The conference room was dimly lit, the glow of overhead fluorescent lights reflecting off polished steel walls. The air was thick with tension, each person seated around the sleek, modern war table carrying their own opinions on the matter at hand. The fates of Esdeath, Wave, and Run rested in their hands, and there was no easy answer.
Heavy, arms crossed over his barrel chest, was the first to speak, his deep voice breaking the silence. "Wave is soldier. He fights with honor. This, I respect. He deserves chance."
"A chance?" Soldier scoffed, slamming his fist onto the table so hard that the nearby lantern flickered. "He was one of the Empire's elite! We can't afford to take risks on former enemies. If he is to stay, he must be reforged in the flames of battle, turned into something greater!" His eyes gleamed with fervor. "He will learn the way of true warriors, under my command and Bulat's!"
Bulat, who had been leaning against his chair with his arms folded, finally spoke. "Wave isn't a bad guy. I fought him personally. He's strong, but he's been misled. If we guide him right, he could be an asset to our cause."
"I agree," Sheele added softly, adjusting her glasses. "But trust isn't given freely. He has to earn it. We need to watch him closely. And don't forget—we have Kurome. If there's one thing we know about Wave, it's that he cares deeply for her. That gives us leverage. If he wavers or even considers betraying us, we have a way to keep him in check."
"And Run?" Engineer chimed in, tapping his wrench on the table. "Boy's quick, I'll give 'im that, but he ain't no fighter. He'd do better somewhere behind the scenes, wouldn't he?"
Across the table, Medic leaned forward, fingers steepled in contemplation. "Run is different. He is not fighter like Wave, but he has knowledge. A strategist, an observer. If given ze right… incentives, he could prove useful in our intelligence division. It vould be a vaste to simply discard him. And remember—ve also have Kurome. He and Wave vere both part of ze Jaegers, and zey have a bond. If ve control vhat happens to her, ve control him. He vill not make rash decisions if it puts her in danger. Ze Empire used emotional manipulation all ze time—ve can use it too.
Ve must consider ze long-term effects. Wave is stubborn, but his heart is strong. If ve allow him to believe Kurome's fate is tied to us, he vill stay in line, perhaps even grow to believe in our cause. Run is different. He is pragmatic, a man who prefers observation to blind loyalty. Given ze right amount of persuasion—und perhaps a bit of pressure—he could become invaluable. Ve do not need to make him a soldier. Ve need to make him a resource. If ve integrate him into ze intelligence division, he vill provide insights from an Imperial perspective zat none of us have. If he hesitates, ve remind him—Kurome is in our hands. His loyalty is not to ze Empire, not truly. It is to his teammates, to her."
Medic's glasses gleamed under ze artificial light. "Ve do not need to force zhem to fight for us. Ve need to make zhem realize zey have no choice. Ve hold all ze cards here. If ve handle zhis correctly, zey vill come to see ze REDs as zheir best option. It is not just about survival—it is about purpose."
Spy had remained quiet until now, his gloved fingers idly tracing the rim of his cigarette case. He flicked it open, revealing the neatly lined cigarettes inside, but did not take one. He simply listened, his expression unreadable, until Sheele turned to him, her voice gentle but firm.
"And what about Esdeath? You haven't said a word."
The moment her name was mentioned, the entire room tensed. Esdeath was not just another enemy officer. She was the Empire's strongest general, a ruthless commander, and—perhaps the most complicated of all—Spy's personal entanglement.
All eyes turned toward him. For the briefest of moments, his mask slipped—an emotion too fleeting to decipher crossed his face. Then, just as quickly, it was gone. He exhaled, shaking his head. "She is… complicated."
Heavy grunted. "Da. Very complicated."
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken thoughts. Spy was known for his cold detachment, yet here he was, visibly troubled. It was unsettling.
Soldier, ever the tactician, broke the silence first. "Complicated or not, she's our prisoner now. If she's to stay breathing, we better damn well know what to do with her."
Sheele, who had been watching Spy carefully, finally interjected, her voice cutting through the tension. "That's a conversation for another time. For now, we focus on Wave and Run. If we do this right, they won't be liabilities. They'll be part of something greater."
The weight of their decisions hung over them as they finalized their plans. The meeting concluded, but as they filed out of the chamber, one thing remained clear—there were no easy answers in war. And some battles, the most personal ones, were fought in the quiet moments between the gunfire.
The banners of the RED Mercs billowed in the crisp morning air, standing tall against the walls of Shisuikan Fortress. Three days had passed since the stronghold had fallen into their hands, and now, in its courtyard, the army had gathered for an event of great significance—the induction of new warriors, and the judgment of the Empire's former elite.
At the head of the assembly stood the Mercs, lined in formation. The imposing figures of Heavy and Soldier stood with arms crossed, their eyes scanning the crowd with discipline. Flanking the center were Bulat and Sheele, each wearing expressions of quiet determination. Before them, the ranks of their newly formed army stood at attention, their discipline already beginning to resemble that of the Mercs themselves. The air was thick with anticipation as the soldiers, recruits, and veterans alike, waited for the ceremony's beginning.
Soldier stepped forward, his voice booming across the courtyard. "Today marks a new chapter in our battle against the Empire! We have taken this fortress, forged a new home, and now, we strengthen our ranks!" He gestured to Bulat and Sheele, his expression fierce yet proud. "These two warriors have proven their worth in combat and in heart. They have fought with us, bled with us, and now, they will officially stand as brothers and sisters in our cause! Bulat and Sheele, welcome to the RED Mercs!"
A roar of approval erupted from the gathered soldiers as Bulat and Sheele stepped forward. Bulat, ever the showman, gave a confident salute, his polished armor gleaming in the sunlight, while Sheele simply smiled, adjusting her glasses. The moment was brief, but its weight was undeniable. They were no longer merely allies—they were family.
But the ceremony was not yet over.
Soldier turned his attention to the two men standing apart from the rest. Wave and Run, both formerly of the Jaegers, now faced the judgment of those they once fought against. They stood rigid, their expressions unreadable, but even the strongest front could not mask the uncertainty in their eyes.
"Wave!" Soldier barked, his gaze intense. "Your loyalty to the Empire was misguided, but your honor is undeniable! You fought not for cruelty, but for the belief that you were protecting the people. You are given a chance to redeem yourself!" He turned toward Bulat, giving him an affirming nod. "From this day forward, you will serve under Bulat's command. You will learn what it means to fight for something greater than an empire built on blood!"
Wave stiffened, swallowing hard, but nodded without hesitation. He had expected execution, exile—anything but this. To be given a second chance, to stand among those who had once been his enemies, was an opportunity he never thought possible. Memories of past battles flashed through his mind—fighting alongside the Jaegers, the missions he carried out in the name of the Empire, the moments of doubt he buried deep within himself. And now, here he was, offered a place among those who had defeated him. His fists clenched at his sides, not in defiance, but in resolve. He would not squander this chance. He would prove himself, not just to them, but to himself. If redemption was truly possible, then he would seize it with both hands.
Next, Soldier's gaze settled on Run. The former Jaeger stood tall, but there was an undeniable wariness in his eyes. "You are no warrior, but your mind is sharp! You saw the truth of the Empire before others did. If you wish to live, you will use your knowledge to aid us. Sheele will oversee your work in intelligence. You will help us unravel the Empire's plans and find allies who seek freedom."
Run exhaled deeply, relief washing over him like a wave crashing against the shore. For days, he had prepared himself for the worst—imprisonment, execution, or exile. But now, standing before the assembled ranks of warriors who had once been his enemies, he was being offered something unexpected: a purpose beyond bloodshed. He took a steadying breath, gathering his thoughts before finally speaking.
"I accept," he said simply, his voice unwavering, yet laced with an unspoken resolve. This was not just survival—it was a chance to make amends, to fight in a way that mattered, and to finally step out of the Empire's shadow.
Before Soldier could continue, Heavy stepped forward, his massive form looming over the courtyard. His voice was deep, carrying weight beyond its volume. "There is no room for weakness," he said, scanning both Wave and Run with a piercing gaze. "You fight with us, or you stand aside. If you betray trust… I will end you myself."
Wave and Run nodded, the gravity of his words sinking in. There would be no second chances beyond this one.
With their fates decided, Soldier took a final step forward, addressing all present. "This war is not over, but today, we have taken another step toward victory! The Empire underestimates us! Let them! We will show them the price of their arrogance!"
The courtyard erupted in cheers once more, fists raised in solidarity. The REDs had grown stronger, their numbers swelled with new blood, and the weight of their cause had never felt more real.
As the ceremony came to a close, Bulat placed a hand on Wave's shoulder. "You're one of us now," he said with a grin. "Let's see if you can keep up."
Meanwhile, Sheele turned to Run, adjusting her glasses with a small, knowing smile. "Welcome to intelligence," she said. "Hope you like reading."
Wave and Run exchanged glances before looking back at their new comrades. They had been given a chance—not just to survive, but to fight for something truly worth fighting for.
For the REDs, this was more than just an induction ceremony—it was a declaration of their next step in toppling the Empire. Every new recruit, every reclaimed fortress, and every alliance forged brought them closer to dismantling the oppressive regime. But for the Empire, this was a crippling blow. The fall of Shisuikan Fortress and the loss of key personnel weakened their grasp, and the ripples of this shift would soon be felt across the battlefield. The tides of war were changing, and the REDs stood at the forefront of that storm.
The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind Spy as he stepped into his quarters, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the dimly lit room. The scent of aged parchment, gunpowder, and faint traces of his cologne lingered in the air, but none of it masked the presence of the woman seated in the corner.
Esdeath was bound to a chair, her wrists and ankles secured with thick rope, the knots tight and unyielding. A gag covered her mouth, muffling whatever words she might have spoken, though she had made no effort to scream or resist. Instead, she regarded Spy with a calm, knowing smile, her ice-blue eyes gleaming with something unreadable in the low light. It was as if she had already decided how this night would unfold, long before he even walked through that door.
Spy, normally composed and unreadable himself, hesitated for the briefest of moments before stepping forward. The silence between them was suffocating, thick with unspoken tension. He had seen her in battle, witnessed firsthand the ruthless efficiency with which she tore through her enemies, how she reveled in the carnage she left behind. She was a force of nature, the embodiment of cruelty wrapped in beauty. And yet, here she was, bound, helpless... and still, she held an air of dominance. Even in defeat, she refused to be anything but in control.
He reached for a cigarette, flicking open his case with a practiced motion, the metallic click of the lid echoing in the quiet. He placed the cigarette between his lips, but for once, he did not light it. His fingers lingered over the silver lighter before he clicked it shut with a sigh. "You are not afraid."
Esdeath's expression didn't waver, but there was amusement in her eyes. She tilted her head slightly, a silent challenge, as if daring him to believe she ever could be.
Spy exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He had spent years mastering deception, crafting a persona that never wavered, never let anyone see what truly lay beneath the mask. But Esdeath—Esdeath was something different. He had seen her at her most terrifying, watched her cut down foes without a flicker of hesitation. And yet, in this moment, she was an enigma he could not decipher.
His gaze flickered downward, settling on the faint curve of her abdomen. There it was—the undeniable proof that everything had changed. The weight of the situation pressed down on him. This was no longer just war. This was something else entirely. Something he wasn't prepared for.
His hand tightened around the lighter, his grip so firm that his knuckles turned white. His mind was a storm of conflicting thoughts. Duty, emotion, logic, and something else—something he wasn't ready to name—clashed within him, leaving him unsettled in a way he had not been in years.
The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, until finally, Spy turned away, walking toward his desk. He poured himself a drink with steady hands, the amber liquid sloshing slightly in the glass as he brought it to his lips. But when he took a sip, he found that it did nothing to quell the unease twisting inside him. It tasted hollow, much like the illusion of control he desperately clung to.
Behind him, Esdeath watched. Her smile never faltered, never broke. Even bound and gagged, she had the air of a queen on her throne, her amusement barely hidden beneath the surface. She was waiting. Waiting to see what he would do next. Waiting for him to accept what she already knew.
Spy set down his drink with a slow, deliberate motion before turning back to Esdeath. Without a word, he stepped forward and reached for the gag, loosening it before pulling it away.
She flexed her jaw slightly, rolling her shoulders as if testing the ropes, then smiled. "That's better."
Spy lit his cigarette at last, inhaling deeply before exhaling a steady stream of smoke. "You 'ave nothing to say for yourself?"
Esdeath chuckled softly, tilting her head. "What would you like me to say, mon cher? That I regret anything? That I fear what comes next?" Her gaze flickered downward for a moment, then returned to his. "Or perhaps you want me to beg?"
Spy scoffed, shaking his head. "Non. You would sooner bite off your own tongue."
She smirked. "You know me well."
A tense silence lingered between them before Spy spoke again. "What do you expect will 'appen now?"
Esdeath leaned forward as much as her bindings allowed. "You already know, don't you? You and I... we are not so different. We are killers, strategists, predators in a world of prey. You can pretend all you like, but in the end, your heart will guide you to the truth."
Spy exhaled smoke through his nose, his expression unreadable. "And what truth is that?"
She smiled again, this time softer. "That you still want me."
His grip on the cigarette tightened, but he said nothing.
Esdeath's voice lowered, the air between them charged. "You don't have to admit it now, but you will. And when that moment comes, I will be here... waiting."
Spy studied her for a long moment, then, without a word, reached forward and secured the gag back into place. Esdeath allowed it without resistance, her amused eyes never leaving his.
And that thought alone sent a chill down Spy's spine.