Marketplace, Italica

March 28, 2028, 08:42 (28th day of the Crescent Moon 638)

The team moved through the narrow streets, their boots clacking against the uneven cobblestones. Eyes followed them from every corner, the townspeople watching the strangers with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Some whispered among themselves, their expressions guarded, while others kept their distance, children peeking out from behind their parents.

Kurata's fingers twitched near his gear, his eyes scanning the faces that tracked them. "I don't like this,"

Kuribayashi shot him a smirk, her voice low and teasing. "What's the matter, Kurata? You scared?"

He huffed, shifting uncomfortably as he walked. "No, it's just—"

Hill's voice cut through, calm and steady. "Relax, Kurata. It's normal for them to be cautious. Just stay sharp."

Perez let out a dry chuckle, surveying the tense crowd. "Yeah, who wouldn't be on edge when a bunch of aliens suddenly show up? But hey, at least we don't have to worry about anyone charging at us with an S-vest."

Hill let out a brief snicker. "True. Worst-case scenario, someone comes at us with a knife."

Kurata grimaced, his brow furrowing. "That doesn't help."

Perez clapped him on the back, a crooked grin on his face. "Hey, we're just trying to keep it light, man."

Kurata shot Kuwahara a sideways glance. "How far is this marketplace anyway?"

Kuwahara glanced around, trying to orient himself. "We're getting close. Should be just around the corner here—"

But before he could finish, a sudden stillness descended as they stepped into the market square. The usual hum of activity was absent, replaced by an unsettling silence. Rows of people, bound in heavy chains, filled the square. Men, women, and children of every shape and size—some with animal-like ears, others with scales along their skin—were either crouched in cages or standing hunched over. Their hollow eyes followed the newcomers, a haunting blend of hope and fear flickering in their gazes.

The only sounds that broke the silence were the occasional clink of metal chains and the low murmur of a merchant haggling over a price as if this grim scene was just another transaction. The air itself seemed thick with oppression, as though even the ground beneath their feet shared in the suffering that surrounded them.

The team exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of the scene settling heavily on their shoulders.

Kurata swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. "Is this... is this the right place?"

Lelei, her expression as flat, nodded. "Yes. This is it."

Andrew stood still for a moment, taking in the sight. Years of dealing with difficult situations had taught him how to stay composed. His eyes briefly scanned his Japanese teammates, sensing their discomfort, and then he straightened up, his voice steady as he tried to regain control of the situation.

"Alright, let's not get stuck in place," Andrew said calmly,

He looked around, scanning the square. "Where's the trader's store, then?"

Lelei, her tone as flat as always, replied, "It should be somewhere near the center of the market."

Andrew nodded, trying to keep the mood light despite the heaviness in the air. "Okay." He gave a sharp whistle, drawing the team's attention. "Come on, let's move."

The team moved deeper into the market, the oppressive air around them growing heavier with each step. The sight of the chained, haggard faces gnawed at their composure, and the members of Third Recon shifted uncomfortably.

Tomita muttered under his breath, "Fuck..."

Nishina's nose wrinkled, his eyes darting around searching for the source. "What's that smell?"

Perez and Hill, who had taken the lead, barely glanced back. Perez's expression was nonchalant as he replied, "Smells like... shit?"

Hill nodded, his tone flat and matter-of-fact. "You mean human feces?"

Perez shrugged. "Yeah—yeah, you get what I'm saying."

Kurata stared at them incredulously, disbelief written on his face. "How are you two so calm about this?"

Perez and Hill exchanged a brief glance, a silent conversation passing between them as if deciding who should answer. Hill finally spoke. "Ignore and override."

Perez couldn't help but chuckle, the sound oddly bright against the somber background. "Bossman's favorite saying."

Hill glanced back at Kurata, his face unreadable but his voice carrying a rare note of empathy. "Basically, Kurata, just ignore the horrible stuff and focus. If you let this kind of thing break you, this job will eat you alive."

Kurata's eyes darted to the bound figures, the hopelessness in their eyes weighing on him. "You mean we should just let them be?"

Perez sighed, and his tone softened. "It's their way of life, man. We can't change it, no matter how terrible it is. We're not here to be saviors."

Lelei observed them from behind, her gaze curious as she turned to Andrew, who walked beside her. "Why do they seem so shocked? Have they never seen slaves before?"

Andrew shook his head, his expression momentarily grim. "No, they haven't."

Rory let out a small snicker. The teasing edge in her voice was tempered with genuine curiosity. "What? Does slavery not exist in your world?"

Andrew nodded slowly, his eyes fixed ahead but his thoughts elsewhere. "Yeah... it does. Not the way you see here, not out in the open. But in the shadows, in places most people don't think about—or don't want to think about."

Rory's eyes lit up with a spark of curiosity, her teasing demeanor softening just a bit. "Oh? So it does exist."

Andrew sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of difficult truths. "Well... depends on where you've gone."

Tuka, who had been listening quietly, spoke up, her voice soft but probing. "What do you mean by 'where you've gone'?"

Andrew's eyes shifted, a distant look settling over them as memories flickered through his mind. "Lawless places,"

They continued walking until they stopped as Lelei glanced up, her sharp eyes catching sight of a familiar landmark. "We're here," she announced.

Andrew's focus snapped back, and he assessed the area quickly. He turned to the group, his tone firm and commanding. "Lelei, Rory, and Tuka, you three go ahead and enter the building. Kuribayashi and Nishina, you'll stay by the entrance, just in case anything happens. The rest of you spread out and talk to the locals. Try to gain a better understanding of what's happening here."

Kurata nodded, he approached a wary merchant. "Excuse me," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "Can you tell me more about this market? We're new here."

The merchant, a burly man in a dirt-streaked tunic, sized him up. "You a trader?" he grunted. "Supply and demand, like anywhere else."

Kurata leaned in, lowering his voice. "So, these people... they're in demand?"

The merchant's eyes darted around before he whispered, "Not anymore. The count's new taxes killed local sales. Only nobles buy now, with lots of paperwork." He hesitated, glancing at the cages. "It's stirred resentment... but forget I said that." He quickly retreated into the crowd.

Perez stepped up, eyes narrowed. "Get anything?"

Kurata nodded slowly. "Maybe..."

Meanwhile, Hill and Kuwahara questioned locals on the outskirts. "What's life like here?" Hill asked, keeping it casual.

A weathered villager sighed. "It's tough but better thanks to Count Colt. He invested in us, kept fair laws, even held community events." His voice faltered. "But he vanished after going through the Gate. Now his young daughter rules alone."

Kuwahara's brow furrowed. "That's heavy for someone so young."

Andrew and Kurokawa moved through the tense market, engaging wary locals. They heard of bandit threats and whispers of unknown strangers. Kurokawa's eyes stayed sharp, processing every detail. "Feels like the whole town's holding its breath," Andrew muttered.

"It's more than bandits," Kurokawa said. "It's survival."

They paused near a cage hidden behind crates. Inside, a girl no older than seven with wolf-like ears and silver hair sat, hugging her knees. Her bright, haunted eyes locked onto Andrew's, stirring something deep within him.

"We're not here to be saviors," he whispered, the words feeling hollow.





Formal Family Castle, Italica

March 28, 2028, 08:53 (28th day of the Crescent Moon 638)

The room was filled with an oppressive silence, the tension almost palpable. Adam and Itami sat at a long, ornate table across from Princess Pina, Hamilton, Norma, and Grey. The dark wooden table added to the cramped atmosphere. Morning light filtered through tall windows, casting shadows on the cold stone floor, while the distant sounds of the bustling market outside mocked the tension within.

Princess Pina sat at the head of the table, her posture perfect and hands clasped in front of her. She fixed a sharp gaze on Itami, suspicion evident in her eyes. Her voice was steady as she cut through the silence, asking, "Why do you want to assist us?"

Itami met her gaze steadily, his expression calm yet urgent. Leaning forward, he placed his hands on the table and said, "Innocent lives are in danger. Isn't that reason enough?"

Hamilton sat beside the princess, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at Itami and Adam. After sizing them up, she broke the silence with a sharp question "Are you sure you're not affiliated with the bandits?"

The question was sudden, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath. Itami and Adam exchanged a glance—neither flinched. Adam shifted in his seat, his patience thinning. He leaned forward slightly, his face hardening as he spoke, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Ma'am, do we look like bandits to you?"

Hamilton's eyes narrowed, her gaze now locking onto Adam. For a long moment, she studied him, then Itami. The suspicion in her eyes didn't fade. After a beat, she nodded, though her voice remained cautious. "No..." she murmured, her words tinged with uncertainty. "But you could be working with them."

Adam blinked in disbelief, a sharp exhale escaping him. "Jesus..." he muttered under his breath, rubbing his face in frustration. He slumped back in his chair but quickly regained his composure. A glance between him and Itami conveyed a shared understanding: they couldn't afford to escalate things further—not yet.

Adam cleared his throat, sitting up straighter, and leaned forward again. His tone shifted, becoming more measured, though the frustration still simmered beneath the surface. "Listen," he said, his voice firm but calm. "We have no hidden agendas. Our only goal is to protect the innocent people of this city."

Princess Pina's gaze remained cold, her expression unreadable. She didn't speak for a moment, but there was something in her eyes—a flicker of doubt, or perhaps suspicion—that betrayed her outward calm. She was calculating her next move, choosing her words carefully.

"Words are easy," she finally replied, her voice level but sharp. "Trust, however, is earned."

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the weight of her challenge. Itami could feel the pressure mounting, as if the entire room was holding its breath, waiting for someone to speak.

Before anyone could respond, Myui, who had been sitting silently by the side, took a step forward. Her voice broke the tension, soft yet firm, "Princess Pina," she began, her gaze moving from the knights to the two men, "I understand your skepticism, but we are in no position to refuse help."

Pina's eyes flicked toward Myui, her brow furrowing slightly, but she didn't speak immediately. Myui's tone was gentle but unwavering, and it was clear that the countess was not going to be easily swayed.

"Countess—" Pina began, but Myui raised a hand, silencing her with a simple gesture.

"Princess," Myui continued, her voice unyielding, "under my authority as the Countess of this city, I have already approved of their assistance. I need you to accept that fact."

Pina stared at Myui for a long moment, the weight of her authority hanging in the air. Finally, her shoulders sagged, and she let out a quiet sigh. The fight had left her for now, though her mistrust lingered.

She turned her gaze to Itami and Adam, her expression still unreadable, but there was a flicker of reluctant acceptance in her eyes. "I will accept your help... for now," she said, her voice firm "However, understand this: you will need to prove yourselves. Actions speak louder than words."

Adam leaned forward slightly, offering a dry smile. "Wouldn't expect anything less, Your Highness," he said, his voice laced with wry humor. "May we leave now? We need to assess the city's defenses to form a plan."

Myui, standing beside Pina, smirked quietly at the exchange, clearly pleased with how things had turned out. "Yes, you may," she said with a slight nod, her voice carrying a note of finality.

Itami and Adam exchanged a brief look before heading for the door. As they left, the tension lingered, unresolved. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving the princess and her knights to reflect on the meeting.





Downtown, Italica

March 28, 2028, 09:43 (28th day of the Crescent Moon 638)

The sun hung high in the clear blue sky, casting its light over the bustling streets of Italica. Despite the vibrant atmosphere, there was a certain tension in the air, palpable in the furrowed brows and furtive glances exchanged between the townsfolk. The markets, while busy, felt weighed down by the unease that had settled over the city since the bandit attacks.

Itami and Adam walked down the crowded street towards their team, who were gathered near a small square. The team stood together in a tense silence, their expressions grim as they processed the events of the morning.

Itami, ever the optimist, offered a lighthearted greeting as they approached. "Hey, everyone! Had fun shopping?" His voice was casual, but the attempt at levity fell flat in the thick atmosphere of apprehension.

The team didn't respond immediately, exchanging uncomfortable glances. The weight of what they had just witnessed at the market—the suffering, the enslaved people in chains—hung heavily on all of them.

Andrew was the first to break the silence and gave a half-hearted chuckle. "Heh, I wouldn't call it fun," his voice flat.

Adam was more direct. "Alright then, let's get to business," his tone was steady but firm, cutting through the momentary awkwardness.

Itami nodded, switching gears. "We've just come from a meeting with the Princess and the countess of this place," he began, glancing around at the team. "We offered them help to defend the city, and she accepted."

Andrew sighed deeply and rubbed his temples in exasperation. "Adam?"

Adam glanced back at him, unconcerned. "Oh, no worries. This was approved by command... I think?" He offered a half-hearted shrug.

Hill's eyebrow arched at the uncertainty in Adam's voice. "You think?"

Adam's response was casual as if he had expected this reaction. "Blackburn just said, 'Take initiative,' so..." He trailed off, shrugging again.

Perez's eyes lit up."Oh... I get it," he said with a nod.

"Yup," Adam replied with a dry grin. "So, Perez, Hill, I need you to scout out the gates. Figure out which one is the most likely point of entry. We need to be prepared for anything."

Perez gave a sharp nod. "Got it."

"We're on it, boss," Hill added, his tone curt but determined.

Itami shifted his focus, addressing the rest of the team. "Kurokawa, Andrew, check on the wounded villagers we encountered earlier. See what they need and help where you can."

Kurokawa responded immediately, her voice steady and professional. "Understood."

Andrew gave a brief nod. "Sure thing,"

Itami didn't waste time before issuing his next orders. "Tomita and Kuwahara, assist the townspeople in setting up makeshift defenses. We need to be ready for anything."

"Yes, sir!" Tomita responded enthusiastically, his posture straightening with determination.

"Will do," Kuwahara added, his voice calm and focused.

Itami glanced over the group, his eyes scanning each member before speaking. "Alright, the rest of you disperse. Help out anywhere you can,"

The team nodded, moving to carry out their tasks. As they began to scatter, Adam turned to Itami, his expression shifting slightly. "Hey, I'll go back to the vehicles. Need to contact Caldwell,"

Itami paused, his gaze lingering on Adam for a moment. "Okay," he replied, giving a nod. "You going alone?"

Adam let out a short laugh. "What? No, of course not. That's stupid."

Itami raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Then who else is coming with you?"

Adam's gaze flicked to the remaining members of the team, and after a moment's consideration, he said, "I'll be taking Sergeant Kuribayashi with me."

Itami raised an eyebrow at the mention of Kuribayashi. "Okay," he replied, his tone neutral but curious. "Just make sure you don't get sidetracked."

Adam smirked, shaking his head. "Oh please, I'm not you, man."

Itami's expression hardened, and he shot back, "Screw you."

Adam chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. "Ahem, Sergeant Kuribayashi!"

Kuribayashi, who had been standing quietly to the side, snapped to attention at the sound of her name. "Sir?"

Adam gave her a playful look. "I'm going back to the vehicles. Keep me company, will ya?"

Kuribayashi, unfazed by Adam's lighthearted tone, gave a nod. "Yup,"

They started walking toward the vehicles, an unspoken tension clinging to the space between them. Adam glanced sideways at her, noting her rigid posture.

"Why so tense, Sergeant?" Adam's voice was light, but his eyes showed genuine concern.

Kuribayashi stiffened even more before letting out a controlled breath. "I'm not tense,"

Adam raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Oh? Doesn't look like it."

She shot him a sideways glance but kept her gaze forward. "Shouldn't you be focusing on more important things, sir?"

He stopped walking, turning to face her, the smile slipping away. "This is important, Sergeant," he said, a note of seriousness threading through his tone. "I don't want you distracted."

Kuribayashi's eyes met his for a brief moment before skittering away. Silence settled between them, broken only by the soft, distant chatter of the townsfolk. Adam took a breath, deciding to try a different approach.

"Why did you join the Army?" he asked, his voice softening.

Kuribayashi blinked, the question catching her off guard. Her eyes narrowed slightly as if weighing whether to answer. "Why do you ask?"

Adam shrugged. "Because it helps to remember, especially when things get tough. And maybe it'll make this walk a little less tense."

Kuribayashi considered him for a moment, then let out a quiet sigh. "Came from a family with a strong military tradition. My father was in the JSDF, and he always pushed me to be better. That's why I joined."

Adam raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Oh, is that it?"

Kuribayashi's eyes narrowed slightly, the corner of her mouth tugging downward in a barely-there frown. "That's part of it. But I didn't just join to follow in his footsteps. I wanted to join the best. The Rangers. The Special Operations Group."

Adam's expression shifted, a mixture of respect and surprise crossing his face. "Quite ambitious goals, Sergeant. For a woman to join Special Operations... that's hard."

Kuribayashi glanced at him, her gaze steady. "I want to try, sir."

Adam smirked the warmth of understanding in his eyes. "Oh, I know you will. Plus, it's not impossible. I know of one female operator... My sister. Though she quit and is part of something else entirely now."

Kuribayashi's curiosity piqued, and she looked at him more closely. "Why'd she quit?"

Adam snickered, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Family business," he said, his tone light but evasive. "Let's just leave it at that."

Kuribayashi raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. The subject seemed to be closed, though the faint curiosity still lingered in her gaze. Instead, she gave a small nod. "Sounds like an interesting story, sir."

Adam chuckled, his smile turning more genuine now. "Maybe, but it's not one I'm eager to tell. Some things are better left in the past."

They walked in silence for a few steps before Adam broke the quiet again, his voice softer this time. "You'll get there, Kuribayashi. You've got the drive for it."

Kuribayashi met his eyes, a flicker of gratitude in her expression before it quickly returned to its usual calm demeanor. "Thank you, sir."





Camp Alnus, Alnus Hill

March 28, 2028, 10:05 (28th day of the Crescent Moon 638)

General Hazama stood at the head of a large, circular conference table, a sharp gaze fixed on the officers before him. The situation in Italica had rapidly escalated, and he was growing impatient with the lack of clear answers.

"So, Third Recon and your team attached to them are trapped in Italica because of a bandit attack, is that right, Captain Caldwell?" Hazama's voice was steady, yet the gravity of the situation made it clear that there was no time for uncertainty.

Caldwell, standing at attention, nodded. "Yes, sir. According to them, the attackers are in the hundreds, if not thousands. The defenders in Italica are mostly civilian militia, and they can't hold for long."

The weight of Caldwell's words settled heavily in the room. Hazama's eyes narrowed as he processed the information, then turned to his battalion commanders, his mind already racing through options.

"Are any of our units fully prepared?" Hazama asked, his voice cutting through the tension.

Colonel Kamo stepped forward, his demeanor exuding confidence. "Sir, my unit is primed and ready. We can mobilize within the hour. Give us the word, and we'll be there."

Lieutenant Colonel Tsuge, commanding the 1st Combat Team, stood with his chest out and shoulders squared. "The 1st Combat Team stands ready for action, sir. We await your command," he said firmly, his voice unwavering.

Before Hazama could respond, Colonel Kengun. "With all due respect, sir, a ground assault may not be sufficient in this situation. I propose deploying my air assault unit for rapid deployment. It could turn the tide immediately."

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of Kengun's suggestion settling over the gathered officers. Hazama's eyes, sharp yet contemplative, scanned the room as he mulled over the implications.

Seated across from the Japanese officers, Bravo Squadron officers Blackburn, Campbell, and Hughes watched the exchange with subtle amusement.

"Quite enthusiastic, eh?" Blackburn whispered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Campbell leaned back, arms crossed. "Well, it is their first war after all."

Hughes chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh please, you counted on this happening, didn't you, sir? When you told the Bravo 1 boys to 'take the initiative.'"

Blackburn's smile widened slightly, but he gave no definitive answer. "Who knows?" he replied with a playful shrug.

Just then, Captain Caldwell, seated and observing with a furrowed brow, leaned in toward his superior officers, his voice low but laced with concern. "Uh, sir, is this okay?"

Blackburn waved a hand dismissively. "Relax, Captain. Even if the reinforcements were delayed, I doubt Adam and his boys will run out of ammo anytime soon. Heck, with their new 'toy', they could hold them off for days if they wanted to."

Caldwell shifted in his seat, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. "About that..."

Hughes's smile froze, his brow furrowing. "Captain? Is there something wrong?"

Caldwell hesitated, looking as if he'd rather face a firing squad. With an awkward scratch to the back of his neck, he finally spoke. "Yeah... they didn't bring their full combat load, sir."

A stunned silence fell over them. Campbell's mouth opened. "...Why?"

Caldwell sighed, his expression somewhere between sheepish and exasperated. "Because it reduced their range, and with all the mud, they were worried about the weight. They nearly got stuck last time when evacuating those villagers."

Blackburn blinked, disbelief and a hint of incredulity coloring his face. "...Are you serious?"

Before the conversation could progress further, Colonel James Clark, sitting nearby, leaned in with a teasing grin, his voice carrying the familiar taunt of someone who had seen their share of military posturing. "Huh. Guess you Delta Cowboys are still that arrogant, huh?" he said, looking across the table at Blackburn and his team.

Campbell shot Clark an incredulous look, his grin tightening. "Really, Colonel?"

Clark chuckled darkly. "I'm just saying, you boys haven't changed, have you? No matter the generation."

Blackburn rolled his eyes, the playful jab not bothering him in the least. "Oh, please, Clark. Like you weren't arrogant in MARSOC. You weren't exactly humble when you were running point in Marjah, were you?"

Clark snickered, his amusement clear as he leaned back slightly in his chair. "If we're talking about arrogance, no one beats 'that guy',"

Blackburn's eyes narrowed for a moment, then a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "If you're talking about that person, would it surprise you that he's here right now?"

Clark raised an eyebrow, the familiar air of confidence shifting ever so slightly. His gaze darted around the room, scanning the faces around him, expecting to catch a glimpse of the person Blackburn was referring to. "Huh?" he muttered, before looking to the door as if waiting for someone to step through.

Just as the tension of curiosity hung in the air, Campbell clicked his tongue loudly, drawing everyone's attention. The sharp sound sliced through the low murmur of conversation, bringing an immediate hush. "Looks like things are dying down,"

The group shifted their focus, their voices silenced as they watched Hazama take charge. The Japanese officers, who had been bickering only moments before, were now focused—eyes straight ahead, attention fixed on their commanding officer. It was clear that the time for posturing was over. Hazama had regained control.

The General stood tall, his presence commanding. His voice firm, he addressed his officers. "We'll proceed with the airborne approach. Time is critical. The rest of you remain on standby—we may need your support."

The air in the room shifted again as Hazama's attention settled on Clark. "Can the Americans spare any personnel to assist in this operation?"

Clark sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he leaned back in his chair. The weight of the situation was evident on his face. "We do, sir," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "But unfortunately, our helicopters haven't fully arrived yet. We still only have the vehicles we crossed the gate with."

Hazama's brow furrowed in response, the lines of his face deepening with concern. The situation in Italica was urgent, and every moment counted. His eyes flicked briefly toward the map spread across the table, calculating the best course of action. Just as the tension began to build again, an unexpected voice cut through the room.

Blackburn sat forward slightly in his chair, his expression unreadable but his tone confident. "Well, General, I think I know someone who could fill that gap," he said, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Clark's eyes widened. He let out a soft chuckle. "Oh... he is here, isn't he?"

Blackburn's smirk widened into something almost mischievous. "Yup. Come in, Phill."

At Blackburn's words, the door opened with a soft creak. The assembled officers turned their heads toward the entrance, and in stepped a man who seemed to command the room with little more than his presence. He was middle-aged, with short-cropped blonde graying hair and a lean, muscular frame that spoke of years spent in combat. His black and grey military fatigues were unadorned, save for the subdued insignia of a private security contractor.

Phillip Graves, Commander of Shadow Company, moved with quiet confidence as he crossed the room to stand before the group. His eyes met Hazama's, calm and steady as if he were no stranger to the weight of important decisions. The room seemed to settle as he spoke, his voice firm but respectful.

"General," Graves began, his tone measured but unwavering, "I'm Phillip Graves, commander of Shadow Company. We specialize in providing support for operations where conventional forces may face limitations."

Clark raised an eyebrow at Graves' arrival, his voice tinged with a hint of admiration. "Huh, I guess you weren't kidding, Blackburn."

Graves flashed a quick smirk, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and confidence. "Oh? Miss me, Clark?"

Clark let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Hell no,"

Hazama, however, wasn't as quick to be at ease. His brow furrowed deeper at the mention of a private military company, a silent question hanging in the air. His gaze swept over his officers—Kamo, Tsuge, and Kengun—all of whom wore expressions that mirrored his concerns.

"A PMC?" Hazama's voice was careful, controlled. "Working alongside our forces in such a critical operation?"

Campbell leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "No need to worry, Gentleman," he said, his tone casual but confident. "Shadow Company's been contracted by DoD for years, supporting the US Armed Forces and they're damn reliable."

Hazama's eyes flicked toward Campbell, but the rest of the Japanese officers exchanged uneasy glances. It wasn't that they didn't trust the Americans, but the idea of a private military company—no matter how well-established—working alongside their forces in such a high-stakes operation was... uncomfortable.

The silence in the room stretched for a beat too long, before Graves broke it with a sly smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. He leaned forward, as though enjoying the tension he had just stirred.

"Gentlemen," Graves began, his voice smooth but tinged with a teasing edge. "How about we take a walk? Outside, that is."

His suggestion was met with a moment of hesitation, and the officers turned to each other, wary and unsure. The sudden shift in tone, the suggestion of something informal in the middle of such a serious discussion—it put them on edge.

Hazama's sharp eyes narrowed. "A walk?" his voice cool but the unspoken suspicion lingered just beneath the surface. "At a time like this?"

Graves, sensing the growing tension, leaned back slightly, his smirk never faltering. "Oh, come now. Can a man not offer a walk in this world? You might find it... enlightening."

Hazama exchanged a tense glance with Kamo, Tsuge, and Kengun. Their expressions mirrored his—cautious and calculating, the room's tension was palpable, but Hazama knew he couldn't show weakness.

With a resigned sigh, Hazama straightened, his posture stiff but composed. He met Graves's gaze, his tone firm but controlled. "Fine," the single word heavy with a silent warning. "But don't waste our time."

Graves's smirk deepened, a flicker of something predatory crossing his features. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes gleaming with an almost dangerous amusement. "Oh, I won't," he replied smoothly, his voice calm."Follow me."

Graves led the group outside, the sound of their boots against the cold floor echoing in the silence that followed. The air outside was crisp, a slight wind brushing through the trees as they stepped into the open space of the camp. Hazama and his officers followed closely, each man sizing up the newcomer, their distrust palpable.

After a moment, Hazama broke the silence, his voice carrying the weight of his earlier suspicion. "So, how are you going to fill our capability gap?"

Graves chuckled, his expression unfazed by Hazama's blunt question. He came to a stop, turning to face the General with a knowing smirk. "Whoa, hold your horses, General. Don't you want to hear about the history of my organization first?"

Hazama's face remained impassive, but his voice was firm. "I told you not to waste our time."

Graves raised a hand, dismissing the comment with a casual wave. "It's not a waste, General. If you understood the background of me and my people a bit better, you might learn to trust us."

"Trust?" Hazama echoed, his gaze hardening.

"Yes," Graves said, his tone casual but with an edge of sincerity. "I know you're not exactly thrilled about dealing with us. Contractors, right?"

"Would you blame me?" Hazama replied, his voice flat. "Your kind aren't exactly known for having a spotless record."

Graves gave a short laugh, his smirk widening. "Ah, you must be talking about those guys at Blackwater, or Academi, or whatever the hell they're calling themselves these days... trust me, General, we're not the same." He met Hazama's gaze with a sharp, almost challenging look.

Before Hazama could respond, they rounded a corner and were met with the unexpected sight of ground crews buzzing around a fleet of sleek Loach helicopters. The aircraft were lined up gleaming under the morning light, their rotors poised for action. Mechanics and operators moved efficiently, checking equipment and loading supplies.

Kengun's eyes widened unable to mask his astonishment. "When and how did they get here?"

Graves offered a sly grin, folding his arms across his chest. "Oh, that's a company secret, sir,"

Hazama's gaze sharpened, his brows drawing together into a stern line as he scrutinized Graves further. "That's not an answer, Mr. Graves,"

With a slight shrug, Graves's smile only grew more enigmatic. "Well, let's just say, sir... some very important people gave me the go-ahead. So, whether you gentlemen like it or not, I'm here, and I'm willing to offer up support."

There was a beat of silence. The whir of machinery and the callouts of the ground crew were the only sounds punctuating the still, tense atmosphere. Graves turned his gaze toward Clark, a playful glint flashing in his eyes as if trying to disarm the tension.

"Hey, Clarky boy," he called out, the familiarity in his voice earning an eye roll from the Marine Colonel. "How many of your finest do you think can fit in these?"

Clark stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he took in the row of Loaches, assessing their capabilities. His lips curled into a smirk. "As long as none of them are skittish about sitting outside... with all these? A platoon should fit, easy,"

Hazama's gaze shifted to Graves, assessing the options. The general's expression remained stern, but his mind worked rapidly. The sight of the ready Loaches and Graves's confidence spoke volumes.

Silence lingered as officers like Kamo, Tsuge, and Kengun waited, faces tense with anticipation. Trusting Graves was risky, but delay could be deadly.

Graves stepped forward, his voice calm but urgent. "So, General, what will it be? We're ready to fill the gaps and get your men out alive."

Hazama's exhale steadied him as he decided. His eyes met Graves's confident stare. "Commander Graves, we'll accept your support. But remember, the safety of our men comes first."

Graves's smirk shifted into a nod. "Understood, General. Shadow Company doesn't fail."





Myrrh Village, Special Region

March 28, 2028, 10:13 (28th day of the Crescent Moon 638)

The morning sun bathed the village in a golden light, the quiet broken only by the distant hum of nature. The air was filled with the scent of wildflowers, and life moved at a leisurely pace. Children played, women wove on porches, and the gentle sounds of daily life created a peaceful ambiance.

Suddenly, the calm was interrupted by the roar of four motorcycles. The villagers paused—and turned to observe the newcomers with wary curiosity.

Pavlo "Skiff" Petrenko, the squad leader, slowed his motorcycle as he neared a weathered building. His face was serious, but not unfriendly. He removed his shemagh and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

"Remember, we're guests," Skiff said, his voice firm yet calm.

The Team dismounted and moved efficiently, blending into the surroundings despite their modern gear.

An old man under a nearby tree watched them closely. His face was weathered, his pipe smoking lazily. His eyes followed Skiff as he approached.

"We rarely get foreigners here," the old man chuckled, voice stern but not unkind.

Skiff approached with a relaxed posture, offering a friendly nod. "Just passing through, sir."

The old man, however, didn't seem convinced. He puffed on his pipe, his gaze steady on Skiff as he studied the newcomer with a keen eye. "Oh, please, young lad," he said with a smile, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "I've seen my fair share of travelers in my time. You lot stand out, especially with those... contraptions you rode on."

Skiff smiled slightly, impressed by the man's insight. "Guess we've been caught,"

The old man chuckled again, a warm sound that resonated beneath the tree's canopy. "So... let me take a guess. You're soldiers, aren't ya?"

Skiff raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering across his face. "Oh, and what makes you think that, sir?"

The man leaned back, taking another slow puff from his pipe before speaking. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, studied Skiff. "Ho ho, well, first off, you look like those foreigners the Empire's been warning us about."

A glimmer of amusement danced in Skiff's eyes, and he nodded slowly. "Did they now..."

The old man's smile broadened, revealing the yellowed teeth once more. "But most importantly, lad, I can see it in your eyes. That stare doesn't come from merchants or travelers. It's the look of men who've been to places, seen things that make the soul heavy."

Skiff smirked, the hint of a shadow passing over his face before disappearing. "Well, you're a bit off, old man. We were soldiers... not anymore."

The old man's expression softened, his laughter turning into a contemplative hum. "Guess my old eyes are failing me then," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise. The pipe lowered, the smoke dissipating in the morning light. "So, what would you like to know, lad?"

Skiff's eyes sharpened at the old man's shift in tone. "We're just looking for any signs of... say, suspicious activity in the area,"

The old man took a slow draw from his pipe, smoke curling around him. His voice was quiet but serious. "If you're just passing through, then the boys saw fires where there shouldn't be..."

Skiff nodded slowly, committing the details to memory as the old man continued.

Meanwhile, a few meters away, Volodymyr "Barmaley" Lysenko, the team's drone operator was crouched under a wooden roof, unfolding his drone's arms. His sharp focus wavered as he noticed a group of children nearby, watching him with wide-eyed fascination

Barmaley smirked, his fingers still working on the drone's arms as he caught their attention. "Well, look what we have here," he murmured, amusement in his voice. He waved them over, his smile widening as the children hesitated for only a moment before eagerly approaching.

"Hey," Barmaley called, his voice lighthearted, "want to see something cool?"

The children, quickly gathered around, their faces bright with excitement. Barmaley's smirk softened into a smile as he powered up the drone. Its propellers spun to life, and the children gasped in awe.

"Watch this," Barmaley said, his hands deftly guiding the drone into the air, his eyes flicking back to Skiff and the others as he kept one ear open for any further developments.

Meanwhile, Mykhaylo "Falcon" Kravchenko was scanning the surroundings, his eyes sharp when a sudden scent caught his attention. It was the unmistakable aroma of grilled meat, rich and smoky, drifting through the morning air. His stomach gave a low growl in response.

He turned, following the scent, as he neared the source, a small barbecue stall appeared, smoke rising into the sky. The elderly vendor, with a worn hat and calloused hands, flipped skewers over the fire.

His eyes flicked to the other stalls around it, noting the fresh produce, the baskets of vegetables, and the occasional bundle of herbs. But it was the smell of meat—juicy, sizzling—that called to him.

He moved closer, his boots crunching softly on the dirt road as he approached the stall. The vendor, noticing him, looked up with a nod of recognition.

"Ah, you like the smell, eh?" The old man chuckled, holding up a skewer of meat. "Best meat in the village. You try?"

Falcon gave him a sly smile, his hand already reaching for his wallet. "How much?"

"Not much, not much," the vendor replied, waving a hand dismissively. "Take it as a gift. Good for the hunger."

Falcon raised an eyebrow, but his smile widened. "Appreciate it, old man," he said, taking the skewer from the vendor's outstretched hand. The meat was still hot, a perfect combination of crispy outside and tender inside. He bit into it, the rich flavor immediately satisfying his hunger.

As he chewed, he looked around, scanning the area once more. Everything seemed peaceful, but Falcon knew better than to let his guard down for long.

Roman "Fort" Kovalchuk glanced at Falcon, still enjoying his skewer, and chuckled. "Guess he was hungry after all," he muttered, adjusting his radio. Static hummed as he scanned the horizon.

Suddenly, the radio crackled.

"Hitman 2, this is Shadow Actual, how copy?" Graves' voice came through,

Fort grabbed the radio, his thumb pressing the button. "I copy, Shadow Actual. What's up, Commander?"

Graves' voice crackled again, sharper this time. "Get me Hitman 1."

Fort glanced at Skiff, who was already heading toward him. "No worries, Commander, you'll hear him now."

He handed the radio to Skiff, who nodded before taking the handset. "Shadow Actual, this is Hitman 1."

Graves' tone remained urgent. "Hitman 1, we've got a situation in a city called Italica, fifty clicks north of your position. A Japanese Recon unit is trapped there due to a bandit attack, hostiles numbers are around the hundreds to a thousand."

Skiff furrowed his brow, chewing on his words for a moment before responding. "Okay... why does that concern us? The Japanese are plenty capable of handling it themselves."

Graves' voice came back, a hint of amusement creeping in. "Well, Hitman 1, let's just say your boss here offered them a little bit of help."

Skiff sighed, already used to his commander's antics.

Graves' voice crackled through again, this time with a touch more humor. "And, plus, our old friends from Bravo 1 are there too."

Skiff's surprise was audible. "Huh? They got stuck too? How?"

A snicker echoed over the radio. "They were attached to them," Graves explained with a laugh. "So now we're going to have to save their asses. You could think of it as repaying them, ya know?"

Skiff scoffed, a faint smile forming. "Yeah..." He paused for a moment. "So, what do you want us to do?"

"That's the spirit," Graves said. "We need you to provide air traffic control for our helicopters and eliminate any potential threats to ensure a safe landing and extraction."

Skiff nodded, his voice firm. "Plus. We'll get it done."

"Copy that, Shadow Actual out," Graves concluded, and the transmission ended with a click.

Fort exhaled and smirked. "Guess we're heading out."

"Yup," Skiff confirmed, before whistling sharply to get the attention of Falcon and Barmaley. "Oi, mount up! We're leaving!"

Barmaley quickly brought his drone down, giving a quick wave to the children. "Be good now, okay?" he said, a warm grin spreading across his face.

Meanwhile, Falcon hastily stuffed the remainder of the skewer into his mouth before jogging over to join the team.

They mounted their motorbikes, engines rumbling to life. As the team prepared to move, Skiff briefed them on the situation. "Okay, so We're heading to a city called Italica. A Japanese Recon unit and our old acquaintances from Bravo-1 are pinned down by a bandit force. Our job is to provide air traffic control for incoming helicopters and eliminate any threats to ensure their safe landing and extraction."

Falcon glanced at Skiff, concern shadowing his features. "Any idea on their numbers?"

Skiff's expression turned serious. "Hundreds, maybe thousands. Barmaley, you brought the FPVs, right?"

Barmaley grinned, patting a satchel at his side. "Plus, Never leave home without them."

"Good," Skiff said, eyes narrowing with focus. "Alright, let's move out."