Many considered the Japanese Self-Defense Force an outdated relic of the past, once the age of heroes came into fruition. It would slowly die and decay into a husk of its former self. It had become corrupt, lazy, incompetent, and complacent, as thousands of its personnel would leave the ranks. There was but one problem. What happened to all their weapons? Thousands of assault rifles, rocket launchers, armored vehicles, helicopters, jets, and naval vessels.

Something had to happen to it, and it was far more expensive to destroy all this equipment or repurpose it. After all, you have to be careful when blowing up a thousand-ton warship, lest you damage the surrounding area or accidentally block a trade route. And it's a bit hard to make a fuel-efficient car with a tank. So they turned to another solution. Around the country, these weapons were locked away in military depots.

Well, locked away was a bit of a strong term, Night Owl noted, while walking through the vast warehouse of one such depot. See, remember how the JSDF had become home to the lazy and corrupt? With the loss of political strength and funding, many who had remained in the JSDF were stuck at the bottom. So that meant they were relegated to a dead-end job at one of these depots with little to no pay or hope of moving up in the world.

However, it also meant no one was checking in on the depots, as everyone else was also stuck in a dead-end job. If Night Owl was correct, this specific depot belonged to the Central Army and hasn't had any inspections in the last sixty years. So if the men here were to sell off a few rifles, who's to say it happened? After all the paperwork says they have ten thousand, the men say they have ten thousand, and the inspector they sent once sixty years ago says they have ten thousand. Thus, they have ten thousand.

And so with the Tyrant now dead and Night Owl having miscalculated the number of guns he needed, shocking I know, he was back in the market. He wasn't alone though, for he'd brought along a guest. Soon they stopped walking as his guide opened up two large crates in front of them. Inside were at least a dozen Howa Type 20s, and a large cache of ammunition. Night Owl let out a low whistle as his guide pulled one out of the box.

"It's chambered in 5.56 and has a firing speed of six hundred and fifty, or in some cases, eight hundred and fifty rounds a minute. A single rifle costs almost two thousand dollars." the guide told him, before passing it to Night Owl.

"Color me impressed," Night Owl commented, before turning over to Reaper, "What do you think?"

The guest said nothing, instead looking over the rifle quietly, before silently nodding his head. The only sound that could be heard was the man's shallow breath and the swaying of chains.

"How many do you have available?" Night Owl asked, returning the rifle to their guide. The guide carefully grabbed it, before cleaning it with a rag, removing any fingerprints from the gun.

"At the moment, around five hundred rifles. Only three thousand were ever built I'm afraid."

"That's a shame then, see I was hoping to get a rather large order." Night Owl replied, his guest silently shaking his head at the scientist's nonsense.

"Well, we have an assortment of Type 89s if you're interested." the guide replied, to which Night Owl put his hand to his chin, pondering the proposition. He looked over at his silent guest, receiving nothing but a stone-cold stare.

"Don't give me that look, I told you it was a possibility." Night Owl told him, the guest still staring at him.

"Yes, yes I know of our deal. But it's either the 89s or nothing at all." Night Owl continued, to which the man remained silent. Seeing he was getting nowhere he groaned in defeat, before covering his face with his hand.

"Fine, I'll get you the rifle's blueprint, happy?" Night Owl asked, to which the guest silently nodded. Night Owl turned back over to their guide then, the man a bit confused as to what had occurred.

"I'll have to decline your offer. However, we are still in the market for something more… destructive."

"Destructive huh, well let's start small then." the guide replied, as he led them off to another crate. Just like the first he opened it up along with another box of ammunition. Inside had to be five Sumitomo MINIMI light machine guns and maybe a few NTK-62s. The guide then held a demonstration, as two ballistic dummies were set up. Night Owl, being somewhat bored with all this talk, asked if he could fire the machine gun. To which the guide obliged, and watched as a ballistics dummy was torn to shreds.

"Not bad," Night Owl commented, stepping away from the smoking MINIMI, "I think we'll take…"

He looked back over to his guest, the man simply staring at him as always. And yet Night Owl could tell what the man was wanting, and he was disappointed.

"Forty? Why such a low number? It makes no… Oh your right, on second thought forty's good." Night Owl remarked, leaving the guide even more confused. But he was ultimately satisfied when they agreed to purchase the weapons.

"Excellent, is that everything?" the guide asked them.

"No," Night Owl replied, "We're not even close to done."

The first of the heroes had arrived back on friendly soil, as the media waited outside the plane to greet them. True to the MSF's word, they were allowed to leave. The President of the HPSC couldn't tell whether to be grateful about it or bitter. Especially as the first heroes stepped out of the plane. As a PR move, the wounded, dying, and dead heroes were kept on board to keep the media from hounding them. It also put forth a semi-positive image as all they saw were heroes coming home healthy and alive.

Of course, that only worked when those heroes weren't caked in filth. They walked out of the plane alive, but either had blood, mud, vomit, animal feces, or any other disgusting substance covering their once pristine costumes. The heroes attempted to hold up their personas, with wide smiles and bombastic laughs. But it was clear how tired they were. What made it worse, was the casualty numbers.

The current estimate suggested maybe ten thousand dead, in three days. They couldn't tell if the number was even accurate, as a large number of heroes had simply disappeared. And it didn't account for the wounded or captured. Of those captured, it was decided to write them off as dead. They didn't want any rumors of the true enemy they were facing to spread. Regardless though, the majority of deaths weren't even because of combat, but a lack of supplies. It was going to take a lot of capital to spin a good narrative now.

That much was clear to the President. It didn't help that the only info the Press had, was casualty numbers, and a vague guess as to who the heroes were fighting. For obvious reasons, the HPSC hid the involvement of the MSF, not out of kindness. But out of fear. If the HPSC were to bring the MSF to the spotlight and not the fringes of the third world, then people would begin to ask questions.

Who were they? Where did they come from? What are their goals? And that ultimately creates a paper trail leading back, to Night Owl's damn experiments. The President still wasn't sure where this group came from, or why they intervened in the project at all. But the thought of it being released to the public would be a nightmare. It's what made her realize this disaster could have been worse.

But that didn't matter, there was work to do. So as she saw the press follow the trail of heroes, questioning them at every turn, she pulled out her phone and called Techno. After it rang for a few seconds the man picked up.

"Madam President?"

"I want you to go through the casualty reports."

"Looking for anyone in particular?"

"No one specific," the President replied, "I just need you to fudge a few numbers. Make it seem like some heroes died of circumstances unrelated to the battle."

"I'll see what I can do. Oh and mam, before I forget, Representative Hashimoto was found dead this morning." Techno replied. His response left the President puzzled for a moment. Hashimoto was the runner-up for the Vice Presidency, to have him die so soon was suspicious. Knowing of her confusion Techno continued.

"His throat was slit, and his body was left in a dumpster near his apartment."

"Do the police have any leads?" Madam President asked.

"Not at the moment," Techno began, "however, with the recent engagement in Africa I believe it to be the MSF's doing."

"That seems logical. Keep me posted."

"I will, mam."

Midoriya ducked under Snake's fist, before throwing a punch at the man's gut. He missed as Snake stepped to the side, before grabbing Midoriya's arm. With a tight grip, he pulled Midoriya closer, causing him to lose his footing. Snake, taking advantage, fully tripped Midoriya, and moved to slam him into the ground. But Midoriya recovered fast, stopping just as his nose was about to hit the ground.

He then rolled off to the side, before managing to stand back up. He'd gotten better over the years. Sure, Snake wasn't always around to help with CQC training, but when he was Midoriya put his all into it. The other soldiers held back, but Snake didn't. "If you're truly interested in learning how to fight, then you should know how the pain of one feels" was Snake's reasoning. This wasn't a game, and if Midoriya wanted to become a member one day, then Snake was going to show him what that entailed.

Was it a bit cruel? Possibly, yes, as Snake proceeded to dodge a kick from Midoriya. Then dislocating the kid's left leg. Yet this is what Midoriya wanted, and it was either training in a supervised manner, where Snake can ensure nothing goes wrong. Or Midoriya trying to replicate what he had seen on his own and risk potential harm doing so. The first one was the obvious answer, especially as Midoriya managed to punch Snake in the jaw.

It caused Snake to stumble back a little and gave Midoriya time to pop his leg back into socket. But as he did so, Snake recovered and put Midoriya into a chokehold. Remembering what he was taught, attempted to break free. Yet Snake kept his grip firm, as Midoriya struggled for a few seconds more, before ultimately tapping out. Coughing a little, as Midoriya regained his breath, a small smile soon graced his face.

"You did better that time," Snake commented, before walking off to grab a water bottle. With it in hand, he tossed it over to Midoriya. Once caught, Midoriya dumped some water on himself to cool off, before taking a drink.

"I still lost though," Midoriya replied, standing back up slowly. He cringed as every part of him felt sore. Looking back over at Snake, he found his father figure holding a small box in his hand.

"What's that?" he asked, as Snake walked over to him.

"A gift," Snake replied, before handing Midoriya the small box. He couldn't tell what was inside, but it seemed to have some weight to it. Not much, he still held it pretty easily.

"Now, I know your birthday was three days ago," Snake began, "but this took a while to complete. And, I believe you've earned this."

Confused, Midoriya slowly opened the box, before his eyes widened at the sight. Inside, was a custom M1911 pistol. Everything about it had been modified, the hammer, the grip, the magazine pull, the sights. It left Midoriya entranced as he inspected every inch of his gift. It was a weapon for pros, and Snake had given it to him.

"It… it's mine?" Midoriya asked, not believing what he had been given.

"It is. There are going to be some ground rules, however." Snake told him, "Number one is the most important, you are not allowed to have live rounds unless you're being supervised at the gun range. That means tranq rounds only."

"Got it."

"Second, do not leave it lying around somewhere it can get forgotten about. And third, no tearing it apart."

Midoriya gave an embarrassed chuckle at that last rule. His analytical nature and lack of quirk had led to him becoming a bit of a gun nut. It's why he had sometimes snuck weapons out of the armor, just to see how they worked. So low and behold Snake found him one day with four torn-apart M4s, and Midoriya was unable to remember how to put them together. That became a lesson in itself, of how to clean and maintain a weapon.

"But, other than that it's your-" Snake began before Midoriya slammed into him with a hug. A hug Snake would gladly return.

"Can you steal an F-14?" Rody asked Midoriya out of the blue. And I mean right out of the blue. The two of them were in the middle of a round of Mario Kart Wii The Reboot Seven. Or the seventh reboot of the original game with some new features. The interruption caused Midoriya to lose focus for just a few seconds, and drive off the stage.

"Come on! That's just playing dirty." Midoriya commented as the Lakitu dropped him back onto the course. His response made Rody laugh slightly before Midoriya's cart started moving again.

"Seriously though, could you steal one?" Rody asked again, genuinely serious. It left Midoriya somewhat surprised, and a little concerned.

"I don't think the MSF has any F-14s," Midoriya replied, as his cart drifted across a tight turn. It led to a cave full of large mushrooms, where with some slight difficulty, managed to bounce across them. They just had to play it at two hundred cc.

"I know that, but Iran does." Rody countered, before grumbling when a red shell hit his cart.

"So… you're asking if I could steal an F-14 from Iran?" Midoriya asked him.

"Yeah, could you?"

"I don't know." Midoriya replied, "I'm barely trained at all. Besides, I don't think Dad would let me."

"What about when you start going on missions?"

"Well maybe. I mean I might be better trained then. Why do you ask?" Midoriya asked him, with the race coming to an end. Rody however, remained quiet, distinctly avoiding eye contact.

"...You watched Top Gun again, didn't you."

"It's a good movie!" Rody countered.

"You have a problem, this is what the fifteenth time now?" Midoriya countered.

"There aren't any fighter pilot movies I can watch," Rody replied, with Midoriya thinking it over. He didn't know many plane movies, his genre had always been more heroes or military stuff. So he slowly began to agree with Rody.

"I guess that's fair. Maybe there are some jet games we can find." Midoriya told him, as he prepared to start the next round. Yet as he did so, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. It was small and pink and was currently nested inside Rody's hair. As soon as he saw it, it disappeared, leaving Midoriya confused.

"Hey Rody, I think you've got something in your hair," Midoriya told him, to which Rody slightly panicked. Midoriya didn't notice, however, leaving Rody somewhat hopeful.

"Ah, it's a hairpin. I was playing with my sister earlier and forgot to take it out." Rody told him, hoping Midoriya would believe the lie. He did not.

"Are you sure? Because I saw it moving."

"It must be your imagination."

"Then why isn't it there anymore?"

"Because… you imagined it?"

Midoriya squinted his eyes as Rody started sweating nervously. He was about to turn back to the TV when Rody's hair moved again. At that point, Midoriya could see a small bird with a mask. And Rody found no way to escape. With a sigh, the bird flew out of his hair and rested on his shoulder. The bird had a bashful look on its face, along with Rody.

"Alright, you got me."

"You were hiding… a bird?"

"Kinda, this is Pino. She's my quirk."

Rody already regretted what was said, the moment Midoriya looked over at him.

"So that's what your quirk was! Is she completely sentient? If yes does she possess a will of her own, or is it a part of yours? How far can she fly? Can you see out of her eyes? Does she eat anything? Why is she pink? What's with the mask?" Midoriya asked, the mutter storm only growing more the longer he went.

"Uh, Midoriya?" Rody said, before shaking Midoriya out of his spiel. To which Midoriya sheepishly apologized.

"That's cool though! She's a friend that's always with you." Midoriya told him, the game now completely paused.

"I… guess," Rody replied skeptically, something that Midoriya noticed.

"Is something wrong?" Midoriya asked.

"Well… please don't laugh," Rody began, "but Pino shows what I'm feeling."

And to his shock, Midoriya didn't. Instead, he fell into another mumble tangent.

"Does that include all feelings? What would constitute a feeling? Pain? Joy? Sadness? Hunger? Boredom?"

However, Midoriya stopped himself halfway in, with a wide smile across his face.

"I wonder if your quirk can be used for fieldwork," Midoriya stated, before pulling out a notebook from… somewhere? Rody however was a bit confused by Midoriya's statement.

"...You think my quirk can be used in the field?"

"Well I mean, it has to have some use. It could be an unkillable organic drone! Actually, I think that might be insensitive to Pino." Midoriya replied, slowly having Rody become interested.

"...What about for flying?"

"She might be another pair of eyes you could use. Maybe even assist you in the cockpit somehow. Although that depends on how strong she is."

Slowly but surely, they forgot about the previous game. Instead, they spent hours, dissecting Rody's quirk. To which Rody found it surprisingly fun.

There were many times the R&D department would come forth with a new idea. Some were practical, others not so much. Sometimes they were both, for example, the Walker Gear. With Dr. Emmerich's incarceration, the premiere expert in the field of Metal Gears became Dr. Soul. So that meant the current flaws in its design, had to be fixed by him alone. And there were many. The soldiers operating the machines reported back pain from the walker's odd control positions.

The armor was so paper thin, that most assault rifles were capable of tearing one apart. And worse was when a walker was caught out in the open. They lacked the speed to outrun a tank when on two legs but lacked control when on wheels. All in all, the project was looking to be somewhat of a failure. So it was back to the drawing board. There he considered adding more armor to the sides to further protect the operator, but that would weigh the walker down and slow it down even more.

But then he noticed something else. It was a small space right on top of the walker's chassis and in front of the machine's face shield. And an idea began to form, one he brought to Strangelove.

"Several facilities around the world already have self-autonomous robots for defense. Tartarus comes to mind as does I-Island. There however are lightly armed and mostly limited to basic patrols." Soul told her, presenting the blueprint, "We could do something similar. An autonomous soldier on the battlefield."

Strangelove inspected the blueprints carefully, noting Soul's change in the design. On the walker was a small spherical-like head, most likely a head for the walker. It was an intriguing idea, especially with the advancements she'd made in AI. Contrary to what Emmerich had thought, the Medical Team's predictive AI worked perfectly, if not more so. AIs no longer require AI pods either. So the idea was plausible.

"The design is also made to be adaptive. This can be dropped in behind enemy lines, we can modify them into heavily armed drones, and they could be quite useful in urban environments," Soul continued. And Strangelove agreed.

"It might be difficult, the system will need to be able to very clearly distinguish friend from foe. But I believe it's possible. I believe we could add infrared and night vision sensors to it as well." Strangelove told him, before carefully putting the blueprints down. But it would have to wait, like all their other projects. And there was a long list of them. The XM7 rifles they planned to produce, along with the new optics. The Medical team had made another request, this one asking for research into artificial organs. It was a long process, but one that would get completed. Eventually.