In the country of Toujimae, a dark and bloody civil war rocked the populous. It was a horrible spot on the nation's already stained history, the historic tomes recording hundreds of bloodthirsty and selfish rulers and self proclaiming dictators who used civil wars much like this one to expand their own powers.
At the central spotlight of this particular conflict was Sergio Cortez, a man in his late fifties with frizzled black hair, and a graying moustache. His opponents, although scapegoats would prove a far more accurate description, were refugees who were pouring into his country for who knows what reason. He could care less. This war was a way to expand his influences, particularly to SEELE, who granted their blessing on the conflict and promised they would not interfere.
He rode in a beat down Hummer, and a huge number of attack jeeps were surrounding him, ensuring he would survive this day. However, if by some odd day in hell that the refugees managed to destroy those, three Ramniel class Full Metals were practically on top of him. If anything could save him from an assassin's bullet, it would be those demons.
They turned a corner onto the main street. An interesting image caught his eye: a beaten down church, were hundreds of wounded refugees laid. Women and children attended to their wounds, and the occasional elder could be seen among them.
They were totally helpless against any sort of attack.
Sergio Cortez smiled. Perfect.
He climbed onto the hood of the Hummer, and raised his hand to halt the advance. A multitude of whispers and gasps were easily heard. Cortez pulled out his pistol. A feeble man donning priest's clothing approached the dictator.
"Please! You must not do this! This war must end!"
Cortez licked his lips. "It will end when all of you good for nothing refugees are out of my country!"
"Please sir! We just want a place to live!"
"Shut your useless mouth old man!" He raised his gun.
The priest gasped. "God will never forgive —"
He never finished the sentence. A bullet ripped through the pacifist's head.
"Where is your God now?" the murderer smirked villainously. He raised his free hand, preparing to drop it, signaling a slaughter.
Some of the women shivered with fear, bundling their children close to them. Some began to cry. A few old man, got on their knees and began to pray.
The signal was set: two of the Ramniels raised their gun and were about to pull the trigger. That is, until they were ripped to pieces by a hidden enemy. They exploded in a blazing inferno, with burning metal spraying everywhere.
Cortez gasped at the sight. "What the hell…!"
A Uriel, not painted with the tanned paintjob of Cortez's forces, but rather, sporting the obsidian colored metal of NERV, appeared mid air, its front already exposed to the ground. It flipped onto its feet. It raised its one eye towards the remaining foe, and rolled out of the way as inaccurate shots were fired its way. By the time it got to its feet, the dictator's remaining Full Metal was already scrap metal.
"Retreat!" the half crazed Dictator swore. His entire battalion sped off without a complaint, none of his militia wishing to face the demon god that was the Uriel. When the last of the militia sped off, the Uriel turned to see that four of its companions had come to join it, all sporting the black paint job as him.
At the front of this pack was Colonel Kalem. "Good to see you haven't lost your touch Jonathon."
The younger Full Metal pilot nodded, his weapon copying the friendly motion. "VR does tend to help keep me in shape, sir."
The Colonel sighed, still disappointed that his son refers to his 'official' name even on the battlefield. Then again, should he really be surprised about his son's behavior? "Well, the helicopters should be here any minutes…" And almost as if on cue, six NERV helicopters turned off their camouflage, lowering themselves to the ground.
One of the Uriels faced the crowd. "Everyone, get in! We will transport you to a safe location!" Without hesitating, the crowd practically leaped onto the helicopters, although a few were kind enough to carry the murdered priest's body onto a helicopter with care.
A random collection of radio chatter could be heard from the helicopters and the Uriels as they prepared for the safe evacuation of the refugees.
However, a certain Dictator was not out of the picture yet. He slammed hard on the dashboard of his Hummer. "Damn them!" he cursed.
"Where did they come from?" his driver asked.
"NERV…"
"NERV?" the militia fighter arched his eyebrows, never hearing of either NERV or SEELE before Sergio Cortez came into power.
"SEELE's military dogs." He scowled. "I should of have known this was going to happen when ADVENT came into the picture." He sighed. "No matter! Those refugees won't escape. We'll launch the AAs!" He pulled out a walkie-talkie out of the side of the door, and talked into it, sending his orders to those who needed to hear it. The listener on the other side acknowledged the orders, and Cortez hung up. He smiled grimly.
A helicopter number Wyrd 43-6 hovered over the town hall, scouting for any signs of the guerilla fighters. It reported none: almost the entirety of Cortez's forces disappeared, as if they evaporated. It was possible that they had hidden themselves in some underground tunnels, which were common practice by guerilla fighters in Asia, but the pilot had his doubts about that theory. Regardless, he reported in to his superior. "Lady Hamae?"
In head quarters, the elegant lady twirled hair around her finger. "Yes, Wyrd forty three-six?"
"There is no sign of the Cortez's guerrilla fighters—". Suddenly, over the intercom, they heard the booming sounds of a missile slamming into the copter, obliterating it.
The lady was unmoved. "Status?"
"It was an anti-air missile, ma'am," a voice responded. "It was not detected on the radar, so it's likely it was cloaked." Hamae sighed, and ordered that a comm. link be established with the Colonel.
"Colonel. The dictator in question has heat seeking anti-air missiles that are also likely to be cloaked. The helicopters must not be let off the ground."
The Colonel's sigh could be heard. "So, they mean to surround us then? To keep the helicopters in one place…"
"And squash you like ants."
"Affirmative, ma'am. I'll send one of my Uriels to deal with the AA battery."
"See that you do." With that, she waved her hand, and the comm. link was cut.
On the battlefield, Kalem's Uriel turned to his squad. "Who will volunteer?"
His son's Full Metal approached his father. "I will. Do we have any coordinates?"
"Judging from where Wyrd 43-6 was shot down, as well as the direction of the explosion…" he paused for a moment, allowing the computer on his Full Metal to finish all of the technical data, "33.6 North!"
"Understood!" With that, Jonathon Kalem's Full Metal leaped over a building, heading for the target. His father, on the other hand, wasted no time as he prepared to move the helicopters to a more appropriate position: none at all. They would keep on moving, low enough to keep out of the range of the missiles but high enough that they could move and not waste any fuel. In laments terms, they were hovering barely a few feet above the road.
One of Cortez's random soldiers gazed in fear at the hills. For the past fifteen minutes he and others at the post, which was nothing more than a worn down warehouse, had been hearing the screams of other posts that went down one by one. It was like some horrible phantom was consuming their souls. He swallowed, and stared at a pitcher full of water. The earth was thundering, and the glass was vibrating. The soldier blinked repeatedly, hoping that with each blink the thundering would stop.
It never did.
He licked his lips as the thundering become more frequent, and by the time the pitcher rumbled every second the peasant soldier felt his heart was going to be torn from his chest.
Suddenly, he heard a yell. He stared up, only to see the sprinting form of Jonathon's Uriel. That was the last thing he saw, before he and his comrades were engulfed in a fiery explosion.
The pilot licked his lips. Sweat slipped their way down his forehead, but he just ignored the annoyance. A soldier learns not to be distracted on the field of battle, especially when out numbered. The fact that he was out numbered by ants made little difference to him. Cockiness was a weakness that could prove to be easily exploited by even the most reckless of soldiers.
The Uriel sprinted over the hill. The AA missile battery was easily seen. Only a few soldiers were guarding it.
As much as he hated to say it, it was too easy of a target. There weren't even any tanks to handle any possible armored opponents. It was clear to see that Cortez did not anticipate the Refugees to have any sort of armored weapons.
It was also clear to see that Cortez was a foolish man.
The rifle fired off a series of rounds. The battery exploded into a blazing fireball, taking the soldiers that were stupid enough to stand near it along with it.
The image of his father appeared on a smaller screen in Jonathon's cockpit. "Jonathon, the radar shows no sign that AA launcher. I hope it isn't an error," he said with a smile, not doubting his son's expertise.
"Affirmative sir." Jonathon smiled back. He knew how much his father was irritated by the formality, even though it was on the battlefields.
"Hold your position, son. A carrier is coming to bring us home. The Lady said we are done here."
Home. The word had such sweetness to it. Jonathon closed his eyes and allowed his mind to be overwhelmed by it.
He was going home.
A week later, another helicopter loomed over the ruins of the city. It was, however, not owned by either NERV or SEELE. The leaf symbol of Sephiroth was not branded onto the copter, nor were the six eyes of SEELE. Rather, the words ADVENT was painted across it in a very blunt manner.
A man in his early forties was on the copter. He was bald, minus the hair went down from his sides. His double chin was large and nearly impossible to notice, and he wore a pair of glasses that made him appear intelligent. He was looking at the destruction below through a pair of binoculars. He was leaning over the helicopter carelessly, and surely I fallen over if his assistants were not using their own weight to anchor him down.
"Oh look! Look, look, look! At precisely, I must surely guess at precisely 14.05..7.05.69 point blah blah blah hours, we seemed to have an intruder in our mist! Oh yes, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind about it! There's no possible way around it! NERV must of have come! Oh the bastards always ruin our fun!" He frowned a moment, before he continued to scan the carnage. "Oh, what's this? A helicopter crashed! The cause, what was it? I must know! I must, oh yes, I must! Uh, uh, uh…ah, very interesting, he used our missiles! Hmmm…a little anxious are we? That will not do at all, not at all. Ah well…hmm, let me see here…ah! Egads!"
"Sir egads is not a word. I think you mean egad."
"Quiet you fool!" With that, he pushed the intruder off of the helicopter into the lake. "Now, what on earth did he do that for?" The man shrugged. "Ah well…now, where was I? Ah yes, now I remember, yes I do! I was just about to comment about how our puppet was too much of an idiot to not put up detectors for cloaked enemies! The fool! The bumbling fool! He probably trips over his own shoe laces! He must! There's no way about it, not at all!" He looked down to one of his assistants who were holding him down. "Don't you see?"
"I do not sir."
"Then you are an idiot! NERV used cloaking devices to jump right on top of the poor fool's battalion. And we lost all of our Full Metals we lent him! Curses!" He sniffled a bit before continuing with his commentary. "Oh, a Uriel separates from the group! Why? Oh, must be after the missiles. Ah, I see. Making sense it all is, yes it does. Anyhoe, there he goes! He's off! Oh he is so off I can hardly believe he is this off of the offity on ground! Do you see what I mean?"
"No, sir."
"Shut yo' mouth, who asked you anyways? Oh, oh, oh, ah! There he goes! He found the missiles! And blast it all, he blasted it to blasting blasted smithereens! Aw, those NERV always have to ruin my fun. Why, oh why oh why!" He shrugged. "Ah well. Bring me to Cortez! I'm going to kick his ass! And where are those twins? Get me them too!"
The apartment was dark, and cold. Its filth attracted hordes of vermin: spiders and rats sprinted across the cracked wooden floor. Mold seeped through the cracks on the wall. Even the shower heads brought forth a huge variety of stomach turning smells whenever it was turned on.
Two naked forms were on the form; both of them were Japanese, and twins. One of them, a male, scrapped soap against the wet back of his sister. He would fling her long, seductive hair of the way when he needed to. His sister breathed slow breaths.
"Father will contact us soon, won't he, Souske?"
He nodded. "Of course he will, Kanomai. Until he does, we have to follow Christopher-Ryan."
She spat in disgust. "I hate that man. He's disgusting." She shuddered.
Souske massaged his sister's shoulders, calming her. "Don't worry. We'll make it through this." Believing him, Kanomai nodded. All of a sudden, a phone rang. Souske stood up, and answered it. Just as quickly as he answered, he hung up. He turned to his sister. "He wants us." She nodded, and reached for her clothes. Souske did the same.
Cortez was sweating uncontrollably, although the ninety degree weather was hardly the cause of it. He licked his dried lips uncontrollably, and his hands were shaking as if he was going to have a heart attack (although he did wish that it would occur right here and now). The dictator was pacing back and forth in his tent in a nervous and repetitive manner, his hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically.
'He's going to kill me! Fredicoh is going to kill me! There's no way around it…he is gonna have my head! My head! I'm a dead man...'
Cortez had already made preparations for such an event: a small ambush. After all, it was doubtful that ADVENT would send any more than fifteen soldiers to clean up the mess. It just wasn't in their style. Have the low men like Cortez do all the dirty work on the experimenting of their weapons, and sell the finished results to the highest bidder, whoever that would be.
No matter how good he tried, there could be no way he would survive this day. By the end, he and all of his men will be dead men. But, maybe he could take a few of ADVENT's men along with him…maybe even the crazed Fredicoh himself.
The dictator's nervous pacing was interrupted when one of his men entered the tent.
"Sir, he's here." Cortez rushed out from his tent, his lackies following him. The helicopter landed onto the plain with relative ease.
They saw the frown Fredicoh had. They saw the straight faces of two dark eyed teenagers standing by them.
They never saw the maniacal smile he was beaming just moments before, when they were still in the air.
Fredicoh was insane, and he was probably a bastard, but he survived by not being an idiot. He could tell a trap when he saw one. It was obvious by Cortez's confident smile and his nervous sweat stricken face that he had a trap set in store for ADVENT's soldiers. Fredicoh turned to the pilot and drew his hand across his neck. The helicopter blades began to slow, and the ADVENT leader nimbly hopped down from the helicopter.
Fredicoh stretched and yawned. "Oh Cortez, I am so sorry, but you have, oh how should I put it?" He paused for a moment, his fingers tapping his double chin in a suggestive manner. "Bah, forget the formatives! You failed us, not that we were really expecting you to do anything good anyhow."
"Failed? FAILED? You failed US!" Cortez was raging. "You son of a bitch! You KNEW! You knew that would happen! If anything, it's YOUR fault!"
"Aw, thank you Cortez! I'm glad I'm not the only one. But, really now, you have to die. Bye bye!", he waved with a wide smile. Suddenly, from the behind the rolling hills several sharpshooters began to fire upon Cortez's men, including those that were originally supposed to do the sharp shooting. Christopher-Ryan turned to the two teenage assassins by his side. "Get to it." With that, the Miyamotos leaped into the fray, their assassin blades drawn. The two murderers created a beautiful dance of blood and death; with every movement, with every precise slice of their swords, they created something that was as lustful as it was monstrous. Blood sprayed from the wounds of the dead, onto their faces. But at the gruesome sight, the two never flinched nor were they deterred from the dance of death.
And all the while, the man of ADVENT sang a beautiful song, his hands lifted up to the heavens as if he was singing to God himself.
When it was all done, which took less than thirty seconds, the man pouted. He wanted it to last longer. It was so fun to see the killing twins as work.
"Ah well, that's that."
Suddenly, his cell phone rang. He reached into his red coat. "YEAH, what do ya want! Oh, okay, that works for me. Adios, see ya, smell ya later alligator, and all that jazz! Love ya, bye!" He rushed over to the twins, who were wiping the blood off of their faces like someone would a squished bug. "Hey kids! What do you feel about going to BOSTON?"
They arched their eyebrows, but offered no other form of complaints.