In a dimly lit, opulent office filled with sleek furniture and lavish décor, Syuen, the CEO of Missilis, lounged behind her imposing desk. She wore a sleek, stomach revealing outfit that radiated confidence and power, her eyes glinting with a mix of boredom and thinly veiled annoyance. She lazily tapped her manicured fingers on the polished surface, her posture relaxed, as if this was just another tedious meeting in her busy day.

Across from her stood Deputy Chief Burningum, a heavyset man with a slight limp who leaned on a cane for support. His face was lined with worry, his posture tense as he stared at the woman in front of him. The room, filled with Missilis paraphernalia and awards, only served to heighten his discomfort.

"Syuen, w-we have a serious problem," Burningum began, trying to keep his voice steady. "Wardress squad h-has gone missing h-hunting a never s-seen before rapture. This needs to be reported through the proper channels. The central government needs to know."

Syuen barely glanced up, her eyes still focused on her perfectly manicured nails. "Proper channels? How quaint," she said dismissively, her tone dripping with mockery. "Wardress was just a disposable asset. A bunch of scrap buckets that couldn't handle their job. The real problem is that our primary capture team is gone, and now it's become an inconvenience."

Burningum's grip tightened on his cane as he struggled to maintain his composure. He glanced around the room, filled with expensive trophies and accolades that screamed of Missilis's success. He felt the weight of his own moral dilemma pressing on his chest. "Syuen, this isn't about convenience. This is a breach of protocol. T-there are Nikkes and commanders at stake, due t-to some unknown variable. W-we need a full government backed t-team to capture and dissect this rapture"

Syuen leaned back in her chair, finally giving him her full attention. Her smirk was sharp, cutting through the room's tension. "Lives? Oh, Burningum, you're so sentimental. This isn't about lives or the central government; it's about opportunity. Capturing that special rapture could give Missilis an edge that Tetra and Elysion could only dream of. Do you really think I'm going to let this slip away and hand it over to the government? They'd have it dissected before we even got a look."

Burningum's face tightened, his eyes flicking nervously to the floor. He knew Syuen was dangerous, but this was reckless even for her. "We have protocols for a reason. This could go horribly wrong. What if this rapture is more dangerous than we know? We're talking about sending people in blind, and it could lead to—"

"To what?" Syuen cut in, her voice now edged with cold steel. "A loss of resources? A PR nightmare? You think I don't know the risks? I'm playing for higher stakes, Burningum. I have investors to please, markets to dominate, and I don't have time for government red tape." She paused, her eyes narrowing, and her tone softened, deceptively sweet. "Besides, you owe me, remember? Who was it that lobbied to keep your little pet projects like the Admire afloat when funding was on the chopping block?"

Burningum stiffened, a flash of anger mixed with guilt crossing his face. He knew Syuen was right; her influence had saved him more than once. But this was different. "That was... different, Syuen. This goes against all g-guidelines. If this goes south, we're both going to have a lot to answer for."

Syuen's smirk widened, leaning forward slightly, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "There's always something to answer for, Burningum. But that's the price of power. You're worried about policies, but I'm worried about profits. You keep your head down, do what I say, and your projects stay funded. Step out of line, and suddenly, all those favors you've banked might just vanish."

Burningum hesitated, his hand tightening on his cane as he weighed his options. He could feel the pressure mounting, the reality of their twisted arrangement sinking in. She had him trapped, and they both knew it. "This is a dangerous game, Syuen. If this goes wrong, there's no going back."

Syuen leaned back, unbothered, her demeanor cool and calculating. "Games are meant to be played, Deputy Chief. I suggest you get comfortable with that idea. Now, are you going to help me, or do I need to start cutting my charitable donations?"

Burningum's shoulders sagged slightly, the fight draining from him. He knew he had no choice. "Fine," he muttered, defeated. "But if this blows up in our faces, don't expect me to clean up your mess."

Syuen's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, her smile sharp and triumphant. "Oh, Burningum, I never do. I always get what I want. Trust me, it's going to be worth every risk."

As Burningum turned to leave, Syuen's eyes flicked back to her desk, the dismissive tapping of her fingers resuming as if the conversation had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. She watched him limp out of the room, a smirk still playing on her lips. She was already planning her next move, confident in her belief that she could outmaneuver anyone, no matter the cost.

The office door closed behind Burningum, leaving Syuen alone with her thoughts and the looming shadows of the risks she was willing to take.

John sat at his cluttered desk, typing away at his terminal, faint tendrils of smoke rising from a few burning incense sticks on his desk. To any observer, they were just an odd touch in the clutter of mission reports and equipment, but John knew better. These were carefully disguised talismans, a hidden line of communication with Takumi Gojo—a way to signal that they needed to talk without raising suspicion. He watched the smoke curl toward the ceiling, unhurried. Takumi would see the signal when he could, and John knew better than to expect an immediate response. Still, he needed to talk about the lab he had found on the surface.

Beside him, Rapi was focused on her own screen, reviewing the day's dispatch missions. The quiet hum of the room was only interrupted by the occasional sound of fingers tapping on keyboards. John glanced at Rapi, noticing her furrowed brow.

"You look like you've got something on your mind," John said, breaking the silence.

Rapi hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I feel like Neon and Anis have been stopping by your room too often. For the sake of your privacy, wouldn't it be better if you set up some ground rules?"

John leaned back in his chair, grinning. "I don't mind. Anis uses my shower since the barracks still have no hot water, and Neon's been talking to me about chemistry."

Rapi raised an eyebrow. "Chemistry?"

John chuckled. "Yeah, but not the kind you're thinking of. She's been all about gunpowder and bullet materials lately."

Rapi's surprise melted into an amused sigh. "Of course she would be."

She tilted her head slightly, a look of mild curiosity crossing her face. "I didn't know you were into chemistry."

John gave her a playful wink. "Oh, I'm a man of many talents. Chemistry, physics, maths—you name it. And let's not forget my expertise as a dessert connoisseur."

Rapi rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Desserts… connoisseur? Really?"

"Absolutely," John nodded enthusiastically. "There's an art to finding the perfect apple pie, and I've dedicated myself to the craft. Life's too short not to enjoy the sweeter things."

Suddenly, his comm device buzzed, breaking the silence. John glanced at the screen, and an unfamiliar ID flashed: Deputy Chief Burningum.

John frowned, a sense of unease creeping in. He had never dealt with this Deputy Chief before, and something about the timing felt off. He answered the call, sitting up straighter as the screen flickered to life. On the other side, Deputy Chief Burningum appeared, dressed sharply in a military uniform, his stern face partially shadowed. A cane leaned against his side, and his posture, though upright, hinted at strain.

"Commander S-smith, I presume?" Burningum's voice was authoritative, but the slight stutter in his words betrayed a hint of underlying tension. "This is Deputy Chief Burningum. I have a high-priority a-assignment for you and the Counters team."

John's eyes narrowed, a mix of curiosity and suspicion coloring his expression. "Deputy Chief, this is our first interaction. What's the rush?"

Burningum paused, his gaze shifting momentarily, as if weighing how much to reveal. The slight stutter returned, more pronounced now, breaking the rhythm of his speech. "Your team is being dispatched immediately to the surface. You're to locate and capture a rapture codenamed 'Chatterbox.' We've detected a signal from Wardress squad, who were assumed either KIA or MIA. W-we believe that this signal is from a tracker attached to the rapture."

John leaned forward, his unease growing. "And if we find any survivors from Wardress?"

Burningum's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. "Any survivors are to be sent back to the Ark, h-however Wardress is presumed dead. This mission is black ops. It won't be on record, and no backup will be available. You're on your own."

John's suspicion deepened. The mission was unusual, the briefing curt and lacking the details he'd expect for something this critical. Was this Burningum nervous or was this his usual body language—a nervous twitch of the fingers, the way his eyes occasionally darted away. "Understood, sir. But why all the secrecy? Why not go through Andersen or the usual channels?"

Burningum's grip on his cane tightened, his demeanor hardening as if preparing to ward off further questions. "This is a need-to-know operation, Smith. You are not to contact anyone outside this channel, including Deputy Chief Andersen. All lines of communication have been temporarily restricted for this mission. Follow the orders, execute the mission, and report directly back to me."

John opened his mouth to press further, but Burningum cut him off, ending the call abruptly. The screen went dark, leaving John staring at his own reflection, his mind racing. Something about this didn't add up—the rushed briefing, the uncharacteristic secrecy, and Burningum's uneasy delivery all pointed to a bigger game being played behind the scenes.

John immediately tried to reach Andersen, his fingers moving quickly across the terminal's controls. Each attempt was met with a dead signal, a silent wall that only heightened his sense of isolation.

Rapi got up from her chair, her expression serious "I'll get the others ready"

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, jagged shadows across the ruined landscape as John and the Counters team moved cautiously through the debris-strewn streets of the surface. The air was thick with dust, and every step kicked up small clouds of dirt that clung to their boots. John led from the front, his eyes fixed on the faint signal blipping on his handheld device, marking the location of Wardress's last known position—and their target, the rapture known as Chatterbox. Rapi was close beside him, her rifle at the ready, scanning the area with a practiced vigilance.

Behind them, Anis and Neon followed, though their bickering broke the otherwise tense silence. Neon was grasping an empty soda can, while Anis glared at her, her hands on her hips.

"You've got to be kidding me, Neon," Anis snapped, exasperation clear in her voice. "I bought that from the outpost, and you drank it before we even got here?"

Neon argued back, her expression also exasperated. "How was I supposed to know it was yours, there was no label on it and it was included in our shared rations!."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you chug it without asking me!," Anis retorted, grabbing at the empty can and tossing it aside with a huff. "You owe me one."

John rolled his eyes slightly, half listening to their squabble, but his focus remained on the task ahead. Rapi, walking beside him, glanced back at the two Nikkes with mild annoyance before turning her attention back to the crumbling buildings around them.

"I'd feel better if we had an operator watching our backs," Rapi said, her voice low but pointed. "We're running this without any oversight. Not exactly ideal."

John nodded, keeping his eyes ahead. "Yeah, well, apparently black ops don't come with support teams. We're on our own out here." He hesitated for a moment, then glanced sideways at Rapi, lowering his voice. "Do you think Burningum has any idea that I'm a sorcerer? Or that Andersen might've leaked it?"

Rapi shook her head, her expression thoughtful. "Doubtful. If Burningum knew, it would have come up during the briefing, or at least hinted at it. Most likely, he has no idea. He probably chose us based on your record."

John frowned, considering her words. "My record? I've barely done anything. Aside from a few dispatch missions, I've only led two surface ops as a commander—and one of those was a 'technical' failure."

Rapi glanced at him, her expression calm but firm. "John, you might not be aware of this but you stand out due to the fact that you have two missions under your belt. Up to 70% of commanders don't survive their first mission on the surface. That number jumps to 90% by the second. You're already in the top tier just by being alive. That alone makes you stand out."

John absorbed her words, a mix of surprise and skepticism flickering across his face. He hadn't thought of it that way, and the idea that his mere survival could be seen as exceptional felt strange. "So that's why Burningum picked us. Not because of any special knowledge or skills, but because we're still breathing."

"Exactly," Rapi said, her eyes scanning the desolate surroundings as they continued forward. "To him, you're already some kind of elite combat commander. That's what probably grabbed his attention."

As the team moved through the desolate streets, the ruins of the old world loomed over them, casting long, eerie shadows that danced in the fading light. Rapi kept her eyes sharp, alert for any sign of movement, while the faint beeping from John's handheld tracker guided them closer to their objective. Anis and Neon's argument, however, continued to bubble over, their voices a sharp contrast to the oppressive silence of the surface.

Rapi finally glanced back at them, her voice carrying a firm edge. "Alright, you two, that's enough. We're on a mission, not a playground. Focus up."

Neon pouted but kept pace, while Anis, still fuming about her lost soda, threw up her hands in frustration. "John, you've gotta settle this! She's always snatching my soda like it's no big deal."

John sighed, glancing over his shoulder at the two Nikkes. "Neon, you really need to stop drinking her soda. We've got enough to worry about without refereeing this dispute everytime someones soda goes missing"

Neon shot John an innocent look, smiling brightly. "Yes, Master. I'll try to be good."

Anis's head snapped around, her eyebrows shooting up in confusion. "Master? Since when did John become your 'Master'?"

Neon puffed out her chest proudly, her eyes gleaming with excitement behind her glasses. "Well, ever since John helped me tweak the recipe for my custom shells. He managed to increase their energy output by 2.3 percent! I mean, that's no small feat." She grinned, clearly pleased with herself, basking in her minor victory.

John smirked, shaking his head slightly. "Neon, I told you that was just one shell, and it could easily fall within the standard deviation of error. You haven't tested enough to call it a success yet." He turned to face Anis, his expression mock serious. "And because Neon didn't account for that little fact, I'm officially putting all the blame for this soda incident on her."

Neon's jaw dropped, and Anis burst out laughing, her irritation momentarily forgotten. But John wasn't finished; he turned his attention to Anis, his eyes narrowing playfully. "Actually Anis, did you eat my leftover apple pie from the fridge back at the outpost?"

Anis's cheeks flushed, her confident facade cracking as she looked away, trying to hide her embarrassment. "W-what? No… I mean, maybe... I was hungry."

John raised an eyebrow, his tone exaggeratedly stern. "Aha! So you're the pie thief. That's it—I hereby declare Neon completely innocent of all soda-related crimes, and I place the blame squarely on you, Anis."

Anis's mouth fell open, and she shot John a look of mock indignation. "Hey, that's not fair, Commander! You're just being mean now."

John chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing for a moment as he watched the two bicker playfully. Despite the mission's gravity, these light moments of banter reminded him why he valued his team—they were more than just soldiers; they were friends. But as the beeping from the tracker grew louder, drawing them closer to the signal's source, John's smile faded, and he refocused on the task ahead.

"Alright, enough joking around," John said, his tone shifting back to command mode. "Let's get this done. Stay sharp, and keep your eyes peeled. We don't know what we're walking into."

Later that night, Rapi moved silently through the darkened building, her senses finely tuned to every creak and groan of the structure. Dust clung to every surface, undisturbed except for their recent movements. Outside, the makeshift decoys she had set up fluttered faintly in the breeze, mimicking the faint outline of shadows in the moonlight. She had been on watch for hours, eyes sharp for any rapture that might stray too close, but all was quiet. Too quiet.

Satisfied that nothing was amiss, Rapi stepped back into the dimly lit room where her team was camped. Neon and Anis were sprawled on makeshift bedding, resting but ready, the faint glow of the moon casting pale slivers of light across their sleeping forms. But John sat apart from them, propped against a crumbling wall, staring off into the darkness. His expression was distant, his body still, save for the subtle rise and fall of his breathing.

Rapi hesitated, her footsteps faltering as she watched him. There was something heavy in his posture, a weight that hadn't been there earlier. She took a breath, steeling herself, before quietly approaching him.

"Commander? You should be sleeping." she asked, keeping her voice low, almost afraid of breaking whatever thoughts were holding him captive.

John blinked, pulled from whatever place his mind had wandered to, but his gaze didn't fully meet hers. "Yeah" he said, but his voice was rougher than usual, thin, as if stretched too tight. He tried to force a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just... thinking about that pie Anis ate. The injustice of it all. Tragic, really."

Rapi watched him closely, noting the uneven way he said the words, the joke falling flat. It was a flimsy shield, something meant to keep the real thoughts at bay. She could see it in the tension in his shoulders, the distant look that lingered even when he was trying to be lighthearted. He was carrying more than he let on, and the silence around them only made it worse.

She wanted, more than anything, to reach out, to offer him some kind of comfort—a hand on his shoulder, a few words that might help, anything to ease the quiet ache she saw. But there was a line, a boundary she couldn't cross. He was her commander, and she was a Nikke. That divide was always there, an invisible wall built by duty and the unspoken rules of their world. A Nikke didn't comfort her commander, not like that. It wasn't their place.

So instead, she hesitated, caught between the impulse to be there for him and the need to keep her distance. "That pie must have meant a lot to you," she said softly, choosing the lightest path, trying to mirror his attempt at humor. But her voice betrayed her, a faint tremor of concern she couldn't quite hide.

John gave a quiet chuckle, though it was hollow, a sound meant more for her than himself. "Yeah, guess it did."

Rapi nodded, though he wasn't really looking at her. She wanted to tell him she understood, that she felt the weight too. That it was okay to not be okay. But the words stuck, trapped behind the protocol that always kept her in her place. She could offer him her vigilance, her loyalty, her skill with a rifle—but not the kind of comfort he probably needed. Not in the way that counted.

John watched as Rapi's expression flickered—just for a moment—like she was weighing something heavy in her mind. Her gaze lingered on him, caught between concern and restraint, but then she looked away, her face returning to the composed, disciplined mask she always wore.

"It's fine," John said, his voice quieter now, almost lost in the stillness of the room. "I'll head to sleep soon. Just needed a moment."

Rapi hesitated, her eyes searching his as if she was on the verge of saying more, of crossing that invisible line. But the moment passed, and she nodded, stiffly, before turning back toward the hallway. She moved with purpose, her figure swallowed by the shadows, the faint echo of her footsteps blending with the distant hum of the night.

John's gaze followed her until she disappeared from view. The silence thickened, and he leaned his head back against the crumbling wall, staring up at the cracked ceiling. The emptiness around him felt sharp, like the edges of something unsaid pressing at his throat, heavy and restless. He let out a slow breath, his thoughts drifting.

His fingers curled instinctively, the tension coiling in his chest. He glanced at the others, their forms barely visible in the dark, and for a moment, the quiet pressed in too close.

John clenched his fist, feeling the roughness of his own grip as the only solid thing in a world that felt increasingly uncertain.

The morning sun filtered weakly through the dust-filled sky, casting a pale, sickly light over the ruined cityscape. The crack of gunfire ricocheted off crumbling walls, mingling with the distant roar of collapsing buildings as the Counters fought through the chaos. Each breath tasted like ash, the air thick with the acrid stench of smoke and ozone. Amidst the cacophony, a massive Bulwark loomed—a towering, segmented rapture bristling with heavy armor, its holographic shield flickering like a wall of shimmering glass, protecting the raptures huddled behind it.

"Damn it! The Bulwark's shields are covering those raptures!" Rapi shouted, her voice cutting through the din of battle. Her eyes darted between the Bulwark and the multiple rapture units behind it, their weapons glowing with a dangerous hum as they charged up, preparing to unleash devastation.

John's heart pounded in his chest as he assessed the situation, his mind racing through options. "Rapi, you and Anis take out the ones on the flanks! Neon, you're with me—we'll handle the Bulwark!" He barked out the orders, every second counting against them.

Neon's lips curled into a wild grin, adrenaline surging as she tightened her grip on her shotgun. "Got it, Master!" she yelled, her voice brimming with reckless excitement. She shot a quick look at John, the unspoken trust between them palpable.

"Neon, go high! I'll go low!" John commanded, sprinting forward without hesitation. Neon launched herself into the air, her movements smooth and graceful, soaring over the Bulwark's shield like a hawk diving on its prey. Her shotgun barked at its shield, drawing its attention towards her. Below, John slid across the dusty ground, feeling the grit scrape against his uniform as he narrowly slipped past the shimmering barrier, the energy field buzzing just inches from his face.

John's eyes locked onto the exposed core of the Bulwark, glowing faintly beneath layers of thick armor. With a fierce growl, he drove his fist into it, feeling the satisfying crunch of metal yielding under the force. The Bulwark shuddered, its core flashing a violent red, but before he could retreat, John felt a sudden, sharp jolt—a cold, metallic grip clamped down on his arm, locking him in place even as its shield flickered and died.

"Damn it, stuck!" John grunted, muscles straining as he fought against the Bulwark's crushing hold. The machine's internal gears whirred angrily, tightening their grasp with every second. Panic flared in his chest, the heat from the core singeing his skin as he struggled to free himself.

Above, Neon's shotgun roared, the blast echoing through the battlefield as she shredded a rapture with a precise shot, pieces of metal and circuitry scattering like confetti. Meanwhile, Rapi and Anis unleashed a barrage of bullets and grenades, tearing through the raptures on the flanks with methodical precision. Sparks flew, explosions rumbled, but one rapture remained, its weapon fully charged, a blinding beam of energy crackling at its tip, aimed directly at John.

John's mind raced, every nerve screaming in overdrive. He yanked his body with all his strength, twisting the Bulwark's massive form into the line of fire just as the rapture's weapon discharged. A searing beam shot through the air, slicing toward him with deadly intent. The blast struck the Bulwark dead center, the force ripping through its body and core with a deafening explosion. The machine erupted in a shower of sparks and shrapnel, the impact hurling John backward as his arm was wrenched free from the wreckage.

He hit the ground hard, rolling through dust and debris before springing back to his feet, his breath ragged but his body miraculously intact. The Bulwark lay in smoking ruins, its shattered armor glowing faintly amid the rubble. Rapi didn't miss a beat—her rifle barked once, a clean, precise shot that tore through the last rapture before it could react.

"Trying to give us all a heart attack, Commander?" Anis called out, reloading her grenade launcher with a crooked smirk.

John wiped the sweat and dust from his brow, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. "Not my best plan," he admitted, shaking off the lingering tremors in his arm. He glanced over at his team, each of them bruised but standing.

The team continued moving forward through the rubble-strewn streets, adrenaline still coursing from the fight. Anis, twirling her grenade launcher onto her shoulder, glanced over at John with a curious look. "Hey, Commander, I gotta know—how do you come up with those tactics on the fly or is this what they're teaching at the military academy these days? I don't remember any of my previous commanders giving us any order more than a simple 'destroy the enemy'"

John chuckled, wiping a smudge of dust off his cheek. "Military academy? I never actually set foot in one. Everything I know comes from old strategy games and those one-liners from war movies that sound like they make sense. 'Flank 'em, boys,' and all that."

Anis stopped in her tracks, eyes wide with disbelief. "Wait, you're serious? You're telling me that all those moves are from... games?"

Anis blinked, her jaw dropping slightly as she tried to process his response. "Wait, what? You're telling me that you're running tactics based on... video games and action flicks? Come on, that can't be real."

John shrugged, his face unreadable, but the faint hint of amusement played in his eyes. "Hey, you'd be surprised what you pick up from a well-timed 'move, move, move!' or a dramatic 'we're getting flanked!' You get the right vibe, and suddenly everyone's moving like they're in a blockbuster."

Neon giggled from the back, clearly enjoying the back and forth.

Anis threw her hands up in mock disbelief, quickening her pace to catch up with him. "No way, this has to be a joke. You're saying that everything—the calls, the tactics, all of it—is just... inspired by games? Tell me you're messing with me, John. Please."

John shot her a playful wink, his grin widening. "Guess you'll never know, Anis.."

Anis groaned, exasperated but grinning despite herself. "Come on, spill it! You're seriously not telling me you're winging all of this based on things you've seen on TV, right?"

John turned, his mouth opening to fire back another quip, but the teasing retort never made it out. In a split second, Rapi's expression shifted to alarmed, her sharp eyes catching the faintest glint of something in the distance—a reflection, barely there, but unmistakable.

"Sniper!" Rapi yelled, her voice laced with urgency. Without hesitation, she lunged forward, slamming into John with all her strength. The impact sent them both sprawling to the ground just as a blinding beam of energy sliced through the air, crackling with deadly intent.

John hit the ground hard, his breath knocked out of him as the beam grazed his arm, burning a jagged line through his sleeve and searing his skin. But his eyes snapped immediately to Rapi, who had thrown herself into the line of fire. The shot that should have pierced his heart instead tore into her chest, her armor smoldering from the impact.

Rapi's body jerked, her chest scorched and twisted, a wisp of smoke rising from the fresh wound. She gasped, struggling to push herself up, circuits sparking as she fought to stay operational.