The underground laboratory buzzed with frenetic energy as Dr. Stylish stood before his gathered forces, his signature grin never faltering. A dozen glowing screens flickered behind him, displaying blueprints, battlefield layouts, and the grotesque enhancements of his latest experimental soldiers. The dim lighting cast eerie shadows on his sharp features, making his manic excitement all the more unsettling.
He adjusted his sleek, reflective glasses, the light catching them in a way that obscured his eyes. "Prepare for a grand experiment, my stylish warriors!" His voice was theatrical, brimming with an almost childlike glee. "Tonight, we push the boundaries of science! We shall capture the notorious Night Raid, dissect their weaknesses, and elevate our craft to new heights!"
Before him stood his personal creations, a grotesque mix of human and artificial augmentations. Muscle-bound behemoths with reinforced exoskeletons flexed their grotesquely modified limbs, their eyes void of hesitation. Speed-enhanced assassins twitched impatiently, their cybernetic nerves surging with restless energy. Even the lower-ranked grunts bore Stylish's signature handiwork—stitched skin, mechanized enhancements, and reinforced bones making them far more formidable than ordinary Imperial soldiers. They had all undergone relentless experimentation, subjected to countless procedures that pushed their physiology beyond natural limits.
Stylish walked among his creations, taking in their unnatural strength and resilience. He reached out to one of his larger experiments, running a gloved hand over the metallic plating grafted into its skin. "Ah, such exquisite work! My dear creations, you are the future of warfare, the pinnacle of science!" His voice dripped with pride, his ego swelling at the sight of his army. "Tonight, you will not merely fight—you will demonstrate my brilliance to the world!"
His most trusted lieutenants, Team Stylish, stood closest, awaiting their orders with eager anticipation. His loyal second-in-command, Toby, cracked his knuckles, muscles rippling beneath his modified armor. "Heh, I've been itching for a real fight. These Night Raid punks won't know what hit 'em."
A lithe, masked figure beside him let out a distorted chuckle, adjusting the mechanical tubing running from their suit to their back. "I just want to hear them scream," they whispered, their voice laced with an unsettling, almost musical quality. Their excitement was mirrored by the others in Team Stylish, each one thirsting for battle in their own twisted way. One of them, a towering brute with serrated metal grafted onto his fists, let out a guttural laugh. "Can't wait to test out my new claws. Let's see how well their flesh holds up."
Stylish clapped his hands together, his grin widening. "Ah, such enthusiasm! You understand the beauty of our cause! Now, let us begin. Our glorious march to knowledge and power!"
The floor trembled as his monstrous army moved as one, marching toward their target under the cover of night. Their boots echoed in unison, a chilling omen of the storm that was about to descend upon Night Raid's hideout. The air was thick with anticipation, the scent of chemicals and oil wafting from the augmented soldiers as they moved forward. Shadows stretched long in the dim light, turning the marching army into a hellish vision of destruction.
As the night deepened, Stylish turned toward his personal command center, where additional monitors displayed live reconnaissance of their destination. A live feed from a scout drone showed the Night Raid hideout, dark and seemingly unaware of the impending attack. He tapped a finger against his chin, eyes narrowing behind his gleaming glasses. "Soon… very soon. And then, my dear Night Raid, we shall see just how resilient you truly are."
Stylish's eyes gleamed behind his glasses as he watched them depart. His grin, if possible, widened further. "Oh, this will be simply magnificent..."
The night was eerily silent, broken only by the rustling of leaves as a lone figure crouched in the shadows. The Scout Squad had been keeping watch on the outskirts of the forest, maintaining their usual patrols, when the unmistakable march of an approaching force reached their ears.
A young scout, hidden among the branches of a gnarled oak, adjusted his goggles and peered down at the figures below. Through the dim moonlight, he spotted them—Team Stylish and their monstrous horde, moving in precise formation. The scout's grip tightened on his makeshift periscope, his heart hammering against his ribs. This wasn't a simple patrol. It was an invasion.
His training kicked in. With careful, practiced movements, he reached into his pouch and pulled out a small, modified flare gun. The signal had to be discreet—no bright lights, no loud noises. He aimed it toward the sky and pulled the trigger, sending a faint, almost imperceptible blue streak through the night air. The message was clear:
Enemies approaching. Prepare for battle.
Miles away, deep within their headquarters, Spy observed the signal from the mansion's balcony. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember at its tip briefly illuminating his smirk. The enemy had made their move.
A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he turned to face the others. "Zhey think zhey are the hunters," he mused, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "How delightful."
The assembled REDs looked to him for direction. There was no hesitation in his demeanor, only the confidence of a man who had long played this game. Before anyone could ask, Spy turned to Medic, who had been watching with intrigue, his gloved hands already itching in anticipation.
Medic's grin was almost feral, his mind already racing with possibilities. "I volunteer," he declared, his voice thick with excitement. "I vill take a team and deal with zhis personally."
The thought of facing Dr. Stylish sent a thrill through him—another mind unburdened by the restraints of conventional ethics. What wonders had Stylish crafted? What grotesque, fascinating experiments lay in wait? His fingers twitched in anticipation. And then, there was his own work—his beloved Medigun, his Ubercharge, and all the terrifying possibilities they presented. What could be learned from Stylish's methods? What improvements could be made? His mind raced with the thrilling prospect of melding their sciences, of discovering whether this so-called genius was truly his equal or merely another fool to dissect.
He licked his lips, grinning wider. "Ah, a fellow visionary! Perhaps I shall see firsthand if his vork iz brilliance… or mere amateur folly."
Spy nodded approvingly. "Then choose your squads wisely, Doktor."
Without skipping a beat, Medic began listing his selections:
Heavy Squad, the backbone of brute force, built for sheer overpowering strength. Soldier Squad, tactical combatants, hardened warriors who knew the art of strategic assault. Pyro Squad, unpredictable, chaotic, and terrifying—their flamethrowers would ensure nothing was left standing. Demoman Squad, masters of destruction, specializing in explosives and area denial.
As the teams prepared for deployment, a quiet voice cut through the briefing. "I want to observe. I need to understand how real battle unfolds," Sheele said firmly, gripping her oversized Teigu. However, deep inside, her resolve was twofold. While she genuinely wanted to learn from the experienced mercenaries, she also had another, more personal reason—Mine. Ever since Spy had forced Mine into secrecy regarding her revival, Sheele couldn't shake the worry gnawing at her. She needed to ensure Mine was truly okay, even if it meant watching from the shadows.
The room turned to Sheele, who stood firm, clutching her oversized Teigu. There was no hesitation in her expression, only a quiet determination.
Spy studied her for a moment before giving an amused smirk. "Observe carefully, meine kleine Schülerin," he said smoothly, as if sensing there was more to her request than she let on. "You vill learn much from zhis night."
Medic, Sheele, and the selected squads mobilized for battle, each moving with a calculated precision honed through experience and preparation. Sheele adjusted the strap of her Extase, securing it behind her back, before drawing her newly crafted Ambassador—a sleek, customized revolver designed for quick, precise shots. The weight felt unfamiliar in her grip, but she was determined to make it her own.
Bulat stood at the entrance of the mansion, watching as Sheele departed with the army, her figure illuminated briefly by the torchlight before vanishing into the dark. His gaze then shifted to the squads marching beside her, their weapons glinting under the moonlight—machines of destruction he had proudly helped Engineer and Medic design. He felt a strange sense of fulfillment knowing his craftsmanship would soon see battle, ensuring his allies were armed with the best tools possible.
The night would soon be painted in fire and chaos, and the hunters would realize they were, in truth, the hunted.
The tranquility of the night shattered in an instant.
Without warning, Dr. Stylish's forces stormed the perimeter, their inhuman roars echoing through the clearing as they descended upon Night Raid's hideout. Their grotesque forms—bodies fused with mechanical and biological enhancements—moved with an unnatural grace, their speed and ferocity making them seem almost unstoppable. The ground trembled under their relentless charge, dust and debris scattering as mutated soldiers poured forward like an unstoppable tide. Before Night Raid could fully react, the battle had already begun.
Akame was the first to engage, her blade flashing through the moonlight as she carved through the first wave of grotesque enemies. Murasame's curse should have felled them instantly—but to her alarm, some of them kept moving, their augmented bodies resisting the fatal effects. Their unnatural resilience sent a chill down her spine, but she did not falter. Adjusting her grip on Murasame, she narrowed her eyes and struck with even greater precision, targeting the few weak points that could still bring them down. She severed limbs, crushed joints, and pierced through enhanced skulls, ensuring that even their modifications couldn't keep them standing.
As she fought, the battlefield became a blur of blood and steel. One soldier, its body reinforced with armored plates, swung a clawed hand at her, aiming for her throat. Akame ducked, rolling under the strike, and retaliated with a clean slash across its midsection. It staggered but did not fall. Without missing a beat, she leaped upward, landing a second strike across its exposed neck, finally watching the light fade from its unnatural eyes. Another enemy lunged at her from the side, its elongated limbs whipping toward her in an attempt to ensnare her. She pivoted smoothly, using the momentum to drive Murasame into its chest before twisting the blade free, sending blood spraying into the air.
More surged forward, unrelenting, their grotesque forms moving with terrifying efficiency. Akame felt her pulse quicken as she recognized the intelligence behind their coordination—Dr. Stylish had truly refined his experiments. But no matter how well they adapted, she would adapt faster. Steeling herself, she dashed through the fray, striking with speed and lethality that no machine-enhanced body could counter. Bodies collapsed around her, but the fight was far from over. A deep breath steadied her nerves—she had to keep moving. She had to cut down every last one.
Leone let out a feral grin as she met the next wave head-on, her fists colliding with enhanced bone and steel-plated skin. A towering mutant, its body reinforced with thick plates of metallic grafts, swung a colossal arm at her with bone-crushing force. She ducked under the blow with a grin, her instincts sharp, and countered with a devastating uppercut that sent the abomination sprawling onto its back, its jaw shattering upon impact. Another enemy lunged at her, its elongated, clawed fingers reaching for her throat, but she caught its arm mid-swing, twisting violently before slamming the creature into the dirt with enough force to make the earth tremble beneath her feet.
More enhanced soldiers encircled her, their unnatural eyes glowing with predatory intent. Leone didn't hesitate—she launched herself forward, grabbing one mutant by the neck and hurling it into another with bone-crunching force. A third opponent charged in, wielding a jagged blade, but she sidestepped and grabbed his wrist, snapping it backward with a sickening crack. Blood spattered across her face, warm and sticky, but she wiped it away with the back of her hand, her adrenaline surging like wildfire.
"You freaks don't know who you're messing with!" she roared, barreling into another group of enemies with reckless abandon, her laughter wild and unrestrained as she reveled in the heat of battle. A mutant attempted to grapple her from behind, but she twisted her hips, using its own momentum against it, sending the creature crashing into a pile of rubble. She was in her element—untamed, unstoppable, and unrelenting.
Mine had positioned herself at the outskirts of the battlefield, taking quick but careful aim with Pumpkin. The enhanced soldiers moved unpredictably, their erratic motions making it difficult to land precise shots. Her pink eyes narrowed as she analyzed their patterns, searching for an opening. One mutant lunged at Akame from the side, and without hesitation, Mine fired—a searing energy blast punched through its skull, sending it collapsing to the ground.
More of Dr. Stylish's abominations noticed her position and turned their attention toward her. Cursing under her breath, Mine adjusted the dial on Pumpkin, powering up her next shot. A massive brute with mechanical arms charged her, but she held her ground, heart pounding. She squeezed the trigger, unleashing a concentrated beam of energy that tore through its torso, reducing it to charred remains. The recoil sent her skidding back, but she recovered quickly, shifting her aim to the next target.
"Tch—there's no end to these freaks!" she muttered, biting her lip as she lined up another shot.
Lubbock darted through the battlefield, using his wires to ensnare and dismember his opponents with calculated precision. He maneuvered between the abominations with ease, his agility allowing him to stay just ahead of their grasp. As one of the monstrous soldiers lunged at him, he flicked his wrist, sending a cluster of razor-thin wires into its path. The creature barely had time to react before its limbs were severed, its grotesque form collapsing to the ground in a heap.
Another enhanced mutant, its arms reinforced with serrated blades, charged at him with terrifying speed. Lubbock clicked his tongue in annoyance. "You guys really don't know when to quit, huh?" With a quick spin, he wrapped his wires around the enemy's torso, then yanked with all his strength. The enhanced soldier was pulled off its feet, flailing wildly before being bisected in an instant.
Glancing around, Lubbock noticed a group of Night Raid members struggling against the overwhelming numbers. Gritting his teeth, he swiftly deployed more wires, forming an intricate web that ensnared multiple enemies at once. With a quick tug, the reinforced strands tightened, slicing through his foes like butter. The battlefield was chaos, but he thrived in it, adapting to the ever-shifting flow of combat.
"Tch—this is getting annoying fast," he muttered, eyes darting toward Dr. Stylish, who was still observing from his perch. If they wanted to turn the tide, they had to disrupt his control over the battlefield.
Tatsumi fought valiantly, but the sheer number of enemies threatened to overwhelm him. Incursio's power surged through his limbs, giving him strength and speed beyond human limits, but even with his enhanced abilities, he was struggling. For every enemy he struck down, two more took its place, their grotesque forms lunging at him with eerie precision. He gritted his teeth, dodging a mutated soldier's lunge before countering with a crushing blow to its gut, sending it flying backward. Yet the relentless onslaught didn't let up.
A monstrous soldier with elongated arms swung at him, its claws aiming straight for his throat. Tatsumi barely managed to twist away in time, feeling the wind of the strike brush past his cheek. He retaliated with a brutal upward slash, cleaving through the creature's torso and sending dark blood spraying into the night air. But there was no time to recover—another enemy lunged at him from behind. Sensing the attack, he spun, bringing his armored gauntlet up to block the strike before driving his knee into the soldier's gut and following up with a powerful downward slash that split its body in two.
His muscles burned, his breath came in ragged gasps—this wasn't just a battle, it was a test of endurance, a fight where survival seemed uncertain. More of the abominations surrounded him, their grotesque forms closing in like a pack of hungry beasts. Tatsumi clenched his fists, bracing himself. If they wanted to test his limits, he would push beyond them. With a roar, he surged forward, Incursio's power flaring around him as he tore through the enemy ranks with renewed ferocity, refusing to fall.
Above it all, from a safe vantage point, Dr. Stylish observed the chaos with glee. His grin widened behind his glasses as he watched Night Raid struggle against his creations. "Oh, what marvelous test subjects you'll make!" he declared, his voice brimming with satisfaction. The thrill of seeing his experiments in action sent a shiver of excitement through him. They were performing beyond expectations, their modifications giving them an undeniable edge. The sight of Night Raid being pushed back, struggling to hold their ground, was nothing short of exhilarating.
The battlefield was an inferno of blood and steel, chaos reigning as Team Stylish pressed their advantage. Night Raid was holding on, but barely—the tide of mutated soldiers threatened to crush them under sheer numbers and raw might. Then, the unthinkable happened.
From the darkness beyond the battlefield, a booming voice echoed over the din of battle.
"Go! Crush zhem! Leave nothing standing!"
Like a storm given form, the REDs crashed into the rear of Stylish's forces with brutal efficiency.
Heavy Squad led the charge, their massive forms bulldozing through the grotesque creations of Dr. Stylish. Miniguns roared to life, spinning barrels spitting lead into the enemy ranks, tearing through flesh and metal alike. The air filled with the sickening sound of bodies being ripped apart. The mutants, designed to be superior to normal soldiers, had never faced this level of unrelenting firepower before. They crumbled under the hailstorm of bullets, their shrieks of pain drowned out by Heavy Squad's war cries.
From above, the Soldier Squad rained destruction. Rockets streaked through the night, exploding against enemy ranks with earth-shattering force. The ground quaked under the bombardment, craters forming where Team Stylish's forces once stood. What had been an organized assault turned into sheer bedlam as Dr. Stylish's mutants were torn apart from behind.
Then came the fire.
The Pyro Squad surged forth, flamethrowers spewing torrents of flame that engulfed the battlefield. Stylish's grotesque soldiers howled as the fire clung to them, melting flesh and metal alike. The night sky glowed with an eerie orange light as the Pyros laughed madly, reveling in the destruction they wrought. The sickening stench of burning flesh filled the air, and those unfortunate enough to survive the initial inferno writhed on the ground, their mutated bodies smoldering as the flames devoured them.
And then the explosions began.
The Demoman Squad let loose their payload, tossing grenades and setting remote charges. One by one, the bombs went off, sending monstrous bodies flying, limbs torn from their sockets. Smoke and fire filled the air, turning the battlefield into a hellscape of destruction. The mutants, built to be resilient, could not withstand this level of devastation. Buildings and fortifications around the hideout crumbled under the sheer force of the blasts, leaving the battlefield littered with debris and corpses alike.
Tatsumi, mid-swing, barely dodged a severed limb that flew past him. He turned, eyes wide in shock, as he saw the impossible.
"No way… The REDs!?" His breath hitched as he spotted the unmistakable figures among the carnage. "They're… helping us?!"
Akame didn't hesitate, adjusting her stance to take advantage of the distraction. Her crimson eyes darted between enemies, her blade carving through Stylish's creations with renewed vigor.
Leone grinned, wiping blood from her lip, though her golden eyes flickered with something between relief and exhilaration. "Took 'em long enough!" she chuckled, but her voice carried an edge of tension. As she watched the REDs carve through Stylish's forces like a hurricane of destruction, a thought nagged at the back of her mind—these mercenaries were not heroes, not freedom fighters. They were something else entirely. And while their intervention was a welcome relief, she couldn't help but wonder: what was their true game?
Lubbock whistled in awe as he flipped a wire, slicing through an enemy's neck. He let out a low chuckle, though his grip on the wire tightened. "I don't know if we should be grateful or terrified right now." His eyes flickered across the battlefield, watching the REDs carve through Stylish's forces with almost mechanical efficiency. This wasn't just backup—this was a slaughter. The calculated way they fought, the merciless precision, sent a chill down his spine. "I mean, they're on our side… right?" he muttered under his breath, but deep down, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.
Mine, however, paled. She clutched Pumpkin tightly, sweat beading on her forehead. Of all the mercenaries to show up, it had to be them. Her mind raced back to Spy's cold, calculated voice when he had blackmailed her into keeping Sheele's survival a secret. If the REDs were here, then…
Her eyes darted around frantically before she spotted him.
There, amidst the carnage, standing tall with a twisted smile on his face, was none other than Medic himself.
"Ah, such BEAUTIFUL destruction!" Medic cackled, surveying the battlefield with wild glee. He adjusted his gloves, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Zhis is ze kind of battlefield I live for!" He turned his head toward a wounded Night Raid member and chuckled. "I do hope zhis means ve are allies, ja?" The glint of his bonesaw in the dim firelight sent shivers down their spines.
Dr. Stylish, who had been reveling in his impending victory mere moments ago, now stood frozen in sheer horror. His forces were crumbling, caught between two merciless enemies. His confidence shattered as he watched his grotesque creations being gunned down, burned alive, and blown apart.
The battle had turned against him. What had once been a carefully orchestrated assault had now devolved into a desperate struggle for survival. The screams of his dying soldiers filled the air, mingling with the roar of miniguns, the detonation of rockets, and the sickening crackle of burning flesh. Stylish's breath came in short, panicked gasps as he took a shaky step back, eyes darting wildly for an escape. But there was none. The mercenaries were relentless, tearing through his forces with almost surgical precision. This wasn't just a setback—it was an utter catastrophe.
"No… NO! This isn't how it was supposed to go!" Stylish screeched, his perfectly styled hair now disheveled with panic. His hands trembled as he reached for his Teigu, desperate to regain control of the situation.
Then, a shadow loomed over him. A chilling chuckle cut through the chaos, sending a shiver down Stylish's spine. He turned, and his heart nearly stopped at the sight before him. Medic stood there, his bloodstained gloves flexing as he grinned maniacally. His glasses glinted in the firelight, reflecting the carnage around them like a mad scientist admiring his work.
"Ah, Herr Stylish! Such VONDERFUL work you haff done here! Your modifications are... intriguing! But alas, you lack refinement. True medical artistry requires precision!" His voice was thick with amusement, as if he were addressing an old colleague rather than a doomed enemy.
Stylish swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand tall, though a bead of sweat dripped down his temple. "You—You're nothing but a madman! You think you can challenge my creations?! I have spent years perfecting my art!"
Medic let out a delighted chuckle, stepping closer, his gloved fingers twitching with excitement. "Ah, but zhat is vhere ve are alike, ja? A fellow scientist, a connoisseur of ze grotesque, seeking to push ze boundaries of vhat is possible!" He tilted his head, adjusting his glasses as he examined Stylish with an almost clinical curiosity. "Your vork, it is... fascinating! Crude, perhaps, but I can see ze passion in it. A shame, really, zhat you rely so much on mass production. True artistry, mein freund, is in ze details."
Stylish stiffened, momentarily taken aback. For all his bravado, there was an undeniable weight to the way Medic spoke—an eerie confidence, as if he had already decided the outcome of this battle. "You think you're superior? My modifications surpass mere medicine! I have revolutionized biological enhancement! Every soldier you see is a testament to my genius!"
Medic let out a sharp laugh, his grin stretching wider. "Ah, but have you ever brought a man back from ze brink of death, made him stronger, faster, more RESILIENT zhan before? Haff you seen ze very essence of life bend beneath your scalpel und needle? I do not just modify—I REDEFINE!"
The words sent a shudder through Stylish, but he clenched his fists. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Doctor. My work is my pride, and I won't let some deranged battlefield surgeon belittle it!"
Medic's eyes gleamed, his excitement only growing. "Ahahaha! Oh, but I am not here to belittle! No, no, mein freund—I am here to demonstrate! Now, let us see whose methods truly stand ze test of battle!" With a flick of his wrist, his bonesaw gleamed in the firelight, the edge already coated in fresh blood. "Shall ve begin?"
