MSR Tijuana, Rose Knights Encampment, April 5th 2021 (1400)

"Fuckin' arty." is all Evan could mutter as he walked over tthe charred remains of a knight, eyeing and whistling at the destruction around him all while walking alongside his fellow Marines from 1st Recon. They're doing a BDA, Battle Damage Assessment, searching for any survivors that might've survived the attack.

But based on the bloodbath all around the fields, Evan has come to the conclusion that nobody survived the initial artillery bombardment. The BDA also gave the opportunity for a quick rest for the battalion, who had been moving on the highway non-stop for 2 or 3 hours now. Albeit, at the cost of being parked near a literal pool of organs and blood running on the once peaceful plains near the slopes and valleys of the famous Duma Mountains, visible from their position as its peak can be seen reaching high in the sky, while the villagers on the mountain slope continued on with their daily life, unaware of the 1st Recon stopping in the fields below them, preparing for their next push into the valleys of Dumas, one of the most treacherous places in the Empire for any invading forces that even dared to entertain the idea of attacking the once undefeated Empire.

"Dayum, that fire mission earlier was overkill, we could've just charged these guys and blow them the fuck out with our Mark-19 and tanks, they're unprepared anyways, looks too young to be experienced." Simon flatly remarked while kicking the body of a blonde female knight, her body mangled beyond recognition, while her hair was covered in blood and her stomach was pumping out fresh organs inside the girl's body like a toy factory. Miraculously, Simon manages to not vomit at the brutal sight right before his eyes, continuing to do his BDA instead as he makes a small leap over the blonde's body before landing on a pool of blood. Concluding that they're new and inexperienced knights based on the remaining body parts, untouched by the savage artillery bombardment earlier.

"Yeah, we pretty much liberated these knights." Evan morbidly joked as he takes a slight glance at a torn tent covered in intestines less than twenty meters away from him, it seems like the sight has caused the driver and one of the snipers in Hitman 2-2, Corporal Sebastian Alexander, to puke out his entire breakfast as he turns his head away from the maimed tent that wouldn't look out of place in a halloween haunted house. Evan silently shakes his head at the scene, before lifting his boots up, trying to shake off the bloods sticking to his feet.

"But hey, look at the brightside, at least we get to stop and rest for a couple of minutes before moving back, I've been driving the Humvee for the past 3 hours." Patting the shoulder of his team leader, Evan kindly smiles as he tries to reassure the currently stoic Simon, gazing at the shepherd he saw earlier, oblivious to their presence despite the constant rumblings of the 155mm shells exploding in the fields

"Yet you dared to call yourself a Recon Marine, when a 3 hour ride inside a Humvee tires you." Not letting go of his cold gaze, Simon blankly retorted as he peered through his ACOG at the plains all around him, scanning the horizon for any hostile force or knights that might've survived the indiscriminate rain of fire. Evan, being the frenetic and ever-talkative radio telephone operator (RTO) and driver of Simon's team he is, immediately shot back.

"Man, fuck you! I told you and other guys in the platoon, that the air around here is filled with invisible muds that slowly, but surely drains our energy with magic voodoo Jamaican-Final Fantasy shit." As usual, he fired back with his occasional sarcastic babbling about conspiracy theories in this continent, annoying Simon, who quietly sighs in exasperation.

"Whatever, you whiskey-tango." Simon merely rolled his eyes, glancing at Evan for a heartbeat before responding back at him with a certain NATO phonetic alphabet used inappropriately.

"What the hell was that supposed to mean?" Clancy, who has been trailing behind them, spoke up as he looked at them with a puzzled expression, tilting his head in confusion at Evan's theory, not getting what he was trying to say.

"Nothing, move along, Doc." A response came from his team leader, not paying attention to him and Evan as he walked past a burning knight on fire, his body darkening every second, consumed by the raging flame caused by spilled lamp oil.

While Simon, Evan and Clancy are in the fields, slowly walking, occasionally kicking at the dead bodies to check if they're alive or not. Kirito and the Traveler stayed behind at their Humvee, guarding the vehicle as the gunner occasionally swiveled the turret left and right, providing overwatch for the rest of his team, all while taking in the continent's natural beauty, gazing at the fields and the tall mountains visible from their position, the untouched wilderness extending as far as eye could see. At the same time, Kirito is also trying to ignore the slaughterhouse-like scenery to his right.

Flies and vultures have descended onto the remains of the knights' camp, feasting on the dead bodies strewn all over the place, cooked to perfection by the airburst explosion of 155mm VT rounds, to which the vultures aren't complaining as they immediately went to work, chewing on the once proud knights of the Empire, reduced to mere burning husk by a single radio transmission calling in a fire mission by a certain 22 year old First Lieutenant of Hitman-2, fresh out of college and BRC.

"War is a feast for vultures, I guess?" The vultures, despite not understanding what the man is saying, scattered as a statue of a large black male walked into the dead body of a knight, crouching as he began checking the half burnt body for any signs of useful intelligence.

"I wonder how would it look like if all those zoos back in the states fed actual human meat to these guys." The soft voice of Allie can be heard as he approaches his team leader, who's currently squatting as he pats the body from up to bottom, trying to hold off the horrible smell of death filling the air around him.

"Yeah, it's pretty fucking clear they don't do that for obvious reasons." Instead of looking back at his Brazilian friend, Dow continues to focus as he pats down the dead body carefully, trying to not desecrate it as his hands rummaged through the pockets that may have remained, before finally getting up, an indication that he had found nothing important, besides some letters to the knight's family.

"Did you find anything?" Noticing that his team leader is holding something in his hands, Allie peeks his head up at Dow's grip in an effort to find out the content that he is holding, stealing a glance in the process. He slowly walks towards him with his M4A1 slung back, not seeing any reason to use it in this current situation as he stands next to Dow, holding some kind of letter in his hands. To which Dow immediately replied in a bored tone, his eyes firmly staring at the bloodstained letter in his hands, opening it.

"Yup, a letter." Shuffling through the contents of the letters, Dow continues to look at it in a seemingly bored expression, before turning around towards Simon, his team leader. Despite both of them having the same rank of Sergeant, Simon has greater authority over Dow, the latter being the ATL to the former, leading his own sub-team of Hitman 2-1, 2-1 Bravo. He narrows his eyes as he searches for Simon, darting left and right before finally stopping on a familiar, lean figure of a brown-haired man whose messy hairs are covered by his LWH helmet, uncaring as he stands over an overturned wooden table, his green eyes watching a flock of sheeps grazing the wilderness.

"Yo Sai! Stop the fucking sight-seeing man, check this shit out." Yelling towards his friend, Dow followed his shouting by putting his gloved hands in the air, waving it as he tried to gain the attention of his team leader.

He watched as Simon's body perked up in surprise at the mention of his name, snapping his head at the man who dared to even entertain the idea of disturbing him as he tried to take in the beauty of the fantasy continent, let alone actually doing it. To which he immediately replied.

"What?!" He simply asked as he snapped his head towards the source of which the voice came from, looking at his Assistant Team Leader with a seemingly puzzled expression, still standing over the overturned table.

"You know Latin right?!"

"Yeah, a bit, why?" The question asked by his ATL further confuses Simon, who raises his eyebrow as an indication of his currently puzzled mind. Dow meanwhile, just facepalms in frustration, it seems to be his superior still didn't understand the reason why he was just called, despite the obvious letter in his left hands, firmly gripping it.

"Just come here will ya? I found a fucking letter you blind-ass cracker! Read it for me or something, shit might be S2 material. Dawg I ain't speaking no Roman so please come here."

Silence immediately followed the moment Dow finished his sentence. Both men continued to stare at each other awkwardly, seconds passed as winds continued to fill the quiet atmosphere as only the sounds of the gentle breeze and diesel engines together with gas turbines of 2/5 CAAT Humvees and M1A1 tanks of Centurion-1 could be heard respectively, rolling past them as they conduct security patrols around them, that is, until Simon slowly opened his mouth, letting out a soft…

"Oh…" His words were immediately followed by facepalms from Evan and Clancy, standing behind him, suffering from second hand embarrassment, followed by several silent snickers and sneers belonging to his fellow teammates.

"How in the fuck did you not notice what he's trying to say?"

"Heh, too busy thinking about his ex maybe, he got dumped right?"

Simon simply shrugs off the remarks, instead asking a whole nother question, unrelated to the sneers behind him.

"How did he know that I used to study Latin?" He silently mutters, pondering for a moment as he begins walking towards Dow, only for his train of thoughts to be interrupted by the voice of his driver, following behind him as leaped past the half-destroyed desk in a lazy manner.

"Probably because your rich-ass went to an expensive upper-class boarding school before enlisting, courtesy of your wealthy background." Evan snarkily answered his question, despite it being directed to no one in particular. Which earns him a death glare from his team leader.

"Evan, shut your goddamn piehole already."

"He's right though, didn't you go to some fucking gay-ass expensive boarding school?" Chipping into the conversation, Clancy immediately sided with Evan, hitting Simon's shoulder tauntingly with his left hand.

Feeling as if someone touched his right shoulder, he quickly turned his head towards the direction before speaking up in an exasperated tone, not amused by the duo's attempt at taunting him.

"Doc, I usually respect you as the platoon's corpsman, but in this case, please shut your fucking mouth alright? Besides, it's not like I'm that good in Latin." Frowning at Clancy's act of siding with Evan, he quickly retorts back at them with a light-hearted voice despite his exasperated facial expression, followed by yet another remark from Clancy.

"Nah, nah, I feel you. I couldn't even complete my Latin homework, mostly copied it from Ms. Four-eyed Twat Lips' favorite student. Apparently he got a thing for bunny boys, so I dressed up in a bunny suit and sent my pictures to him in exchange for letting me copy his works and shit."

The latter part of his story caused his friends to raise their eyebrows and look at him, shocked by his very unusual tale. Clancy quietly shrugs off their reaction with a small grin, acting as if nothing had happened, continuing to walk towards their Assistant Team Leader instead with his teammates in tow, still bewildered by his high-school tales.

"Doc, you're down bad man, Jesus Christ."

"I told you Sai, he's a fucking navy queer faggot cocksucker."

Ignoring the sneers of his subordinates that were laced with tones of bewilderment, Clancy continues to approach Dow, currently squatting next to the dead body, the letter still in his hands, firmly holding it. The sight of Simon approaching caught Dow's attention, to which he responds by swiftly standing up, taking a bite from his MRE brownie in the meantime as he awaits the arrival of his friend.

Simon nonchalantly walks amidst the pool of bloods accumulating on the fields around them, leaping over the dead body laying down besides Dow before landing on a charred bone, finally reaching him as he gestures towards him to give him the letter in question, sluggishly shuffling his feet in the process, trying to shake off certain red liquid ruining his issued boots, irritating him.

"What do we got here?" Simon meekly asked, sounding almost bored, contrary to his shining face, smiling brightly as he finally found a reason to use his Latin knowledge, he then snatched the letter from Dow's grip.

"Some sketchy S2 shit." Ignoring his friend's almost aggressive snatch, Dow flatly replies as he steals a glance from the paper, currently being unfolded by Simon, narrowing his eyes as he tries to read the words, stained with blood of the dead knight. "Maybe you'll be able to read it."

Silently unfolding the letter, Simon's face quickly turned brighter with a small smile accompanying, waiting patiently in anticipation as he carefully unveiled the letter, trying not to tear apart the soggy paper.

Finally opening the letter, he narrowed his eyes as he began reading it, trying to understand the handwriting. Just as quickly as he began reading it, his bright smile abruptly disappeared, turning into a frown as he continued to stare at the letter, distraught, his hopes shattered as the winds caused the letter to fly away from his hands, carrying it away towards the wilderness, not even trying to hold it in place on his gloved hands.

Clancy, seeing this, immediately grabs the letter mid-air before the wind could send it away on its path, before stealing several glances of the words written, gazing at it in bewilderment as he tries to make sense of what it is trying to say. Dow, noticing Clancy and Simon's sudden change of mood, immediately inquired worriedly, approaching his superior while tilting his head, looking at him in confusion.

"What? What the fuck is it, Sai? An attack plan? Slave Trade?"

"No… It's fucking gibberish." Simon angrily answered his question, breathing out a sigh of exasperation, at the same time raising his hands as he proceeded to point towards the piece of paper currently in Clancy's hand, also looking at it distraughtly.

"What the fuck? This don't even look like Latin, this fucking shit looks like bunch of lines drawn by a 2 year old kid tit-suck trying to learn how to write!"

"Regional dialect maybe? Can we get a native translator or something?" Immediately after Allie spoke up, everyone turned their heads at neck-breaking speed to look at him, their faces disappointed.

"Dialect? Allie are you fucking serious? Fucking Latin got the same alphabets as English, this shit is entirely gibberish." Simon angrily interjected, his calm facade falling apart, his face fuming in anger at his illogical suggestion as he shifted his attention towards Allie. To which the certain driver of 2-1 Bravo immediately retorted.

"How am I supposed to know? I don't go to some bitch-ass boarding school! Besides, what the fuck happened to our translator?" He counters, which were followed by a question, inquiring about the whereabouts of the battalion's translator, his status unknown.

"We lost him." A somber reply soon came from Clancy, currently sitting on a castle of overturned dirt, blown into a berm by the initial artillery strike, cozily laying his back against the brown-red color of the earth, the prickly sensation of the grass causing him to subconsciously shuffle his body for a second.

"What do you mean we lost him? Did he get himself killed?!" Allie gasped for a moment, looking at him with a shocked expression, trying to make sense of Clancy's words about what had just happened to their translator.

"No! That's not what I meant! I'm saying he's gone alright, not dead? Last time I saw him, he was hanging out with guys from 1/4 outside Italica, poor fucker probably got left behind when we moved out." The red-haired corpsman promptly interjected, correcting his previous reply as a result of Allie's confusion as he straightened up from his previous laying down position, patting down his FLC utility vest in an effort to clean it from the crimson red dirt that might have stuck itself to his back.

Everyone chuckles at the fate of their translator, the story lightening the air around them as Simon's face, initially exasperated, now has a small smile on it as he lets out a snicker at Clancy's tale.

Just then, a sudden unsheathing noise vibrated in the air, the sound barely audible amidst the sea of activity around them. At first, everyone ignored it, but then they heard it, the unmistakable sound of a knife slicing through meat.

Immediately, everyone shifted their attention towards the noise that has been bugging them, squinting their eyes as they searches for the perpetrator of the soft yet audible slicing sound that disturbed them, before finally landing on Evan and Nathan, both of them currently in a half-crouch position next to a burnt body of a knight? A sheep? No one knows, but what they can make out clearly is the driver of the platoon's lead vehicle, using his unsheathed Ka-Bar combat knives to cut through the burnt body while Nathan curiously watches as he squats in front of him, unaware of their fellow Marines watching them in disapproval.

Everyone watches in silent horror as Evan shoves a block of cutted meat into his mouth, chewing on it like it's nothing while everyone else tries their best to not gag, perhaps thinking he is committing cannibalism.

"Evan, what the fuck are you doing?" Is all Simon could ask as he continues to gaze at his subordinate's bizarre activity, eating the unknown meat while crouching on the ground, nonchalantly munching on it.

"Eating, what else do you think I'm fucking doing?" A reply promptly came from his driver, currently enjoying himself as he shoves yet another round of cooked meat into his mouth, courtesy of the science behind the pressure caused by VT artillery rounds.

"Yeah no shit, but since when were you into cannibalism and human meat?" Simon retorts in disgust, watching Evan as he goes silent for a moment, before coming up with an answer, unable to contain his goofy smile before speaking up.

"Its an edible, wild Ma-nuga you fucking moron, these guys probably sneaked into the knock-off Roman knight's camp before we blew it up to another dimension, calm the fuck down dude! motherfucking arty cooked the meat to perfection, it's pretty good after 1 week of shitty MREs, not gonna lie." He continues his explanation with an amused smile, while his voice muffled as a result of him chewing on the meat from the now, confirmed dead body of an unfortunate wild Ma-nuga that happens to be caught in the crossfire.

"I concur, guess you could say the cannon-cockers did a 'well done' job blowing these fuckers away huh?" Next to him, Nathan wittily quips as he mirrors the action of his compatriot, finally gaining the courage to take a bite from the strange meat, carved out by his own combat knife.

Unlike Evan who immediately digged in the moment he sliced through the Ma-nuga with his Ka-Bar knife, Nathan took a more, cautious route of sniffing on it first as he slowly leans on the meat currently on his left hand, before throwing it into his mouth, his blue eyes immediately lit up, his satisfied muffled moan further corroborated his statement.

His explanation caused Simon to recall the familiar silhouette of the wild cow-like animal, grazing the fields near the camp a few hours ago, before Lt. Mistral decides to call in artillery, blowing them to pieces while several others stay intact with their insides cooked.

The Marines around them, who earlier had a disgusted face plastered on their faces, have now been replaced with a facial expression that can only be described as a mix of amusement and bewilderment.

"Yeah, I can understand its edible but why the fuck would you do that? We already have our own goddamn MREs, why are you two suddenly pulling off a motherfucking National Geographic cooking show?" With an amused smile creeping on his face, Simon continues to question their currently very bizarre activity, shaking his heads in bewilderment as he continues to watch as his compatriots enjoy themselves, soon enough, an answer would come from his boisterous driver.

"Would you rather eat the veggie omelet MREs inside the trunk of the Humvee?" Evan immediately shot back, merely shrugging off Simon's question, silencing him. Once again, the silence is broken yet again by Evan, as he gestures towards the unintentionally cooked wildlife in front of him.

"You want some?" Evan blankly asked, offering Simon a piece of meat he had just carved, which was met by a stoic response from his friend.

"No thanks, not in this environment." Glancing at the mangled dead bodies scattered around them as a hint to his reasonings, Simon coldly rejected his friend's genuine offer, causing Evan to frown.

"Jesus Christ dude, kids in Africa drink water laced with malarias and human shit, be grateful or something, it's just a bunch of dead girls playing knights." He can only shake his head at his friend's show of ungratefulness, his voice coming out muffled as a result of his mouth preoccupied with taking in the cooked meat.

"There's no fucking African kids in Falmart you fucking illiterate whiskey-tango retard." Simon promptly shot back, kicking off a session of friendly banter yet again as he insults his background, earning a smile from his driver with the mere mention of the certain phonetic NATO alphabet, which were immediately met in kind as Evan finally delivers his answer that he had been forming.

"Fuck you! My point still stands, you bunny-suit wearing liberal queer-ass cocksucking commie."

"That was Doc."

"Whatever, you want some?"

"No."

Not giving up, Evan continues his attempt at persuading Simon, adamant on not eating the meat, while the Traveler, who had gotten out of the Humvee can only watch in bewilderment as he pulls out his trusty pen and notebook, writing down the golden conversation all while taking notes of the hell-like scenes all around them.

"Please?"

"No."

"Please."

"Fucking fine, hand that shit over." Exasperated by the exchange, Simon finally gives in to Evan's persuasion, leaning onto him as he snatches the meat on his hand, promptly sniffing on it as he hostilely looks at the strange meat before him, before shoving it into his mouth, his stoic face still unmoved by the taste. To which were followed by a question from the currently gleeful Evan.

"It's good right?" He tauntingly shoulders Simon with a grin on his face, seemingly unaware of his superior's cold gaze. Simon quietly gets up on his feet, grabbing his M4A1 by the underbarrel grenade launcher as he walks past them, at the same time chewing the meat, walking away from the scene, headed towards his Humvee.

Dow, who has been watching the whole exchange with a quizzical face, can only look in confusion as his team leader walked away, seemingly emotionless. Which causes him to ask him in curiosity.

"So what does it taste like?"

"Like a lamb, pretty great." A reply came from Simon, nonchalantly walking past him, enjoying the juicy meat inside his mouth, contrary to his cold facade. Dow can only smile in disbelief at the scene, chuckling for a moment before speaking.

"What's up with you white-boys? All I did was lay off my eyes for a moment and immediately you go full Gordon Ramsay and shit." Dow jokingly remarked as Simon continued walking past him, which was followed by a small chuckle as he was unable to contain his amused smile.

"Come on Dow, lighten up, you should try eating something other than watermelons and fried chicken." To his left, Allie wittily spoke up, poking fun at the racial stereotype which promptly earns him a soft smack at the back of his head.

"Screw off nigga."

The men of 2nd Platoon continues to joke and insult each other, irreverent and uncaring to their surroundings which were littered with dead bodies of the Empire's finest knights, continuing to humor themselves in spite of the inappropriate timing and place, especially after such devastating barrage by 11th MAR's M777 howitzers, turning the field into moon-like surface, filled with craters and holes large enough to fit an adult human.

Somewhere else in the camp (1510)

She couldn't feel her leg anymore which continued to bleed profusely, leaving a trail of crimson-red blood as she crawled through the labyrinth of debris strewn around her, one of which unfortunately impaled her tiny legs several hours before, causing her to shriek in pain when it happened, before passing out.

All Shandy could remember was that several earth-shaking explosion rocked the world, she then watched as her friend were vaporized in seconds by a seemingly massive fireball that'd come out of nowhere, consuming entire tent as it explodes mid-air, sending body parts all over the place, much to the horror of Shandy's.

Now that she has regained her consciousness, she tries with all her might to pull out the wooden shrapnel that had sliced through her legs, abruptly stopping on her thigh.

She could only hold her screams as she painfully grabs the long, wooden stick on her petite legs, slowly pulling it out as she resists the urge to scream, tears streamed down her face as she continues the painful process of pulling out the single thing that had been an obstacle to her in her attempt to move out from the seemingly never-ending maze of mangled bodies, craters, torn tents and other harmless everyday tools, turned into deadly shrapnel by the sudden fireball.

Shandy continues to crawl with her left hand, navigating the destruction all round her while her right hands are preoccupied with dragging out the long stick inside her thigh, the back of the stick seemingly poking upwards, seemingly mocking her futile attempt.

"Hah!" Loudly grunting as she grunted as she gathers all her strength to pull out the shrapnel, sending bloods flying in the air as a result of the pressure coming from the stick leaving her skin, finally succeeding.

However, she could only watch in horror as more red liquid began oozing out of the hole, once occupied by the stick. Her attempt at stopping the pain has instead worsened it, causing unimaginable pain as she began losing consciousness the moment she crawled herself out of the labyrinth, panting as her vision began to darken while she lay her back all around the mangled dead bodies of her once happy friends.

As if on cue, she can hear the barely audible roar coming from her right, to which she sluggishly turned towards the direction. She could see several strange green-painted wagons, moving towards her, followed by several men in similarly dotted forest camouflage, running towards her. It seems her grunt has attracted the attention of these unknown men which she had never seen before, together with their similarly obscure moving boxes.

Just before she passes out, she can hear the men shouting orders, gibberish to her ears as her vision slowly turns to black, before completely turning into a pitch dark void, an indication that she has passed out.

"WE HAVE A LIVE ONE HERE!"

"CORPSMAN! I NEED A CORPSMAN, OVER HERE!"

Notes

BDA - Battle Damage Assessment, checking how badly you fucked up the place

ATL - Assistant Team Leader, usually leads his own sub-team in the Recon.

S2 - Intelligence Section of Battalion Staff/HQ.

Whiskey Tango - NATO Phonetic Alphabet for the slur white trash.

11th MAR - 11th Marine Artillery Regiment.

BRC - Basic Reconnaissance Course, a training course a Marine had gone through before getting the title of a "Reconnaissance Marine", needed to be assigned to 1 of the 4 Reconnaissance Battalion in the whole USMC. As hard as Special Forces training, with some parts toned down.

Veggie Omelet - Worst MRE in existence.

A/N, So yeah, here's a chapter you all have been anticipating, shorter than usual, suffering from writer's block lately, but I'm back.