Stellar year 2148, May 16th

Republic of San Magnolia

Somewhere inside the District 86

After the intense conversation the day prior, the tension that had hung in the air seemed to dissipate. By morning, the NATO soldiers had begun to integrate themselves into the daily rhythm of the Spearhead Squadron. While the cultural and military differences between the two groups were glaringly apparent, a mutual respect had started to take root.

Paul, ever the natural leader among the NATO crew, found himself chatting with Raiden as the two took a casual walk around the base.

Meanwhile, Noah and Kurena found themselves in an unspoken standoff in the makeshift shooting range. Noah, unimpressed by Kurena's confidence, decided to challenge her to a sharpshooting competition. Despite the mutual disdain they'd displayed earlier, there was an undeniable air of camaraderie as the two lined up their shots.

Alright, lass," Noah said, his British brogue thick and teasing. "Let's see if you're as good a shot as yer running yer mouth." He leaned casually against a crate, his arms crossed, but his eyes gleamed with challenge.

Kurena didn't respond immediately. Instead, she adjusted her FAL's sling, her golden eyes narrowing as she scanned the makeshift shooting range. Her silence only fueled Noah's smirk.

The Bradley IFV, now serving a completely different purpose than intended, had become an impromptu armory. Instead of carrying infantry, its crew had packed it with an assortment of firearms, ammunition, and explosives, initially meant to arm local resistance forces back on Earth. Now, the cache served a new purpose—bridging the gap between two very different groups of soldiers.

Elijah leaned out from the Bradley's open hatch, his arm resting casually as he raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes. "Alright, listen up! Target, 200 meters North-Northeast from my reference point. Bearing zero-two-zero. Wind's at 15 from west to east. Let the fun begin!"

Kurena dropped to her stomach, unfolding the bipod of her FAL with practiced ease. She nestled the stock firmly against her shoulder, peering through the iron sights as her sharp eyes lined up the bright yellow target behind the front sight post. Steadying her breath, she exhaled slowly, her finger lightly squeezing the trigger at the lowest point of her breath.

A sharp crack rang out, the sound of the rifle echoing through the clearing and into the nearby forest. Heads turned toward the sound as the spent casing ejected with a metallic clang, spinning onto the ground. The 7.62mm round tore through the air at Mach 2, streaking toward the target—only to miss by mere inches.

"Miss! Left by a hair," Elijah called out, his voice even as he tracked the shot through his binoculars.

Kurena's brow furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. Without a word, she adjusted her position slightly, her movements calm and deliberate. She wasn't about to let a single miss ruin her streak.

As Kurena steadied herself for her next shot, Noah wandered to the back of the Bradley, where Sergeant Matteo Miller had laid out an arsenal that could make any gun enthusiast weep with joy. Matteo gestured grandly to the piles of firearms arranged by region and purpose.

"Alright, LT," Matteo began with a grin. "If you want quality, you go German." He waved toward the pristine rows of HKs and SIGs, their sleek designs and modularity practically screaming precision. "You want brute force?" He turned to the pile of rugged AK-style weapons, ranging from the battle-worn AK-47 to the cutting-edge AK-262. The latter gleamed with its picatinny rail system and modular dust covers, a testament to its versatility. "Then you go Russian. These things are built to survive the apocalypse."

Noah raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but Matteo wasn't done yet. With a dramatic gesture, he pointed to the unmistakably British firearms nearby. "Or maybe," Matteo continued, his tone dropping to a mock-serious whisper, "you want something a little closer to home." He picked up an L115 sniper rifle and held it reverently before setting it beside an L85A4 bullpup assault rifle, the latter still sporting its distinctive, if divisive, design.

But Matteo saved his pièce de résistance for last. He reached back, his grin turning devilish, and pulled out a weapon that oozed old-school power and modern flair. "Or, if I may…" he said, holding it aloft like Excalibur, "the Ohio Ordnance Heavy Counter-Assault Rifle. The HCAR."

He spun it around in his hands with a theatrical flourish, showcasing the robust frame and impressive magazine. "It fires the almighty .30-06 cartridge and doesn't just kill what you're aiming at—it makes it disappear." He punctuated his statement with a dramatic wink and a few flashy hand gestures, eliciting a few chuckles from the group.

Noah couldn't help but smirk. "You know, Sergeant, I think you might've missed your calling as a salesman."

The gunner chuckled, the sound deep and unbothered, as he handed over the hefty weapon with a grin. Along with it, he passed a fully loaded twenty-round box magazine, the weight of it alone promising chaos.

"Now you're making me blush, Lieutenant," Matteo said, giving the HCAR an affectionate pat as though it were a loyal companion.

Noah took the weapon with both hands, feeling its weight. He inspected it, running his fingers along the cold steel and the rugged polymer grip. "Blush? Sergeant, I think this beast speaks for itself." He snapped the magazine into place with a satisfying click and shouldered the weapon, testing its balance.

Matteo smirked, crossing his arms. "Oh, 'it' does more than speak, sir. She sings."

Noah glanced at the weapon, then out toward the impromptu range. "Let's see if she's got the voice of an angel or the roar of a devil."

Matteo smirked, holding up another fully loaded .30-06 magazine and handing it over. "Nothing belts out the hymn of freedom and liberty better than the roar of the .30-06, sir. This caliber ended World War II in the hands of two iconic weapons. One of them being her grandfather."

Noah raised an eyebrow, tucking the magazine into a pouch on his vest. "Her grandfather, huh? Care to elaborate, Sergeant?"

"The B.A.R., sir," Matteo said with a proud grin, folding his arms. "Browning Automatic Rifle. It was a legend. Had a friendly competition going with your lads across the pond—your Bren was a solid contender, I'll give it that. But the B.A.R. had the beauty, the punch, and the history to back it up."

Noah chuckled, shaking his head. "You sure know your pea shooters of the past, Sergeant," he said, a note of genuine admiration in his voice.

Matteo shrugged, a grin spreading across his face as he stared off into the distance. "Yeah… Mom was a history teacher, loved drilling all the wars and inventions into my head. Gramps, on the other hand—he was a full-blown weapons enthusiast. Had a collection of everything from muskets to Cold War-era rifles. Between the two of them, I didn't stand a chance. Grew up with books in one hand and a gun manual in the other."

Noah Chuckled heartily, nodding. "Explains a lot. You've got that odd mix of trivia nerd and gun fanatic down to an art form."

"Hey, it's a gift," Matteo shot back, his grin widening. "And besides, knowing the past? That's how we keep from getting blindsided in the present."

"That's where you're right, lad," Noah said, still chuckling. The two exchanged a quick fist bump before Noah slung the HCAR over his shoulder and headed back around the Bradley to join the impromptu competition.

As he approached the range, Elijah's voice rang out from atop the Bradley, his binoculars trained on the distant target. "Hit! Dead center," he called, his tone carrying an impressed edge as Kurena fired another round.

Kurena smirked, engaging the safety of her FAL as she stood up and turned around to face Elijah. "Told you I don't miss twice," she said coolly, her crimson hair catching the sunlight as she glanced toward Noah.

"Oh, is that right?" Noah quipped, stepping into position. He dropped to one knee, resting the HCAR against his shoulder. "Let's see if you can hold that streak, lass, because now you're up against a professional."

Kurena rolled her eyes, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Professional, huh? Sure you're not just compensating for something with that cannon?"

The group laughed as Noah adjusted his stance, glancing back with a grin. "Keep talking, sharpshooter. Let's see whose aim does the real talking."

The tension shifted into a spirited camaraderie as the makeshift competition continued, blending two worlds in a rare moment of levity.

Noah peered through the iron sights, his breathing steady as he lined up the shot. He exhaled slowly, then squeezed the trigger.

The roar of the HCAR was deafening, and the recoil hit like a truck, nearly throwing him off balance. Noah grunted, his stance wobbling for a split second before he regained his footing. The sheer force of the .30-06 round was unlike anything he'd fired before.

"Hit!" Elijah called from atop the Bradley, his binoculars glued to the target. The bright yellow silhouette began to shake violently, nearly tipping over from the raw energy of the impact.

Noah lowered the rifle, blinking at the kick it delivered. "Bloody hell," he muttered, flexing his shoulder. "That thing's got some bite."

Kurena smirked, resting her chin on her hands as she lounged on her stomach. "Nice shot, but can you do it again? Or was that beginner's luck?"

Noah shot her a look, shaking his head with a grin. "Luck? Lass, I'll show you luck."

Noah adjusted the rifle, pressing the buttstock firmly into his shoulder as he steadied his aim. His hand gripped the handguard in a practiced C-clamp grip, the weight of the HCAR now feeling more natural. He exhaled slowly and squeezed the trigger again.

The rifle roared, but this time he was ready for the recoil. His stance held firm as the .30-06 round zipped through the air, striking the target with a loud, satisfying clang.

Not missing a beat, he maintained his aim and squeezed the trigger once more. Another booming shot, another direct hit.

"Hit times two!" Elijah called down from the Bradley, his voice laced with amusement. "Looks like you've got the hang of her now, Lieutenant!"

Noah lowered the rifle slightly, a smug grin spreading across his face as he glanced over at Kurena. "Still think it's beginner's luck, lass?" he teased, raising an eyebrow.

Kurena crossed her arms and tried to look indifferent, but the slight twitch of her lips and the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her. "Hmph," she muttered, looking away. "Let's see if you can keep it up when it counts."

Noah chuckled, catching the crack in her usual sharp demeanor. "Oh, I see that," he said with a smirk, his tone dripping with amusement. "You're impressed. Admit it."

"I'm not," she snapped, her voice a little too quick, a little too defensive, as the blush deepened. She turned her attention back to the range, determined not to let him get the upper hand in this exchange.

The others exchanged knowing glances, chuckling softly at her failed attempt to keep her cool.

"Anytime, anywhere," Noah added with a wink, lifting the rifle again to take another shot as Kurena glanced sideways at him, her lips pressed into a tight line that failed to hide the ghost of a smile.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the base, Specialist Felix Erickson knelt beside the hulking Abrams, its armor gleaming faintly under the morning sun. Resting just outside the hangar where the Processors had gathered, the tank stood like a sleeping giant, its turret slightly angled as if keeping an eye on its surroundings.

Felix sighed, wiping a smear of grease off his cheek with the back of his hand. "Alright, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice low and fond as he tightened a bolt on one of the tank's external panels. "Let's make sure you're running smooth before the next hellstorm."

The Abrams had taken a slight beating during their last engagement, though its resilient armor and advanced systems had ensured its survival. Still, Felix knew better than to let her sit idle without a thorough check. He crouched beneath the hull, flashlight in hand, inspecting the tracks for wear and damage.

"Tracks look good… suspension's holding steady…" he muttered to himself, his voice echoing faintly in the quiet space. "Transmission? You better not let me down again, girl."

"Who're you talking to?" came a sudden voice from behind him.

Felix jolted in surprise, his head snapping up—and straight into the underside of the tank's armor with a solid thud. His patrol cap did little to cushion the impact.

"AH, FUCK!" he yelled, clutching his head and wincing in pain as he stumbled backward.

Turning around, still rubbing the sore spot, he was met with the sight of a smug-looking Kaie, arms crossed and an amused grin spreading across her face.

"You always this jumpy, or is it just me?" Kaie asked, her tone light and teasing as she grinned down at Felix.

Felix rubbed the sore spot on his head, trying to hide the faint blush creeping up his neck. He couldn't help but meet her gaze, her brown eyes sparkling with amusement as she shifted her stance. She crossed her arms behind her back, leaning slightly to one side, the grin on her face only growing.

"Well, maybe if people didn't sneak up on me like that, I wouldn't be!" Felix retorted, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

Kaie chuckled softly, tilting her head. "Sneak up on you? I think you're just too focused on sweet-talking your tank to notice anyone else."

Felix's blush deepened, and he looked away, muttering, "I wasn't sweet-talking. It's called running a systems check."

"Uh-huh," Kaie replied, her teasing tone unwavering. "Do systems checks usually involve compliments, or is that just your style?"

Felix shot her a glare, though it lacked any real venom. "Hey, if talking to her keeps everything running smoothly, who are you to judge? Tanks like to feel appreciated."

Kaie burst out laughing, the sound light and genuine, catching Felix completely off guard.

"Oh, so she's a her, huh?" Kaie teased between giggles, leaning in slightly. "What's her name?"

Felix shook his head, trying to hide the faint blush creeping up his neck. He stood up and gestured toward the Abrams' barrel, where the name was painted in bold black letters: Diva Diane.

Kaie squinted at the lettering, then burst into laughter all over again. "Diva Diane? Seriously? Let me guess—she throws tantrums when she doesn't get her way?"

Felix let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Pretty much. She's got a personality, I'll give her that. But hey, when she's on point, she's unstoppable."

Kaie grinned, folding her arms as she glanced at the tank. "Sounds like you've got your hands full."

Felix sighed, giving the Abrams' track armor a heartfelt tap. "I'm almost done. I mean… if you want, you could… you know…" He trailed off, his voice dropping slightly as he scratched the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. His face turned a deeper shade of red, betraying his nervousness.

Kaie raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Are you… asking me to help? With a tank?"

Felix cleared his throat, still looking away. "I mean… yeah, if you're not too busy. It's… uh… good to know how these things work, right? Just in case?"

Kaie's laughter bubbled up again, but it was softer this time. "Alright, Specialist. Show me what you've got. But if I mess something up, it's on you."

Felix glanced at her, a mix of relief and hesitation flashing in his eyes. "Don't worry, Diane's tough. She can handle a little extra attention."

From the pathway leading to the hangar, Gregory had linked up with Raiden and Paul. What started as a casual chat quickly shifted when all three noticed the interaction between Kaie and Felix.

"Uh… should we tell him that she's a minor?" Gregory asked, his face a mix of concern and unease as he gestured toward the pair by the tank.

"Why? How old is he?" Raiden asked, genuine curiosity crossing his face.

"Just turned 18 a couple of months ago," Gregory replied, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other.

"Oh… yeah, I think this is already critical," Paul muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Why is that?" Raiden asked, still confused. "I mean, it's nice that we're all getting along, right? A bond or two isn't the end of the world… or is it?"

Paul raised an eyebrow, exhaling heavily. "Well, it's not about us. I just don't know how they will react. They'll probably cancel Felix."

Raiden blinked. "Who's they?"

Gregory chimed in at the same time, equally puzzled. "They who?"

Paul leaned closer, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper, as if he were revealing the world's best-kept secret. "They… you know, the guys reading."

Raiden and Gregory both froze, staring at him like he'd just grown a second head.

"The guys reading what?" Gregory asked slowly, his brow furrowed.

"You know…" Paul's eyes darted around conspiratorially. "The guys reading. Watching every move. Judging every choice. Writing their little comments about it. Them."

Raiden blinked, then looked over at Gregory. "I think he's officially cracked."

Gregory nodded solemnly. "No saving him now."

Paul shrugged, a smug grin creeping onto his face. "You can laugh all you want, but they know what I'm talking about. Don't you?" he added, looking straight ahead as if addressing someone only he could see.

While the three debated away, Shin sat silently on the top of a set of steps, his sharp gaze fixed on the shooting competition between Kurena and Noah.

Kurena, who had started the challenge with her usual confidence, was now visibly frustrated. She had lost by a landslide. Noah, on the other hand, wore a smug grin, clearly enjoying his victory.

It was no surprise, really. Noah had been an Olympic shooter before World War 3 and his eventual draft into the military. His precision and calm under pressure were unmatched. Why the British government had assigned him to a tank crew instead of making him a sharpshooter or even a regular infantry marksman was still a mystery to him. Every so often, he muttered to himself about the baffling inefficiency of military bureaucracy.

"Bloody ridiculous," Noah said with a smirk, lowering the HCAR and turning to Kurena. "Good effort, lass, but this isn't my first rodeo."

Kurena scowled, folding her arms and muttering something under her breath about "show-offs" and "rigged contests." She refused to make eye contact with Shin, knowing full well that his unreadable expression likely concealed quiet amusement at her loss.

From his perch, Shin watched the interaction with a faint hint of amusement in his otherwise stoic demeanor. The NATO soldiers were an odd mix of professionalism and chaos, and their ability to seamlessly blend into the lives of the Eighty-Six was surprising. Still, watching Noah easily outclass Kurena reminded Shin of the stark differences in experience and resources between them and their newfound allies.

"NOW IT'S MY TURN!" Elijah bellowed from atop the Bradley, his voice echoing across the makeshift range. With an almost theatrical flourish, he slid into the turret hatch, the excitement evident in his every movement.

The Bradley's turret whirred as it swiveled toward the target. The 35mm autocannon adjusted its elevation with a smooth hum, lining up the shot. Elijah cracked his knuckles and grinned. "Say goodbye to your precious little target!"

With a satisfying thud, a single high-explosive round was fired. The empty shell casing was ejected just below the barrel, bouncing off the hull with an oddly comical clang before coming to rest on the dirt below.

As for the target? It ceased to exist.

Where the bright yellow square had once stood, there was now a cloud of smoke and a scattering of debris. The force of the round had obliterated it completely, leaving nothing but scorched earth in its wake.

From the Bradley, Elijah popped out of the hatch, wearing a grin so smug it could have powered the vehicle itself. "Top that!" he crowed, throwing his arms wide in triumph.

Noah, still holding the HCAR, shook his head with a smirk. "Show-off," he muttered.

Kurena, arms crossed and trying not to look impressed, mumbled, "Overkill much?"

Even Shin, sitting quietly on the steps, let the faintest shadow of a smirk touch his lips. The spectacle had certainly added a touch of absurdity to the day.

Stellar year 2148, May 16th

Republic of San Magnolia

Somewhere inside the District 1

Inside her cell, Emma leaned against the cool concrete wall, her green eyes gazing out of the barred window. The view of San Magnolia stretched before her, the pristine white city standing in stark contrast to the war-torn landscapes she was used to. From here, the capital looked peaceful, untouched by the horrors of battle—a utopia built on lies and cruelty.

After several grueling interrogations, Emma managed to piece together bits of information about this strange world she now found herself in. One day, while waiting for her next session, she overheard a heated argument between a woman named Milizé and a man called Karlstahl. Their voices carried through the thin walls of the facility, discussing something—or rather, someone—they referred to as the Eighty-Six. The tension in their exchange hinted at something sinister, something deeply unsettling.

Later, during another interrogation session, Emma decided to take the initiative. Leaning forward slightly, she fixed her interrogator with a cold, piercing stare. "Tell me," she said evenly, "what does the number 86 mean to you?"

Her interrogator leaned back in his chair, a smug grin spreading across his face. "Ah, so you've heard about them," he said, his tone laced with mockery. "Well, since you'll be joining them soon enough, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to enlighten you."

Emma said nothing, her expression blank, but her fists clenched under the table.

"The Eighty-Six," he began, his voice dripping with disdain, "are a bunch of lesser humans. Not like us—perfect, pure, and deserving of the luxuries of life. No, they're different. We stripped them of their citizenship long ago. Now, they exist for one purpose: to fight and die for the Republic."

Emma's stomach churned, but she forced herself to remain composed. "You mean to tell me," she said slowly, her voice dangerously calm, "you're sending your own people to fight your battles while you sit here, safe behind your walls?"

"They're not our people," the man sneered. "They're expendable. Subhuman. We keep them out there on the frontlines while we live our best lives here. And the best part?" He chuckled, leaning closer. "The Legion will be dead in two years anyway. Once they're gone, it's free San Magnolia again—no more Eighty-Six, no more war. Just peace and prosperity for the rest of us."

Emma felt a chill run down her spine. "And what happens to the survivors?" she asked sharply, her voice cutting through his smugness. "You think they'll just disappear? Or will you find some other scapegoat to throw into your meat grinder?"

The interrogator shrugged, clearly unfazed. "That's not my problem," he said casually. "They'll have done their duty. And if any survive, well… let's just say they won't be our concern anymore."

Emma stared at him, her mind racing. The more she learned about this world, the more it horrified her. What kind of society could justify such atrocities? And worse, what kind of people could live comfortably knowing the price of their so-called peace?

She wasted absolutely no time sharing the horrifying news with her comrades. Funny enough, the same interrogators who spilled the Republic's dirty secrets had also been foolish enough to throw her into the same cell as Adrian and Otto.

"Eine Truppe voll Heuchlern, ich sags euch. Diese Hurensöhne sind 1940er Deutschland!" Otto said, his voice dripping with venom after Emma finished recounting what she'd overheard. (A bunch of hypocrites, I'm telling you. These sons of bitches are 1940s Germany!)

"Kranke Bastarde. Sollen die alle in der Hölle schmoren!" Adrian added, his voice filled with just as much venom as Otto's. (Sick bastards. May they all rot in hell!)

Then, just as the mood in the cell hit rock bottom, one of the silver-haired individuals suddenly appeared, standing silently outside the barred door. Her cold gaze scanned the three German tankers, her posture stiff with authority.

She was clearly a soldier. An officer's cap sat neatly on her head, and an armband adorned her upper sleeve, marking her allegiance. But what caught Adrian and Otto's attention immediately was the insignia on her uniform. They exchanged knowing looks, recognizing the rank at once.

"Major," Adrian muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Emma narrowed her eyes at the visitor, standing and stepping forward until she was just inches from the bars. "So, what does this one want?" she asked, her tone ice-cold.

The Major remained silent for a moment, her silver eyes piercing as she studied them, as if calculating her approach. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady. "My name is Major Vladilena Milizé. I've come to talk."

Otto raised an eyebrow, clearly amused at the young woman's gesture, while Adrian was nearly fuming at the audacity of someone like her standing there.

Emma, however, was an entirely different story. Something clicked in her mind, and her expression shifted. "Jungs, wartet mal," she suddenly said, holding up a hand to pause the tension. (Guys, hang on a second.)

"Was zur Hölle ist denn jetzt?!" Adrian hissed, his posture rigid, almost like a spring ready to snap. (What the hell is it now?!)

Lena stood outside the cell, her expression blank as she observed the exchange. The words were foreign to her, their meaning completely lost, though the sharpness in Adrian's tone wasn't hard to interpret.

Emma ignored his reaction and kept her eyes on Lena. "Das ist die Kleine, von der ich euch erzählt habe. Die ist sauber. Sie hat ihrem Chef die Hölle heiß gemacht." (This is the girl I told you about. She's clean. She gave her boss hell.)

Otto leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at the Major, then glancing back at Emma. "Das meinst du ernst?" he asked skeptically. (You're serious?)

Emma nodded firmly. "Ja, ganz sicher." (Yeah, absolutely.)

Adrian finally let out a sigh, though his glare didn't fully dissipate. "Na gut. Mal sehen, was sie zu sagen hat." (Alright. Let's see what she has to say.)

Lena, still unable to follow their conversation, remained silent but could feel the atmosphere shift slightly. Whatever they were saying, she hoped it was a step toward opening a dialogue.

"Alright, Major," Adrian began, spitting the word as if it were poison. His tone dripped with disdain. "Talk."

Lena didn't immediately reply. Instead, she stepped forward and, to their surprise, unlocked the cell door. She pushed it open and stepped aside, her posture firm but non-threatening—a clear sign she was letting them out.

"I need you to come with me," she said simply, her tone steady but carrying an edge of authority.

Adrian and Otto exchanged wary glances. Otto smirked faintly, muttering under his breath, "Na, das wird sicher gut ausgehen." (Well, this will surely go well.)

Emma was the first to stand, her eyes fixed on Lena. "Where are we going?" she asked cautiously, though her voice held more curiosity than hostility.

"You'll see," Lena replied, her silver eyes briefly meeting Emma's before shifting to Adrian and Otto. "But I assure you, this isn't a trick. If I wanted to harm you, I wouldn't have come alone."

Adrian crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. "And what makes you think we'll trust you, Major?" he sneered.

Lena glanced around, her silver eyes scanning the corridor for any sign of eavesdroppers. Satisfied they were alone, she stepped into the cell, her tone hushed but firm. "How many of you entered this world?" she asked, her gaze shifting between the three tankers.

The Germans exchanged confused glances. Adrian finally spoke, his tone calm but guarded. "Just us three. Why?"

Lena exhaled slowly, frustration flickering across her face. She knew full well he was lying. "Listen," she said, her voice dropping further, almost pleading. "I'm not here to harm any of you. And I'm not here to imprison whoever else came with you. I need to know so I can help them."

Adrian's eyes narrowed, his stance stiffening. "It was just us three," he repeated, his tone turning icier.

Lena didn't back down, her gaze unwavering. "You don't trust me. I get that. But if there's anyone else out there, they're in danger."

Emma scoffed, crossing her arms with a smirk. Otto, on the other hand, laughed outright, his voice echoing in the confined space. "Danger? Oh, that's rich," he said, shaking his head. "Let me tell you something, Major. If anyone else entered this world with us—and I'm not saying they did—but if they did, they wouldn't be the ones in danger."

Emma leaned against the wall, adding with a sly grin, "Yeah. Judging by what you guys field here? THEY would be the danger."

Lena sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging slightly as the weight of the situation pressed down on her. She stared at the three tankers, frustration flickering in her silver eyes. She didn't know how to convince them to trust her enough to cooperate, and time wasn't on her side.

"Look," she said finally, her tone softening but still firm, "I know you have no reason to trust me. I wouldn't trust me either if I were in your shoes. But I need you to understand—if I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't be standing here trying to talk this out."

Emma exchanged a glance with Adrian and Otto, her arms still crossed but her expression slightly less defiant.

"Alright," Lena said, her voice carefully measured. "Let's try a different approach." She paused, gauging their reactions. "If there were others who came with you into our world… would it be possible that there are, let's say—eleven of them?"

Adrian's eyes narrowed, suspicion flashing across his face. "Eleven?" he repeated, his tone edged with caution.

Emma tilted her head, studying Lena carefully. "Why eleven?" she asked, her voice calm but with a sharp undertone of curiosity.

Lena shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she leaned slightly against the cell door. She finally felt like she had found some kind of leverage. "You tell me your secret," she said, her silver eyes gleaming with a mix of determination and curiosity, "and I'll tell you mine."

The room fell silent as the German tankers exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. Adrian's brow furrowed, clearly skeptical.

"What kind of game are you playing at, Major?" he asked, his tone cautious but laced with irritation.

"No game," Lena replied evenly. "Just an exchange of information. You have questions, and so do I. I'm offering a fair trade."

"Kommt her," Adrian ordered, gesturing for the others to gather around him. (On me.)

Emma and Otto moved in closer, forming a tight circle around Adrian. "Was jetzt?" Adrian asked in a low tone, his gaze flickering briefly toward Lena. (What now?)

Lena stood a few steps away, her arms crossed and her expression scrunched in confusion as the unfamiliar language washed over her.

"Wie gesagt," Emma began, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sie ist eigentlich sauber. Aber ich weiß nicht… sie könnte auch eine doppelte Schlange sein… wie ihre Kollegen." (Like I said, she seems legit. But I don't know… she could also be a double-crossing snake, just like her colleagues.)

Otto frowned, glancing briefly at Lena before muttering, "Und wenn sie jetzt nur blöft? Ich meine, könnte Zufall sein, dass sie jetzt einfach so elf sagt." (What if she's bluffing? I mean, it could just be a coincidence that she said eleven.)

Adrian scratched his chin, his gaze flicking between his two tankers. "Unwahrscheinlich," he replied, his voice low. "Die Amis hatten den Bradley und den Abrams, mit jeweils drei und vier Crew-Mitgliedern, und die Briten sind mit ihrem Challenger hier gelandet, auch mit vier Nasen drin. Das sind elf insgesamt. Die weiß etwas…" (Unlikely. The Americans had the Bradley and the Abrams, each with three and four crew members, and the Brits landed with their Challenger, also with four people. That makes eleven in total. She knows something…)

"Uhm… Guys, look—" Lena began, her voice slightly hesitant, but she immediately shut her mouth as all three tankers turned their heads in perfect unison to glare at her.

The synchronized movement was enough to send a chill down her spine, their piercing gazes carrying the weight of countless battles and distrust.

Emma rolled her eyes but said nothing, crossing her arms and watching Lena with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

Lena cleared her throat and took a couple of steps towards the cell door. "When you're done deciding whether or not to trust me, I'll be waiting just here. Just… don't take too long. Lives might depend on it."

The three tankers leaned in again, forming a tight circle.

"Also? Was machen wir? Sie weiß, wo die anderen sind. Das könnte unsere Fahrkarte hier raus sein," Emma said in a hushed tone. ("So? What do we do? She knows where the others are. This could be our ticket out of here.")

"Raus aus diesem rassistenverseuchten Drecksloch," she added bitterly. ("Out of this racist-infested shithole.")

Otto frowned, glancing briefly at Lena. "Vielleicht… aber was, wenn es eine Falle ist? Wir erzählen ihr, was sie will, und dann sperren sie uns alle zusammen weg." ("Maybe… but what if it's a trap? We tell her what she wants, and then they lock us all up together.")

Adrian shook his head slowly, his eyes narrowing as he weighed their options. "Wenn sie weiß, wo die anderen sind, dann weiß sie auch, dass wir hier keinen echten Rückhalt haben. Wenn sie uns wegsperren wollte, hätte sie das längst getan." ("If she knows where the others are, then she knows we don't have real support here. If she wanted to lock us up, she would have done it already.")

Emma sighed, glancing back toward Lena, who was pretending not to eavesdrop but was clearly failing to mask her curiosity.

"Im Notfall brechen wir hier aus, steigen in den Panzer und verursachen ein wenig Schaden. Naja, bis die uns kriegen. Was eine Weile dauern sollte," she muttered with a smirk. ("If worse comes to worst, we break out, hop into the tank, and cause a bit of chaos. Well, until they catch us. Which should take a while.")

Otto chuckled softly. "Wenigstens würden wir mit Stil gehen." ("At least we'd go out with style.")

"Naschön," Adrian said with a tone of finality, crossing his arms as he glanced at Emma and Otto. "Dann ist es entschieden." ("Alright then. It's decided.")

The two tankers nodded in agreement, their postures relaxing slightly as they turned toward Lena. She straightened up, sensing a shift in their attitude, though the cautious glint in her silver eyes remained.

"Alright, Major," Adrian said, emphasizing her rank with just a hint of sarcasm. "We'll play your game. Let's hear your secret first."

Lena relaxed slightly, letting out a deep breath as a small, almost nervous smile appeared on her face. "Alright," she began, her voice steady but tinged with urgency. "I'm a Handler. I oversee the battles between the Processors—our soldiers—and the Legion. I'll explain the details later, but for now, you need to know this: one of my Processors requested eleven more Para-RAID devices. These are specialized communication devices. Again, I'll explain them later."

She paused, clearly trying to organize her thoughts as the three Tankers exchanged wary glances. "Here's the thing," Lena continued, speaking faster now, "these devices are incredibly durable. The chances of eleven breaking at the same time are… well, practically zero. It's almost impossible."

Otto frowned, trying to follow the rapid-fire explanation. Emma blinked, reeling slightly from the sudden influx of information. "Wait—what are you saying?" Adrian asked, his tone sharp but curious.

"When you guys entered our world," Lena said, meeting his gaze directly, "our radars detected a massive spike in energy in the area. It showed up as a radar contact—a single one, near where you were captured. At almost the exact same time, three more contacts appeared outside the Grand Mur, right where a battle was raging."

Her words hung in the air, and the weight of her revelation seemed to hit the Tankers all at once.

Adrian's eyes narrowed. "So, you're saying those three other contacts were…?"

Lena nodded slowly, her expression grave. "I believe they were your comrades."

The group moved through the stark, sterile halls of the San Magnolian military building, their footsteps echoing against the polished floors. Officers and MPs lined the corridors, their eyes narrowing and lips twitching as they tried to make sense of the odd sight. The silver-haired Handler strode confidently at the front, her gaze locked forward, her posture rigid and purposeful. Determination was etched into every step she took, her armband fluttering slightly as she moved.

Behind her trailed the three German Tankers, their hands still cuffed but their demeanor far from subdued. Adrian walked with a slight swagger, his gaze roaming the halls with an unimpressed air. Otto leaned slightly to one side, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he glanced at the staring officers. Emma, on the other hand, kept her head high, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp, scanning every face they passed.

A figure stepped into their path, blocking their way with an outstretched hand. Sergeant Elliot Fainwright. His all-too-familiar smug grin stretched across his face like it was permanently affixed there.

Lena didn't even flinch as she recognized him, though irritation flickered briefly in her silver eyes. Fainwright had always been a thorn in her side. Back when her father was alive and her family's wealth and prestige shielded her, Elliot had courted her relentlessly, eager to marry into the Milizé fortune. But that was before Lena's father's death—before her descent into the harsh realities of the Eighty-Six and her subsequent fall from grace.

When her public image crumbled under the weight of her convictions, Elliot had swiftly distanced himself. Since then, he'd made it his personal mission to undermine her at every opportunity, whether out of spite, wounded pride, or simple malice. His new goal was clear: to see her thrown out of the military.

Today was no different. His outstretched hand and smug demeanor spoke volumes about his intentions.

"Major Milizé," he drawled, his tone as condescending as ever. "I don't recall seeing any authorization for prisoners to be moved under your command."

Lena didn't even spare him a glance. Without breaking her stride, she brushed past his outstretched hand as if it didn't exist. Her eyes stayed fixed forward, her face a mask of cold, unyielding determination.

Fainwright's grin faltered, his hand dropping slightly as Lena brushed past him without so much as a glance. He turned, his smug demeanor cracking as the German tankers followed close behind her.

Adrian, barely glancing at the Sergeant, snorted and muttered under his breath, "Versager." (Loser.)

Otto, walking with an exaggerated swagger, laughed openly. "Get shit on, bro," he said with a wide grin, his tone dripping with mockery.

Emma, however, gave Fainwright a pointed look as she passed, her expression shifting to one of barely concealed disgust. "Don't even try it, you perv," she said sharply, taking an instinctive step away from him as if his mere presence left a bad taste in her mouth.

Fainwright's face reddened, his jaw tightening as he turned back toward the group, fists clenched at his sides. But before he could utter a retort, the group had already disappeared down the corridor, Lena leading them forward without sparing a backward glance.

Rounding another corner, the group stopped in front of a plain white door with a nameplate on the wall beside it reading, Technical Lieutenant Henrietta von Penrose. Lena rapped her knuckles against the door three times, then stepped to the side, her posture straight and unwavering.

Moments later, the door swung open to reveal a young woman with the same striking silver hair and piercing silver eyes as Lena. She was roughly the same age but carried herself with an air of authority that matched her neatly pressed lab coat. A pair of glasses perched on her nose, reflecting the bright light of the hallway as her sharp gaze flickered between the three tankers and Lena.

Her expression was unreadable, but her tone left no room for argument. "Inside. Now," she ordered curtly, stepping back to allow them entry.

Adrian and Otto exchanged quick glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and wariness. Emma, however, rolled her shoulders, as if steeling herself for whatever was coming. Without hesitation, Lena gestured for the three to step forward, her own demeanor as rigid as ever.

Henrietta's gaze lingered on Lena for a moment longer before she closed the door behind them with a soft click.

Henrietta gestured toward a set of chairs arranged around a sleek metallic table in the center of the room. "Sit," she said flatly, walking over to her desk. Her movements were deliberate, methodical, as if every step and gesture had been calculated in advance.

"Your arrival has stirred up quite the chaos around here," Henrietta began, her tone sharp and no-nonsense as she sat down at her desk. Her silver eyes locked on the three tankers before flicking back to her screen. "We know who you are, where you're from, and about your tanks. We know almost everything."

The emphasis on "almost" hung in the air like a challenge as she turned to her PC, her fingers flying across the keyboard. A moment later, the display lit up again, showing a compilation of radar data, video footage, and anomalies.

Henrietta leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. "But there's one question that's been nagging at me this entire time." Her gaze snapped back to them, cold and calculating. "How did you come here?"

Adrian shrugged nonchalantly, a small smirk playing on his lips. Otto leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, shaking his head like he was trying to ward off the entire conversation.

Emma, however, leaned forward slightly, her tone dry but direct. "Your guess is as good as ours," she said, meeting Henrietta's gaze without flinching.

Henrietta arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "You're telling me you have no idea? No strange events, no unusual anomalies on your end before you suddenly appeared in our world?"

Emma shrugged. "One minute we were in a battle, the next… well, here we are. If there was some grand cosmic explosion or wormhole or whatever, we didn't see it. We were a little busy not getting blown up."

Henrietta sighed, rubbing her temples. "Convenient," she muttered under her breath, though loud enough for them to hear.

Adrian chuckled. "Look, Doc, if we knew anything, we'd tell you—if only to figure out how to get the hell back home."

Otto leaned forward, a wry grin spreading across his face. "Unless, of course, you're planning to keep us here forever. In that case, we'd most likely break out of those cells, climb back into our tank, and force our way out. Just a heads-up."

Henrietta arched an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair as a smirk tugged at her lips. "Oh, really? And how exactly would you manage that?"

The air grew heavy with tension, a palpable shift that put everyone on edge. Emma's sly grin was the only warning before the sharp clatter of something metallic hitting the floor echoed through the room. Lena's eyes widened in alarm, but before she could react, all three tankers were on their feet, each holding a San Magnolian service pistol.

The barrels of the weapons were trained unerringly on both Lena and Henrietta.

"What the—" Lena started, her voice caught in her throat as she froze in place.

Henrietta's eyes darted between the three Germans, her hands instinctively raising halfway in a defensive gesture. "Impressive," she muttered, her voice steady despite the bead of sweat forming on her brow. "But let me ask you this—what's your plan now? You're in a heavily secured military laboratory inside District 1, the heart of San Magnolia. Do you really think you can get out of this building? And even if you somehow manage that, how do you expect to make it past the Grand Mur?"

Emma's smirk didn't waver. "We've gotten out of worse situations."

Adrian didn't even flinch, his voice calm and measured. "The first rule of any escape plan is to not give it away to the people you're escaping from."

Otto chuckled, his aim still unwavering. "But thanks for your concern, Doc. Really warms the heart."

Henrietta frowned, her gaze narrowing. "You're underestimating how many soldiers are stationed here. Not to mention, the Grand Mur is the most heavily fortified barrier in the Republic."

"Let that be our problem," Emma said coldly, her sights locked directly on Henrietta's forehead. She gestured toward the evidence bags on the table. "Now, how about you hand me those evidence bags over there?"

Henrietta's lips thinned, her reluctance clear, but she complied. She picked up the three phones and held them out cautiously. Emma approached slowly, her posture controlled, finger off the trigger to avoid any accidental incidents. In one swift motion, she snatched the phones from Henrietta's outstretched hands.

"Very kind of you, Doc," Emma said with a sly smirk. "Much appreciated."

Adrian glanced toward Henrietta, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Thanks for everything. The stay was… memorable. Let's put it that way."

He moved to the door, cracked it open slightly, and peered into the hallway. His eyes scanned for any sign of guards or unwelcome company. Finding none, he motioned to the others. "Clear."

Emma and Otto exchanged a quick nod, their expressions cold and determined. They turned to face Henrietta and Lena, who both looked back at them with a mix of defiance and apprehension.

"Nothing personal," Otto muttered, his tone almost apologetic but resolute. Before Henrietta could react, he brought the grip of his pistol down sharply on her head, her eyes fluttering shut as she crumpled to the floor.

Emma stepped toward Lena, her movements deliberate. "Sorry," she muttered under her breath, just before delivering a similar blow to the Major. Lena collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut, her cap rolling across the floor as silence filled the room.

Adrian peeked back into the room, raising an eyebrow at the scene. "Effective," he remarked dryly. "Let's move before anyone notices."

Emma and Otto quickly stepped over the unconscious figures and followed Adrian out of the lab, their weapons still drawn and ready. The hallway was eerily quiet as they began their escape.

Current Character and Vehicles:

Iron Horse-1 (M1A5 Abrams):

Captain John Paul Keller—Iron Horse-1 VC

Lance Corporal Gregory Sampson—Iron Horse-1 Gunner

Specialist Felix Erickson—Iron Horse-1 Driver

Private First Class Theodore Meyer—Iron Horse-1 Loader

Wardog-2 (Challenger 4):

Lieutenant Noah Piers—Wardog-2 VC

Warrant Officer Jack Leeman—Wardog-2 Gunner

Corporal Arthur Williams—Wardog-2 Driver

Lance Corporal Jasper Robinson—Wardog-2 Loader

Kaiser-1 (KF-51 Panther):

Feldwebel Adrian Koch—Kaiser-1 VC

Unteroffizier Emma Neuman—Kaiser-1 Gunner

Obergefreiter Otto Klein—Kaiser-1 Driver

Warpig-3 (M7 Bradley II):

Gunnery Sergeant Elijah Jones—Warpig-3 VC

Sergeant Mateo Miller—Warpig-3 Gunner

Corporal David Anderson—Warpig-3 Driver

Eighty-Six Spearhead Squadron (M1A4 Juggernaut):

Captain Shinei Nouzen "Undertaker" "Reaper" 1st Platoon & Squadon Leader

First Lieutenant Raiden Shuga "Wehrwolf" 2nd Platoon Leader & XO to Spearhead

Second Lieutenant Anju Emma "Snow Witch"

Second Lieutenant Kurena Kukumila "Gunslinger" 6th Platoon Leader

Second Lieutenant Theoto Rikka "Laughing Fox" 3rd Platoon Leader

Second Lieutenant Daiya Irma "Black Dog" 5th Platoon Leader

Second Lieutenant Kaie Tanyia "Kirschblüte" 4th Platoon Leader

Ensign Kujo Nico "Sirius"

Ensign Haruto Keats "Falke"

Ensign Io Dodanthe "Argos"

Ensign Ochi Anton "Gladiator"

Ensign Shuri Gilith "Dendroaspis"

Ensign Kariya Rohga "La Bete"

Ensign Hariz Senya "Cato'Nine"

Ensign Mina Shiroka "Artemis"

Ensign Matthew Nanaki "Walpurgis"

Ensign Kuroto Hinie "Manticore"

Ensign Lecca Lin "Burnt Tayl"

Ensign Tohzan Sasha "Gunmetslstorm"

Ensign Mikuri Cairo "Leukosia"

Ensign Myna Yatomika "March Hare"

Ensign Chise Authen "Griffin"

Ensign Touma Sauvy "Helianthus"

Ensign Louie Kino "Fafnir"

San Magnolia:

Brigadier General Jérôme Karlstahl

Major Vladilena Milizé

Major Cecilia Amaranth

Technical Lieutenant Victor Lysander

Technical Lieutenant Henrietta von Penrose

Sergeant Elliot Fainwright

Alive: 44

K.I.A.: N/A

Reviews:

38.8 WEEVIL—Yeah sometimes I get these writing boosts lol. Glad you like it!