Premise: A Side Story of Allora Gale's Dauntless. Where do all of those guns in Area 11 come from? Jin Nakata is one of the few who can answer this question. Follow Jin's story, from his start with Naoto and Ohgi's resistance group, to his time in the Blood of the Samurai, straight up to his meeting with the infamous Wolf of Britannia and beyond.


Dauntless - Memoirs of a Middleman

Chapter 1 – Step Up to the Firing Line

Grey-suited, mask-clad infantrymen marched in rank and file down the streets of downtown Tokyo, their straggling comrades lining the avenues and raising thunderous cheers. Tanks followed shortly after, their crews resting atop the turrets and waving victoriously, the commanders perched in cupolas and waving berets with wide grins.

At the tail end of the pack, the cheers increased in volume to greet the elite pilots of Britannia's ultimate weapon – the Knightmare Frame. Men and women in form-fitting blue piloting suits stood on the seats of their open cockpits, striking poses and generally flaunting their success.

In darkened corners and alleyways, battered and bruised civilians peered out fearfully at their conquerors, having seen these terrible weapons in action against their own now-defunct military forces, as well as their homes, families, and friends.

This was Area 11 – the once-great nation of Japan, reduced to a mere number under the oppression of the Holy Britannian Empire.

Days after the end of the short-lived war, the city of Tokyo remained in ruins, the glorious, shining skyscrapers of downtown reduced to miserable heaps of twisted steel and crumbled concrete. Japanese civilians of the city desperately combed the ruins, attempting in vain to recover their possessions lost in weeks of bombardment by Britannian bombers and Knightmares.

The Humanoid Autonomous Armored Knight – the Knightmare Frame, Britannia's ultimate weapon to win all wars. These four-meter-high, armed and armored mechs could outrun a Humvee, outgun a tank, and decimate a company of infantry with a single unit – at least, that was the pitch that the Britannian Army shoved down the throats of its recruits in Basic Training. The introduction of the very first mass-production model, the RPI-11 Glasgow, had allowed Emperor Charles zi Britannia's armies to sweep across the world, subjugating country after country after independent country.

In the eastern Mediterranean, the Middle Eastern Federation was quickly crumbling under Chief General Cornelia li Britannia's near-fanatical drive across the sands.

North Africa – Prime Minister Schneizel el Britannia's XII Army Corps cut ruthlessly across the continent, from the Suez Canal to Casablanca, and everything in between.

And the most outstanding success – Japan, the very first premier of Britannia's ultimate weapon.

Japan was made valuable nearly a century ago with the discovery of a new mineral, termed Sakuradite by local geologists and chemists. This new discovery was made exponentially more important upon the discovery that Sakuradite bore several unique chemical properties, and could be used to generate electrical energy.

Thus, Sakuradite was used by developed nations throughout the 20th century ATB (Ascension Throne Britannia) as a clean alternative to fossil fuels, and Japan became a major independent center of power, controlling over seventy percent of the world's known supply of the substance. Unfortunately, this also meant that every political power in the world sought to gain the country in order to obtain unlimited Sakuradite access.

International tensions had reached their peak at the start of the 21st century, when Japan cooperated with the Chinese Federation (a unified body of mainland Asia) and the European Union (the unified political body of Europe, encompassing everything west of the Urals, as well as all of Russia) to establish a passive military blockade around homeland Britannia's central trading ports. Unfortunately, this blockade was unsuccessful, and soon after culminated in the Britannian Empire retaliating by invading Japan with their new weapon.

Now, it had all come full circle. Britannia controlled the Japanese home islands, and as such had unlimited rights to the nation's Sakuradite. However, they couldn't simply stop the supply of Sakuradite to the other two major powers, lest they face a world war against the combined might of the entire Eurasian continent.

Regardless of these international dealings, the Japanese people were in a very bad spot. Numbers (referring to the peoples of conquered Areas under Britannian governance) had next to no rights in Britannian society – i.e. they were less than dirt and essentially equivalent to slaves. Numbers couldn't get better jobs in Britannian settlements than groundskeepers, janitors, servants, or generic manual laborers.

This all raced through the mind of twenty-year-old Jin Nakata as he stood atop a particularly large chunk of rubble overlooking the glorified quarry that used to be Yokosuka Harbor. Below him, at the single remaining pier, a Britannian Navy amphibious assault ship offloaded a battalion of Glasgows. The entire area was crawling with sentries, but none seemed to take any heed of Jin's presence.

In the background, the remains of Downtown Tokyo smoldered, and wings of helicopters continually swept over the ruins, occasionally firing autocannons and missiles at unseen 'insurgents'.

"And so this is what remains of the great nation of Japan…" Jin muttered to himself, flicking his Zippo open and lighting the cigarette between his lips. Taking a deep drag and blowing a ring of smoke, he contemplated the Japanese government's earlier response.

Genbu Kururugi had been a great man; a bit overzealous, when looking at the current state of the nation, but he had still been a solid leader. At the start, the people of Japan had rallied under the Rising Sun at his call to arms, and within hours, the ranks of the Japan Ground Self-Defense Force had swollen under the introduction of three new infantry divisions.

The Ministry of Defense Intelligence Bureau had painted Britannian numbers at a meager two infantry divisions, backed by a single regiment of armor, a wing of bomber aircraft, and three fighter squadrons. By all numerical indications, it should've been an unprecedented slaughter in favor of the Japanese.

The first wave of bombers had caught shore defenses off-guard, but the damage was mostly aesthetic; retaliation was almost immediate, and the Air Self-Defense Force had put up a fighter screen swiftly, downing the Britannian planes in scores.

The Britannian Navy had come next, cruisers and destroyers turning their guns to the shore and shelling the shit out of everything within ten miles of the waterline. Again, retaliation by the GSDF and the ASDF came instantly, with inland-based artillery emplacements sinking the nearest attackers, fighters peppering the vessels with bombs and cannon fire, and Maritime Self-Defense Force ships emerging from Tokyo Bay to spark the first true ship-to-ship naval battle since the First Pacific War.

Next, the Army came in. Hundreds of transport planes crested the horizon, the sun at their backs allowing them within five miles before detection. Triple-A defenses had responded in kind, cutting swathes across the sky and sending up hundreds, if not thousands of missiles. But the Britannians had just kept coming.

Before long, the sun had been blocked out by the sheer number of aircraft and the volume of flak, and the Britannians crossed the shoreline. All at once, thousands of tiny black dots began emerging the from the transports in neat lines, parachutes opening at a thousand feet, as Britannian troops set foot on Japanese soil for the first time in sixty-four years. Tanks followed, attached to a half-dozen parachutes apiece, and the metal monstrosities had clunked to the ground and started firing on SDF defenses; but the tanks were manageable, the M1A2 Abrams of the Britannian Army coming gun-to-gun with the fairly superior Type 10 MBTs, as well as scores of equally-matched Type 90s.

The Japanese had seemed to be matching Britannian blow-for-blow, and in Europe and China, spectators cheered for the island nation to beat down the oppressive imperials.

That was when the Knightmares came.

Before any even knew what had happened, the transports were replaced with strange VTOL craft, each carrying a single unknown tan block. The new aircraft had dove down to a mere two hundred feet over areas that had been cleared of anti-aircraft defenses, and the containers attached to them had opened.

It was like something out of a science-fiction movie; four-meter-high robots rappelled from their carriers with unbelievable grace, and raised massive assault rifles and cannons to bear against the startled Japanese defenders. Bladed metal anchors attached to steel cables lanced out at gun emplacements and tanks, slicing through metal and reinforced concrete like butter, their targets disabled easily. A single camera set in the middle of each robot's head glinted, a green wave pulsing out from the center of it, scanning the unit's surroundings before a four-piece helmet-like cover clamped over the camera, and the mechs resumed their quest for carnage.

At this point, the balance had shifted heavily in Britannia's favor. One robot was taken out by a hail of rockets, and three more replaced it and fired in retaliation. The mechs danced around the Japanese tanks adroitly, easily outpacing the tanks' turret rotation speed and eviscerating the heavily-armored vehicles with shots from these metal anchors or their handheld cannons. A plane flew too low, and it was shot full of holes by the robot's assault rifle. Fighters, bombers, helicopters, tanks, ships, infantry – nothing could withstand its might.

Tokyo had fallen within hours, its brave Japanese defenders slaughtered in droves or pushed out of the city limits.

Government structures, religious centers, any buildings of notable Japanese influence – they were all razed to the ground, empty or not.

But it wasn't over yet– Genbu Kururugi had lived, along with most of the Diet, and the military brass. In the countryside, the Japanese military rallied alongside the Yakuza, the police forces, and any volunteer fit to handle a weapon. Japan's large, isolated clans took up modern armaments of all eras and origins, prepared to fight to the last man, woman, and child.

But one week later, instead of the expected call for a do-or-die resistance by the government... a different announcement was made.

Genbu Kururugi was dead.

Dead by ritual suicide, a traditional short sword lodged in his gut, and a note beside his body describing the futility of Japanese resistance.

Chaos reigned. The people were torn apart by differing plans of action, mainly split between surrender, retreat to the Chinese Federation, and the original plan of full resistance.

Decisions came too late. The Britannians swept across the country, massacring civilians by the tens of thousands. Villages, towns, and cities were razed to the ground, the soil was salted, and any survivors were brutally beaten, killed, or taken as prisoners and personal servants by Britannian officers. Men were made to watch as their wives and children were beaten and raped before they themselves were tortured and killed. The lauded Britannian military decorum and protocol dissolved on the spot, from the highest officer to the lowliest enlisted man.

The subjugation of Japan was Britannia's ultimate travesty; and for the rest of the world, it was only the beginning.

Jin was torn from his melancholy ponderings as his cell phone buzzed. He glanced down at the caller ID – Naoto Kozuki. "Let's see what that little bastard wants now," he grunted to himself.

Naoto was technically a half-breed – half Britannian and half Japanese – so in the current state of the nation, he could choose to live large or die in a gutter. He could only pray that, for the kid's own sake, he was choosing the former. "'Sup, kiddo?" Jin greeted casually, jumping down from his perch and walking to his beater 2002 Toyota Tacoma pickup.

"'Sup'?! Our country just fell in less than a week to those Britannian bastards, public executions are being carried out en-masse in the streets, and our entire race has been labeled as lower than dirt, and you're trying to act fucking cool?!" the younger man barked back harshly.

'Well, that answers that…' Jin sighed internally. "Testing the waters, short stuff; cool your jets," he grunted back, giving the key a hard twist in the ignition; the engine barely managed to sputter to life. "I'm just shocked that you didn't get your ass hauled back to Britannia by your dear ol' dad when this shitstorm started."

"The bastard tried, but I sure as hell wasn't just gonna leave mom and Kallen here to fend for themselves," Naoto replied angrily, "That fucker was gonna have to knock me out and strap me down just to get me out of the country!"

"I don't doubt it," Jin said calmly, trying to cool the Kozuki's temper. "Where are you now? I'm just leaving Yokosuka."

"I'm holed up with everybody at Ohgi and Tamaki's place in Shinjuku; the building managed to survive the strike, but just barely. Watch out on your way over, though, there's still some skirmishing going on between some remnant GSDF units and the Britannian Army; and even without those, the damned Brit bastards are shooting anybody that looks even remotely Japanese, so keep your head low."

The latter had potential to be quite troublesome. At five-foot-ten with coal-black eyes and long black hair tied back in a low ponytail, Jin was almost stereotypically Japanese; it was one of the reasons that the rest of his family had been targeted almost immediately by Britannian Marine 'Death Squads'. "Got it; thanks for the heads-up," Jin replied, putting up his best façade of nonchalance.

In reality, he was sweating bullets and eyeing the 9mm Minebea PM-9 machine pistol that rested in his passenger seat, scavenged from the corpses of dead GSDF soldiers in Kanagawa.

"I can't emphasize this enough, Jin: Be careful," Naoto spoke in an oddly stern voice. "If you can't make it over here without running into trouble, don't risk it; there are others around that neighborhood. Don't throw away your life on our account."

"Geeze, I got it, junior," Jin tried to chuckle, but found it catching in his throat, "Since when were you the older one? I'll be there in an hour, tops. See you then." Cutting off Naoto's protests, he flipped the phone shut and tossed it into the cup holder. Focusing fully on the horizon beyond the empty freeway he was currently on, his first notice was a Britannian Army Abrams tank, forming a blockade with a pair of Humvees across the highway; a gap on either side of the tank and the cars created a bottleneck for ID checks. "Shit," Jin hissed vehemently, 'There's no turn-offs before that checkpoint, and they're liable to fire on me if I spin a U-turn… Just shit! They're running interior checks, too… My forger Humanitarian card might get me by, but the pistol is a dead give-away…'

Before he could think further, he was already in the relatively short line for the right-hand checkpoint. 'What the hell do I do?!'

The answer was short, shitty, and liable to get him killed anyway: 'Pray to every fucking Kami you can name.'

And so he started rapidly shooting them off, also quietly thanking his dear grandmother – Spirits rest her soul – for instilling a solid Shinto faith in him before her passing. Five minutes later, he had hidden the pistol in the plastic rail casing under his seat, and gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles and crossed fingers. As an afterthought, he took out a blue and white bandana and tied it around his right bicep, as he had seen some Japanese UN workers wearing in Kanagawa.

The Humanitarian card just might work – after all, he was carrying scavenged MREs and supplies from the warehouses at Yokosuka in cardboard boxes in the bed of the truck.

The pair of Britannian infantrymen beside the tank waved him forward, and he cautiously rolled to a stop beside them. Both were decked out in the standard gear of the Marine landing force – grey cargo pants and combat jackets, black six-inch combat boots, and olive-drab tactical vests. One sported the grunt-standard helmet and respirator/HUD mask, while the other, a Sergeant by the triple chevrons on his shoulders, wore only the helmet. Both held Fabrique Nationale FAMAS G4 assault rifles.

Jin rolled down the window, and the Sergeant stepped forward. "Identification, please," he drawled in boredom. Jin blinked; the man's evident apathy was a good sign. Passing the forged Humanitarian card, complete with false name and date of birth, he tapped the steering wheel anxiously, trying his damnedest to feign nonchalance. After what seemed like eternity, the soldier nodded in satisfaction and passed the card back, at which the young man barely restrained a sigh of relief. "Step out of the vehicle, please," the masked man spoke, stepped up and slinging the rifle over his shoulder.

Jin complied slowly, opening the door and stepping to the side; the soldier planted a foot on the inside of the cab, and gave a cursory glance around the front. He checked the glove compartment, checked for any false panels on the dashboard, and tossed aside the blanket that covered the narrow space behind the front seats in the two-man cab; the Japanese man turned deadly stiff as he saw something in the soldier's hand, a glint of black metal. The Britannian emerged holding a black Glock 17 pistol.

First thought: 'Damn you to hell for eternity, Tamaki!' Their group's resident idiot had been his last passenger three days ago, and both men had been armed for the security's sake as they scavenged around in southern Chiba prefecture, near the harbor. Evidently, the dumbass had left his gun in Jin's truck.

"Got an explanation for this, Eleven?" the masked soldier hissed, shoving the weapon in Jin's face, barrel-first.

"P-personal security sake; a lot of the other workers have been getting raided by violent refugee mobs in the ruin areas, and some of us started carrying pistols for our own protection," Jin managed to stutter out an admirable excuse; he actually prided himself on that one a little.

The grunt showed no signs of stepping down, but the bored Sergeant yanked the pistol out of his partner's grip, "Ease up, Marcus; that guy's card doubles as a PPS license, so he's legit."

This little tidbit was new to Jin; he hadn't known that Relief Worker cards could also be used as Personal Protection System licenses. This could prove quite useful in the future.

"Alright, you're clear; move along." Jin nodded in affirmation and unspoken relief, taking the Glock from grunt and climbing back in. He drove off, sweating all the way, since one of the Humvees was tracing his path with its .50 caliber machine gun.

Three miles and out of sight, he finally heaved a great sigh of relief, and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Hopefully won't be crossing anymore of those now that I'm in the central containment area," Jin grinned to himself victoriously.

-X-X-X-

Jin managed to maneuver his way through the ruins of the Shinjuku Metropolitan Sector with little incident after the checkpoint. Tokyo had been a blur, flying by at a hundred and twenty kilometers an hour as he had kept to the shoulder and made a suicide run down the lone standing freeway through the area.

He pulled up in front of what appeared to be the last serviceable building in the area – Ohgi and Tamaki's apartment complex. Ohgi Kaname was a twenty-five-year-old teacher at Shinjuku Secondary School, with a Bachelor's and a teaching certificate in Physics. His salary was sufficient for him to buy out the apartment complex, and rent it out to his friends and their families.

Ohgi's roommate, Tamaki Shinichiro, was the young resident dullard loudmouth. Orphaned when his alcoholic father and his sweet, innocent mother had been murdered by debt collectors from the Mob, the eighteen-year-old knew little more than drinking, brawling, and generally charging in guns-a-blazing. Of course, his infamous luck meant that he was almost immediately put out of action in every engagement he pressed in on. It seemed to run in the family; his elder and only brother had been killed by the first wave of missile strikes while out for a walk on the beach. That little bit of sad irony had the young man in near hysterics as bombs fell around him for the first three days.

The former managed to keep the latter out of trouble most of the time, but sometimes he had to pass the leash off to other people who couldn't keep him in line quite as well. For Jin, the solution was a quick swipe across the head, basically equivalent to a swat with a rolled-up newspaper; unfortunately, even subconsciously, Tamaki had a habit of getting everyone around him into some form of trouble.

Pocketing the Glock that had nearly gotten him killed, as well as shoving the PM-9 into a stolen GSDF rucksack along with some other basic essentials, Jin gathered up the cases of supplies from the truck bed and, locking the truck's door on his way past, ducked through a hole in the ground floor wall to the stairwell.

Apartment 3A, the largest in the complex. Jin knocked twice out of common courtesy before kicking the door in; he was greeted with half a dozen gun barrels and for some odd reason, an RPG. "I come bearing gifts," he drawled sarcastically, gesturing with the boxes in his arms, "Now put the guns down before I decide to keep them to myself."

The first one to do so was a redheaded eighteen-year-old with green eyes and a red headband, wearing plain blue jeans and a black hoodie; this was Naoto Kozuki. "You all in one piece?" Naoto asked half-jokingly.

"Thankfully," Jin grinned back. "Oh, and that reminds me…" He picked out his target, another eighteen-year-old brunette male resting on the sofa; he had light copper eyes and also wore a red headband, black sweatpants, and a brown sweatshirt. Jin set down the boxes, and quickly packed as much force as he could into a gut-punch that knocked the wind out of the hapless younger man. "That damned Glock of yours that you left in my truck nearly got me killed at a Britannian checkpoint, you stupid manuke!"

"GAH! Christ, Jin, ease up, would ya?!" Tamaki managed to wheeze, clutching his rattled insides and trying to form a coherent excuse, "And I've been looking for that thing for like three days now!"

"Well take it and quit leaving it around where it's gonna get people in trouble!" Jin barked gruffly, tossing the weapon - on safe, of course - into Tamaki's lap. "I only got away with it because these Relief Worker cards double as PPS licenses; and since I'm the only one of us that has one, I somehow doubt that you or anyone else is going to get that lucky. What I'm saying is that with all this shit going down, Tamaki, you're gonna need to learn to be more careful."

"Alright, alright…" Tamaki grumbled dejectedly, pocketing the pistol hastily. "So then what's the plan from here? We're stuck in this dump while Tokyo's steadily crumbling around us, and those damned Brit choppers are bringing down more with each passing second!"

There was a heavy sigh from the back of the room, and the occupants turned to face their resident landlord, Ohgi Kaname, who sat in an overstuffed armchair. He had thick black hair, with a single strand hanging down in his face, and blue eyes; he wore a pair of black cargo pants, and a heavy brown bomber jacket with a six-point gold star stitched onto the upper left chest. "Look, the point is, whether the rest of the country acknowledges it or not, Japan is at war with Britannia. Most of the Self-Defense Force managed to escape into the country; there are rumors floating around division-sized groups that have taken refuge in the Hida Mountains and Hokkaido."

"Yeah, and just how the hell does that help us?!" Tamaki barked impatiently, only to be silenced by a cold glare from Naoto. "Sorry…" he muttered sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"My point is, we may be down, but we're sure as hell not out," Ohgi replied firmly. "The Japanese still maintain a large part of our military resources; and with the Six Houses' surrender, the National Advisory Council established by the Britannians has managed to secure the rest of the intact resources, to be stored away 'for usage at a later juncture'.

The Six Houses, now the National Advisory Council, was an assembly of the oldest, most influential clans in Japan. Officially, the Diet held the majority of control over government affairs; unofficially, Genbu Kururugi looked to the Six Houses to make most of the decisions, and relayed their consensus to the Diet members, who generally followed suit. It was a relatively similar process to the EU's democracy with the House of Representatives, the Senate, and the President.

"So in essence, by betraying the people, the Six Houses have secured resources for future retaliation," Jin summarized, quietly impressed with the idea.

"That's it in a nutshell." The group now sat in silence, glancing around at each other unsurely.

"So…" Naoto finally drawled hesitantly, "… Where does that leave us?"

Ohgi shrugged noncommittally. "The school was demolished in the second airstrike, so I'm kind of out of a job. Plus, I don't think the Britannians will accept a Japanese diploma or teaching certificate. So basically, I'm stuck with certifications that aren't worth the paper they're printed on, and no means of making a living from here on out."

Tamaki nodded, "I barely finished Secondary in the first place! My only option was manual labor under our system!" Naoto grimaced in agreement.

"I have some automotive-mechanical certifications, but my skills are mediocre at best."

"I think my boss's fishing boat is still down the coast somewhere, and he was killed up in Chiba, so it's basically fair game at this point," Jin shrugged. "Brits and Japs both gotta eat, after all – doesn't matter what race I am, so long as the fish is good." The group nodded in agreement.

"So it's settled – Jin's gonna be the big money-maker here," Ohgi announced out of the blue. Jin shot him an incredulous look, and immediately protested.

"H-hey, I'm just one man! That trawler's skeleton crew needs at least five to do business!"

"So pick four of our guys, take 'em down to the boat, show 'em the ropes, and go get us some fish and some cash," Naoto shrugged nonchalantly, "Simple as that."

"No, it's not!" Jin insisted, "I was only working as a grunt myself! I don't even know all of the ropes! I'd need to actually hire out people to do work and instruct us!"

This brought a deep frown to Ohgi's features. "He has a point," the eldest in the room admitted begrudgingly, "None of us have any substantial amount of cash left, and what little we have is going to be useless once the Britannians install their own economic system. And last I checked, the yen is barely a hundredth of a Britannian pound-sterling."

Everyone groaned in annoyance, and collapsed simultaneously into their respective seats. "… So then what the hell are we supposed to do, try and pickpocket Britannian soldiers or something?" Tamaki grumbled. Naoto, Jin, and Ohgi simply fixed him with matching stares of 'Are you really that stupid?'.

"We could pick off patrols and sell their gear to the up-and-coming resistance factions," Jin offered calmly.

"All we've got are pistols and this one RPG," Ohgi pointed out with a deadpan look, "You'd have to be either unbelievably skilled or ridiculously lucky to be able to pull off that routine consistently. On top of that, the Britannian soldiers have regular radio checks with their patrols."

"We're in the middle of an urban warzone!" Jin shot back easily, "They're gonna lose people every once in a while, and the Army doesn't have time to be investigating each and every poor sumbitch that gets offed in the 'ghettos'!"

"We still shouldn't risk it, Jin," Naoto said sternly. Jin tossed him a cold, incredulous stare.

"You guys aren't up to it, then? I'll do it myself if I have to!"

"You're talking about killing people, Jin!" Ohgi protested immediately.

"I'm talking about killing soldiers, Ohgi!" Jin snapped harshly, "They're trained killers, and the only ones who should kill are those who are prepared to be killed!"

"I'm with Jin on this one!" Tamaki piped in, grinning. "Those bastards have tortured, raped, and killed thousands of us; why the hell shouldn't we pay them back?!"

"Yeah!" one of their other friends, Toru Yoshida, agreed heatedly, "We need to pay these fuckers back for all they've done to us!"

"Nippon Banzai!" Kento Sugiyama jumped to his feet, throwing a fist in the air. A few of the others cheered along in agreement, and soon, all but a few in the room were chanting the phrase with a passion.

Jin smirked victoriously at Naoto and Ohgi, who stood off to the side frowning.

"This is a mistake, Jin…"

"You'll see the results in due time, Naoto, and you'll be thanking me."


End Chapter 1

Manuke - Vulgar form of idiot (jackass was among the translations)

End Note: Yes, this is approved in full by Allora Gale. I like Jin; he has a lot of potential for development, which I will be doing here.

Anybody else find it weird how, in canon, Kallen, Naoto, Ohgi, and Tamaki are referred to by their actual first names, while other Japanese characters like Tohdoh, Inoue, Sugiyama, Yoshida, etc. are referred to by their surnames? The inconsistency just irks me to no end.

Updates are to be decided by life - My life, that is. And as well all know, I like my Fanfiction, but my life apparently thinks otherwise.

FAMAS G4 is a stylistic fusion of the FN FAMAS G2 and the FN P90; basically a FAMAS-type stock with the P90's topside mag. I keep looking at the Britannian Army's rifles of choice, but I just couldn't peg an effective modern comparison, so I made one for myself.

Stay frosty, ladies and gents. And Happy New Year!

-KFR