A/N: I knew that supplemental chapter would raise some hairs. But personally I thought it was a very important hint about the nature of the American slave.

Anyway, review responses:

OhioPrince - I'll take that as a complement?

Apollonir - I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but what else shall I do but tantalize the readers?

Drygen - The concept of Lingua Franca was something I discovered before MGSV made it apparent that it was one of its themes. I came across the term lingua franca while researching Rhodesia before I began to write this story actually: a user in a youtube video displaying Leonardo DiCaprio's Rhodesian accent in Blood Diamond used the term while clarifying what language he was speaking in the movie to the locals. When MGSV came out with the theme of Lingua Franca I learned from it and applied it to how a lack of commonality in general makes America's current state in the Middle East precarious. Do I reference Metal Gear a lot in this story? Yes, but it shouldn't be no more than me using the term CQC, occasionally referring to Masterson as Ocelot, or the throwaway cultural reference for "realism".

As for you saying that chapter was torture porn, well I don't get off to beating the shit out of my most precious OC. But this story is explicit, it doesn't hide anything, and it just builds and builds hopefully on your psyche like a soldier in war.

waifuismylaifu - Here's my rationale for folding Spec Ops: The Line, into this story: The Line was a one shot game, a self contained story taking place in a relatively local area: Dubai. Nothing is declared about the outside world, and its a "timeless" story. Also, perhaps, this is one of the few "relief" details that points out "Hey, this is fiction". As for the history of the world going forward: a lot of it is a worst case scenario, and by god if it feels real it's because it hurts to read, to imagine "This is us in a few years."

Thanks for the comments.

mcrae1o1nick - I always intended for some "insider attacks" to happen, and generally this guerilla war to happen, so I have no comments about it. It's normal, I guess. As for the Luger? Wait and see.

Jex - The Insane One, ManwithaPlan113 - Your reactions are interesting to me, and yous not the only one who has approached me with this attitude, but it's a completely regular response which makes me remember I'm doing something right by making people ask "What would I do?", and y'all giving your answer. Thanks.

SpaceRicePirate - Shit, you broke the Russian real fast. But it's a good question to ask: why is he speaking Russian...

Thuzan117 - This brings up a point which I forgot to answer last time to Nanozom. The bombing of the senate infuriated me, and the response by the 7th MEU in the last section was a response reflective of my feelings. I can't remember how many times I watched archive footage of Baghdad being bombed while I was drafting that last chapter: I originally wanted the AC-130 to go in there with the JSDF, but then I stopped and realized: I would be a hypocrite if I justified that happening.

Good analysis with weapons technology, and as for the dragon takedown... well, I'll write it a way that'll make it my own.

DerBouncer - I really do appreciate what you have to say, because I always want non-American viewpoints coming onto this story, and yeah, I can imagine the frustration with that convoy story. Also you're in the right to call me out in regards to Emerson becoming a gladiator, but a story is a story, and I'll make the more fantastical moves when I think it's needed. I'll always consider the opinion of reviewers highly when they say I'm painting America to be the absolute good guy, because that's not my intention.

Mr. Reviewer - I'll clarify at the end of the Act about the OCs and the Special Task Force makeup, but for right now: Mobius and Rapier are Marine fighter squadrons, both of them chasing down the JSDF Phantoms.

pwashington - Not ignoring your question on samples, but if I answer it I'll get you all thinking about things I don't want you to.

jgkitarel - If I can ask, what did you expect walking into this story? Also yeah, you catch onto that dualism rather well.

Guest, on Diseases - I did have a sentence or two dedicated to the Red Cross and the medical personnel of the JSDF and the Marines just giving people vaccines like it was going out of style, however the LN I think does a better job at specifying at the sanitization of foreign sicknesses and viruses. Apparently the checkpoints at the end of both Gates are pretty extensive by this time in the invasion.

In General - For those of you who want to talk one on one with me over instant messaging in regards to this story for any reason, and you'd rather not PM me, slap on this link at the end of the typical skype joining url: rlOE4Njf726N.

Without further adieu, read and review if you want, and welcome to the very beginning of the Flame Dragon Arc, as hosted by, not Captain Emerson, but Lieutenant Itami and Staff Sergeant Lisa Holmes Bannon. That's right folks: it's her show for the rest of the act.


Section 2-9

Posted on 2/29/16


Lyncher 2-4 had been the particular call sign for Specialist Valentine. When Godfather had put the designation of Hitman on Emerson during the Ginza Incident it was unanimously decided that most of the combat infantry units of the 7th MEU were to be given designations related to Hitmen, Assassins, or of the like during their tenure in the Special Region.

The Marines didn't mind, it had fit them.

Despite everything he had done in the last few months, and perhaps it was for the best, he was still out on active duty, his prickly shave that covered the bottom half of his face hugging either the dirt or his rifle's stock as he sat in a tree with his spotter. His M21EBR had been braced against the branch overlooking this particular mining site at the base of the mountain range separating the Italica territory from the Capital.

A coal mine. Half of the mines in the operation range of Arnus Hill and the JSDF's FOBs had been coal, the rest an assortment of valuable minerals used for jewelry or the like which kept the trade going.

The mine entrance had been a simple cave at the bottom of a recessed pit where various carts had been coming and going out on a regular basis, several tents and the beginnings of a settlement starting to create itself around the mine.

In truth it looked like something out of North Korea. That was Valentine's comment as he had seen the Marine and RCT team go in after the choppers had landed about a hundred or so meters away from the perimeter with their translator and Italican representative. The Imperial soldiers on post at the mine had been peacefully pacified as the Marines had offered a few sips from their canteens and MREs, the RC team not entirely agreeing as they saw slaves being watched by those same Imperials go on with their labor.

That particular Marine fireteam had been Lumaban's, and she had been, with her confusing combination (to the Imperials) of grit and general niceness, had been led to the mine manager's personal house with the Italican representative for chit chat as the RC Team and the Marines provided further security.

It had been Valentine's job to make sure no surprises had come.

"Foot mobile, direct north west, little hill behind the mine. You read Ryan?"

His spotter had alerted him as he shifted his body and rifle in the called direction

"Eyes on Imperial Officer, Centurion. Maybe the commander of the guard here." he reported.

"ROE designates to engage if necessary. Our call bro." his spotter had been more than aware of their combat parameters at that point. He had been with Valentine during Italica and added his pound of flesh to the kill count.

The Imperial officer's galea had been more than telling of his rank, his horse also being decorated rather elegantly for a footmobile. It was no secret he had been looking down on the Marines and the JSDF in the mine, the JSDF starting to get aggressive with the slave handlers.

He had ridden out there with a purpose, a boy, hidden in the grass, having risen into the two Force Recon operator's sight. The boy seemed to be of the down trodden sort if the rags on his form and the lack of a haircut had said anything. Still, he was having his fun with another child with toy swords.

He used to play soldier too, when he was young. Paintball, airsoft, tae kwon do. Sports were always a metaphor for combat, so he had cut out the middle man and went for the source of the masculine craving.

Behind his kaffiyeh he had smiled for some relatable moment before he had habitually clicked the safety with his index finger before laying it on the trigger guard, his other arm tightening the sling: it having been tied to a branch for stabilizing.

The officer had looked down at the two children and then to the boy, shooing the girl away.

"The hell are you up to?" the spotter had peered through his binoculars, his own marksman rifle not ready.

The officer had lit a rather small torch and gave it to the boy, using his hands to point at an exhaust valve, only to clamp his palms together and then, quickly, breaking them apart with his hands open, his mouth in an oh as if describing a sound effect.

The boy nodded, and after a few coins had fallen from the officer's hands to the raggedy boy's, that had fully garnered Valentine's attention.

Mining, in both worlds, had been long understood as a dangerous game to be played in the vie for natural resources. Many of the Warlord crewmen with their backgrounds had been more than wary of the potential for the Special Task Force to happen upon mining disasters during their tenure in the Special Region, and one of those disasters had been the explosive reaction of flame to concentrated natural gases and methane that were often uncovered during mining operations.

It didn't take much for the raised eyebrow on Valentine's face to wipe away in surprise as he realized that the Emperor's scorched earth policy was still in place, the enemy on Arnus Hill having just found one of the Empire's valuable resources.

The boy was running with his torch toward one of the exhaust valves with a set of instructions that would take lives.

"Again…?" The spotter had been with Ryan a long time, ever since Korea. He had been a part of a then Lieutenant Colonel Pierce's fated unit that broke past behind North Korean lines and stagnated the entire invasion. What that had meant is that this wasn't the first time this particular type of target had been seen in their crosshairs. Child soldiers were often called to fight America across the world in the last three decades to the disgust of the world: in disgust with the people that would use children to kill and be killed, and with America for killing them. "Fuck my life."

"210 meters." Valentine had gotten over his spotter's grimacing to remember what he was supposed to do, even if it would fuck his life up.

It was so easy to refer to the Imperials as Arabs, Muslims, even when they clearly weren't. It was a habit that the Marines needed to bring back: to justify what they were doing. If not for themselves, but for the Japanese. The Marines had been teaching the Japanese of the Special Task Force how to fight: telling them stories from the sandbox that they all had come from, that far into history. It had completely enthralled them, and the actions of America in the Middle East had been very to replicate here, in the Special Region.

Needless to say that the Marines had thought it too late a mistake: like a big brother teaching a sibling the pleasures of fire and irresponsibility.

Valentine had caught himself at the top of his inhale as he held it, looking at the Roman trying to mount his horse through the cross of his scope.

Once, long ago, there had been an interview done with a sniper much like himself. The question had been what exactly a sniper felt when they pulled the trigger on someone. The answer was literal, and it was the same thing that Valentine had felt now:

Recoil.

He felt nothing but recoil.

The Imperials hadn't been as receptive of gunfire as the modern soldiers, none of them really comprehending what the crack was. However the man who that crack was made for didn't have the chance to wonder as the seven six two bullet careened into his shoulder blade before crossing diagonally through his neck, being thrown to the ground as the horse stirred itself and the body off of it.

The boy had hardly stopped and turned around as he had heard the man fall. He didn't stop for his run toward the valve.

The shots that mattered were the worst ones in Valentine's experience, he now realized. To think he once longed for such things as he reoriented the barrel and the scope.

This shot mattered.


Sergeant Lumaban had snapped her head in the direction of the gunfire as the Marines had carried out a bundle of paper documents from the manager's building, all of the soldiers doing so only to see the body of a single form slip beneath the grass. Myui's representative had long been aware of what gunfire sounded like to frown, the woman's dark grey tail flicking and her feline eyes narrowing.

She held her radio transceiver down. "4-3 Actual, prerogative: Who fired those shots? Over."

Her Corporal Poindexter, a rifleman, had pointed at the pair of ghostly figures having taken position in the highest tree in the area. "Fuckin' Valentine."

"Lyncher 2-4. I did. Over." The affirmation.

Lumaban had covered her mouth piece as he looked over to her squad, trying to get a better ID on that form that Valentine had just dropped.

"We didn't see what he saw…" she pressed down back on the radio as the screams of a young girl rang out from the hills. "4-3 Actual. Copy. Out."


Six Months since the Ginza Incident

D-Day + 48

Falmart – Italica – Fromar Keep


They each had their own bedrooms. Myui and Lelei had allowed RCT3 and the Rangers to take the former barracks of the Fromar knights, most of whom had been killed during Arnus and the Battle of Italica.

Almost like high-class dorms with seemingly mile high ceilings, both Loke and Emerson had distinctly commented as they were first introduced to them nearly a month ago. The only real modifications that they had done with them, as they much too elegant to really disturb, was the fact they all had extension cords poking out of their doors for various electrical items.

In short they had lived in six-star tier hotel rooms during their tenure in the Special Region, and they wouldn't complain save for the fact that hallway had become their pseudo-prison.

Hazama had demanded that the Rangers be kept on base instead of sent out with the other combat teams. Pierce hadn't argued, the Rangers had done their job and the Marine combat teams were well and away more than what were needed for the operations happening throughout the Special Region currently.

If it kept the JSDF happy, they were to stay within the Corridor for the foreseeable future.

However on the flipside the most important RCT team would also have to be kept under operational arrest. That RCT being the third one.

With Pierce and his personal platoon acting as the US Marine presence at Arnus, the JSDF had made their presence known through RCT3 at Italica.

It had been a comfortable arrangement for the last month, but there was hardly anything comfortable after the last few hours.

What that had meant for Hitman's premier team lead however was that she had gotten her much needed sleep as her one working eye had slowly opened to the sound of birds and the comfortable hum of the Fromar Halls.

Given the fact she had been in command of Hitman in Emerson's absence she had been appropriately given the second best room and given her privacy when she turned in for the night.

"Unconfirmed reports from JSDF officers and the Pentagon state that a massive troop movement is underway inside the Special Region, the journalist and media blackout currently extended until further notice, with only prepared packages of information being let go by the Japanese government. The reason for this reported escalation is, according to our source inside of the Pentagon, connected with the discovery of slaves in the rumored "Roman"-esque society inside the Special Region: the same one responsible for the Ginza Incident. It is unknown the nature of these slaves."

She woke up to the drone of the same radio she had for the last month: a comfortable voice rousing her awake in her solitary bed.

"Russia Today also reports that Chinese ambassadors walked out on the Vietnamese delegation following the breakdown of relations that came with several Chinese naval drones being destroyed in Vietnamese territorial waters followed by an attempted Chinese retaliation strike. The International Community helmed by Prime Minister Dima Degtyarev has strongly pushed for a peaceful solution to the incident, however he has stated his government will remain committed to the Russo-Vietnamese Defense Pact which was renewed in 2019."

Normally a maid would've been there, but Myui's cohort was strained for numbers following the earthquake, Italica and the Corridor having taken it unkindly. Nothing disastrous, but still, nearly a dozen had been killed within Italica's territory and the hospitals in Italic and Arnus had been busier than usual. Even without the war that was being raged over the horizon at the multiple resource sites of the Empire.

She slept on her left side now, making sure her left eye was deep in the pillow so she wouldn't have to wake up crying again in momentary panic attacks: during the short periods of time after waking up where she forgot she had lost an eye and the replacement wasn't exactly working 100% of the time.

A hand had fallen to silence the radio, and that hand had belonged to a Staff Sergeant Lisa Bannon.

She woke up with a contemptuous groan, not unlike a groan that had told the tale of a person who damned the day for waking them up. She knew better however as a Ranger: duty waits for no-one, and the reporter on the radio had guessed right the situation within the Special Region.

Not that Hazama would allow them to do such duty.

Hitman had to be sacrificed for Hazama to in any way tolerate the outpouring of Marines from the Special Task Force to areas of interest regarding the slaves. With the way the MPs had escorted Emerson, it had almost seemed like they were literally to be sacrificed.

Word from the top down had been that the Rangers that had been in the throne room when the firefight had gone down were to also be processed through debriefing.

Perhaps that was why she had spent an hour after they had gotten back to the Keep wiring all the compiled and edited footage from the GoPros, especially from Ramirez, Doc, Loke, Emerson, and Masterson's, into the documentary as it stood and rendered the first half for the rest of the night as she laid passed out in her underwear on the bed: her fatigues and kit all astrewn at the foot of the bed.

She hadn't remembered when she had been using a spare pillow to hug in her sleep, but she had let go as she ran her hand across her eyes, the left one particularly crusty with its condition as she silently took in the new day.

There was a part of her that was surprised that she woke up in a bed as nice as the one she did. Also there was the bigger part of her that was surprised that she woke up in a bed at all.

Homelessness for a handful of years had not been kind to her, but as she wandered the American MidWest like so many lost souls before her she had seen an America that her parents never intended to let her experience: the run down oil fields of Texas, the faltering ecosystem of the West along with disappearing suburbs and crumbling cities that could barely afford to house the needy and the less-fortunate like her.

Poverty had molded her, the man who had cast her out to the streets had marked that form as she had let the covers fall off of her as she weakly got out of bed and saw the scars of an ex-husband.

Her feet had made small pats against the ground as she walked over to the dresser and mirror where her laptop was: it long having completed the rendering and waiting for a user prompt to continue and close the program, which she did prompt, the computer closing and leaving her looking at herself in the mirror.

There had been a scar across her right shoulder from a hand swipe that had too much nail in it, faded skin along her collarbone from one too many rough appeasements: her back being marred with twisted skin and scars from falls, ranging from her first winter on her own to the battles she had fought now in the Special Region.

It was those old scars she had focused on as she tried to ignore the most obvious one: the one that had punched through her left eye and left almost a slash, a crater, around her lids.

She never remembered exactly when the piece of shrapnel had come and nailed her in the eye. All she remembered was the blackness, the explosion, the concussion that sent her flying during the battle of Italica. She had hardly realized she had a pierced eye uBntil she tried to aim with it and saw a shattered, painful blackness.

Bannon had been a small woman in some aspect: a five foot seven inch form that had been smaller than Emerson and Masterson, but she had been able to pull her weight as the tone and bulge of her arms and back had told.

That very pale form of hers that she had developed to survive had fought against what she had used to be: a modern day fair lady, a yuppie with rich parents.

Now she had been a soldier, and that person had stared right back at her in the mirror as she looked at herself in disdain, running her hands through hazelnut hair that had long since been treated unkindly a quickly growing back out to almost warrant a ponytail.

A damp towel and a bowl of water had been waiting for her at the table, rose petals left in it as she had wrung the cloth and wiped her face over, her new eye stinging momentarily as it was cleaned, the same wiping going down from her face to her neck and exposed skin along her arms. Dirt and grime unseen had collected in the pores of her skin and upon dipping the towel back in it had stained the wash.

Fresh, cold air had rushed into her nostrils as she dried her face with a piece of a robe that had been lying on the dresser. She had been tempted to dress in such Roman attire once or twice in official functions held in the Fromar keep, but her dress uniform would be more familiar to her.

She didn't go for a hair tie as she had reached for the black string and fabric on the dresser as she sat before it. Instead it had been her eyepatch, holding her head down as her fingers had tightened the cup around her eye and laced it behind her head, feeling the strings fall into the creases on her face that had been made by them.

She looked into the mirror again and saw herself and what had become of her.

She wasn't too happy as she gave out a quiet, ragged sigh and saw the dirty water reflect her instead. Masterson had told her that she hadn't been a morning person, and she was inclined to believe him.

"Miss Bannon?" the voice was Persia, highlighted by knocks against the grand white doors.

"What is it hun?" her first words in the morning had always been the ugliest.

"Mister Masterson would like to tell you that the rest of the Rangers are currently congregated in the dining hall if you are curious."

"Mmm. Anything else Persia?" she spoke through the door as she continued to look at herself in the mirror.

"Are you okay Miss Bannon?"

She had gotten up and put the top of her fatigues on, replying the same way to that question she had long since felt the lie to. "Yes hun… thank you."


"Cameron."

"Lisa."

The short greeting had been done in the dining room of the Fromar Keep, all around several of the Hitmen who had bothered getting up this early cleaning their gear and weapons, several of the maids helping out. It was a rather domestic scene minus the military hardware, Cam at the table typing away at his own report of the events of the night before as best he could, all of them dressed in the desert fatigues of the Marines along with their watch caps.

"You alright?" he asked promptly, sliding over her a cup of coffee from one of Italica's new crops. She had graciously took it as she sat down next to her counterpart, sliding on her black eyepatch.

"Better." she sipped her coffee down once before looking at the dark liquid, noting the swirl of some sort of creamer in it.

It was surreal to the Americans that after all they had done a mere few hours ago, they were once again in Imperial halls. Albeit this time they were doing much more peaceful, routine things. It was in the practice of the routine that had made them forget what horrible things they had done in the not so long ago. It was better to not confront the fact that some had to gun down so many before an Emperor less than twenty four hours after said incident.

The heat had always soothed her long wearied throat, and, just occasionally, it had made it clear as she had coughed into her hand, brushing her rough hazelnut hair back behind her ears as she looked out of the window at Italica and the Corridor beyond it, constant helicopter flights going back and forth.

The Marines and JSDF had been going in and out of resource sites around the clock, and, asides from the initial confrontation with a few enclaves with orcs and trolls chucking rocks and mud which did require artillery, it was a rather, comparatively, bloodless affair.

"Are you alright hun?"

The way her voice had cleared up had made Masterson quickly glance if the woman talking to him had been indeed Lisa Bannon, which it had been, and he had been happy because of it in the morning after such a dark night.

"Is there a particular answer you'd like to hear?"

"Well I'd like to hear the truth."

"Mmm, knew you'd say that." His two Peacemakers had been on the table, the rags next to them caked in dried blood. Though Hazama had told them disarm, they wouldn't have that, not in this world. They would abide by the orders to stay put and be rendered inactive for the time being, but they were soldiers, and soldiers needed their tools.

It wasn't really them that Hazama had been worried about anyway, it had been Itami and Emerson.

There was hardly any time for Itami and Emerson to reconcile as Itami came with the rest of RCT3, Suguwara, Blackburn and a surprising amount of the prostitutes. He and Emerson had been brought to the Joint CP and held under a rather extensive debrief by both the JSDF and the Marines, once again Mitch presiding over Emerson's de-facto interrogation of the events that happened that night in the capital.

Neither Itami, Emerson, or the rest of RCT3 had made it back to their posts at the Fromar Keep.

Once again Bannon had found herself in a position of command, or, at least, babysitting.

"To be honest, I don't know…" Masterson had said lightly, dragging his rough hands beneath his eyes and dragging. "Give me a few days and I might know… 'is too early for this shit."

She suspected she had already known the answer, but she wouldn't dare say anything. It was a delicate topic, given Masterson's bombastic attitude meeting the darkness of what he had done recently. She didn't enjoy thinking of Cam doing those things, but then again, perhaps this was just the misguided jealousy over the fact she hadn't seen this same action: that she hadn't alleviated the burden of a comrade.

Of course he hadn't been just a comrade to her, but that wouldn't matter, she reasoned.

"Not sleeping in?" she asked, grabbing the Enfield and aiming down the scope that had been acquired from Black. Bannon had been a good shot enough to use it, that is if she the opportunity. Asides from Hakone she hadn't fired it in anger yet, and perhaps she was curious to see what it could've done.

But that had meant going back out on the field, and the likelihood of that happening had been slim.

"I have not slept in ever since I was twelve years old Lisa, I don't see how the military woulda made me stop." Or perhaps it was the fact that Masterson couldn't sleep, his senses alight, his body unable to shake off that combat high that was, for once, fueled not by professionalism or training, but by anger.

It was a grisly feeling that electrified every single bud of his skin ceaselessly, and only after he had thrown up again into a pan at the side of his own bed earlier in the morning had he been able to pass out and live with himself for the meanwhile.

When he had looked into the mirror earlier that morning he had seen a man who had asked for all that he had done, and yet still he was punishing himself because of it. He was Tracey's team lead and he had to forever justify every kill was in his name somehow.

But petty revenge for a comrade could only go so far.

He couldn't forget what Shino had done to that man, and his mouth was on fire because of it. However more was the case he and Shino had been the same, just for a second, in that throne room, they had screamed the same tone and craved the same blood.

Perhaps her advances on him had been something a bit more cardinal than he realized.

"You seem to be doing fine, with what? Five hours of sleep after nearly three sleepless days?" he had clasped his hand on the top of her head and roughed up her hair, her giggling going from a rather adorable clear to the usual, gritty rumble that it was. It didn't matter to Masterson as long as she had been happy, just for a second. She had appreciated it, the show of affection: she taking the hand and kissing his palm for a second as they forgot where they were and a few of the Rangers were making either kissy faces or gagging at them.

Doc had walked over with a small flashlight, taking up a seat as Bannon had reoriented herself toward him and stared straight through him, awaiting his daily check up on her eye:

He flipped the patch up as he shone a bright light into it. "See anything out of it today?"

"It's all black Doc…. I can feel it though. Moving and all that."

He had stayed silent as he raised his flashlight up in the four cardinal directions, Bannon following with both her eyes. The milky one had followed, even if Bannon didn't outright realize it. That had gone into Doc's running log as he had tapped his pen against her forehead twice as Masterson had looked over. Doc hadn't really explained to him what was going on with her faded eye.

"Something's wrong with the optic nerve, half of it is dying the other half is trying to regenerate methinks. Macular degeneration perhaps. Push and pull. Just gotta hope the right side pushes enough to win the day. God bless stem cells or else I would've actually had to do something."

"Wait and see as usual Doc?"

"Affirmative, Sergeant Bannon." Doc had been one the people to oversee her operation at the Arnus Hill Hospital. "I don't want to go digging back in there too soon, especially since the eye is apparently working."

"Important word there Doc: working." Bannon's sarcasm had deadpanned as she sipped her coffee.

"Eh, well, experimental medicine ain't my forte, ma'am." With a curt nod he had left the table and went back to looking out the window with Loke, the woman still shaken up from her actions last night. She needed someone to talk to and Ramirez had been no help, seeing as he had been Hitman's usual advice giver in trying times. He had buried himself in newspapers detailing his hometown, not in the talking mood as he furrowed his eyes and kept a frown on his face.

He kept the outside world out of his head as he recollected himself: a valuable tool in his own opinion. It was how he had stayed sane after all these years in wars and slaughter beyond his comprehension.

One of those wars had been taking place outside in the blue, rather beautiful day.

The helicopter flights back and forth had been constant, ferrying in and out Marine and JSDF teams from various locations of interest. As the Americans had looked up and out at the iron chariots of the war machines present there had been an element of wistfulness, of betrayal and coldness that had made the pits of their stomachs cold and dark while the Japanese combat teams had rejoiced in actually doing operations on that scale.

The euphoria of doing something had clouded the JSDF's thoughts as America had long since grown weary of that high and saw through the smoke.

The Marines would've felt bad, but they could not take pity on themselves when they were still doing what they did, and rode out into the Special Region with demands and the steel in their teeth to get it whatever the cost.

Who was following who at this point? Was the only reason why any of this was happening was because the Marines had been there? Or was this an inevitability? Was this the fate of all benevolent invasions against a power that wronged the invaders?

Whatever the case the excuse that had existed was the one that kept the Americans from going mad: this was necessary.

If what Kurokawa had told Emerson during their first night out in the wilds of the Special Region, just after they saw a giant monster burn down the forest, was true, then if they were all under the same stars then the same could be said for the sky itself.

Ramirez had grumbled as he took a glance outside. "The same… the same…"

The same skies he saw over Iran: filled with helicopters and armed gunships meant to fight war he didn't agree with.


Silence was Bannon's preferred ambiance as she sipped her coffee and quietly ran through the Corridor's locally run new "newspaper", avoiding wanting to type up her post-action report . The concept of journalism and the daily paper had been new to the people of the Corridor, but the emulation of the front page of the newspaper was readable enough in its broken English edition.

It didn't seem like a big deal to the Special Task Force, but the introduction of the printing press to the locals had did the same thing that Gutenberg had spurred on himself when he had introduced the machine: people wanted to read and be literate, and perhaps that had helped break down the barriers of reluctance that many of the locals had when the language learning classes were offered in Japanese, English, and in a quickly diminishing amount the Lingua Franca.

The education provided by the Special Task Force and the "Order" of the Red Cross had been free more or less, and the locals had come out by the hundreds to attend lectures and classes of all sorts just for the ability to learn.

It was a beautiful thing that brought many of the more humanitarian inclined members of the Special Task Force to tears, but it proved the propensity for a person to learn had been so instinctual that it justified Lelei's own diving into the books she had downloaded in Tokyo in her laptop.

Otherwise brought over literature by the Japanese had actually been in some retrograde with their own world's progression: which was to say that Voltaire, Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Charles Dickens were hot authors at the PXs as opposed to the current New York Times' best sellers. That and one of the first cultural pursuits of the Corridor had been in the local's interpretations of Shakespeare's plays. The subject matters had been more relatable.

The adventures of Candide, Hank Morgan, and King Arthur had been on the gossiping tongues of the avid readers and play watchers in the outdoor theaters and plays put on in the street. To the Red Cross personnel it was a wonderful thing to see, in some condescending form; plays being reenacted by a backwards people.

Albeit in The Taming of the Shrew the Shrew that was Kate was played by a buxom humanoid shrew in the literal translations did by the Corridor playwright. Another curious complication that arose was the showing of the Spice and Wolf anime series by several of the JSDF in private. For obvious reasons, many of the audience thought that the anime was depicting historical events between the two main characters, one of them interpreted as the apostle of the harvest.

The newspaper following the first showing had quoted Hazama in stating that (to the knowledge of the JSDF) Spice and Wolf was entirely fictional.

Today's morning issue by the "New Paper of the Corridor" had spoken to the rebuilding efforts of the Corridor by the Navy Seabees, Marine Engineers, the JSDF personnel, and the locals that could. No comment about the mass mobilization that kept the helicopters over the sky, a visage which kept some survivors of the Battle of Italica momentarily frozen as they remembered the pure horror of 200,000 dead in an ungodly show of force.

Masterson had leaned over her shoulder as he had flipped through the pictures on his phone, groaning. "Eugh, I might step into a PX later and try to find a way if I can order a new console… all my shit is back in Akusho."

Bannon had rumbled in silent agreement. "I… I don't know what I'll do today, honestly." she admitted. "Worried sick about Lelei…"

"Lelei's probably fine, you know how she is: if there's something to be done, she's gonna do it… probably usin' those magic powers of her to reconstruct houses just by waving her staff or somethin'." Masterson had glanced up at her face, the side of her mouths crooked as she looked down into the paper. He could tell she was more looking through it than anything. "…Not like that would stop you from worryin'."

"Mmm." she nodded.

It was odd at first for her to talk with Lelei like she did: they had been both wanderers, and yet Bannon would've thought her a better fit for the life she lived than herself. A woman on the edge of thirty talking to a girl no older than sixteen or fifteen. One had been a Ranger, the other had been a magical apprentice who seemed to accomplish more in her teenage years than the Ranger had in her entire life.

Originally Bannon had come to talk to Lelei as only a way to get into her own little Ponzi scheme (like father like daughter she had long since argued with herself) about the housing markets of the Corridor, but there had been more into that with idle tea talk.

In truth Lelei had been the first child Bannon had talked to ever since she had been one, and that had mystified her in a way.

On the flipside Lelei had seen Bannon as a woman that acted outside of her role as a woman: the proud proclaimer that Lelei herself could've been whatever she wanted to be if she knew what to do.

Her inspiration per se.

Needless to say that Bannon had formed her friendship with Lelei as much as Lelei had formed a friendship with her.

"Whatever happened to the rule where we couldn't bond with the locals because it would jeopardize operational efficiency?" Masterson had asked, half serious, half sarcastically.

Bannon had shook her head as she reasoned. "Nonsense. She's like a niece to me… a really, really disconnected niece."

"Yeah, she's your niece and Itami's my step-brother."

"With Captain Emerson being how he is? You never know." Her attempt at observational humor was not lost on Masterson as a few Rangers checked the tolerances of their ARs by racking the bolts back and forth violently.

"Heh." Masterson had chuckled once as he settled on a picture from the earlier days: a picture from a particularly successful community building op that had comprised of US Army Rangers taking on Japanese civilians and the JSDF in an airsoft match, Masterson carrying both Emerson and Bannon over his shoulders as they had played the role of "wounded in action" as plastic BBs flew overhead.

Happier times.

Bannon had looked around once and confirmed that all the Rangers had been there in the dining room: either preforming maintenance on their gear or chatting amongst each other or the present maids. All of them had been there with nowhere else to go.

"If anyone leaves, make sure they check with you, alright? We're under house arrest, remember?"

"Don't need to remind me… going somewhere?"

"Just to the balcony." she had gotten up and pushed the paper to Masterson, the man nodding at her request. "Thanks for the coffee and…" she had stumbled over her words as she caught herself being rather sweet. It had made her feel rather domestic, and it hadn't been a familiar feeling. "Just get some rest hun', alright? Please."

"Please?" Masterson had echoed her words as he felt the bags around his eyes for the first time.

"For the rest of us." she had clarified with a nod and a straight lipped face, her eye had told a different, more personal type of care however. That was the one Masterson had used to listen to her as he nodded and patted her shoulder reassuringly as she walked out.

Doc had shook his head as Bannon had exited the dining room, Masterson picking up on it as he rejoined him. "What is it Doc?"

"As a trained medical professional I'm 90% sure- huh, hold on." He had dropped a dummy shell from his breaching shotgun as he pumped it once before he continued. "I have to log any instances of fraternization between NCOs for the sake of unit cohesion." He had given a low look at Masterson, a tired one before the sides of his mouth had bended downward. "But God knows it's not going to be you two that's going to be the most detrimental to us at the end."

"I sense a little jealousy Doc, need a hug?"

"No… but I won't report you two. As a good doctor I'm also not supposed to break hearts."

"Which is why we love you man."

Hitman had, in the large portion, had loved to bother Doc with saying that they all loved him, which was true in some measure. Better for the combat medic to hold the one being treated in high opinion than anything else.

He rubbed the top of his bald head in some annoyed gesture, picking up the newspaper in front of Masterson for himself as he replaced her at the seat she once sat. "Save it for Sergeant Bannon, Sergeant Masterson."


Persia had taken a likening to Bannon, if only because in her almost childlike disposition had said that Bannon reminded her of a friendly Hawken-like humanoid who had once known her as a child. That she had been the right mixture of sharp and friendly that had made her resonate with (using her new knowledge of American English) "coolness".

It was why she had followed Bannon around in the Keep and knew what she and Lelei had preferred for their mid-day tea.

"May I fetch you some Saint John's Wort and Rooibos Tea for you and Madam Lalena? I have gotten word that she should be back soon."

Persia had reminded Bannon of the maids her family had employed, so she could be nothing but kind to them, she smiling and patting Persia's cheek fondly. "It'd be appreciated hun'."

The cat like humanoid had bowed out as Bannon had sat down on the open air balcony that overlooked the front of the Keep: where Hitman and RCT3 had made their final stand during the Battle of Italica.

The keep itself had taken some gunfire during the battle, but the Marine engineers had made a point to repair the keep for the people of Italica before the construction of Camp Kilgore had taken place. Those renovations had, at least externally, survived the earthquake.

Beyond the keep the Marine's influence could only be seen in either Camp Kilgore, a sizable base having taken what had been the southwest point of Italica's walls, the largest buildings housing the helicopters and vehicles in their garages, the rest dedicated to the field headquarters, barracks, and hospital. Otherwise the Marines had used the local businesses and the PXs for food and patronage into the community.

There had been no more walls in Italica: only giant, prison guard like towers that afforded 360 degree views above Italica, constructed using materials from the salvaging of the defensive walls, Rory and her MPs making ample use of them alongside the Marine patrols when the MP base in Koda Village was otherwise busy with new volunteers, recruits, and other activity as befit the growing STALMP unit, more break action rifles having been provided to the peace keeping force.

Rory herself had been busy corralling peace and order around the Corridor and escorting the populace home, the masses still rather displaced to the open plains on either side of the Corridor.

Not that Bannon had been raring to see her. She needed to check up Chuka, undoubtedly, but Lelei had been her priority as she had heard the quiet footsteps of a mage creep in behind her.

"Miss Bannon."

"Lelei." Simple greetings of name and recognition. It was all Bannon ever needed as she respectfully bowed before the official of Italica that she had called her friend with something of a small grin. "You know, where I come from, there's no such thing as earthquakes… I thought the same here."

"I believe comparing Montana to Falmart as a whole is not a clear comparison." she had responded back.

Bannon had tilted her head in agreement as she had motioned for their usual seats on either side of a pretty little white table, overlooking the Corridor from Myui's balcony.

"Where is Madam Myui anyway?"

"Currently at Arnus in an emergency meeting with several of her maids and Sevson."

"Is she doing fine?"

"It is what is expected of her."

Expectations had often defined people, but that wasn't always right when it came to expectations defined by blood. At first Sevson didn't know exactly what to feel when Pina had left and told him to deal with children in charge of what was the Empire's premier agricultural city-state.

Though he had reasoned this was a different land, with a different people, and he would be tolerant to the point where if it ran smoothly he would make no protest.

But he didn't need to tell himself this was a different land when Myui had expressed her rightful place on the throne to the people of Italica and the Corridor. They had listened to her without question. The willingness of people to be lead had made the leader as much as the leader had made themselves. He should've known that by now, especially as a major.

"And what have you been expected to do hun'?"

Her staff had something of a living quality to it, the way the cyan gem on its top had seem to dim, as if it was breathing, noting to its overuse in these last few hours.

Her heavy lifting telekinesis spells had been useful, if not understated, in the last few hours.

However she did it without complaint, and she had volunteered to go out with the Marines and the JSDF to the mining sites. Sevson hadn't allowed her however when he got word she had taken on a Marine helmet and almost took off on a Blackhawk.

The eagerness to do something had betrayed her.

"A lot."

The simple answer had fit her as the two had finally sat down, Lelei's gaze more focused on the helicopters buzzing above.

"Only the GSDF's combat teams have been deployed, the Red Cross and the mass of the JSDF here are in the Corridor trying to clean up."

"Well, you're in good hands. JSDF always has to handle stuff like this on the otherside."

"I know… The Marines have their own specialty, which is why I've seen almost none of them here, helping us."

It was slightly accusing, but it was an opinion shared between most of the local inhabitants: where had the Marines gone?

Persia had reappeared behind them, appearing with a tray: two tea cups and a locally produced kettle, Myui's family seal on it, two tea bags gingerly set into the white cups before being poured over with boiling water.

"Thank you Persia." the maid had bowed graciously as she left the two women be.

It was as Bannon had turned did she notice that Lelei's robes had been tarnished and dirtied by dust and debris, she immediately getting up before she began to sip, kneeling in front of a sitting Lelei with a handkerchief left by Persia.

She had remembered her mother doing this to her once at the end of a summer's day, a long time ago. It'd been years since she had talked to her mother, and that could've been said for both of them, but Bannon had been inclined to remember at this instance what her mother did as she had taken Lelei's sleeve.

She had wiped it down as Lelei tilted her head at her in some bewilderment, Bannon grumbling. "Dirty…" her misgiving had been more portrayed in how she had patted Lelei down with that white handkerchief, it turning brown and black before the woman's scared hands ran through Lelei's blue hair, getting the messy strands out of her eyes.

"Well, in a better world, people would be prepared enough for this sorta thing for people as young as you to simply stand by… Not right for kids your age to be caught up in stuff like this." the words came out like a whisper as she reassumed her seat and crossed her legs.

"Which is why I intend to establish a "fire fighting" force soon, in light of this earthquake."

Bannon couldn't disagree as she nodded sympathetically. There wasn't anything too out of place with a firefighters. Wouldn't insult the Japanese more by having the Marines support such an operation without them. "There will always be people who will have to do what others cannot."

"Such as yourself, Bannon?"

She remembered the creed her cohort had to recite, coming into the Ranger Indoctrination Program, poetically known as RIP.


manifest destiny

Recognizing that I volunteered as a Ranger, fully knowing the hazards of my chosen profession, I will always endeavor to uphold the prestige, honor, and high esprit de corps of the Rangers.

Acknowledging the fact that a Ranger is a more elite soldier who arrives at the cutting edge of battle by land, sea, or air, I accept the fact that as a Ranger my country expects me to move further, faster and fight harder than any other soldier.

Never shall I fail my comrades. I will always keep myself mentally alert, physically strong and morally straight and I will shoulder more than my share of the task whatever it may be, one-hundred-percent and then some.

Gallantly will I show the world that I am a specially selected and well-trained soldier. My courtesy to superior officers, neatness of dress and care of equipment shall set the example for others to follow.

Energetically will I meet the enemies of my country. I shall defeat them on the field of battle for I am better trained and will fight with all my might. Surrender is not a Ranger word. I will never leave a fallen comrade to fall into the hands of the enemy and under no circumstances will I ever embarrass my country.

Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the Ranger objective and complete the mission though I be the lone survivor.

Rangers Lead The Way!

From the Ranger Handbook


"Yeah…"

The silence that followed was comfortable as ever, it having been well into the afternoon as the two simply sipped tea, Lelei recovering from the events of the last few hours. She had understood the situation brewing between the JSDF and the Marines enough to know that perhaps the only truly neutral ones would've been the Rangers and RCT3, if only because RCT3 had been binded to the Rangers.

"I estimate the damage from this earthquake to our holdings to be 2.2-"

"Stop hun', I don't want you to worry about that right now." she had sipped her tea as one of the Little Birds had circled the Corridor above, still surveying the damage as the AC-130 was still on observation duty as well. "You've helped me more than almost everyone else in my life has put together, but you're still a child, and you're safe after all this. So please, just join in this peace for now, eh?"

There had been a strained breath that Lelei had been holding that she didn't know she had, and when she let go of it there had been a smile hidden behind it as well. The day had been long for her, the stress tough between seeing her city crumble for half a minute.

"Thank you."

"Mmm."

Bannon knew how to use people, and Lelei had known what it was like to simply only be a role: the student, the mage, the translator, the refugee. No one had treated her simply as Lelei in her life until Bannon came. Even with her nomadic tribe she was not treated as a child: just as another pair of hands.

"When is your birthday, Lelei?" the older woman had asked as she saw another magic user in the far off distance glow before salvaging a downed storefront into an eat pile of planks and material, a construction crew of both GSDF and locals carrying it off in carts and truck beds.

"The day I was born?"

The notion of a birthday had been a rather abstract concept to the Special Region, and indeed the first time Delilah had hosted a "birthday party" by request of the JSDF, she had assumed that someone was being born.

It was anything but that however.

"You know how old you are, I assume you know your birthday." she clarified why she was asking.

Lelei's vast knowledge had comprised of many things, but she was, in some ways, a mystery to herself. "I do not remember, and I have not been told. I only have a general idea of how old I really am… why do you ask Bannon?"

The big three zero had been in front of Bannon, and that had been why. "My birthday is coming up. Was thinking about yours, what I might give you as a birthday gift."

"A gift?"

"Yeah. Cameron, he already bought me and Kay a present, and we already gave Kay his because he needed it, but it got me thinking…"

"I do not require a gift for turning older, Miss Bannon."

"Nonsense. You need a gift, and you're gonna get one. Try to stop me hun'." she dared as she gave a smirk to Lelei, she herself still blank faced.

"If you give me a gift, then I must give you one." The notion of give and take had been steadfast in the mage's mind, if only by habit because of her magical abilities. She could not cast spells or control magic without giving up a piece of herself, her soul, temporarily, to do so.

"Regardless, what would you want?"

"Peace and prosperity for my people."

Bannon's smirk had gone away as she sipped her tea, blinking several times to let her request sink in. "Preferably something I as a single human being can turn up…?"

Her small shrug was all that Bannon had ever got before Lelei turned the question on her. "How about? What is your preference for a gift?"

"If I'm going by your standards a good life where I have two eyes and a voice that doesn't sound like I'm swallowing sand paper."

Lelei's mouth had opened in an oh, seriously considering her own request, but a different thought came out instead. "Does it not mean we both won't try?"

If Masterson had been passionate and moral, then Bannon had been reliable and stubborn. Which was, in Emerson's view, made her one of the best soldiers he had and trusted her to take of Hitman in his absence. Her disposition toward Lelei's request wouldn't change because of it.

"I'll try my best, but I think I'll have to get you something else when the time comes."

Bannon had been sipping with fond memory of when she had first found this type of tea on her tongue, and Lelei, as observant as she ever was, saw the label on the little slip of paper, hanging off the side of the tea cup.

"What does Rooibos mean, Lisa?" Lelei had asked as she saw the very amber looking liquid that she had seen Bannon drink for a month during their tea time flow past her lips. It was imported by her request, and Blackburn had been more than accommodating to her, she having reached out to him first when he had first arrived.

She had set her tea cup down as she had repeated the word herself, Lelei tilting her head as she heard Bannon say that word with an accent she never heard from her before. "Rooibos. It means Red Bush from where my parents come from."

"Where do your parents come from?"

Lelei had looked into the more covered bio files of the Rangers, Bannon especially, but what her bio would never know was that she had hailed from a country that didn't exist anymore.

Before Bannon could answer Persia had been at the glass door behind them. "Excuse me, Miss Lalena, Miss Bannon, it appears Itami and Emerson have returned with Recon Team Three."

They took off running.


To say Emerson had looked like hell was one thing, to say that he looked like he had gone through it was another. They hadn't cleaned him up ever since he had been back from the Capital: all his deeds had been written on his clothes and in his boots as he and Itami had walked side by side with RCT3 in the back.

Whatever might've existed between Emerson and Itami in the frustration of what had happened last night was to be a battle fought for another day, for they had been complicit in the same acts, and they only had each other for support as they stumbled in, escorted in by JSDF MPs as they slowly shed their kits, their gear, on the floor of the entry way: Kurokawa, Kuribayashi, and Tomita all stumbling behind Itami and Emerson the same.

They were exhausted physically, mentally, spiritually, and perhaps judicially. The story of what had happened inside the throne room had been went over dozens and dozens of times between each of them: clarifying what happened, what was said, and why they did what they did.

The maids had rushed them all almost as fast as the NCOs in Hitman, the rest picking up the kits off of the floor as they looked at the completely downtrodden group that came in.

It was surreal: it's almost as if they had gone out with those combat teams and seen war, only to come back into these halls of civility.

Persia had shrieked as Furuta had collapsed to the floor, and when that had happened the returning soldiers had found support as the Hitmen had picked one of RCT3 to carry in some way, Doc and the two Hitmen team leaders going to the officers.

The captain had looked weakly, tiredly up as his two sergeants as he had pushed off their arms, their grip on him. No words given, no words to be taken, nothing but silence as he shrugged off his gear, his guns, even the Winchester, and stumbled through the entry way to, presumably, his bedroom.

"He's fine." Itami had uttered as he watched his friend walk away to be alone, Bannon getting his arm over her shoulder as he stumbled himself, Doc throwing his other arm over his own shoulder.

"Sergeant Masterson, Doc's recommendation, go check up on our dear Captain Kay, would ya?" Doc himself had nodded at his own third person words as he implored his sergeant, Masterson hesitant to leave so many needy people other than his captain.

Itami had grunted in agreement as he closed his eyes. "Come on Cam, go check on him for me, eh?"

The question of what kind of friends Itami and Emerson had been was a question that really never needed asking. They were friends that came out of an unlikely war from a horrible incident, who had fallen in together because they seemed fated to be together throughout what a magical Gate would bring.

Friends that bonded over joint JSDF and Marine PT, bar hopping, and official functions. They were different people back then, however they were not so changed to not remember that they were friends above it all: that was what kept them sane in some measure.

It was what Itami had told himself: Emerson, for all that the Americans did, would still be his friend no matter what happened.

Masterson had understood with an almost sarcastic, but meaningful, salute, running after Emerson.

"Holy shit," Itami had shook his head as one of the maids had arrived with trays of water in glasses, a weird visage to the beaten RCT3 as they saw them in slow motion due to their dreariness. He had taken one and downed it fast. "That one CIA guy, Mitch, is it? He just doesn't let up."

Hitman had to still get used to thinking that the friendly, old MP that had been Mitch something something had actually been a Central Intelligence Agency spook whose preferred title had been Agent Beckett. With his age it had long been assumed in Masterson's ranting about the CIA earlier on that Beckett had been the one who killed Kim Jung Un by "posing as a male prostitute for that baby faced flower boy Kimmy and spiking his drink or somethin'."

"Just on and on and on with the questioning on Emerson and Shino."

Tomita had taken two glasses and splashed them over his face, the dirt washing off of his pores as they splashed on the floor, none of the maids particularly minding as Kurata was finally hauled up and off in Persia's rather strong a rms.

Bannon had raised the eyebrow over her non-working eye by habit. "Just Emerson and Shino?"

Itami had winced as he remembered the reason he had heard just barely as he was carted in and out of the interrogation room at Arnus Hill:

"The only fuckin' people that have the initiative to kill that indiscriminately on a whim among those that were there are Sergeant Kuribayashi or Captain Emerson."

Itami had almost emulated Emerson as he had shook off the two Rangers from supporting him, but only to fall onto his knees on the floor as water came to be splashed on marble floors: his reflection there looking right back at him.

"I threw that fucking punch! I lashed out first! Why not me?! Why not-?!" his fist had made a splash as it came down, his face getting specks of water as his incoherency of weight and blame conflicted over his face.

He thought it unfair Emerson and Shino were bearing the burden of Mitch's and Yanagida's questioning alone. Everyone else just corroborated to confirm what had happened:

They had opened fire in self-defense and walked that blurred line as dozens died in an emotional outburst of right and wrong that had no place in the battlefield.

The democratic option, diplomacy, seemed so far away to the Japanese, but as far as the Americans were concerned that hadn't been on the table at all: it was peace that seemed so far away now.

"Come on, lieutenant," Doc had taken Itami's elbow as he began to drag him over his back. "You can curse at the CIA tomorrow. You all can!"

Doc had been a man of grumbles and misgivings, but when he had yelled it was an important distinction that had reeked of literal "Doctor's orders".

What was Bannon to do but to look out over RCT3 and see why he had said it. "All of you, get some shut eye!"

And of all people there was only one that had not seemed phased at all as she kept all her gear on her, her rifle cocked and ready and over her front, a smirk to her mouth and fire in her eyes as she passed Bannon, pausing.

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out, for there was nothing to say as she shrugged and went on her merry way, thinking this was only another day on the job and she was nothing special.

Behind Bannon, almost hiding, had been Lelei, silent and observing.

A witness.


Perhaps Bannon didn't need to really order RCT3 to get some sleep, but they had all fallen into their bunks and bed fast enough as the maids had all stopped whatever matters were occupying them and attended to the tired troopers.

Even Kurokawa against her restraint had been tucked in by Doc as he had spoken French reassuringly to her, as if to soothe her to sleep. For being a romance language, Doc hadn't exactly been the romantic type despite his usage of it.

Kurokawa had been special. She always had been coming here, into the Special Region. Her thoughts were American in some way with her restraint, and, in some small way, she disapproved of what the JSDF was doing with the integration, but still she was more willing to give her mind and body up for the sake these people just out of the goodness of her heart.

That goodness of her heart had carried her a long way, and she had not fired a shot in the capital when it all went down.

Even if they were totally exhausted Lelei had quietly helped them along with a mass spell, said under her breath which put RCT3 to sleep rather fast, their heavy and rapid breaths all calming to a peace.

Crudely one of the Rangers had said earlier, underneath her breath as Bannon had stood by and watched them all get settled into bed and the shades drawn in the communal room that had once belonged to the Fromar knights, that RCT3 had no right being this tired.

"For one, Babs, you're a fuckin' Ranger. For two, it's the mental stuff that's broken them down."

Specialist Barbara Annel had been one of the more crass Rangers, but she had company. There had been a section of Hitman that enjoyed staying out of the drama that had been of refugees, the Rose Order, demi-gods, and of the general fact they had been conducting modern imperialism on a fantasy world: that they had thought themselves detached enough that they were only there because they were doing their job. However deep down inside that had been more of a protection mechanism, and every war down to the grunt got complicated eventually.

Twenty one people had made up the Hitmen, and all of their lives had gotten more complicated because of last night. To say that some of them had been annoyed was an understatement.

Annel had leaned her back against the wall as she adjusted the pony tail of her curly, dark hair, her glasses flaring in the light as the final shades were closed to the barracks. "Yeah, well, doesn't give them the excuse to be drama queens." Perhaps, in some way, that had gone for them all.

Masterson had seen the tenseness in the eyes of the Rangers as he had silently come into the room next to Bannon, and tenseness was usually the best state of mind to squeeze off a few rounds.

The basement downstairs had been an ideal firing range for the Rangers to do private drills with RCT3 in between the varying mazes of storage space and barrels.

He had whispered into her ear quickly, confirming Emerson had been fine and put into bed rather easily.

He had picked an M16 off the ground as he checked the chamber, his finger pointing toward several other rifles including RCT3's, Doc and Harris among others taking those up. "Range is empty Babs, grab a rifle, we're zeroing them." he spoke to his squad specifically. "Gotta do something to keep ourselves busy."

"Of course, sarge." was her answer as she grabbed Itami's Type 64 rifle, he now fully blacked out along with the rest of the unit sans Shino, whom had been well enough to carry her own rifle.

"I think I'll join you Cam." Shino had said casually, making the Rangers turn their heads at her.

"Oh, so you're on a first name basis with Sergeant Masterson Kuribayashi?" Ramirez hadn't the pleasantries to hide his disapproval of her; on how she wanted to walk with them in all measures. It was a fact that in all the wars he had fought in, he had seen Sergeant Kuribayashi one too many times.

"George." Bannon had raised a hand tiredly, looking at Shino. "Let her go."

"Fine, but I'm going with Sergeant Masterson then."

Something had been sustaining Shino, Bannon had noticed as they traded gazes. Her stamina had been bolstered by actions, by excitement and anticipation. She was fine in every sense, and the only way that might've felt any more wrong to her was if she had been the one in the throne room of the Empire with Emerson and not Masterson.

War was supposed to change people, bloody battles forming the psych in horrible ways. However to Shino it did nothing, and that was horrifying.

"Thanks, Lisa." she had patted her shoulder as she motioned to Bannon's own carbine, offering to take it to be zeroed. Bannon couldn't say no as she was left alone in the dark of the room with her Rangers and a sleeping RCT3.

Bannon's team had been host to the more serious of the Hitmen, and it had matched as they all leaned against the walls as the maids quietly attended to RCT3 under their watch: a rather sinister visage of silent Rangers biding their time. Even Khan next to Peters had been silent, matching his handler as he looked out across them all.

Loke had remained, even if she had been one of Masterson's team.

"Not going with them, hun'?" Bannon had rumbled quietly as Loke had come up next to her.

"I think I've had enough gunfire recently…" she responded silently, almost solemnly. Bannon had looked down to Loke's fingers and they had been still twitching every few seconds or so, vibrating. It seemed to hurt.

Of course all of Hitman had been comrades and compatriots, however there were a few who had been genuine friends throughout, Bannon and Loke being two of those. Then again Loke had been friends with everyone with her sweet personality.

"My rifle's fine anyway," she had patted her M4, the weapon's finish having been manually worn down by her and painted some camouflage that made it look like it had been perpetually dusty. "I think I would know."

"Hmph." Bannon had affirmed, shaking her hip once to make sure that the M45 had still been there, Kuribayashi having taken her duty weapon. "I'm going down to Delilah's place to finish up my reports, after that I'm gonna go check up on Black, wanna come?"

"The JSDF outside would allow that?" Loke raised an eyebrow.

"I would allow that."

Loke had jumped in her skin as she heard Lelei's quiet voice, she having been in Bannon's shadow the entire time. That jump had caused the pain of her midsection to come back however with a yelp.

Lelei had always been one to take the initiative, lifting Loke's shirt as she had winced and grabbed the general area where she had been stabbed, a glossy blue film on her fingertips as she pressed down on Loke's wound.

The woman moaning for a second had been quickly stammered out as Lelei had slowly backed off and left Loke hazed, her stomach numb and her eyes dim lidded.

"Pain relief." was her explanation.

"Feels like you just took a chunk out of my stomach, Lelei…" Loke had breathed as Bannon had guided Masterson's premier pointman out with her own hand, the mage following.

"An alternative?" Lelei asked.

Bannon had waved her off, knowing Lelei's grasp of humor and sarcasm not exactly uniform. "I'm already down a man, Lelei, I don't think I'd enjoy losing another."


Falmart - The Corridor


Technically the GSDF and Marine MPs posted outside of the keep were under orders to keep the Rangers inside, however when orders to the contrary had come from Lelei, there was nothing to argue against as the two female Rangers strode out through Italica to the Corridor, stopping at the local stable.

Lelei's idea of the rental shopping cart and bicycle concept she had read about in major population centers in America, granted the MPs had to hunt down a few stolen horses: many of them stolen, but thankfully imbued with radio tracker in their flesh.

Not that Lelei would use a horse when she had her own bicycle. "Not coming with us Lelei?" Bannon had asked as she mounted her own steed, Loke getting on the same horse. The mage had shook her head in the negative as she put on her helmet, mounting her bike in a rather odd visual image.

"I was just checking up on you, Bannon. I still have work to do."

"Stay safe then, eh?"

Lelei had returned a nod before she had sped off on her bike, one of the only people within the Corridor with the talent to ride a bike.

Part of the Marine agenda had been teaching locals how to use alternative means of transportation, and that had meant, mostly, bikes. Occasionally a Humvee or a Red Cross truck would bump its way down the main street, but motor vehicles were out of the range of the Corridor inhabitants for good reason, the interest in gas or oil that powered the machines would spark an interest in them by the locals.

The JSDF, although not officially, wouldn't enjoy it if the Special Region suddenly became self-aware of what was important to Japan.

Bannon wouldn't pass up the chance to ride a horse however.

"You know, being a Ranger here has been such a great learning experience ma'am." Loke had held onto Bannon's shoulders as the two had made their way out of the stable, the owner giving them a thumbs up as a silent goodbye to them.

"How so Talia?"

"Learned how to speak Japanese and the Lingua Franca, learned how to ride a horse, got a few battle scars, and made friends with a few unlikely allies. I think this place has made my life."

It was a bit unfitting to say that as they got their first good look at the Corridor at ground level and in broad daylight.

Perhaps if the Corridor had only been a sparse collection of buildings that resembled a village in Italica and at the foot of Arnus, damage might've been negliable and minimal.

But that wasn't the case.

The compact design of the Corridor and the constant construction had made any structural collapse, fire, or general calamity liable to resonate throughout the neighborhoods at a much deadlier rate.

Buildings had burned, and there was glass on the street as the MPs were on full alert for looters, the broken form of buildings lousy as far as the eye could see on the main street.

And yet the Corridor was still buzzing with activity: with people wanting to fix the community one picked up stone at a time.

This town was their own. Not the JSDF's or the Marine's, despite what they contributed to its design.

Because of that there had been more manpower provided by the locals than the militaries or the Red Cross.

Not to say that they hadn't been busy.

"You sure that rabbit woman's café is open for business?" Loke had doubted, but Bannon had known better.

She knew Delilah somewhat, if only because she had worked many jobs across the Corridor.

"Nonsense, business is booming Loke, even in this kind of… down market." she said as she had reached into her back pocket momentarily, a spent .45 casing being pulled out before, to Loke's confusion, kept.

The horse had seemed to agree with Bannon's observation as it whinnied, but she had not made conversation as she had whipped the reins and took off.


Falmart – The Corridor – The Officers House


Delilah had been used to throwing out the rowdy in her places of work, especially those that had served alcoholic beverages. There had been no alcohol however when a dozen fighter pilots, half Japanese and half American, had all been dragged out bloodied and bruised, still wanting to progress that hurt to each other.

Delilah had personally thrown out Lieutenant Colonel Noelle as the JSDF pilots God and Baron had been heaved out by two beastly MPs, the rest of the pilots either still grasping each other or being wrestled by the MPs as well.

"I'll break your FUCKING neck next time! Just you see!" was Noelle's uncensored shout into the crowd as the MPs dragged him and his pilots away, a cut on his lip and a chip on his tooth.

The two Rangers had barely seen the commotion as Delilah simply brushed her hands, as if she was taking out the trash. The horses had been "parked" at another communal stable.

Loke had her M4 ready as a few of the locals had told them that everything was okay as they pushed through. One of those locals being a particular apostle.

"Of all the people…" Rory gave out a tired breath as she sat on the walkway in front of Delilah's and Delilah herself, her halberd dug into the dirt as two of her MPs flanked her, rifles ready. She had been referring to the pilots of course. She didn't expect them to be the most violent case of disorder.

"Commander Mercury." she had tilted her head up at the rough voice that called her.

"Ah! Bannon! Always a pleasure to see you." she had sprung up her dirt ruined face as she took hold of her weapon again, Loke still beating back the urge to not see her as a hostile. There was always a contingency plan for any hostilities displayed by her however.

"Likewise Commander Mercury." Bannon hadn't known if she was lying or not as she thumbed to the truck that the pilots had been thrown in in order to be taken back to the joint air base. "What was that about?"

Rory as a rather animated person had held her head in her hands as she tapped a finger against her cheek. "I overheard several of the JSDF earlier saying that the Marine pilots shot at their own pilots in the air… as for why, I do not know. It seems like they wanted to continue the fight down here."

"It seems like you've been busy, Rory." Loke had been more casual in her addressing of the demigod. She had allowed it of course. Only RCT3 and Hitman were allowed to call her her first name to her face she had specified.

"Oh, this is nothing compared to some of my old jobs." she cocked her small hips, the Rangers' attention drawn to what had been on her hip. Her halberd had been an ornate piece of art, so perhaps it was fitting to see the gold and black stylizing applied to a .38 revolver of the same type that the Japanese Metropolitan Police were offered.

Looking to the hips of the other MPs around, they had the same firearms.

"See something you like?" she teased.

As much as the Rangers were kept out of the loop regarding new movements and policies in the Special Region there wasn't much dispute that the Marines hadn't greenlit the JSDF giving the MPs sidearms.

Loke had nodded cautiously. "Those revolvers, may I see yours?"

"Of course."

Rory had drawn hers like Masterson, and indeed most of the gun handling of MPs had been in emulation of Masterson's action shooting. The revolver was twirled in her palm and offered to Loke, she taking it and holding the barrel down with one hand before motioning the cylinder out.

"Nambu, Model 60. .38 Special." Loke had rattled off as she had ejected the cartridges with the ejector rod into her palm, the metal had been darkened and designed in similar fashion to her Halberd.

"I did the design work myself." Rory had said proudly.

Loke had thumbed each unfired round back into the cylinder. One of them had been fired, and that one had been left out as it was handed back to Rory.

"When did you get these?" Bannon had been to the point as the crowd had finally started to disperse.

"While you were gone. Personally I've only used it once."

"Fulfilling your daily quota?" the sergeants sarcasm had elicited a giggle from Rory, she reaching up, patting Bannon's cheek and inhaling at the nape of her neck as she holstered the revolver again.

"With you around I don't need to worry about it." The way she had said that while curving the back of her hand along Loke's hip before disappearing into the crowd with her MPs yet another rather intimate touch Loke didn't appreciate from the refugees today. Rory had more and away appreciated as the last breath the Rangers heard from her that day was a shudder.

"Only used it once, eh?" Loke had ran the .38 casing through her knuckles like a coin as Delilah had appeared before the two Rangers, answering her thoughts.

"She had to use it to put a round in my ceiling. Always a way to get a "Show to stop", right?" Delilah had been one of the most successful English and Japanese speakers that had come out of the Corridor, and perhaps it was her boisterousness and enthusiasm which led her pursuits of language to appease all of her customers. "Visiting me today Lisa, Talia?"

She had known the Rangers on a first name basis the same way she had known Itami and the Rose Order.

Bannon had shook tote bag on her side with her laptop in it. "Needed someplace to write, you open?"

She had nodded kindly, her ears bobbing just enough to let the bullet casing ear rings she had created for herself dip into view with the rest of her warm orange fur and hair. "You know the fee for people who aren't officers then…"

Before Bannon had gotten her fee from her back pocket she had simply taken the .38 cartridge from Loke's hand, flicking it over to Delilah. Illegal or not she would be willing to use the spent casings as currency, despite what High Command had said about it.

Loke wouldn't be one to tattle as Delilah had put the "fee" in the pocket of her apron and led them in.


The scuffle between the pilots had still been rather fresh as several of the workers in Delilah's corner café had been sweeping, spraying, and generally picking up the pieces of a struggle that was beyond the two Rangers as they entered, Rory's bullet hole in the ceiling evident and currently covered up by a piece of tape which matched colors with the wood.

"Such a pity, I'll have to deduct that from today's profits." she had said quietly, hand against cheek as she led the two Rangers through, the café rather busy, all things considered: an image of normalcy that had been contrasted from the destruction outside.

"I'm sure that you can put in memo to Major Sevson or Sergeant Major Freeman."

Delilah had shook her head at the two Rangers. "Nonsense, why would I bother you people with such a trivial problem?"

"…Because it was our fault?"

Loke's answer hadn't clicked in Delilah's head as they had been led upstairs to the "officer's" section of the Officer's House, red curtains and the candle light highlighting cream colored walls.

The bustle of the busy downstairs, full of both JSDF and locals, had disappeared as they were led in to a less busy section and given a seat, tired JSDF officers silently ignoring the two Americans that walked in.

The curtain dividing this section and the conference room used by the Rose Order had been drawn closed to Bannon's detriment, her curiosity wondering what would've happened to them now and when word would've gotten to them about what happened at the Capital.

Given the fact that Bannon had been about to start that report her mind had naturally wandered and stayed, looking at those curtains as Loke sat down across from her at a corner table, up against a window and a white table cloth across the top.

"Will it be the usual, Lisa? Talia?"

"You have one hell of a memory, Delilah, but yeah." Loke had given the vocal answer as Bannon nodded, taking out her ThinkPad and getting started, the computer between her and the point man. The bunny woman and the Ranger had looked at Bannon as she had quietly zoned out into her work, the two sharing an understanding nod of Bannon's work etiquette and all the awkwardness it meant.

With that Delilah had walked along to fulfill their orders in her red, almost maid like outfit. It showing just enough to elicit a bigger tip from the male customers than the females… also the gratuity had been considerably more.

It was when Bannon's typing started, half her face hidden from Loke behind the laptop, did the Pakistani Ranger become a little annoyed.

She had put her elbows on the table and looked out the window, head framed by her palm.

"Used to work at a place like this during college, you know?" she started, Bannon merely superficially grunting as if she had heard it.

She waited a minute before continuing. "My advisor always told me I would be stuck in a place like that if I didn't quit it with the Greek life and went further into my major…" another grunt from Bannon.

Loke poked her tongue into the side of her cheek as she played with a loose strand of her black hair, brushing it behind her ears as Delilah had returned and gave her usual pleasantries of being available if they needed anything, Bannon nodding again at her as her only response.

"Now that I think about it, Delilah seems to be doing pretty well for herself as a waiter… granted she's working like, five jobs at once, but still, even with just this one… Makes you think."

"Thinking… yeah."

Admittedly Loke had told herself she had been on worse lunch dates as she blinked once or twice at Bannon's uncharacteristically distracted state.

"…Then again I didn't think as a Ranger I'd be sleeping in medieval Buckingham Palace or eating ice cream on the job with fine china while my sergeant ignores me..."

"Uh-huh."


She could've been a writer, Bannon. Then again she could've been a ballet dancer, a piano player, a farmer, a prostitute, a janitor, or an executive.

That was the opportunity that her parents had provided to her, and they had grown her up to be able to do most of those things. However her life, as it turned out, had offered her the other options that her parents would stick their nose up at as degeneracy.

All this to say that her descriptive writing skills had been comprehensive, and Loke had long since gone through four plates of ice cream of various local make by the time Bannon had gotten somewhat done.

The helicopter assault parties a few hundred feet up hadn't relented in their rate of incoming and outgoing as the day went on. This opposed to Loke's boredom, she having resorted to rolling her head around on the table as she waited for her sergeant to finish.

"You certainly look like you're having a fun time, miss."

A British tone underlined by some snarky, but grey, sneer.

"Isn't it everyone's favorite tank commander." The pointman almost sounded excited at finally having someone to have conversation with.

"Well I better be your favorite seeing as how I'm allowing you to use some of my gold."

The mention of wealth had Bannon look up from her laptop after she completed a sentence regarding the prostitutes.

"Why aren't you out with the rest of the combat teams Sergeant Wilbur?"

Wilbur had slightly cringed at her questioning as he brought a seat up and out for himself. "Good afternoon to you to Bannon, and, ah, well, I'm not infantry grunt, and the Chinooks can't exactly haul an Abrams everywhere so I'm just stuck here on my ass for the meanwhile while the JSDF and the rest of the boys go rough up some masters."

In all company that hadn't been formal, command, or familiar, Bannon had been a silent type if not anything else. The silent type which awkwardly looked at the person on the other half the conversation as if expecting them to speak on even after they had talked.

Perhaps her and Lelei had more in common than just interests and mutual beneficiaries.

"…So, how's the rest Ranger squad? I heard that bloke from Boston is still healing up at the Arnus Hospital." Wilbur had referred to Black as Delilah with her usual smile had delivered him his coffee, the bunny bowing at Bannon in acknowledgement as she had taken away her own soda.

"Private Black should make a full recovery within the next two days. The medical staff at Arnus is rather experienced…" Bannon spoke from experience. More specifically a lost left eye that was replaced by a not much better looking one, hidden still underneath the eyepatch. "As is Noriko."

"Ah, right, the Japanese slave. Do need to pay her a visit one of these days."

"Why would you do that super sergeant?"

"Just cause. Not every day you get to meet people that'll probably be defined in the history books like voici and voici." Wilbur's use of French hadn't exactly been correct, but Bannon hadn't though much of it when he was referring to her. It wasn't much of a compliment. Loke had been just slightly charmed as she leaned back in her chair, even if Wilbur had been focused on Bannon.

She was one of the first Wilbur and Yao had wanted to go to regarding hunting down the flame dragon, but the mission of hers to the capital had gotten to her first.

She had been one of the few to stare down that beast of death and come out, not only alive, but victorious.

Now that she was back however…

Blackburn had promised.

"Where's that dark elf I keep hearing about?" Bannon had asked plainly, noting her absence from Wilbur's side. The man had answered quickly as he shrugged.

"At work, I think."

"…Usually you don't talk to us unless you have something being schemed, super sergeant." as was the case, Loke pointing out. Wilbur had hidden his stash of gold underneath Bannon's bed in the Fromar Keep. The Marine Corps barracks wasn't exactly the most private of places to hide a fortune.

"Do I really not come to you in any other situation?"

Bannon nodded. "To the point, super sergeant."

"Alright, sheesh. You're back from the Capital, everyone single feckin' grunt is going out on a mission now within our AO. I think we could take a little trip to the Elbe Fiefdom and back for a week trip, perhaps kill some oversized lizards, you know, same as what you did last time, eh?"

Bannon had looked at him with her eye, a dead stare that spoke to unamused. "I don't know if you know, super sergeant, but I am under orders to not leave the Corridor, much like you now."

"Always gotta be an excuse."

Bannon ran her fist over her eyepatch, scratching it, the irritation picking up. Either that or it was the guilt. She could hardly imagine what Chuka had been like now; what it was like for Yao to watch her people die. "Don't try to make me feel bad, Wilbur. I'd love to die by dragon, but my death would be an inconvenience to my team."

"But you've taken on a flame dragon before Sergeant Bannon, who says you can't do it this time all the way eh?"

She breathed tiredly in an exhale, shaking her head as she took the easy way out. "Get Lieutenant Itami or Captain Emerson onboard and I'll listen to their orders, super sergeant."

He threw his arms up in the air. "It's always gotta be those two?"

She had closed her laptop as she sent off what she had of the report, wanting to be gone from the tanker. "For good reason, Wilbur."

"And what would be that good reason?"

The thousands of details that rendered Itami or Emerson the only ones able for the job had ranged from dark to light, official and unofficial, political and pragmatic, but Bannon used none of those.

"Because I'm not an officer."


Falmart – Arnus Hill – Joint Field Hospital


The miracles of medical technology had made sure Black was still walking, albeit with a limp, as some exo-skeleton looking device had been formed around his right leg, pacing through the halls in a patient's gown where Bannon and Loke had found him.

"Ma'am." was his simple greeting, Bannon shaking the man's hand as Loke simply gave a quick hug. "You weren't lying when you said this hospital knows their stuff. They said I'll be back to killing people in a few days if my leg sets and the injections form."

Black had always been a tad edgy, but it was hard to take the marksman seriously with his rather strong Boston accent.

"Hazama pulled the plug on our operation capabilities Black, we're all supposed to be cooped up here in the Corridor until further notice." Loke had advised as she still held her rifle on her, off to her side, even with her right hand still on the grip.

Black had raised an eyebrow, but he couldn't fight as he sat down on one of the chairs in the white hallway.

"Well, shit, I'm still being paid. Won't like dealing with the Marines coming back and boasting about how they're conquering an Empire, but god forbid what the Japanese will say."

"You don't mean that." Loke had talked down to Black, the man running a hand through his short, clipped, dark hair, he having grown a goatee with the relaxation of grooming codes.

"No, I don't." he said after a tired sigh. "One of the Marine captains passed through here earlier, talked to me about their objectives."

Bannon tilted her head at Black. "Mind informing us?"

He didn't mind as he hung his head back, looking at the fluorescent lighting above and listening for their eerie hum. He never liked hospitals. "This contingency plan was really for the Marines only, we were never put into the plan." he relented. "Basically it's a giant intelligence gathering op combined with a mass introduction of American forces to the locals. Marine combat teams riding out with representatives of Italica and translators and, if possible, peacefully acquiring records of slave trading and documentation of said slaves. Once they get actionable intel we spring at the objectives: the captured civilians."

"…Huh, reminds me of that old plan from the Old Wars." Bannon had recounted a similar strategy being enacted by NATO and America during the ISIS War.

"It's a damn shame we're not being let out. Us Rangers live for this shit. Remember Black Hawk Down? Lone Survivor? Remember who saved those folk?"

"Always enthusiastic, aren't you Jameson?" Loke had sneered as Black rolled his eyes.

"It's hard not to be when you're next door to the woman you extracted with the rest of the team inside the Capital."

The two Rangers had remembered why the Special Task Force had escalated as it did, and that reason was behind a door within their reach.

"She open to visitors Black?"

He stroked his facial hair as he motioned down a few doors. "Yeah, I just came out from there to give my leg some exercise. That Ass-kisser Yanagida though, told us to tell her that the civilian lines to back home are not set up yet."

It was a complete lie, naturally, Bannon raising her eyebrow as she tightened her eyepatch. "You don't need to take orders from him, you know."

Black shrugged. "I've got a good feeling we should listen this time ya' know. I think it's for a good reason." the way he had stressed those final words in his peculiar accent had made Loke and Bannon tighten their jaws. The Japanese had known something more than they did regarding Noriko.

Of all the things the JSDF did in the Special Region, acting against the welfare of innocents and civilians hadn't been one of their MOs.

"You've talked to her?" Loke had asked for Bannon as she looked at the plain door that was supposedly Noriko's.

"Yeah. Fascinatin' young woman. Tad shy, but she's just glad to talk to someone who could understand her for once… even if my Japanese is terrible."

"Well you know enough to introduce us, private."

He had stood up, the exoskeleton around his leg whirring for a second, hands clasped. "Why not? Would rather talk to her than the Imperials they've got hosted up here."

"What?"

Black again had pointed with his rather precise fingers at the doors down, especially those with GSDF guards posted outside of. "The first Marine fireteams that came back brought back a few wounded, a few slaves… none of ours, but those that needed immediate medical attention."

"How are the deployments going, you hear?"

Black had shriveled his nose as a commotion came from one of those rooms, only to be settled as a guard had went into the room. "The RCTs are a bit trigger happy. The Marines have been exercising restraint by trying to peacefully evict any Imperial garrisons they find near the resource points, however at even a hint of hostilities the JSDF have been lighting them up like it's in style… might be a reason why the mine or camp managers are more willing to talk to the Gi-reens or Force Recon. Doesn't matter though, most of the RCTs stayed at their sites to enforce the JSDF's agenda I suppose." he had knocked against the Noriko's door once or twice as the two female Rangers had waited respectfully, arms behind their backs. "Hey, Noriko-chan, coming back in."

Black had opened the door to a rather peaceful sight: the small woman with a bob cut and several bandages adorning her exposed skin sitting in her bed, looking out to Arnus and the Corridor from her window view.

She had been given JSDF fatigues to wear, and, for a second, Bannon had mistaken her for one of the JSDF.

At her bedside had been a tray of pills and medication: the foot of the bed hugging with a table with vials of blood and other testing substances, Bannon specifically noticing a pregnancy test. Noriko was connected to an IV and had groggily looked over to Black before the two women.

"Ohayō gozaimasu."

Noriko had tried to dip her head in her bed, but predictability there hadn't been much room to do so.

Bannon and Loke had returned the platitude in Japanese as Black had taken his chair back and put it to the side of her bed. "Good morning Miss Noriko."

Noriko had frozen upon hearing her broken voice, and the Rangers had known it was because of Bannon's voice that it gave Noriko pause.

For what reason they had guessed incorrectly as Bannon hurriedly try to clear her throat as best she could.

"I remember you."

"What?"

Noriko had smiled kindly at Bannon as she heard her voice, unhidden. "You were there several nights ago at Zorzal's door during one of his nights with Tyuule."

Bannon's entire mind had sucked itself backed in as she remember her first meeting with Zorzal. As Zorzal had frozen her with the fact he had looked like someone she had thought she left behind in a different life, it distracted her from the fact that he had been bedding his sex slaves that particular night.

One of them had been Noriko, and she had remembered her voice.

"What?" Loke had been visibly confused, not informed of the incident that Emerson had taken Ortiz and Bannon into.

Stammering hadn't been something Bannon had been used to as she recollected her thoughts. "If-, If I had known-" she had licked her lips as she felt the urge to simply leave her own skin at that moment, but she had calmed down enough to breath out once and take a chair on the opposite side of Noriko's bed.

The Japanese woman had offered her hand, which Bannon had taken mercifully. "If I had known you were there, I would've killed him on the spot. I would've done something." there was some pleading, some pitiful tone which Bannon used. It was not needed with her.

"But you couldn't have known, so I do not blame you."

Yet still Bannon had kept her head down. She needed to do something. Anything. For slaves, for prisoners, for people who did not deserve what they had been given. She understood what it was like.

"Sergeant Bannon, what's going on?" Black had tilted his head at his sergeant.

Bannon had looked up and licked her cracked lips as she said what she said. "When I was at Sadera Hill with Ortiz and Captain Emerson, I was very close to discovering her."

"Oh."

"You soldiers are always so serious, surely you can't all be like the videogames my younger brother plays, right?"

The way Noriko had seemed so chipper had defied the Rangers in a way, Loke sliding her rifle out of sight.

"Depends if you're an enemy or not." Black had half laughed, looking out the window to avoid making eye contact at the poor joke.

Noriko still saw merit in it. "Huh, I suppose you're right, especially what I saw in that throne room." Loke had frozen up a bit as Noriko had looked at her, knowing that she had been there. "Are you okay?"

The woman in the hospital bed hooked up to an IV had been the one asking the full bodied Ranger, her knife wound numbed, but still there. "I'll be fine ma'am, we came here to check up on you two, actually… well, maybe just you, we really don't care about Black."

"Coming from you Loke, that hurts." the two Rangers had laughed as Bannon and Noriko still held their hands. It was a rather needy grip, if anything. Still, for the next half hour as they made civilian conversation, it was a comfortable one.


"I did not realize that Kay Ro Bronxon was an American…" the topic of friends and family had brought Noriko to talk about Emerson. Or, at least, Kay Ro Bronxon. "The way Zorzal talked about how Pina had clung to him and his teachings, I wouldn't think he was anyone who could help me."

"You LIED to me!" Emerson's scream at Pina had still been fresh in Loke's mind.

"He did not know of your existence, none of us did." she said, defending, if it was necessary, her captain.

Noriko had nodded understandingly. "Zorzal often bellyached on how we an internal spy for this "infernal power called America". Kay's… I mean, Captain Emerson's exploits in the gladiator arena and with the senators seemed to have me agree with him."

"It's rather dangerous what kind of reputation Captain Kay has brought himself." Black had been every wary of titles and nicknames. His own last name was intimidating enough in his view.

"Demon Lord, Father of Sin," the Japanese woman wandered in her mind on his titles and how they brought fear. "…his name was starting to spread out throughout the Empire's provinces and cities according to Zorzal. More specifically through both the princess and the gladiators. They both speak so highly of him that they really assume he is a new apostle."

"You seem to know a lot about the Empire from Zorzal." Black had raised his eyebrow.

"I suppose that is what I'm worth to my country now: a very first hand account of this place…" The Rangers had a pang of sadness ring through them for her. Her words were not untrue. She was simply an asset, an excuse, at that point. They knew the theme. A person as an excuse can only last so long, but starting off, they can drive a nation to extremes.

"Do you know about any other slaves that were taken?" Bannon had asked, the soldier side of her kicking in, wanting to grab intelligence.

"Mikita-" Noriko had paused as she caught herself halfway into a name. "I am not allowed to discuss details about the other slaves until further notice." her mind had drifted back to black hair, blue eyes, and a particular accent she didn't hear associated with Americans usually. He had been the one who fought the most…

"Mikita?" Loke had repeated, but Noriko wouldn't specify as she held her mouth. "Ah, I see. I won't push it then."

"I'd like to call my family. I want them to know that I'm alright." the change of subject had turned the tenseness on the Rangers, Noriko's request sudden.

The blood had drained from Black's face as the two female Rangers hardened their faces momentarily.

"Oh, sorry, hun'," Bannon had winced as she made a mental note to herself to curtail her use of that word more often. "We're under orders to not call back to our homes as of right now. Operational security."

"Oh…"

Bannon had licked her lips as she straightened her shirt, glancing at the watch on her wrist, standing up and making to leave, Loke and Black standing up with her by habit. "If there's anything we could do for you, feel free to ask, we're going to be nearby for a next week or so, probably."

"Thank you for the offer Miss….?"

"Bannon. Staff Sergeant Lisa Bannon."

Lisa had been a rather foreign name to Noriko as a Japanese, but it had sounded so familiar to her anyway. "Like, Mona Lisa?"

"With this…?" Bannon had pointed to her eye. "Doubtful."

Black and Loke had both bowed and said their own goodbyes as they both turned to their sergeant, she leading to way out, a frown hidden on her lips as the door closed. They switched to their native tongue.

"There might be more like her out there." Loke had breathed out, her head on the wall next to the door tiredly, Black nodding at the two women, leaving upon the fact he had to walk down for an appointment in another wing of the building.

"Well, hope the Marines and the JSDF find something then." Bannon's music player had come out as she responded, her ear buds were unfurled from her pocket, draped around her neck as Loke had went her own way, her arms in the air.

"Either way, we're in for some serious downtime."