabric of his suit jacket and swung him to the ground. Blaine landed with a thud on the ground, the wind getting knocked out of him in the process. A shot of fear ran through Blaine as the man pinned him to the ground.

"Well, Handsy," he teased, looking for an escape, "at least buy me dinner first."

The man growled and drew a gun from his belt. The smirk wiped clean off Blaine's face as the he looked down the barrel of the weapon. The mans finger barely twitched before a booted foot collided with his head, sending him sprawled out on the ground. Blaine gasped as one of the girls that had been dancing next to Moriyaki all night stood over him. The girl ripped off a blonde wig and Blaine drew in a breath as Santana glared down at him.

"Well, hobbit?" she questioned, "don't just sit there on your sorry ass! Get up and help me own these fools!"

Blaine was on his feet instantly, grabbing the gun that had fallen from the mans grip and throwing the one that belonged to the man, whose face Blaine had smashed, to Santana.

He grinned and nodded to Santana, who smirked back at him. They both turned in sinc and began firing bullets. Several men staggered and dropped to the floor, blood flowing from holes in their flesh. 

Blaine and Santana dove over the table and tipped it on its side as a cascade of bullets followed them. Their backs hit the wooden suffice as the sound of shots firing filled the air.

"What was that!?" Santana hissed, peeking out from behind the wood to release a round of shots.

Blaine ripped the fedora off his head and grinned at his partner, "What're you talking about? That was awesome!"

"An awesome way to get yourself killed!" she snapped but then a laugh betrayed her, "the cards were a nice touch though."

"Weren't they?" Blaine preened. He jumped when a bullet shot through the wood, an inch from his head.

Blood pounding in the familiar rush of adrenaline, Blaine poked out from over the top of the wooden shield and released the speeding metal at the opposing men. The gun in his hands clicked as bullets ceased to blast from the barrel. Swearing under his breath, Blaine ducked behind the table again.

"Moriyaki!" Santana gasped.

Blaine's head whipped around as the figure of the large man retreated through the set of double doors at the front of the room.

"Go," Santana ordered, gripping her gun, "you go after the octopus puff."

Blaine gripped her bare shoulder and replied, "Good luck."

Santana gave him a sly smirk and answered, "Luck's for pussy's."

Blaine gave a short laugh before he raced through the doors, leaving Santana shouting in Spanish and shooting her gun rapidly.

Blaine ran down the never-ending hallways, his eyes darting around frantically and breath coming out in short pants. Blaine began to panic when he saw the flurry of a dark jacket dart around the corner. 

Blaine ran after it and rounded the corner only to have an elbow collide with his face. Blaine cried out in pain as blood began to flow from his nose. Moriyaki roared and threw his entire weight into Blaine, using his shoulder. Blaine flew to the ground, trying to catch himself with his hands, only to have a suede boot kick his chest. Blaine's head knocked against the hard ground, causing pain to sear through him, sure to leave a sizeable bruise tomorrow.

Moriyaki brought his foot up again and went to stomp down on Blaine's face. Blaine caught the shoe between his palms. Moriyaki grunted and pressed down harder. Blaine's arms shook with effort as he gritted his teeth and held the shoe away from his face. His muscles began to ache and Blaine swiftly rolled to the side, the mans foot stomping onto marble. Moriyaki launched his other foot at Blaine and the younger man steered the blow away with his fore arm. Quickly, Blaine scrambled to his feet and jumped back when a fist tried to connect with his stomach.

"Wow," Blaine panted, clicking his tongue, "for a big guy, you're pretty fast."

Moriyaki bellowed with rage and charged at him. Shocked by his speed, Blaine only just side-stepped the huge man and tripped his hurrying feet. The man yelled out in surprise and fell to the ground. He quickly rolled over, only to see Blaine standing over him, fist clenched.

"Sorry, Sumo," he apologised, "This town ain't big enough for, well…you."

With that, he connected his fist with the tubby man's face and knocked him clean out. Shaking the dull ache in his fist, Blaine rose to his feet. He gripped the small communication device, disguised as a button on his suit jacket and spoke into it.

"Hey, Santana, I'm all done out here."

"I can see that."

Blaine spun around to see the latino admiring his work on the unconscious man.

"God," she muttered, "he's even fatter lying knocked out on the ground then he is when getting a lap dance."

She visibly shuddered and Blaine laughed.

"Come on," he prompted, still laughing, patting the pouting woman on the back, "we'd better call someone, cause there is no way in hell I'm dragging his fat ass out of here."

----------

Santana sighed in exasperation as she and Blaine walked down the clean halls of the head quarters he spent so much time in.

"Jesus," the tanned woman muttered, "garter straps: never again."

Blaine turned to her with his best puppy eyes, "Aw, but Brittany would've loved it."

Santana turned to him with a skeptical looked and asked, bluntly, "Are you sure you're gay?"

Blaine looked at her, his face serious and answered, "No, Santana, I'm in love with you."

Santana rolled her eyes and Blaine hurried behind her, "Please marry me, you're the love of my life."

Blaine clung to her arm and she violently shook him off.

"Hands off the merchandise, Frodo," she snarled, mock glaring at him.

Blaine batted his eyelashes innocently at her and smiled.

Blaine had been working for the field unit of The United States American Task Force for two years now. It had happened when he'd seen Santana, battered and bruised, being jumped by some gang on the streets from the window of his apartment. He'd dropped the fire escape ladder on one mans head and chased the others away with a crow bar. After that he'd taken her back to his complex to rest up. When washing her blood-stained clothes, he found an empty gun in her belt and an ID badge of sorts in her pants pocket.

When Santana woke up, she look startled by her surroundings and kept her mouth shut from any of the questions Blaine asked her. When he threatened to call the police, Santana had laughed, saying she was the police. Santana went on to explain about the Task Force and how she had just escaped the clutches of a famous gangland, when he'd sent his goons after her.

Blaine assured her he wouldn't 'blow her cover' and Santana had found him innocent enough. She'd called Quinn, telling her what happened and the blonde had been furious. Santana had dragged Blaine to HQ, where he'd later learnt they were planning to give him a concussion, but after Quinn had calmed down and listened to the story of him saving Santana, she turned to Blaine and asked him, 'You ever thought about being a federal operative?'

Since that day, Blaine had been Santana's partner in anti-crime and a member of the Task Force.

At that moment, Quinn decided to make herself known. Blaine and Santana jumped in surprise when the the blonde stepped out from leaning against the wall. She snapped her fingers and gestured for them to follow her. Blaine and Santana fell into step with their boss as she led them down the hallway.

"What's going on?" Santana asked.

"It's Moriyaki," Quinn replied, looking straight ahead and walking so briskly, Blaine struggled to keep up with her, "he just woke up. We're going to see how much Brittany can get out of him."

They stopped at the door to the interrogation room. The door slid open automatically and they all crowded around the one way glass. Seated in the small room was Moriyaki, hands cuffed behind his back and glaring angrily around the space. After a minute of silence, Brittany's tall figure wondered into the room, eyes wide and innocent as the day she was born. 

Blaine stifled a laugh as Moriyaki looked at her in utter confusion. 

Brittany sat down opposite the man and smiled brightly at him.

"Hello," she chirped happily.

Moriyaki simply stared at her with narrowed eyes, obviously trying to see what her game was.

Brittany's smile dropped, "That's rude," she stated, in her airy voice.

Moriyaki's brow only furrowed further, "Huh?"

"You're supposed to say hello back," Brittany said slowly, like she was explaining something to a toddler, "otherwise it's just bad manners."

Moriyaki  glared around the room, "I don't know what game you're playing!" he yelled, "but this is just pathetic."

"Oh, I like games!" Brittany clapped her hands excitedly, "let's play never have I ever!"

Moriyaki continued to look confused as Brittany cleared her throat, "Okay, so I'll go first: never have I ever, made out with a girl."

Brittany raised her hand and Santana laughed fondly at the girl. Blaine watched in amusement as Moriyaki looked taken back.

"No?" Brittany questioned as Moriyaki remained still. She reached across the table and patted his shoulder reassuringly, "don't worry, lots of people don't get their first kiss until their ancient to. I'm sure she's out there somewhere."

Moriyaki now looked completely lost as he stared at the girl in front of him.

Brittany cocked her head to the side as she contemplated what to ask next. Her eyes lit up and she continued with her game.

"Okay, never have I ever, been to prison."

Moriyaki seemed to snap out of his trance of confusion as Brittany smiled sweetly at him. Her smile was pure but her eyes were blazing.

"You haven't?" she inquired, "neither have I but I've seen one before and it's not pretty."

Moriyaki huffed and turned away, a smile on his lips.

"I wouldn't be smiling," Brittany recommended sternly, "I wouldn't be laughing if someone made me their bitch. Don't think just because you're asian, you don't go to prison. They have asian prisons to."

"I - " Moriyaki swallowed as Brittany leaned across the table, never breaking eye contact.

"Never have I ever killed a person." 

Moriyaki seemed to be frozen to the spot as Brittany zeroed in on him. 

"Whoops, I guess I've done that too."

Brittany then began rapidly whispering in his ear. Blaine could never hear what she was saying and whenever he asked her, she always said the same thing: 'I just used my scary words.'

It only took a minute of whispering before Moriyaki was shaking and trying to turn away from Brittany.

The blonde sat back in her chair when he began to whimper. She looked completely calm as he fell apart in front of her.

"So?" she prompted, "Why were you in Ohio last week? We saw you there. You met with some guy. What did he say to you?"

"P-please!" Moriyaki sputtered, "He just asked me for some tapes, I swear!"

"Tapes?" Brittany echoed, looking intrigued, "What kinds of tapes?"

Blaine leaned forward, eager. This was the first Blaine had learnt about anything to do with his and Santana's mission. They had been told when and where Moriyaki was going to be and to bring him back to Head Quarters, alive. 

Quinn suspected he had something to do with The Sins, a group of crime lords and convicts. They had only learnt the name of the organisation before the scout they'd captured killed himself. They didn't know much about The Sins, just that they were made up of powerful men and woman all around the world. They hadn't detected them for years until Puck sighted Moriyaki meeting with a man in Ohio. Now, they had Moriyaki and an opportunity for answers.

"Just tapes of this kid!" Moriyaki confessed, "Scouts were sent out to follow this kid in New York. They were just videos of him going to school and stuff, I swear!"

Brittany leaned forward again and asked, "What kid? What's his name?"

"Hummel," Moriyaki hastily answered, "Kurt Hummel."

----------

"Nice work in there, Babe," Santana purred, bringing Brittany into a warm kiss.

Brittany pulled away, looking cheerful, "Thanks, Tana. He was, like, one of the easiest one's I've ever had."

Blaine smiled at the two girls but couldn't help but let his mind race. Who was Kurt Hummel? And why were The Sins after him?

Blaine turned to Quinn with a raised eyebrow. She caught the look he was giving her and rolled her eyes.

"Don't give me that look," she ordered weakly, "I'm just as lost as you are."

"Well, not for long," an annoyingly familiar voice said.

Blaine turned around, bracing himself for the trade-mark smirk of one Sebastian Smythe. His suspicions were true as the lean man grinned at Blaine.

"Hey, Blaine," he greeted, eyes raking over his body in a way that made Blaine want to shudder, "Nice suit."

"What is it, Sebastian?" Quinn snapped, saving Blaine.

Sebastian reluctantly faced the fuming blonde, holding up a folder, stuffed with paper, "Puckerman just faxed me some interesting photos."

"What is it?" Quinn repeated herself, eyeing the papers.

Sebastian flipped the folder open, the pages landing on a photo of a middle-aged man in cover-alls and a baseball cap walking into a garage of sorts, a sign hanging above the garage door, reading Hummel Tires and Lube.

"It looks like our boy's got a daddy back in Ohio," Sebastian drawled, pointing to the man. "Name's Burt Hummel, owns a little tire shop in Lima."

"Okay, that's great and all," Quinn said sarcastically, "but what does any of this have to do with The Sins?"

"That's just it," Sebastian said, flipped the page over, revealing Burt and a blonde man,  speaking outside the tire shop. Sebastian tapped his finger against the blonde, "Mike spotted this guy in New York the next day, in the same area The Sins target goes to school in."

Blaine's eyebrows shot up in realisation. Burt must know something about someone if he was meeting with people like this.

Quinn pursed her lips as she took in all the new information. She seemed to make a decision as she snapped her fingers and pointed at Blaine.

"Anderson, come with me," she said and stomped off down the hall.

Blaine gave a short wave to Santana and Brittany before hurrying after Quinn.

He found himself in Quinn's large office. She seated herself in her tall, white leather chair, gesturing for Blaine to take a seat. Blaine sat down and the two faced each other.

"So?" Blaine asked, "What now?"

Quinn span around in her chair, grabbing the small remote resting on her desk and clicking it at the large screen hanging on her wall. The frame flickered to life and Artie's face appeared, his mouth wide open and a large sandwich edging towards it. He seemed to realise he was being watched as he quickly threw the sandwich down and glanced sheepishly back and forth between Blaine and Quinn.

"Hey guys!" he greeted, a blush tinging his cheeks, "what's happenin'?"

"Artie," Quinn began in her business voice, "I need you to do a background search on a guy named Kurt Hummel, father Burt Hummel."

Artie nodded and the sound of typing quickly filled the room. After a moment, Artie adjusted his glasses and squinted at the screen.

"Okay, Kurt E. Hummel, twenty-two years of age, mom died when he was eleven, lived in Lima, Ohio with his dad. Attended William Mckinley High school for most of his high school life, went to Dalton Academy for boys in his junior year due to bullying against his sexuality. Currently living in Manhattan, New York, with his roommate, Rachel Berry. Attending the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts." 

Quinn nodded her head, her eyebrows knitted, hands folded together.

"Quinn?" Blaine asked, "What're you thinking."

Quinn simply shook her head, looking as lost as Blaine felt. "I have no idea. This

guy seems like your plain, average gay Joe."

Blaine hummed a laugh, nodding. This guy didn't seem to know he was being targeted by the most dangerous people in the world. How unfortunate.

Quinn slammed her hands down on her desk, causing Blaine to jump in his seat. She looked at Blaine with blazing eyes, the sign that she had made up her mind about something.

"Blaine," she began, "I want you to guard this guy."

Blaine blinked once, then twice. He cleared his throat and asked, "Um..what?"

"Guard him," Quinn repeated, folding her hands under her chin, "Protect him. Keep him safe, what ever. Just don't let The Sins get their hands on him. He obviously has something they need or knows something, I don't know. What I do know, is that we need to keep him safe at all costs. And that's what I need you for."

Blaine jumped out of his seat and stared at Quinn like she was crazy, "Are you kidding? I've never gone undercover before!"

"What're you talking about?" Quinn glared at him, seeming angered by his outburst, "You were undercover twelve hours ago."

"But that was different!" Blaine protested, "I was just going to jump the guy, not protect him."

"I don't care," Quinn snapped, "Believe it or not, this job isn't exactly a walk in the park. There are lives at risk."

"Why don't we just get Mike to bring him back here?" Blaine suggested, trying to find a solution, "he'd be really safe here."

"Blaine," Quinn began in tired voice, "There is a reason we are a secret organisation. If we brought him here, there's no way he'd be able to keep his mouth shut once we let him go."

"Why don't you get Mike to do it?" Blaine asked, feeling desperate, "He's already in New York."

"Because, Mike is going to be monitoring our little scout, Sebastian noticed," Quinn explained, starting to get annoyed, "Besides, you have a decent voice, so you should fit in at our little performers school perfectly."

Blaine sighed in resignation and dropped into his chair. He looked up at Quinn and asked, "When do I leave?"

----------

Blaine and Santana drove in silence as they headed to New York City. Santana wouldn't be joining him on his mission, much to Blaine's disappointment. Ever since Blaine had joined the organisation, he and Santana had worked together. Going on a mission without her would be like babysitting without having a kid to look after, it just wasn't right. 

Santana flicked through the folder Artie had given him about Kurt. She shrugged her shoulders and threw it onto Blaine's lap. Blaine hadn't bothered to look at it yet. Going on this mission was going to be bad enough, he didn't want to dive straight into it.

Santana tapped his shoulder and gave him a look. Blaine rolled his eyes and pulled the car over. Santana hopped out and rushed into the bushes. Honestly, Blaine thought, she had the smallest bladder he'd ever encountered.

Blaine stroked the corner of the paper-back for a moment before giving up and flipping the folder open. The breath got knocked clean out of Blaine's lungs. A gorgeous, pale boy with eyes of blue, green and grey stared back at him. He was smiling brightly, his chestnut hair styled to perfection to reveal a define jaw and high cheek bones. He was absolutely beautiful.

Blaine snapped out of his revere as Santana jumped back into the car. He quickly closed the folder and listened to Santana rant about how much more comfortable the leaves at the their last stop were. Blaine smiled slightly. Maybe this wouldn't be as unbearable as he thought.