East Gate, Italica

March 29, 2028, 03:53 (29th day of the Crescent Moon 638)

Hearing Skiff's voice crackle through the radio brought a rare smile to Adam's face, a sense of nostalgia softening his usual sharp demeanor. He pressed the push-to-talk button without hesitation.

"Skiff? What the hell are you doing out here?"

The reply came with urgency. "Yeah, it's me. We'll catch up later. Right now, focus on staying safe. Backup's en route—ETA five minutes, inbound by helicopter. Those explosions? Don't sweat it. We're just clearing the path for the birds. Hang tight, Bravo One-One."

Adam couldn't help but smirk. "Copy that, Hitman One. Thanks for the heads-up. We'll hold the fort until backup arrives. Stay safe out there."

Skiff's response was sharp and reassuring. "Always am. Hitman out."

Lowering his radio, Adam turned to find Itami watching him with curiosity.

"Who was that on the radio?" Itami asked.

"Just an old friend," Adam replied with a shrug, though his expression betrayed a hint of nostalgia.

Itami glanced toward the billowing smoke on the battlefield. "And those explosions?"

"Clearing the path for the birds. We'll be fine," Adam assured him.

Itami's expression remained grave, but he nodded, focusing on the task at hand. He turned to the rest of the group, his voice cutting through the chaos.

"Alright, listen up, everyone. We're splitting into two teams. Nishina, take two with you and evacuate the wounded. Move quickly and stay low."

Nishina gave a sharp nod. "We're on it."

Itami turned to the remaining members of the team. His gaze was steady, his tone resolute. "The rest of us will help the defenders hold the line until the helicopters arrive. Fix bayonets and get ready for close combat. Kuribayashi, you're on point."

Kuribayashi nodded without hesitation, her expression hardening with determination. "Understood, sir. I'll lead the way."

"Remember," Itami continued, "we're buying time for the wounded to get out and for our backup to arrive. Stay close and watch each other's backs. We move on my mark."

The team quickly fixed their bayonets, the metallic clicks reverberating through the tense air.

"Alright," Itami said, gripping his weapon tightly. "Let's move out!"

Kuribayashi took point, her movements fluid and purposeful as the team advanced toward the defensive positions. The sounds of battle intensified—shouts, screams, and the clash of steel filling the night. As they reached the frontlines, a striking figure dominated the scene.

Rory stood amidst the chaos, her crimson eyes gleaming in the firelight as her axe cut through the ranks of bandits with terrifying ease. Each swing precise and devastating.

Kuribayashi charged ahead, her bayonet catching the flickering firelight as she dove into the melee. Shoulder-to-shoulder with Rory, she fought with ferocity and precision, her disciplined strikes complementing Rory's wild, brutal swings. Together, they carved through the bandit ranks like a storm, leaving chaos in their wake.

A bandit lunged at Kuribayashi, his sword slicing through the air. She intercepted with the body of her rifle, metal clanging sharply as sparks flew. Without missing a beat, she drew her sidearm with her free hand and fired point-blank. The shot echoed above the battle's roar, and the bandit collapsed in a heap at her feet.

She barely had time to register the kill when a bullet hissed past her head, close enough to make her flinch. Whipping around, she spotted another bandit dropping lifeless to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

"Careful, Sergeant!" Adam's voice cut sharply through the chaos, tinged with irritation.

Kuribayashi glanced back briefly, her chest heaving with adrenaline. There was no time for a response. Adam was already locked into action, his rifle raised and scanning for new threats. His movements were precise, each squeeze of the trigger deliberate.

His rifle's muted pops were methodical, the suppressor smoking faintly from sustained fire. Bandits crumpled one after another, their charges disintegrating under the relentless assault.

Kuribayashi growled and returned her focus to the fight. Another bandit rushed her, an axe raised high. She sidestepped smoothly, slashing her bayonet in a deadly arc that tore across his chest. As he staggered back, clutching the wound, she finished him with a second thrust, her breath steady despite the chaos.

Beside her, Rory was an unstoppable force. Her massive battle axe cleaved through a group of bandits in a single, savage swing. Blood sprayed across the ground as she turned to Kuribayashi, crimson eyes alight with battle-lust.

"You've got spirit!" Rory called, her voice cutting through the clamor of the battlefield. "Let's see if you can keep up!"

Kuribayashi smirked, a surge of adrenaline fueling her movements. "Just try to leave some for me!"

From the vantage point of a nearby rooftop, Perez crouched behind cover, his SR-25 trained on the battlefield. His scope swept over the scene below, landing on the two women tearing through the bandits.

"Jesus..." Perez muttered."Remind me to never mess with those two." His eyes caught movement near the wall, and he adjusted his aim. "Oh? Cheeky fucker."

A crossbowman had taken up a position on the wall, his weapon trained on the defenders. Perez squeezed the trigger, and the rifle bucked against his shoulder. Through his scope, he watched the bandit slump lifelessly, falling from the wall.

At the base of the building, Hill and Kurata stood guard, scanning for immediate threats. The crackle of Hill's headset broke the silence as Adam's sharp and commanding voice came through.

"Hey, Four. Get that forty mike-mike up and target the ones on the wall."

Hill didn't hesitate. He shouldered his M320 grenade launcher and loaded a round into the chamber. "Rog, on it," he responded.

Kurata, standing beside him, watched the interaction, his brow furrowing slightly at the sudden shift in the mission. "We going out?" he asked, his voice quiet but laced with curiosity.

Hill gave a single nod, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. "Yup." He raised his voice and called out toward the roof. "Hey, Perez, we're going out!"

Perez's voice floated down from above, his tone as dry as ever. "Yeah, sure!"

"Let's go, Kurata," Hill said, and the two of them made their way out of the building, their boots thudding heavily on the ground. Hill scanned the street, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the surrounding structures. He pointed toward a three-story building in the distance. "That one looks good."

Without another word, they began walking, moving swiftly through the street until they reached the door of the building. Kurata paused just before the entrance, glancing over at Hill, his expression unreadable.

"So?" he asked, sensing the tension that lingered in the air.

Hill looked to Kurata and then knocked on the door "Excuse me," Hill called, his voice calm yet authoritative, carrying in the stillness of the moment.

The door cracked open just slightly, revealing a man peering out suspiciously. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice gruff, cautious.

Hill offered a small, reassuring smile. "Just some people trying to help."

The man's gaze lingered on Hill, scrutinizing every detail. After a moment, he spoke again, his tone edged with skepticism. "You're one of those foreigners, huh?"

Hill's smile faltered slightly at the question, and he gave an awkward nod. "Uh, yeah?"

Inside, there was the metallic sound of a lock being undone. The door creaked open wider, revealing a modest interior and the figures of a man, a woman, and two children. The kids peeked out from behind the woman's skirt, their wide eyes filled with curiosity and fear.

The man's wariness hadn't faded entirely. His gaze flickered to Hill again as he asked, "What do you want?"

Hill stood firm, meeting the man's gaze with calm determination. "We just need to get to your third floor."

The man hesitated, glancing back at his family before sighing quietly. His shoulders relaxed just a fraction, and he stepped aside. "Third floor, huh?" he muttered, still sounding unsure. "Alright... you're not the first people to ask that tonight."

"Thanks," Hill replied, stepping through the doorway. He glanced at the children, their small hands clutching tightly at their mother's skirt. They ducked behind her further when Hill's eyes met theirs.

The man noticed Hill's brief look and cleared his throat. "Follow me," he said, his voice gruff but steady, motioning for them to follow as he turned toward a staircase.

Hill turned and signaled Kurata to follow. The two soldiers moved through the small home, boots heavy on the worn floorboards, and began ascending the stairs. The creaking wood beneath their feet mingled with the muffled sounds of chaos from outside.

When they reached the third floor, the man stopped and turned to face them. "So?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

Hill glanced around briefly before focusing on the man again. "Is there a room that overlooks the East Gate?"

The man raised an eyebrow at the request but didn't question it. With a slight shrug, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, unlocking one of the guest room doors. He pushed it open, revealing a modest space with a small bed and a window.

Hill and Kurata stepped inside, and Hill immediately moved to the window. He peered out, his sharp eyes scanning the scene below. The view gave them a clear vantage point of the East Gate and its surroundings.

"Perfect," Hill said, nodding in approval. He glanced over his shoulder at the man. "Thanks."

The man gave a curt nod and quietly left the room, shutting the door behind him. The moment he was gone, Hill reached into his kit and pulled out a rangefinder. He turned to Kurata, holding it out.

"Here," Hill said, handing the device to him.

Hill placed the rangefinder into Kurata's hands with a firm, steady motion. "See that button on the side? That's your laser. Point it at the target, hold steady, and it'll give you the range in meters. Got it?"

Kurata nodded, gripping the rangefinder tightly. "Got it."

Hill knelt by the window, shouldering the M320. He turned slightly to glance at Kurata. "Start with the bandits on the wall."

Kurata raised the rangefinder, squinting through the lens as he aimed it toward the top of the Gate. His breathing steadied, his hands surprisingly steady as he zeroed in on the targets. After a moment, the device gave him the distance. "One-fifty meters," he said, his voice tight.

Hill adjusted his grip on the grenade launcher, aligning it with the distant wall. "Alright, let's see..." He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and fired. The launcher kicked against his shoulder, sending the round soaring toward the target.

A split second later, the explosion erupted on the wall. Smoke and debris scattered, and Kurata, still peering through the rangefinder, flinched as he saw the aftermath. Several bandits were thrown from the wall, their bodies limp as they tumbled to the ground. The gore painted a vivid, brutal picture that made him swallow hard. "Hit," he confirmed, his voice faltering slightly. "They're... uh, not getting up."

Hill looked over at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don't get lost in it, Kurata. Stay sharp. We're not done yet. What's the next range?"





Skies Above Falmart, Special Region

March 29, 2028 04:03 (29th day of the Crescent Moon 638)

As the helicopters approached Italica, the landscape below came into sharper focus. Inside the lead helicopter, Commander Graves leaned forward in his seat, grabbing the handset of the radio mounted in front of him.

"Hitman, this is Shadow Actual. Confirm your team is in position," Graves said, his tone calm and steady, cutting through the static.

A brief pause followed before a voice crackled through the earpiece.

"Roger, Shadow Actual. Hitman is in place and ready to guide you to the LZ. Over," came Skiff's response, his voice professional and direct.

Graves adjusted his headset and pressed the transmit button again. "Any anti-air we need to worry about?"

"Negative. FPVs already took care of that, Commander," Skiff confirmed.

Graves nodded in approval, speaking again. "Good work, Hitman. Looks like you and your team might be in line for a raise after this one."

"Appreciate it, Commander. Always happy to deliver results," Skiff replied, a faint trace of humor in his tone.

Seated on the skids outside the helicopter, Oxide Team's operatives watched the city approach. Their gear clinked faintly with the vibrations of the aircraft, each man scanning the horizon.

"Another bonus for Hitman, huh?" quipped Oxide 2, leaning slightly toward the cabin. "They your favorites or something, boss?"

Graves glanced out the open door, raising an eyebrow at the operative's remark. "What? Of course not. I treat all my employees equally."

Oxide 1, the bearded team leader sitting nearby, smirked as he glanced over his shoulder. "Equally? Sure you do, boss. Everyone knows you slip the Ukies more bonuses than the rest of us."

Graves rolled his eyes, shaking his head but not denying the claim. "They earn it," he replied dryly before pressing the push-to-talk button on his vest. "Commander Kengun, LZ has been cleared. Should be smooth sailing from here."

A brief pause followed before Kengun's voice came through the radio. "Copy that. Alright, listen up!"

Inside the JSDF helicopters, soldiers straightened in their seats as Kengun's commanding voice filled their headsets. "Let's go over the plan one last time. The Americans in the Loaches will land inside the town square. We will engage the bandits. Remember the ROE—anyone outside the gate is fair game. Be deliberate with targets inside the gate. Clear?"

The responses were quick and sharp, affirmations cutting across the comms. As the helicopters approached Italica, the devastation became more evident. The city was a mess—plumes of smoke rising from gutted buildings, rubble strewn across the streets.

One of the Oxide team operatives, Oxide 3, leaned forward slightly, his gaze sweeping the chaotic scene below. "Damn, they really wrecked the place, huh?"

The remark hung in the air for a moment before a flash of light drew everyone's attention—a distant explosion followed by a plume of red smoke.

Skiff's voice came through the comms, sharp and to the point. "Shadow Actual, follow the red smoke. Path of least resistance is through there."

Graves pushed his transmit button again. "Copy that, Hitman One." He turned to the second Loach behind them. "Lieutenant Porter, you and your jarheads ready?"

On one of the other Loach, Lieutenant Porter adjusted her M27 IAR. She reached out and gave a sharp slap to the back of one of her Marines' helmets.

"Ready as we'll ever be," she called back, her tone brimming with determination.

The lead pilot's voice came through the intercom. "Thirty seconds to target."

Graves exhaled deeply, the tension coiling in his chest as he shifted his focus to the task ahead. He looked over the edge of the helicopter, the wind tugging at his uniform. The sight of the city's devastation sent a steely resolve through him.

"Game time," he said quietly.





Eastern Gate, Italica

March 29, 2028, 04:53 (29th day of the Crescent Moon 638)

Pina and her knights stood frozen, their eyes locked on the carnage unfolding before them. The bandits, once so confident in their overwhelming numbers, were being systematically annihilated.

The otherworlders' weapons barked with sharp, deafening cracks, spewing fire and smoke with each pull of the trigger. Their precision was uncanny, mowing down the bandit horde with ruthless efficiency. Amidst the chaos, Rory Mercury was a terrifying blur of death. Her massive axe swung with inhuman speed and strength, cleaving through armor and flesh alike. The ground around her was littered with the fallen, a testament to her unrelenting fury.

Pina clutched the hilt of her sword tightly, taking an involuntary step back. Her face was pale, her voice a trembling whisper as she tried to make sense of what she was witnessing. "The rumors were true... it's like they're wielding magic."

Beside her, Hamilton trembled, her wide eyes darting between the otherworlders and the carnage. "I've never seen anything like it, Princess. It's... terrifying."

Before Pina could respond, the sound of heavy boots on stone drew their attention. Sir Grey emerged from the shadows, his once-pristine armor streaked with blood. His expression was grim, his sword still wet with crimson as he approached them.

"Grey!" Pina called out, rushing to meet him. Relief and concern mixed in her voice. "What happened?"

Grey stopped a few paces away, his shoulders rising and falling as he caught his breath. His tone was flat, betraying no emotion as he said, "I retrieved the body of Sir Norma."

Pina's heart sank, a lump forming in her throat. "Sir Norma..." she repeated softly, lowering her gaze. "I see."

Grey's expression remained somber as he wiped his blade with a torn scrap of cloth. "The bandits paid for their cowardice," he said, his voice cold and unyielding.

Suddenly, a new sound filled the air, a low, rhythmic thumping that grew louder with every second. It was unlike anything Pina, Hamilton, or even Grey had ever heard before. The three exchanged uneasy glances, their hearts pounding.

"What's that noise?" Hamilton whispered, her voice trembling with fear.

Pina's eyes scanned the horizon, her expression wary. "It sounds like... wings of a dragon."

The thunderous roar grew, filling the sky above. The knights tilted their heads, their wide eyes darting to the heavens. Soon, the source of the sound came into view. Strange, monstrous contraptions soared like giant insects forged from iron. They moved with unnatural speed, defying every expectation.

"What in the..." Hamilton asked, her voice a mixture of awe and terror.

The iron monsters descended rapidly, their outlines becoming clearer. As they approached, the rhythmic thrum turned into a deafening cacophony. Pina, Hamilton, and Grey could only watch in stunned silence as the larger machines circled the battlefield, their sides opening to reveal men in green uniforms.

From these strange contraptions, a deluge of fire rained down upon the bandits below. Smaller, more agile machines zipped past them, carrying men clinging to their sides.

Pina's grip on her sword tightened as she whispered to herself, "They're unstoppable..."





Wandering Wyvern Inn, Italica

March 29, 2028, 05:13 (29th day of the Crescent Moon 638)

Inside the inn, chaos reigned. Soldiers and civilians filled every corner—tables, benches, and even the floor were occupied by the injured. Blood stained the wooden planks, the groans of the wounded mixing with the distant roar of battle outside.

Kurokawa moved like a whirlwind, her voice cutting through the din. "We need more bandages here!" she called, her tone steady but urgent as she knelt beside a soldier clutching a bloody arm.

Andrew, crouched nearby, was organizing triage. His eyes darted over each patient. "Tuka," he said, gesturing toward the dwindling water supply, "get more water. We need to keep these wounds clean."

The young elf nodded. "On it," she replied, grabbing an empty bucket and darting toward the door.

Lelei worked quietly but efficiently, her hands glowing faintly as she channeled healing magic into a man whose leg was mangled beyond recognition. "Hold still," she said softly, her calm voice a balm amid the chaos. The man groaned as the glow enveloped his wound, his pained expression easing slightly.

Nearby, the maids Mohmu and Mammina scrambled to assist.

"We're running out of clean cloths!" Mohmu exclaimed, her voice tight with urgency. Her hands were stained with blood as she pressed a wad of fabric against a soldier's chest. The other hand glowed faintly, channeling healing energy as the wound began to close. Her breaths grew shallow, and beads of sweat rolled down her forehead, betraying the strain of her efforts.

"I'll grab more!" Mammina called out, already on the move. "Be careful! Don't let your mana run dry!"

The door slammed open, and Nishina strode in with another group of wounded. His face grim, uniform spattered with blood.

"More coming in," he said, his voice clipped. "We're running out of space."

Kurokawa barely glanced up. "We'll manage," she said firmly. "Just keep bringing them. We can't leave anyone out there."

Andrew wiped sweat from his forehead, his face streaked with grime. "How's it looking outside?" he asked, his tone tense.

Nishina shook his head. "Reinforcements have landed in the town square. They're bringing supplies, but the streets are a mess. It's not over yet."

Relief flickered across Andrew's features for a moment before he straightened, resolve hardening in his expression. "Alright," he said. "I'll go out and guide them in. Kurokawa, you've got things here."

Kurokawa nodded sharply, already turning to another patient. "Go. We'll keep things running."

"Lelei, Tuka." Andrew called, his voice steady but firm, "Keep it up."

Grabbing his HK416, Andrew pushed through the crowded inn and stepped outside. Smoke hung thick in the air, the acrid scent stinging his nose. Shouts and gunfire echoed down the streets. He made his way to the Townsquare, searching for the reinforcements Nishina had mentioned.

Then, suddenly. He saw her.

A young girl lay crumpled near the edge of the street. Her silver hair and wolf-like ears were matted with blood, her small frame barely moving. She looked up at him weakly, her wide eyes dull with pain.

Andrew's heart clenched, Perez's words echoing in his mind: "We're not here to be saviors."

For a brief moment, he hesitated. Then he pushed those words aside.

"Hold on," Andrew muttered, rushing to her side. "I've got you."

Slinging his rifle across his back, he crouched beside her, carefully slipping his arms under her fragile frame. She whimpered faintly, her body trembling.

"You're going to be okay," he said, more to himself than to her as he carried her. The battle roared on around them, but Andrew's focus never wavered.

As he reached the town square, the roar of helicopter blades filled the air. He saw Marines unloading crates of supplies from the small aircraft. Among them were men in civilian clothes, clad in gear catching Andrew's attention.

"Is that?" The thought lingered briefly, but Andrew shoved it aside.

The girl stirred weakly, her small hands clutching at his shirt, her breaths shallow. Andrew tightened his grip slightly, careful not to jostle her as he moved closer to the Marines.

"Hey!" he called out, his voice carrying over the din. "Over here!"

One of the Marines, a tall man with a rifle slung across his chest, turned at the sound and jogged toward him. His eyes flicked to the girl in Andrew's arms before settling on his face.

"Hey," the Marine said, his tone curious but professional. "You one of Delta?"

Andrew nodded, adjusting his hold on the girl as her grip tightened. "Yeah," he replied curtly.

The Marine nodded in understanding before glancing over his shoulder and shouting, "Lieutenant Porter! Found one of the Army guys!"

A moment later, a woman emerged and jogged towards him. She was in her late twenties, her Marine uniform crisp under an MPC vest and High-Cut ECH helmet. Her M27 rifle was held close, her sharp eyes scanning Andrew and the injured girl before settling on him.

"Lieutenant Porter," she introduced herself, her tone brisk but not unkind.

Andrew shifted slightly, careful not to jostle the girl in his arms. "Sergeant Andrew," he replied, his voice steady.

Porter's gaze flicked to the girl, her expression softening just slightly as she took in the blood and grime smeared across the child's fragile form. "What's her condition?"

"Bad," Andrew said, his tone clipped. "But stable—for now."

Porter nodded, her professionalism kicking in. "We've got corpsmen and more supplies unloading now. Just point the way."

Andrew adjusted his grip on the girl, her head resting limply against his shoulder. "Follow me," he said, his voice steady as he turned toward the inn.

Porter nodded, signaling to a few Marines and corpsmen. "Come on Marines! Let's move."

The group fell into step behind Andrew, weaving through the town square. Supplies were being unloaded, shouts rang out as orders were given, and the steady roar of helicopter blades thrummed in the background.

Andrew glanced briefly at Porter, appreciating her quick response, but his focus remained on the girl in his arms. She stirred weakly, her fingers loosening their grip on his shirt as her breathing grew more shallow.

"You're going to be okay," Andrew murmured, his voice low and soothing. The girl's ears twitched slightly, a faint sign that she'd heard him, even in her fragile state.

They reached the inn, its doors swinging open as Andrew stepped inside. The chaotic scene from earlier was unchanged—every surface was occupied with wounded soldiers and civilians, and the air was thick with the sounds of groans, hurried footsteps, and frantic voices.

"Yo! Help's here!" Andrew called, his voice cutting through the din.

Heads turned, and relief washed over Kurokawa's face as she spotted the corpsmen entering behind him, carrying medical supplies.

"Thank God," she breathed, already moving toward the new arrivals. Then her eyes landed on the girl in Andrew's arms, and her expression shifted. "Wait, that girl—"

Andrew cut her off, his focus sharp as he addressed one of the corpsmen. "Hey, got an IV?"

The corpsman nodded, quickly handing over an IV bag, a needle, and some alcohol swabs. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Andrew's reply was curt but grateful.

"No problem," the corpsman said, already turning to assist someone else.

Without another word, Andrew moved toward a side room, the girl still cradled in his arms. Kurokawa, suspicious and alarmed, followed him closely.

"Hey! Wait—" she called after him, but Andrew didn't stop.

He pushed open the door to the smaller room and stepped inside, carefully laying the girl down on a bed. Her small frame seemed even more fragile against the stark white sheets. Andrew exhaled deeply, setting the IV bag and supplies on the bedside table as he rolled up his sleeves.

Kurokawa entered behind him, closing the door with a sharp click. "Andrew, what are you doing?" she demanded, her tone of concern.

"Saving her life," he said firmly, not looking up as he began preparing the IV line. His hands worked, tearing open the alcohol swabs and sterilizing the girl's arm.

Kurokawa hesitated, torn between scolding him and stepping in to help. Finally, she sighed, moving to his side. "Let me help," she said, her voice softening.

Andrew glanced at her, nodding once. "Thanks."





Bigsby's Tavern, Italica

March 29, 2028, 07:04 (29th day of the Crescent Moon 638)

As the battle came to a decisive close, 3rd Recon and Bravo-1 finally claimed a moment to breathe. Adam, Itami, and the rest of the team found their way to Bigsby's Tavern, its warm, flickering lights offering a temporary reprieve from the chaos outside.

"Everyone alright?" Adam asked, his voice cutting through the quiet that had settled over the group.

"Just a few scrapes and bruises. Nothing serious," Itami replied with a weary smile.

Kuribayashi gave a brisk nod, her tone light but firm. "We're all good, sir."

Adam nodded, satisfaction flickering in his expression. "Good to hear. Where's Andrew, Kurokawa, Tuka, and Lelei?"

Nishina, who had been quietly cleaning his gear at a corner table, looked up. "They're still busy with the wounded. The girls are helping distribute supplies and tending to the injured."

Adam exhaled deeply, a mixture of relief and concern shadowing his features. "Figures. They've got good hearts, all of them."

A clattering noise broke through the conversation. Adam turned toward the source to see Perez rummaging through the server table at the far side of the tavern.

"Perez," Adam called out, his brow raised, "what are you doing?"

Perez looked up with a smirk, unbothered by the attention. "Looking for something to celebrate with. After the day we've had, I'd say we've earned it."

Curiosity piqued, Adam walked over. "Find anything good?"

Perez grinned as he spotted a weathered barrel tucked away in a dusty corner. With a grunt, he heaved it into view. The solid thud echoed faintly in the room. "Jackpot."

Adam chuckled, shaking his head. "Where did you even find that?"

"Behind some crates. Looks like someone stashed it and forgot about it—or didn't think it was worth much."

Before Adam could respond, Perez suddenly stepped toward Hill and, without warning, yanked the pry bar from the back of Hill's plate carrier.

"Hey!" Hill barked, startled.

"What? Need something to open this," Perez replied nonchalantly, holding up the tool. "And I don't think using your breaching charges would work."

Hill muttered something under his breath as Perez turned his attention back to the barrel. With a practiced hand, he pried the lid open, releasing a distinct aroma that filled the air.

Adam leaned in, amused. "Beer? In the middle of all this?"

Perez grinned wider, the thrill of discovery lighting his face. "Looks like someone saved a little treasure."

Shaking his head, Adam grabbed an old wooden mug from a nearby table and handed it over. "Alright, let's see what we've got."

Perez filled the mug with the amber liquid, raised it in mock toast, and took a hearty swig. The team watched expectantly—only to see him spit it out in a spray of foam and disgust.

Adam recoiled slightly. "That bad?"

Perez wiped his mouth, grimacing. "It's... seen better days."

Before anyone else could comment, Rory sauntered over, her usual mischievous grin in place. Her confidence, paired with her ageless aura, seemed to light up the room.

"Oh, come on, Sir Perez," Rory teased. "It can't be that bad."

She plucked the mug from his hand, ignoring his protest, and took a deliberate, exaggerated sip. The room fell silent as she drained the mug with ease. Lowering it, she let out a satisfied sigh.

"Honestly," Rory said, licking a stray drop from her lip, "it's not that bad."

Perez stared at her, incredulous. "Bullshit. There's no way that's drinkable."

Rory smirked, handing the mug back to him. "Maybe you just have a weak stomach."

Laughter rippled through the group, the tension of the day easing under Rory's antics.

Adam shook his head, grinning. "Alright, if Rory can handle it, maybe it's not so terrible. Who's next?"

Before anyone could answer, a new voice broke in. "Can I give it a shot?"

Everyone turned in surprise to see two figures standing near the doorway. Perez's eyes widened as he took in their faces. "Whoa! When did you two get here?"

One of the newcomers, a tall, broad-shouldered man, shrugged casually. "What? Your boss didn't tell you?"

Perez shot Adam a look. "No?"

Ignoring the disbelief in his tone, Perez moved forward, breaking into a wide grin as he pulled the man into a bear hug. "Fort, you bastard!" He then turned to the second man, wrapping him in an equally tight embrace. "Skiff, you too?"

Hill followed behind, shaking hands with both men, his grin matching Perez's.

Meanwhile, Itami approached Adam, who stood smiling near the bar, arms crossed as he watched the reunion. "Hey," Itami said in a low voice, "who are they?"

Adam snickered, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "Brothers," he said simply as one of the newcomers approached.

The man extended his hand toward Itami, his smile warm. "Petrenko. But my friends call me Skiff."

Itami shook his hand, still a little confused. "Okay, so... old friends?"

Adam clapped Skiff on the shoulder. "Something like that."

Itami narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing there was more to the story. "I'm guessing how you guys met is something I shouldn't know about?"

Adam's smirk deepened. "Uh-huh." But his curiosity got the better of him, and he straightened up, gesturing between the two newcomers. "Okay, wait. When and how?"

Fort chuckled, jerking a thumb toward the door. "You saw those loaches outside, right?"

Adam's face darkened, the weight of the implication sinking in. "Graves, huh?"

Skiff let out a long sigh, nodding. "Yeah... Graves."

Perez crossed his arms, shaking his head in disbelief. "Wow. I remember you guys talking about joining Shadow Company, but actually going through with it? Jesus."

Skiff shoved his hands into his pockets, his posture growing a little more defensive. "Well, when your country gets screwed over by its neighbor the economy doesn't exactly thrive, Perez."

Hill exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Still... Graves? Really?"

Fort shrugged, his expression unapologetic. "Good pay. You'd be surprised how many of us joined up."

Itami raised his hand slightly, looking between the group. "Okay, now I'm even more confused. Who exactly are you two?"

Adam glanced at him and sighed. "They're Ukrainians. SSO."

Fort chuckled, the sound dry. "Well, former SSO."

Hill crossed his arms, his tone sharper. "And now? Mercenaries."

Skiff smirked faintly. "We prefer the term contractors."

Adam let out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "Wow. You guys are even starting to sound like him."

Fort leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying," Adam said, his tone more serious now, "that I get it. I do. The situation back home is bad—hell, worse than bad—but Graves?" He paused, running a hand over his face. "You couldn't have gone with someone less... I don't know, controversial? Maybe guard ships in the Med from pirates or something?"

Fort's response was a dry laugh. "That's no fun."

Kuribayashi, clearly frustrated by the growing tension, cut in. "Okay, timeout! What are you guys talking about? What the hell is this 'Shadow Company'? Who the hell is this 'Graves'?"

Hill wasn't surprised. "Not surprised you don't know. Those guys definitely deserve the shadow name—though it's a little corny. Basically, they're an American-based 'risk management and consultation' company led by Phillip Graves, an ex-Delta operator."

Kurata raised an eyebrow. "Kay? That sounds pretty normal."

Kuwahara raised a brow as well. "So why do consultants carry guns, then?"

Hill shrugged, his expression slightly more serious now. "Well, I don't know about that part, but here's a little story for you: Rumors started circulating around JSOC. Once an operator retires for a few months— whether Air Force, Army, or Navy, Tier 1 or Tier 2—they suddenly get an email asking if they'd like to sign a... contract. The contract's mostly about security details in Africa, but it's always emphasized that they're supposed to be defensive in nature"

Perez chimed in with a knowing grin. "Then, suddenly, a certain photo began circulating—Caucasians in the background of some African rebels, posing with dead Russians at their feet. The photo was quickly deleted and edited, and the white guys were gone."

Tomita nodded. "I remember that one. The media were saying they were CIA."

"Yeah," Hill added, his voice lowering. "Then the media stopped talking about it a week later."

Before anyone could comment further, the door to the tavern burst open, and a young messenger rushed in, breathless and urgent.

"Sir Adam! Sir Itami! The Princess has summoned you. She's waiting at the Formal family castle."

Adam and Itami exchanged a quick, knowing glance. The mood in the room shifted.

Adam nodded. "Alright, Itami and I will go to the castle. Hill, Kuwahara—take command. Call us if you encounter trouble."

Hill and Kuwahara nodded, a hint of relief washing over them as the tension lifted.

Hill gave a short salute. "Got it, Sir. Stay safe out there."

Adam turned to the group, giving Perez a pointed look. "You, stay out of trouble." He then turned to Skiff and Fort. "You guys, continue this later?"

Skiff shrugged with a grin. "If you can find us. We're heading out to link up with Oxide."

Perez groaned. "God, those dickheads are here too?"

Fort chuckled. "They're the second-best in the company. Of course, Graves brought them along."

Itami clapped Adam on the shoulder, his voice firm but good-natured. "Alright, catch you later, folks. Hopefully, this won't take long."

Adam nodded. "Or cause any more problems."