Chapter 540 - 25-29

Chapter 25: A Long Trek

Grizzly walked out of the house, it being the seventh one he cleared so far. Like the last six, everyone in it was dead. It made it harder to open every door. By now it seemed fair to assume that they're were no survivors anywhere near the village, but he needed to make sure. So he walked up to the eighth house and found the rest of his squad already inside. He entered slowly, looking at everyone there.

"Find anything, rookie?" Eagle asked him, the man polishing his gun.

"Nothing I'm afraid. Only bodies." Grizzly replied, closing the door behind him.

"Damn," Eagle muttered quietly, the others looking solemn. It seemed Grizzly wasn't the only one in his discoveries.

"Well, our job's done then," Ape began, "all of you, head back to the LATVs. We're going back to base."

They left quietly, walking out back to their vehicles. It was disappointing that they didn't find anyone alive, but they expected as much. This close to the blast would have made it a miracle if anyone did. The LATVs soon came into view, only a few more feet away. And in an instant, they were gone. A loud bang echoed around them as the two vehicles were engulfed in flames.

"Incoming!" Eagle shouted, leaping behind an abandoned house. Just as he did so machine gun fire flooded where he previously stood. The other members of the squad followed suit, ducking behind whatever cover they could find. Quickly peeking behind cover, he called out "Anyone see what's shooting at us?!"

"Enemy tank, twelve o'clock!" Mammoth shouted back before a tank shell collided with the building he was hiding behind. The wall was crumbled, with Mammoth falling over dead, the shrapnel tearing him apart. Looking back over Grizzly found the tank he was talking about. An old T-72 if he was correct. It wasn't the only thing though. A swarm of infantry stood around it, slowly advancing into the village proper. It had to be a full platoon, possibly even a company.

"We have any anti-tank equipment!?" Eagle asked, firing his M4 into the approaching crowd of militants. He struck one in the chest, killing the man quickly.

"It was with the LATVs!" Ape replied, as he quickly joined Eagle. The two picked off those too out in the open. Ape would use his quirk when they got too close, predicting the enemy's next move, but it did nothing against the tank. Grizzly found it changing its focus over to the other two.

Acting quickly, he held up his arm as the air around it got colder. An almost beam of light shot out covering the tank and a few soldiers. When it dispersed, the tank had been covered in ice. Everything around it was frozen solid, with the soldiers next to it spreading out rapidly. It had an unintended consequence, however, as now the militants knew where he was. Grizzly ducked back into cover in the nick of time, right as 7.62 rounds started pelting the area around him.

"Everyone pack it up! We're falling back!" Ape ordered, putting a radio away. The squad moved quickly, sticking to what cover they could find. Behind them, the militants pushed their new advantage. Grizzly didn't know where they were running to, but it didn't seem to matter. Every turn had an enemy hiding in an abandoned house.

"Where the hell are we even going!?" Eagle called out over the radio. Gunfire was heard seconds later, before Ape soon replied.

"We're getting as far from the village as possible! Artillery is getting ready to bomb our position!"

Grizzly at that point, rolled behind another building, just as a militant opened fire. After that he raised his arm again and froze the way behind him, a large wall of ice forming where the militant last stood. It provided a brief few seconds before he had to continue running. Already his arm felt more and more like it wasn't there. Not wanting to lose its function, Grizzly switched to his M4.

He fired it as a militant turned a corner. The enemy collapsed dead, not expecting Grizzly to be there. He could see the town's exterior, it had to be a few feet farther. His legs felt like they were on fire as he ran. All the while he pushed himself to go just a bit faster, as a faint whistling was heard above. Barely reaching the outskirts he felt a shockwave knock him off his feet. Unseen by Grizzly, a mass of artillery guns fired away.

Every few seconds another shell would be loaded and fired. A repeated, almost machine-like efficiency as the guns would shift every time new coordinates were given. The drones assigned to them provided it effortlessly, watching over the village. It was a horrifyingly efficient killing, and it made Grizzly nauseous. But he couldn't linger on that, not now.

"Everyone make it?" Ape asked over the radio.

"Grizzly here, I'm fine."

"Eagle here, could be better but I'm intact. Iguana's dead sadly, he didn't make it out in time."

"Owl here, my HAZMAT's been punctured, and I have a bullet in my leg."

"Affirmative Owl, what's your location?"

"Not sure, but I'm near an open road."

"I think I see it," Grizzly commented.

"Good, you go check on Owl. We'll join you shortly."

The guards at the outpost stood unaware as they relaxed around a TV. For them, they had nothing to worry about. They were miles from the frontline, with AA systems watching the skies all around them. And besides, who would be this far into enemy territory, in the middle of the night? So they sat back, watching the TV and its slew of programming.

"Come on! The answer is Lafayette!" one militant exclaimed, as the game show revealed the final answer. The question had been the name of a French general in the American Revolution.

"Who the fuck is Lafayette?" a different militant asked, looking at his ally incredulously.

"Better question, how the fuck do you know who that is?" another one asked, not noticing the guard behind him get dragged into the shadows. None of them noticed it happened.

"What, I like to dabble in history." the first one stated, returning his gaze to the TV. Sure enough, he was correct. The militant held a brief celebration, as another guard was dragged away into the night. It didn't go unnoticed, however.

"Hey… Anyone know where the sergeant went?" a militant asked.

"I think he went to the bathroom." another replied, too focused on the TV.

"That was half an hour ago."

"Well, I mean he's got a weak stomach man."

"Ok then." the militant replied, not fully believing what was said. The TV had gone over to commercials then, causing them to groan in annoyance.

"You seriously couldn't get streaming?"

"You willing to fork over the cash? Because it's either the free channels, expensive cable, or expensive streaming."

"On second thought, never mind."

His annoyance only peaked when a hero came onto the screen. The others shared his annoyance, so they changed the channel. Only to find another hero, this one advertising some dietary product. So they changed it again, finding a third channel with a hero. It was on the love life of someone over in Canada.

"Damn it. Anyone got a CD player or something?" the militant with the remote asked.

"A CD player? You kidding?"

"I've got one. The only question is what CDs do you have?"

Another militant watched them bicker off to the side, not caring about what was happening. So long as they put on something to watch, then he'd be fine. Oddly enough though, he felt like someone was watching him. Every time he turned over his shoulder nothing was there, but he couldn't help but feel like something was behind him. He was about to look over again when something grabbed him.

He tried to scream but it wrapped around his throat, choking out his attempts. Every few seconds he was farther and farther from the outpost, the others inside didn't notice he was gone.

"I've got Bugs Life 7, Toy Story 40, Finding Nemo 30-"

"Anything, not Pixar?"

"Does Oceans 67 work?"

"Not really, the plot was terrible and the story was over-saturated with characters."

"What about Fast and the Furious 95?"

"Eh, why not."

Carefully the militant hooked up the CD player, before turning back around. Where once he saw a room full of people, he now stood alone. He looked around, attempting to figure out what was going on.

"Uh… guys?"

Walking forward he found no sign of anyone nearby. It was worrying, but people don't just disappear in thin air… unless it was their quirk. But no one at the outpost had a quirk like that.

"Seriously guys, what are you doing?"

His nerves were on edge. Everywhere he turned he found no one. It was just him, a few walls, and the surrounding plains. Now beyond worried, he grabbed his nearby rifle. It was an outdated FAL but it served its purpose. On the other end of the rifle was a flashlight, one the militant quickly turned on. He shined the light on the surrounding area and found nothing.

The surrounding area was empty. Slowly the militant moved to grab his radio, only to stop. Something sharp hovered over his neck, lightly pressing into his throat. It gave a small shallow gut, letting drops of blood begin to form. The militant's breath hitched as he remained unmoving. As quickly as it had arrived, it disappeared, instead replaced by some force wrapping around him.

He thought it to be a snake, as it constricted around him. And then it went dark, leaving Snake to secure the surrounding area. The silo was still a few miles away, meaning time was of the essence. Now he had thirty hours left. Looking around, Snake began to search the outpost. He rummaged through its compartments before finding a pair of keys. Just what he needed. As quickly as he had arrived he left, using an old jeep the outpost kept nearby. It was a rusted M151 from Cameroon if Snake remembered the language written on the vehicle. But it worked, and with what little time Snake had, that was good enough.

The President looked over every report with high scrutiny. They weren't going fast enough. By the time the Tyrant's deadline was up, over a thousand HPSC personnel would still be on the continent. Those nukes were going to be sent regardless of what the President did, so she was preparing a backup plan.

"I want Radon being sent to North America. I don't care how much you have to pay him just do it! Techno how are we doing in Greece?" she asked. The man himself was busy scouring every computer in the room telepathically. Over the past few hours, he had created a false narrative. One where the villain Meltdown attacked a small island off the coast of Greece. That would hopefully cover up why children on the Greek coast were dying of cancer.

"The public has bought the story so far, however…"

The President looked over at him, a hint of anger and displeasure clear.

"However news is still being leaked. I'm removing as much information as possible but it's reaching the more… conspiratorial sectors of the web."

"Then it's of no concern." the President replied. She couldn't have her people wasting time at this moment. And censoring the crazies was a massive waste of time.

"What's the status of the other villains?" she demanded.

"Awaiting transport."

"Good. Now someone tell me, where the hell is Ocelot?" the President demanded.

"Right here, mam." Ocelot chimed in, his revolvers spinning as always. It was going to give her a migraine if he kept spinning those guns anymore. Might the guns have something to do with his quirk? Maybe. But she didn't care at this point.

"I want you to start rounding up vital personnel and sending them to the emergency bunkers," she ordered. She could only hope the bunkers worked. They were designed with the idea of villains attacking them head-on. Not a nuke being dropped on top of it. But like many things, it would have to do. Especially as she began making her way to one.

Chapter 26: A Snake's Arrival

With less than twenty hours to spare, Snake had arrived. Quietly he removed the keys from the jeep, turning off its engine. Posted up on a small hill, he gazed out over the silo. A large fence surrounded its exterior, with a long empty patch of sand. The sand was made perfectly flat, which meant any steps taken onto it, would reveal an intruder. If it wasn't bad enough there were also watch towers surveying the empty swaths of land.

It was clear Snake would have to improvise, so he had an idea. Looking around he found a section of road leading to the base, along with a truck that seemed to have broken down. Its driver and passenger were busy trying to fix its tire, not paying attention to the rear of the vehicle. Seeing his chance Snake rushed in, his sneaking suit muffling any would-be noise. Once there he quietly hoisted himself inside, before pulling out old reliable.

"Damn it, how did it even pop?" the driver muttered to himself, attempting to fasten the last bolt on the tire.

"I told you to watch the road. This is what happens when you don't" his passenger responded.

"Yeah yeah yeah Grandma I get it. Just check on the cargo." the driver ordered.

"Sure," the passenger replied, walking to the back of the vehicle. Looking in he counted the boxes loaded into it. Once finished he realized there was one too many. He wrote it off as one of two things, either a shipping error, or they took too many. He didn't care which as both meant they would have to drive back to the depot. A depot that was five miles away.

And seen as he was not in the mood, he elected to ignore it.

"Everything there?" the driver asked, preparing to start the truck.

"Yep, we're good." the passenger replied, before leaning back in the seat. Snake meanwhile remained silent in the cardboard box. He felt the weight of the truck shift as it moved forward. Continually, he gazed out through the small slits in the box. In mere moments, the truck would fully enter the facility.

Every few minutes they would pass another patrol, all none the wiser. And as Snake looked out, he began to think out his next plan of action. For one, how was he to deal with the nukes? Capturing them seemed to be the smart thing, as it improved the MSF's arsenal, even if they would never be used. However, it didn't seem possible. The number of AA systems meant a Fulton retrieval would be impossible.

Any aircraft sent to pick up the package would be shot out of the sky instantly, and possibly detonate the nukes. Not to mention if he ignored the AA systems, the extraction would be noticed immediately by every surrounding guard. Meaning another nuclear strike would be launched the moment it was spotted. He could disarm the nukes, but that left the risk of them being rearmed.

So he looked back out at the silo. For its size, a good chunk of it remained underground. Possibly miles down if Snake was correct. There was Snake's plan, one he ultimately despised, but would have to do. He would detonate the nukes, while still in their silos. With it being underground, it should hopefully mitigate the majority of the blast. And the radiation would be mostly contained.

But it was beyond risky. One wrong move and everything could go wrong. But it had to be done. With a plan now formed, Snake felt the truck come to a stop. Looking around he found he was in a warehouse. The driver and the passenger both exited the truck then, preparing to move the cargo. Having little time, Snake drew his pistol and lifted the cardboard box. The two militants reached the back, finding Snake.

They both moved to fire their rifles but were subdued quickly. The first by Snake shooting him in the head, and the second by Snake leaping at him. Snake grabbed the second militant, restraining him in a chokehold. Finding the area around them empty, Snake pulled out his knife.

"Where's the control room?" Snake demanded, brandishing the knife over the guard's throat.

"I don't know," the guard replied, nervously eyeing the blade.

"Want to try again?"

"I'm serious, I don't know where it is," the guard told him, desperation laced in his voice.

He asked a third time and got the same result. It was clear the man knew nothing, so Snake choked him out quickly. Once done he hid the unconscious men in the back of the truck. Then he made his approach, crawling to the main complex. It was far too wide open for Snake's liking. A vast field void of any sort of hiding spot. Not even a hill he could duck behind. His only saving grace was the darkness covering it.

So, he stuck low to the ground, crawling slowly. Every time a patrol would pass by, he would freeze. After a few more moments they would leave, not noticing him. It was a precarious situation, where every movement had to be planned out. But he was getting forward. Soon enough he was halfway across the field, the main complex now a hundred or so feet away.

Yet the world could never be so kind. Snake froze as a small patrol started walking over to his position, getting closer by the second.

"I'm telling you, man, the moment we get those new rifles the other warlords won't know what hit them." one guard proclaimed, walking off directly towards Snake. Neither had spotted him, his suit hiding him in the dark. Carefully, Snake moved to the side, attempting to get closer to the guards.

"I'm pretty sure the nukes are already doing that for us." the other guard countered, as he looked off in a different direction.

"I mean sure, but we only have a dozen of them." the guard tried to argue, finally noticing Snake in his peripheral. He didn't realize what he was seeing yet though, so Snake moved quickly. He grabbed the guard in a chokehold before slamming him into the ground. The other guard turned quickly, just as Snake punched him in the throat. After a loud crunch was heard, the guard somehow survived. The man was stunned for a moment as he clutched his wounded neck.

Snake then grabbed the man, and finding the other guard trying to stand up, slammed the two's heads together. Then as the fight ended, Snake looked around carefully. Finding no one had noticed the scuffle, Snake looked back at the guards. He would drag them with him, as he reached the other end of the field. And finding a nearby portapotty, he shoved them both inside.

He was close to the control room, he could tell. The entire area screamed importance if the number of nearby AA systems was anything to go by. It had to be close, so he looked for the nearest door into the complex. Finding it, he found a pair of guards standing by. After a few minutes, they would walk away, giving Snake time to move in. Silently he ducked inside, closely the door as the guards' replacements arrived.

Looking back at the interior, Snake found it to be a large open room. It didn't seem to have any purpose or current use other than random storage. It was effectively a giant junk drawer from what Snake found. Old crumbs of MREs and random bullets covered the floor, along with random toys and objects. But there were also several filing cabinets, leading to Snake's suspicion.

Surviewing the room for any possible contacts, Snake walked over to the first cabinet he could find. Opening it carefully he found it to be old financial documents. None being of current help, he closed it and moved on to the next one. This one bore fruit, as it held schematics for projects the Tyrant had planned. Some were more rational, such as the supposed new rifles the Tyrant had planned for.

Others weren't so rational, instead pondering the ego of a crazed sadist. That is what Snake found, as he gazed over the design for a large city. It was to be the Tyrant's capital, a city of esteemed wealth and power. Gold covered the city's streets and decorated its buildings. Statues littered every street corner, the faces' of the Tyrant's commanders and allies gracing them. It was every attempt to stroke the ego of the madman, and yet it was seemingly denied and left abandoned in this room.

Snake decided to put the document back then, moving on to the next open folder. As soon as he opened it, a small grin graced his face. The very first document held the schematics for the missile silo. He grabbed his Idroid and scanned the blueprints carefully. One by one they all gave him a clear map of the complex. The control room was just below him, and he wasted no time.

"Covering fire!" a soldier yelled out, as Grizzly ducked behind the large hill. The soldier who called it out was graced with the sound of a nearby machine gun cutting into the enemy. What remained of Grizzly's squad had run all the way back to friendly forces, exhausted and running low on ammo. But when they arrived, things weren't looking much better. The Tyrant's forces had launched an assault covering the entire contamination zone, and now the MSF was locked in a battle to hold them back.

Soon enough the entire force was encircled, and now they were launching a breakout attempt. And Grizzly didn't know who was winning. Abrams clashed with T-72s and T-80s in open fields, or behind large rolling hills. Apaches and Hinds swarmed the skies, cutting swaths into exposed infantry. Cheap suicide drones rammed into an enemy and friendly artillery, the C4 taped to the bottom destroying everything. Meanwhile, IFVs duked it out in the towns, as infantry moved from house to house.

At the moment Grizzly's goal was a seemingly simple one, eliminate the enemies' AA systems. Now while the Tyrant's missile launchers and SAMs were farther away from the front, too far for any effective counter-attack, the smaller self-propelled systems weren't. And with the number of helicopters full of refugees being shot down, it meant they had to go.

This, however, was not an easy task. This was especially clear as a grenade landed next to him. He froze it quickly, stopping the blast quickly. At the same time, bullets pounded at the hill he hid behind. Grizzly wouldn't let it go unanswered, as he turned back with his arm raised. The squad of soldiers that had fired at him, were frozen in seconds, a large wall of ice encapsulating them.

"Save the ice for the AA Rookie!" Ape yelled as he dived into cover next to him. He gave a silent nod, before grabbing his M4. Almost immediately he turned back over and found an enemy militant charging them. Grizzly fired in a quick burst, the first three rounds hitting the enemy's chest. His lung was most likely punctured, and the man collapsed onto the ground.

"Come on! Let's move it troopers!" a CO ordered, slowly advancing forward. The others followed as the militants were slowly pushed back. Grizzly went from cover to cover, as he ran over the hill. Another squad of soldiers attempted to fire at him, only to be stopped by Eagle. He tossed a grenade at them, the militants scrambling to get away. They failed in their attempts, the shrapnel tearing into them quickly.

The entire battle was never something Grizzly expected. At least not when he was becoming a hero. Now, it was becoming more mundane as the truth was revealed to him day by day. This was reality, this was evil, this was villainy. This is what he was supposed to face as a hero, but never did. That was until he left the life of a hero behind. Now he was ducking into the tall grass of the savannah, using it to hide his movements forward. The chaotic firefight didn't seem to end as he went forward.

Every second he heard another bullet being fired, whether it be from his own rifle, or someone else. As he ducked into the grass, he found Ape grabbing an unsuspecting militant. The militant struggled against the sergeant, but ultimately lost as Ape's knife was shoved into his throat. He carefully set the corpse as he noticed Grizzly next to him.

"Sergeant." he greeted, finding they now had a brief lull in the fighting. It could still be heard all around them, but their small sector had become quiet. Another soldier came stumbling through the grass then, along with Eagle in tow.

"Rookie," Ape greeted in return, looking around the tall grass. Grizzly wasn't sure, but he assumed the sergeant was using his quirk.

"We clear?" Eagle asked, holding up his rifle.

"Were clear," Ape replied, looking back at the men surrounding him. More soldiers from the reformed squad continued to arrive then, crowding the nearby brush. The lull in fighting lasted a bit longer than Grizzly was expecting. He sat down for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow. He could understand Eagle's hatred of the heat now, as his uniform's sleeve became drenched.

A bit away, Ape was viewing the feed on a surveillance drone. No one had spotted the self-propelled AA yet, and that was becoming an issue.

"The last report said they were spotted on the nearby hills. They weren't on the hills. They then said it was in the tall grass. It's not in the tall grass." Eagle stated aloud, recounting the info they had been given.

"Did you check infrared?" Ape asked the drone operator, the man continuing to fly the drone around the area.

"I did. Those guns aren't here." the operator replied.

"Damn it, forty dead men for an empty field," Ape stated angrily.

"What now?" Eagle asked him, taking a seat in the dirt.

"We keep looking," Ape replied, "failure isn't an option."

He turned back over to the drone operator then, as he motioned for the rest of the troops to stand.

"Bring the drone back, we'll need what battery it has left."

"Understood."

"Its bullshit is what it is," Butcher muttered, as he felt the lurch of the aircraft carrier. The operation had been called off, no matter how much the pilots hated it. Now they were being transferred to Africa, along with every aircraft on the carrier.

"I'd call it practical," Mustang countered, as he placed down another card, "you mean to tell me one carrier is more dangerous than a nuke?"

"No, but there was at least more of a challenge. The best we're going to face out there is an SU-27." Darksider chimed in, as he looked at his hand.

"Pretty sure that's what the GC mercs had as well." Mustang countered again, mentally swearing at the cards he'd gotten.

"No, they had J-15s." Impulse commented, as he silently swapped the deck Mustang and Darkside had been using. Without them noticing, he swapped every card with a joker.

"A jet's a jet, doesn't matter what type." Butcher told him, "The problem is that last I checked, there are barely a dozen in the theater we're operating in."

"So, in other words we're not dogfighting." Mustang surmised, finally seeing Butcher's point. They were going to have a very boring time. Well, three of them were. Impulse had enough pranks for years.

Chapter 27: A Showdown with a Tyrant

The Tyrant watched giddily as the clock ticked away. Only fifteen hours remained of his ultimatum, and he could see the HPSC's panic. Small drones flew over their "hidden" facilities, giving him a perfect view as the personnel there scrambled. It brought him such joy to see them run. That and everything at the base had been running smoothly. The missiles were ready, all guards were on constant alert, and the supply routes were still open.

Then there was the matter of his forces in the contamination zone. If reports were to be believed the MSF was completely surrounded and cut off from resupply efforts. By his own estimations, the enemy force would surrender in a matter of days. So, yes, everything was going smoothly. With it the Tyrant sat back in his chair, leisurely drinking his glass of champagne.

It was a rather expensive bottle, so it brought him some annoyance when the radio on his desk came to life.

"Sir, the crew on truck eighty-seven have disappeared."

With a sigh, the Tyrant pulled the radio over as he carefully shook his glass.

"Most likely deserters, commander. Find them and bring them to my office." the Tyrant ordered, watching as the champagne formed a tornado in the glass.

"Yes sir."

Like that the commander hung up, leaving the Tyrant alone with his thoughts. He had a whole slew of desertions once word had spread of his actions, mostly from those of Nigerian descent. Apparently, they had beef with him nuking their homeland, but he couldn't really care. Of course, as he tried to zone back out with his drink, he received another call.

"Sir, a patrol hasn't on the eastern sector hasn't reported back yet."

With another sigh, he reached over and grabbed the radio, placing his glass on the desk.

"Send another squad to inspect the area, they're mostly likely hiding somewhere."

Although, a new thought struck him, something he had yet to consider. It wasn't a guarantee that it was true, but there was the possibility.

"Actually, ignore that order, I want more patrols being sent to the control room. And alert the other patrols. We may have a possible infiltrator."

It seemed his battle with Snake, was quickly arriving.

Snake watched from his cardboard box as the guards searched the now-occupied storage room. He had been forced to hide when a patrol stormed inside. Nothing gave away his presence though, as he had returned the documents only minutes prior. Yet the guards remained cautious still.

"Anything?" one guard asked, as he walked past Snake's box.

"Nothing I'm afraid. Where the hell could those chuckle fucks go?" another replied, both heading over to the door outside.

"Beats me, they could be back at the Mess Hall?"

"That just your stomach talking?"

"Depends, which answer leads to us getting something to eat?"

"Neither command wants us on alert." the guard talking opened the door then, then to stepping back outside. Finding his moment, Snake collapsed the cardboard box and began looking for the nearest stairs. With the control room being below him, it didn't take long to find the way. But that brought forth a new issue. As Snake slowly went down the stairs, he heard voices talking loudly.

"A possible intruder?" one voice asked, as Snake looked over the railing. The bottom floor held seven people, all well-armed. He couldn't get a read on all their quirks, but he could see the basics. Two were larger than the others, most likely strength quirks. Another two had a mud-like substance dripping off them, possibly clay or mud. Three had seemingly mutant quirks, one having spikes on his shoulders, another having carpet skin, and the final one having only one eye.

For convenience, Snake labeled the targets as such, Brute, Brawn, Clay, Mud, Spikes, Carpet, and Cyclops. All stood near the only entrance into the control room, and all watched the surrounding area like a hawk.

"That's what command says." Carpet replies, looking over his FAL carefully. It was old and rusted and appeared to be far from working condition.

"Who the hell could have snuck into this place? It's a damn fortress!" Brute exclaimed, hoisting up his own PKM. This one looked more intact than the FAL, causing Snake to assess his next move.

"Well, you hear the stories about Big Boss?" Clay asked, looking around the various militants. Most shook their heads no to his question.

"Only some. But they think it's him?" Spikes asked.

"That's what command's saying," Clay told him, motioning around as he leaned against the wall. The rest of the men guarding the door had somewhat decent equipment, Spikes and Clay both wielded an AKM, Mud held a Galil, and Brawn had an M60. Cyclops, however, seemed to be the biggest threat, as he was armed with a SPAS-12. With how close they were indoors, that shotgun had to be dealt with.

From his vantage point on the stairs, Snake began to map out his next move. He needed to eliminate the Cyclops first, followed by Brawn and Brute. It took him a second to think of a plan, but then he spotted a fire extinguisher on the wall. It rested right next to Brawn and was completely out in the open. Moving quickly Snake shot it with his rifle. The extinguisher burst open instantly, exploding like a grenade.

"Holy shit!" Spikes called out; his voice muffled in the blast. The shrapnel impaled itself onto those standing nearby wounding Spikes, Clay, and Brawn and killing Cyclops. The chaos gave Snake enough time to move. He leaped over the stair railing, before landing into a roll. Unnoticed he ran up to the Mud who stood unaware. It wasn't for long as Snake grabbed and snapped his neck.

The other guards' hearing the snap turned back over to see Snake. The wounded ones, Spikes and Clay scrambled to grab a radio, while Brute held up his PKM. Quickly Snake unholstered his knife, and right as Brute was about to fire, he threw it. The knife stabbed into his hand, causing Brute to flinch back in pain as Snake pulled out his own rifle. Switching targets over to Spikes and Mud, he fired off two quick bursts. The two died quickly, eliminating the problem of the radios.

Carpet meanwhile attempted to fire his own rifle, only to find the firing mechanism didn't work. Carelessly he tossed the rifle aside, before brandishing his own knife. Snake turned back over to him, sidestepping a swipe from Carpet, before ducking as Brawn attempted to beat him with his M60. Bits of shrapnel had embedded itself into the machine gun, turning it into a new spikey club.

Carpet attempted to stab Snake again, only for Snake to grab his arm. Brawn then took another swipe at Snake, as Brute ran up to join them. Clumsily, Brute tried to stab Snake with the knife lodged in his hand. He succeeded as Snake was forced to dodge Brawn and missed Brute. It sliced the outer layer of his sneaking suit, ruining the material. Snake was quick to counter-attack, however, as he twisted Carpet's arm.

Carpet not expecting it, instinctively let go of his knife, allowing Snake to grab it mid-air. In one fell swoop Snake then ducked under another of Brawn's swipes and quickly shanked him in the gut. After that, he dodged another attempt by Brute, before grabbing the handle of the other knife. In a painful scene, he yanked it out of Brute's hand, before shoving it into his jugular.

Carpet soon recovered then and threw a punch at Snake's jaw. His head shot back as Carpet's fist hit him, with Brawn then slamming his club into Snake's chest. The shrapnel fragments in the club tore up his sneaking suit and threw Snake back to the ground. He sat back up almost instantly, grabbing his rifle and taking aim at the last guards.

Panicking as they saw their mistake, they tried a last-ditch charge, running as fast as they could. Yet Snake was faster. He fired two quick bursts, with the round punching holes in their chests. Carefully, Snake stood back up, feeling a slight pain in his chest. The club hadn't pieced his skin, but the strength quirk most likely cracked a rib.

He didn't bother hiding the bodies as he went forward, unable to wash away the large puddles of blood. But he was there, slowly opening the door to the control room. It remained empty for the moment, but the clock on the wall told him it wouldn't be for long. Immediately he moved to the nearest console. Finding it he began searching for the main controls.

If he was going to do this right, he would have to alter the timer and launch the missiles with the silo doors still closed. For that, he needed a concrete timetable to work with. If he changed the timer first, it could risk launching too early, so he focused on the doors. All the controls being in analog he found the switch and flipped it. Watching as the camera's displayed the silos closing, he moved to his next goal.

It took some time, but he found the launch controls before he stopped to think for a moment. If he shortened it to an hour, he might have the possibility to escape, but that was if he could find transport. And that was especially if none of the guards learned of his actions. It was risky, but any longer and the Tyrant might be able to reverse it.

So, after checking over his shoulders, ensuring no one was present, he entered the new launch time.

Something was off, the Tyrant determined as he watched the silo doors close. Something was most definitely off.

"Reroute everyone to the control room." the Tyrant ordered over the radio. He stood up quickly then, finding his own personal pistol. After checking to make sure it was loaded, he left his large office and began making his way to the control room.

The changes were finished, and Snake began smashing up the controls quickly. The enemy could still find a workaround, but the destroyed controls would stall them for now. He then darted back over to the door. Just as he arrived, he ducked back behind it, as bullets collided with the frame.

"He's down here!" a militant shouted, as gunfire echoed around the stairwell. A loud cacophony of boots followed as men advanced down the stairs. Finding his exit cut off Snake looked over to the ventilation system. He had to clamber over some shelves, but he managed to get inside, right as the guards entered the control room.

They looked around the room curiously, attempting to find him before one yelled out "He's in the vents!".

Like that the militants outside began searching every vent they could find. None led in Snake's direction, but it left him in many dangerous areas. So, he kept crawling forward, stopping to pause as the occasionally militant would pop open a vent. Eventually, he came across a supposed dead end, only to find the vent went straight up. Struggling due to the cramped space, he managed to adjust his footing.

With a slow process, he climbed up the vent, his hands and feet placed firmly against the walls. Inch by inch he crawled upwards, trying his best to move quickly. He could hear voices every few seconds as he passed more vents.

"Spot anything!?"

"Negative, we've lost sight of him!"

"Damn it, spread out and start putting holes in vents! He's here somewhere!"

Just as the order was given Snake stopped. Bullets punched through the thin steel of the vents, weakening the entire structure. It held barely as the guards stopped firing. Trying to move as silently as possible he continued climbing, yet the higher he got the worse it became. On every floor he climbed past more militants fired into the vents, attempting to flush him out.

It only stopped when he reached the top and left the vents. He was back in the storage room now and made his way quickly to the outside. Yet he was forced to stop as more bullets pounded the door.

"Contact!"

Snake kept his head down as he grabbed a grenade on his belt. He stopped as he looked back outside, before grabbing aloof his grenades. He had them cradled in his arm as he removed the pins. Then he chucked them outside, all rolling through the open field. The enemy outside tried to find cover, but all were shredded to pieces.

Looking back down at his watch, Snake ran out the door. He was running out of time, that climb through the vents had taken half an hour. Quickly his eyes began searching for any form of transport before they fell onto a Hilux. He yanked its door open as he frantically searched for keys.

His hand found them left in the ignition, and he hopped in quickly. At that point more guards noticed what was going on, and soon enough someone checked on the nukes. Behind him, Snake saw a large mass of people beginning to run from the silos, fleeing in whatever they found. Whether it be a jeep or their own two legs.

The Tyrant looked around furiously as his own men fled the area. All around him they abandoned their posts and fled. Tanks drove off at maximum speed. Helicopters loaded up and left others behind as they flew away.

"You! What is going on!?" the Tyrant demanded, grabbing one militant by the collar. The man looked at him pale-faced, fearful for his life.

"The missiles were tampered with! They're set to blow in thirty minutes!"

The Tyrant threw the man aside in a fit of rage, his eyes searching in vain for a possible culprit. Or was it in vain? His eyes found a lone figure running up to a Hilux. He couldn't see them clearly from this far away, but it had to of been him.

"Snake," he muttered under his breath, he was going to get his fight. A militant on a motorcycle tried to drive by him then, only for the Tyrant to close line him. The man flew off the bike, and in a precise fashion, the Tyrant hopped on it. The entire time the motorcycle kept moving. He turned it around to face the Hilux then, just as the truck took off. He would get his fight.

Snake had his foot on the floor as the truck launched forward. Leaving the base at an astonishing speed, he drove as quickly as he could. Finding the main entrances to be too crowded he rammed a chain link fence, driving into the surrounding wilderness. The wide-open fields of the savannah posed little obstacle to the truck, but the vast distance he needed to cross made that point worthless.

He constantly checked the mirrors behind him, looking back at the silos. He would then look back to the Hilux's clock, and then the window. Mirror, clock, window, over and over as minutes felt like hours. Even as he counted the seconds passing it felt like an eternity, but he was sure he could make-

The nukes detonated, and the majority of the blast and radiation were contained in the silos. But not all of it. The blast wave violently shook everything as the ground surrounding the base lifted upwards before sinking. All the men still stuck at the base died in an instant, the vast fortress the Tyrant had built now reduced to rubble. And Snake's truck was flipped in the blast.

It landed hard, stuck rolling a good few feet away. Its windows shattered as the frame buckled and broke. The wheels were ripped off and flung into the surrounding plant life. Slowly it came to a stop, a broken husk of a vehicle. And there it rested, for five minutes, ten minutes, twenty. Snake didn't know how long he stirred awake. He felt something grabbing him, but his mind was still foggy.

It didn't take long to learn what it was though, as the Tyrant threw him across the field. Staggered and shaken out of his stupor, Snake looked back over to him. The Tyrant looked somewhat worse for wear, the man's normally crisp Hawaiian shirt muddied and torn. Splotches of blood caked his body, yet he stood tall, with an almost calm face.

Snake slowly stood up, his eyes never leaving the Tyrant.

"I must say," the Tyrant began as he began to approach Snake, "you have been quite the challenge. You destroyed my nukes, crippled a large chunk of my forces, and have thoroughly pissed me off."

As the Tyrant came closer, Snake began to distance himself, before the two began circling each other.

"I can't help but be impressed. I couldn't have asked for an opponent more challenging."

"This isn't a game," Snake replied, his eyes searching the area. He moved to grab his rifle but found it broken near the Hilux. Same with all his other equipment.

"Your right, it's not. That doesn't mean I can't find enjoyment in it." the Tyrant retorted, as he pulled out his own pistol. To Snake's confusion, the Tyrant threw it away, the gun disappearing into a patch of tall grass. Unseen by both, the Hilux's engine began leaking fuel, along with an electrical component beginning to spark.

"However, this is where it ends. No more guns, no more knives, no more hiding."

The component lit the fuel, engulfing the field in flames as more gas leaked out. The field of grass continued to burn as the fire spread around the two, engulfing the area in a circle of fire. Yet neither seemed to care, both fixated on the other.

"It's just you, and me, Snake."

Snake took a fighting stance, as the Tyrant did the same. The flames glowed around them, casting the area in both shadow and light. Neither made the first move, only continuing to circle. Then it happened, the Tyrant charged, throwing a right hook at Snake's chest. He dodged barely, before intercepting a kick from the Tyrant.

The Tyrant yelled out in pain as Snake twisted his leg awkwardly before the Tyrant twisted around and threw a second kick. He hit Snake in the face, making him let go as the Tyrant fell onto the ground. Snake fell back then, feeling blood drip from his nose. The Tyrant was stronger than him, so he focused on the defensive.

Tyrant charged at him again, attempting to upper cut him, only for Snake to dodge to the left. With the brief moment he was given Snake threw a strike at a pressure point in the Tyrant's right arm. The Tyrant was late to react, felt his arm go numb, and whipped back around. It was no less dangerous, however, as the Tyrant threw it at Snake like a club.

The limp arm was easily dodged, but the second punch was not. It hit Snake in the chest, leading to another crunch being heard. He could painfully tell another rib was broken before he threw a feint strike. It appeared he was focusing on Tyrant's other arm, so Tyrant moved to block it.

Shock soon covered his face when the feint was revealed, with Snake instead striking his leg. With what little time he had, the Tyrant countered with a kick, nailing Snake's arm in the process. It cracked loudly as it broke. Neither one let the other rest, continually through punches at the other.

It was a dance of warriors, as both dodged and countered the other. And all the while the flames burned around them, lighting up their small field. It seemed like neither would break, but they had too eventually. And it seemed to be coming close. Snake held experience and skill on his side, but the Tyrant held strength and endurance.

It's why Tyrant tried to beat Snake with his limp arm, uncaring if the bones broke. But the same was for Snake, as he snapped his broken arm back into place, nothing more than a temporary fix. His ribs were cracked or broken, with Snake feeling blood drip down his nose. They fought on, with Snake throwing another punch at the Tyrant.

It was slow and sluggish, but it made contact, causing the Tyrant to stumble back. With it came a brief opening that Snake took. Running up to the man he grabbed his face and swept his legs. With the Tyrant falling he slammed him into the ground, before punching him in the face repeatedly. Snake could feel exhaustion catching up to him, so he didn't relent. Punching the man again and again. Until he stopped, his knuckles broken, and his hands caked in blood.

He stumbled back, before collapsing onto the ground, breathing as deep as he could. The Tyrant barely moved, only his chest slowly rising told Snake he was still alive.

"Heh… not… bad…" the Tyrant muttered, gasps and small chokes lining every word. But slowly, his breathing stopped, and the Tyrant died.

Chapter 28: A Lesson with Ocelot

Forty-eight hours came and went as the President resided in her bunker. All personnel had been preparing for the inevitable. Yet it didn't happen. It confused the President as she checked her watch. An hour would pass, then two, then three. After the fourth hour, they slowly made their way outside. No grand explosion had been reported, and no catastrophic devastation.

"What happened?" she asked, addressing the assembled HPSC personnel. No nukes had been launched, so what happened? Why were they still here? She turned to Techno as the man scoured the internet with only a thought. He accessed satellites to zoom in on the Tyrant's location, and a look of shock hit his face.

"The silos… have been destroyed!" he exclaimed in surprise, changing a nearby screen to display the footage. To the President's shock, he was right. The once proud fortress was all but shattered. Bits of broken concrete and ruined buildings littered the area. Corpses dotted the open fields with destroyed vehicles. It was all gone.

She didn't know if to cheer or be horrified. Someone had managed to stop this, something the HPSC couldn't. It wasn't good at all, but she couldn't help but be the slightest bit relieved.

"Cancel the evacuation efforts. I want every man available scouring that base," she ordered. The world had avoided disaster, with the public unaware. That was something she wanted to keep. It would take effort, but it would be possible.

"Oh, Madam President," she turned around, finding the smiling face of Night Owl standing behind her.

"I believe I have something you may want to see."

It felt like it had been weeks to Grizzly. Stuck lying behind whatever cover they could find as the enemy grew closer. This wasn't something he expected to face, which in all honesty, was alarming how many times he had to say this. Every new day brought some monumental horror he wasn't expecting, only to think that was the last one he would have to face.

And every new day proved him wrong. So he sat in his mud-filled trench, counting what bullets remained. They received word the Boss destroyed the silos a week ago. So it was one chess piece off the table, then it was revealed that Tyrant died. And now the enemy forces were beginning to crack.

The Intel teams got reports of infighting between enemy companies. They were still surrounded and shelled by the militants' D-30s. But it was progress, and with desperation at an all-time high, any progress was good enough. It's why Grizzly sighed as he finished counting his last round.

In total, he had three magazines left for his M4. Others had even less. Then there was the MRE issue. Food had been running scarce quickly, and the number of refugees behind them begging for food made the issue worse. There were two thousand five hundred MSF personnel at the beginning of the battle, with over ten thousand refugees following them.

As the days passed more people flocked to them for protection, exacerbating the number to forty thousand. They couldn't help them all, but turning them away wasn't an option. Especially with ten thousand of the Tyrant's finest surrounding them. The only thing keeping the MSF going was pure spite at the moment.

For some that was good enough, but they needed a miracle. A miracle Grizzly hoped Ape had, as the sergeant walked up to him.

"Sergeant." Grizzly greeted, putting away his last mag.

"Lieutenant now I'm afraid," Ape replied, taking a seat next to Grizzly, with Eagle coming to join them.

"Promotion?" Grizzly asked, with Ape shaking his head.

"Sadly no, the last one was killed, and I was next in line," Ape told him, as he pulled out a cloth to clean his weapon.

"We doing something big sir?" Grizzly asked him, as a shell exploded on the terrain behind him. Some M777s nearby responded with counterfire, but he wasn't sure if they hit them.

"We are." Ape replied, "There's an airport not far from here. Currently, it's in enemy hands, but Command wants to change that. Once it's secured we might have a chance to reconnect our supply lines."

"Sounds like a big task."

"It is. That airfield is the only shot we have left. Which means we need the runway intact. So artillery is a no-go. When we go in, we're going in alone. You complete stealth training?" Ape asked.

"I wasn't the best at it, but I finished," Grizzly replied. Of course, that was mainly due to his quirk. It better served an anti-tank role than it did in infiltration.

"Good enough," Ape told him, "Now two tank companies are launching a diversionary assault to the south of us. It'll hopefully force the enemy to reroute forces to the area while we infiltrate the airport."

"Makes sense. When do we leave?"

"Right now, rookie."

It was incredible what a few money transfers could accomplish, Night Owl thought, as the ex-vice president of the HPSC was dragged away into a dimly lit room. All it took was a few key transfers to make it all appear that the Vice President had been the saboteur. It became especially easy, once Night Owl decided to cover his tracks.

Would it be a stretch for the President to believe a random scientist who had no real experience in investigations? Absolutely. Were it not for more recent affairs. The Tyrant's actions put the entire organization into a state of panic. Now more than ever, they needed to find the saboteur before any more villains get their hands on WMDs. Which made it so easy to give them a scapegoat.

"I-I'm telling you! I'm innocent I swear!" the vice president yelled, as two agents continued to drag him away. All the while Night Owl watched with a smug grin, with the President walking over to him.

"You should have stuck to your research," she told him, calm malice lacing her words. She wanted to curse him out for straying from his work, but Night Owl knew she wouldn't do anything. He had after all given them their "saboteur".

"Yes well I've been quite bored recently, and I decided to look for something more challenging. You're welcome," he stated smugly.

"As much as I may disagree, you are to be commended for this achievement. I believe a promotion is in order." the President told him, "Effective immediately you are now the head researcher of all scientific projects."

"Truly, I must thank you for this, Madam President." He was satisfied, for now, that is. He couldn't care less about being the head of all the HPSC's research if at any moment the President could strike those projects down. No, he had a bigger goal in mind and was currently looking at a new position. A position whose last occupant was just dragged away to some black site.

"Medical supplies, check. Ammunition, check. Spare boots, check. MREs, check." Cannibal Mammoth mused aloud, going over the last-minute list of supplies. Everything needed to be available once ground forces secured the airport. So he and several others checked every crate in the other C-17s. They had tanks, fuel, extra clothes, concrete, more weapons, light recon vehicles, drones, and a hundred paratroopers ready to reinforce friendly lines.

There was also a new edition. It was just sent down from the R&D department as a prototype weapon. In total seven were being dropped in with paratroopers. Four were armed with M134 Miniguns, and three were armed with an anti-aircraft missile launcher. It still boggled the mind how these Walker Gears worked, but at the moment they were throwing everything into the field.

So, on Mammoth went, checking in on the supplies. Spare parts, radios, batteries, water, helmets, rebar, steel, M9 construction vehicles, AH-64 Apaches, and dozens of other smaller items, such as three different types of screws. Everything had to be meticulously checked over and for good reason. All it took was one mess-up in the supply, to get someone killed. It's why out of all the MSF's departments, it was Support that was the biggest.

"That's everything?" another soldier called out as he stood outside of the large aircraft. Mammoth looked around the plane for a moment, getting confirmation from everyone inside, before responding.

"Yep. Everything's good to go," he replied, all the soldiers now leaving the aircraft. And so, they finished with one plane, and moved on to the next, the dozens of C-17s being prepared for take-off, across the FOB's large airstrip.

Aizawa tried his best not to bang his head against the wall as class dragged on. You see what our good friend was having, was a caffeine withdrawal. As a certain loud blond had, and I quote, bastardized coffee so badly it was an affront to god. Needless to say, there wasn't any coffee left for him to use, so he had to stay awake with nothing but pure spite.

Especially when dealing with this class. He had already expelled half of them when the year started. The other half seemed to have potential, but in reality, were nothing but a bunch of kiss-asses, so they were also expelled. And of course, their replacements from Gen Ed would soon arrive. And then be expelled.

Now the replacements for the replacements had arrived, and the paperwork to expel them was looking tempting. However, he couldn't. Not yet at least. The sheer number of students he had expelled this year got the HPSC involved. While they had no true influence on UA, they could control licenses. So they threatened his career if he couldn't find at least one student with potential.

So add it all together and what do you get? A very tempting window. But he had to get on with business.

"It took you eight minutes to get quiet. You'll have to do better if you want to become a hero," he told them, eyeing them all annoyedly. Eight minutes was a bit gracious actually, as four students in the back continued to talk. Easiest expulsion he had ever given.

"Now, today we'll be running through a basic training exercise. Get your gear, and meet me outside. You have five minutes." Aizawa told them tiredly. A few students took his words seriously, quickly grabbing their hero costumes and rushing out. The rest, however, meandered about. More expulsions it would seem. Of course that made him slightly worried, he did need at least one good student after all.

Once they all filed out, he began making his way outside. There he stood, waiting. Five minutes passed and ten students arrived seconds after. Close enough, but that would have to change. Then three more arrived after two minutes. Then four after six minutes. Then the last three at ten minutes. None of them were impressing him so far.

And just as he was about to talk, a voice called out nearby by.

"So the hobo does work." Ocelot joked, his spurs clicking with every step. He walked over to the small group, with the students looking over at him curiously.

"Is that Snipe?"

"I've never seen him out of costume?"

"I'm pretty sure Snipe's Japanese."

"Ocelot," Aizawa tiredly greeted the HPSC rep. The cowboy was an enigma to Eraserhead. He was the only HPSC rep the rat actively liked. No one could tell why, or how the man even achieved such a thing, but it irked them all.

"We were about to start the exercise," Aizawa told him, annoyance clear in his voice.

"I know, thought I'd see it for myself," Ocelot replied, taking out one of his revolvers. With a precise motion, the cowboy began spinning it in his hand. After a few seconds, he tossed it up in the air and caught it with his other finger. Aizawa elected to ignore the cowboy then, turning back over to the class.

"Today we'll be going through a simulated hostage crisis. You'll be divided into teams of four, and sent in to diffuse the situation."

He watched as smiles appeared on their faces, all of them excited for some action. Yet Ocelot seemed, almost disappointed with Aizawa's response.

"So this hostage situation, who's exactly playing the villain?" Ocelot asked him, all the while he pulled out his second revolver and began juggling the guns.

"The villains are several robots designed by the support course. They are programmed to act like normal villains," Aizawa replied, just as Ocelot holstered his weapons.

"However…" he mused quietly. He wanted to root out those with no potential, and to him, this exercise seemed far too easy. The robots had been programmed to act like villains, but they were more of the mustache-twirling variety. Aizawa looked back over to Ocelot for the moment, and an idea slowly formed.

"Would you mind assisting me?" Aizawa asked him, with Ocelot raising his brow.

"Well, what did you have in mind?"

"I'm adding a small change," Aizawa began, quickly activating his quirk as the students started complaining about the last-minute change.

"If it's possible, I want you to pose as the villain."

Ocelot thought it over for a moment, before agreeing.

"Sure, why not," Ocelot replied, a small grin plastering his face. The students didn't know what to make of this. Some were excited to be doing something. Others were a bit more bloodthirsty, hoping for a decent fight. The rest were simply bored out of their minds. So with the situation set, they made their way over to Ground Beta. Once there Aizawa gave Ocelot a ten-minute head start to set up.

He first started by barricading the doors and windows. Then he moved the "hostages" to the most secluded part of the building. Finally, he did the most important thing. Sneakily, he went up to the roof of the building and watched the students from above. As he did so the other students began to talk about their mysterious opponent.

"I'm telling you! His quirk has to do with those revolvers!" one exclaimed, his quirk flaring around him. From what Ocelot could tell, it had something to do with smoke. Possibly something that could obstruct his visuals.

"Maybe, he could also just like the cowboy aesthetic." another countered, their quirk much more present. Their entire body covered in plastic. Ocelot wasn't entirely sure what it did, but it had to be good.

"I don't care what aesthetic he likes, he's going down!" a rather tall student proclaimed. He was at least ten feet tall and built like a house. He had a full chimney and everything for his costume. Ocelot presumed it to be a strength quirk.

"Well with an attitude like yours, I predict we have a seventy-five percent chance of winning. You keep it in check, and it goes up to eighty-eight percent." a student with a large forehead told them.

"Oh really wise guy? Then tell me, what's our opponent doing right now?" House retorted.

"The most probable answer is that he is moving the hostages out of reach…"

Hmm, so the kid knew what he was planning then, Ocelot thought might need to change things up.

"...so that he can better fight us one on one."

…Maybe not.

"Makes sense. Villain fights do always happen in the open. So you think he's going to face us in the main room?"

"Most likely, yes."

Sure he was, Ocelot thought sarcastically, as he began heading back downstairs. Then it started, and the students rushed into the main lobby ready for a fight. Only to find an empty lobby. Confused, Brain began going over his calculations.

"I thought you'd said he be here?" House stated, looking back over to Brain.

"He should be. Maybe he's hiding," Brain replied.

"Typical villain, too cowardly to fight fair," House muttered.

"I wouldn't call it cowardly," Ocelot called out, his voice echoing around the room, "more practical."

"Oh yeah! And why's that!?" House yelled angrily.

"Because the hostages are already dead." Ocelot replied, "Killed them the minute you stormed into the building. Real smart idea letting me know you're here."

That caused the students to pause for a moment, as they took in the words he'd said. It was true though. As Aizawa watched through the building's cameras he found the "hostages" dead. No more than a pile of scrap. The only thing keeping him from ending the exercise was Ocelot.

"You do have nonlethal weapons, right?" Aizawa asked him, as the cowboy checked over his revolvers.

"I do," Ocelot replied, loading the last tranq round into his revolver. Truly a marvel of technology. For the round wasn't exactly a bullet. More something reminiscent of a paintball, coated in a powerful knockout drug, that transfers through the skin. It would hurt the students, but they'd live.

The students simply stood out in the open, unsure of what to do. Even better, they weren't paying attention to their surroundings. So Ocelot started making his way over to them. Halfway there, he decided to have a little fun. He stopped for a moment and listened to the students at the other end.

"He has to be bluffing. The exercise would have ended if he did." Smokey concluded, looking at the others for support.

"True, the hostages may be dead, but there's still a villain to stop." Brain agreed. Finding the target he was looking for, Ocelot aimed his revolvers at a wall. He adjusted his angle slightly as the students kept talking, before pulling the trigger. The rounds ricocheted off the wall, before making contact with Smokey and Brain's heads.

Two unconscious students were down and the other two started to panic. Of course, their commotion only sealed their downfall, as Ocelot cycled the next rounds. He adjusted his aim a second time, as footsteps were heard rapidly approaching him. Then with a quick trigger pull, two more bodies fell to the ground.

And Aizawa sighed as the test ended, looking over the group that had just gone. No potential.

Chapter 29: A Supply Line Reconnected

Bison took a quick breath to calm himself, as the Abrams drove forward. In just a few minutes his tank would be the first to reach the enemy lines. It always sucked being in the front. You were always the first to get shot at, and most likely the first to die. But someone had to do it. Around him was the rest of his company, with fourteen tanks in total. Farther away, near what would be the southwest, was the second company, bringing their strength to twenty-eight tanks.

Of course, it wasn't just tanks on the field. To support them, a further two infantry companies advanced with them. But that was it. The southern positions had only forty shells left, for the entire line. And with enemy AA shooting down what remained of their attack helicopters, it meant air support was nonexistent.

Yet this attack had to be done. Around him, the rest of the tank crew tried to steel their nerves. The driver, Lion, focused on the road to forget the fear. The loader, Rhino, did one last check on the ammo compartment, counting the last shells. The gunner, Zebra, prayed in Hebrew with his eyes closed, attempting to relax.

Bison held no such luxury, he was the commander of the tank, so he had to be on constant alert. Which is why his eyes watched over the drone controls in his hand. He flew it around the entire area, patrolling the very front of the company's advance. So far resistance seemed minimal, only small pockets of infantry were ahead. But this could change the moment the attack began.

They were almost there.

"Rhino?" Bison looked up from the controls, checking in with the men.

"Guns loaded sir," Rhino replied. Bison looked back down at the controller, watching the camera feed from the drone. Ahead was a small trench of dug-in infantry, all hunkered around a fifty-caliber machine gun. He couldn't find any anti-tank weapons, but they might be somewhere.

"Zebra, enemy infantry eight hundred meters," Bison told him.

"Yes sir," Zebra replied, the gunner moving quickly. He adjusted to gun over as Bison gave him the rest of the coordinates. Once the gun reached its target, Zebra looked back over to Bison.

"Ready when you are."

Bison gave him a quick nod, before grabbing his radio.

"This is Prospector 1-1, your target gentlemen."

"This is Prospector 1-2, we're targeting an enemy mortar."

"Is it to the left of you 1-2?"

"Affirmative."

"Understood, this is 1-3. Changing targets."

Slowly the company went through it, ensuring every tank wasn't aiming at the same thing. With a reluctant breath, Bison gave the order.

"Fire."

The infantry around the tanks, ducked out of the way, as the cannons fired. The loud boom was heard all across the front as the sounds of battle became ever-present. Bison looking back at the drone, found the MG nest destroyed in an instant, with its survivors scrambling for cover.

The radio crackled back to life as the other tanks called in. Some called in kills, and others called in the need to take a second shot. Quickly Bison found another target, a lone APC unloading soldiers.

"APC, seven hundred meters, due right at…" Bison ordered calmly, with Zebra making the adjustments as fast as possible. Just as he did so, Rhino called out to them.

"Guns loaded!"

"Ready to fire."

"Fire."

The second shell flew out at astonishing speed. Crashing into the APC it tore through what little armor it had, before exploding. The men inside were set ablaze or killed in the initial blast, while the ones who had made it outside remained low to the ground. With it destroyed Zebra switched to the coaxial machine gun and fired at the surviving infantry. Its rounds ripped the men apart, before one an explosion shook the side of their Abrams.

Reeling from the surprise, Bison looked back at the drone, bringing it over to the current position. With it still taking a minute to arrive he peeked through the optics showing him the outside.

"Shit, T-72 two o'clock, six hundred meters," he told Zebra, as Rhino loaded in another shell. The gun moved over as Lion started to change the tank's position. He did so in the nick of time, as a second shell narrowly missed them and collided with a tree. The drone finally arrived back then, giving Bison a look at the exterior of the tank. So far the damage had been minimal thanks to the reactive armor.

But a large scorch mark now covered part of the tank. Turning back, he heard Rhino call out again. With it, Zebra checked in and with Bison's order, they fired. The sabot shell launched out of the cannon as it raced toward the T-72. Like a rock hitting paper, the shell tore through the tank, before being ultimately lodged between the turret and the chassis.

It forced the T-72's turret up at an awkward angle, making the gun effectively inoperable. The enemy seemed to agree with this, as the T-72 began pulling back quickly before an infantryman with an anti-tank quirk destroyed it. Bison was completely sure what the quirk was, but several spikes seemed to be protruding from the tank's hull.

"Tank destroyed sir," Zebra called out, leading to Bison searching for their next target. That was until the radio came to life.

"This is Prospector 1-2, we've run out of fuel and have been forced to abandon our tank, over."

"This is Prospector 1-8, same with us. Currently on foot and regrouping with Platoon Delta."

One by one tanks would call in, whether it be a lack of ammo, fuel, or a destroyed tank. Half of Bison's company was left, and this battle had only just begun.

Eagle removed his knife from the militant's throat as the rest of the platoon made their way to the airfield. It was a rather small place, then again it was out in the middle of nowhere. This was no exaggeration, the nearest city was a good few miles away. But that was the point, the airfield was built by the militants as a FOB. It had a dirt airfield, some simple concrete structures for a hangar, barracks, and flight tower, and a long winding chainlink fence.

It had posed as a minimal obstacle though, as a soldier who could turn his hands into wire cutters clipped through it. Seriously though, quirks made no sense to Eagle. But they were through the first fence, where Eagle had snuck up to a soldier, and stabbed him in the throat. With the militant now dead, he dragged the body away before hiding it in a large bush. Once done he went back over to the group where he found Ape.

"Any idea how many of them there are?" he asked, before pulling out his pair of binoculars.

"None, could be a platoon, maybe a staffel," Ape replied, as he watched a small patrol walk around the airfield.

"Are staffels still a thing?" Eagle asked him, as he subconsciously counted fifteen guards by the hangars.

"Who knows," Ape replied, the lieutenant finding another fifteen by the barracks.

"It's a weird word though, staffel." Eagle mused as he put away his binoculars.

"The other word for it is echelon surprisingly," Ape told him, as he put away his own.

"Huh, the more you know. So, what's the plan?" Eagle asked.

"Well, I was going to have you lead a squad to take control of the air traffic control tower," Ape answered.

"Sure, should be a piece of cake," Eagle replied, as he unholstered his desert eagle. Was it overkill, heavy, and cheesy as fuck. Yes, but that was exactly why Eagle bought it. Not to mention he found Ape's annoyance funny when he spotted the suppressor on it.

"Just make sure you don't damage any of the equipment, we need it intact remember."

"Don't worry, I've got this." Eagle told him, before turning over to the rest of the platoon, "Grizzly, Kangaroo, Gator, you three are with me."

He turned back over to the field then, before crawling out. The other soldiers followed behind him, all the while they remained alert. Eagle couldn't see it behind him, but the rest of the platoon soon broke out into squads of their own, before heading off to different parts of the airfield. It was a risky mission, with this many people involved the chances of being spotted were high.

So they stuck to their training, as Eagle's squad approached the vacant tower. Two militants stood guard by the front door and hadn't noticed them yet. Moving carefully Eagle turned over to Grizzly, before pulling out his gun.

"Rookie, you shoot left, I'll shoot right." he quietly ordered the private answering with a silent nod. The two then aimed their shots, the two guards unaware. With one trigger pull the first guard was shot, leaving the second momentarily stunned, before he too was shot. Wasting no time the squad moved over to the door, and hid the bodies in a nearby dumpster. With Eagle in the lead, they entered the tower.

Inside was a long spiraling staircase, heading up to the main control room. One by one they slowly went up, their rifles trained on the area around them. Eventually Grizzly heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Quietly he gave a hand signal to Eagle, with the others looking up the stairs.

"Why are we even here, this entire battle is pointless." one militant stated, the two guards walking down the stairs.

"We're here because of the Tyrant's orders." the second replied.

"I don't know if you remember, but the Tyrant is dead!" the first one retorted, a sound of malice clear in his voice. They both stopped at that moment though, blocking the rest of the way up.

"And? This was his final order, to crush the MSF." the second guard reminded the first, attempting to make it seem like a valid point.

"So fucking what, last I heard the MSF was tending the wounded from the radiation zone. You know, the area where my FUCKING HOME WAS NUKED!" the first one shouted back angrily, causing Eagle to pause for a moment.

"Still, orders are orders." the second replied, unfazed by the first guard's outburst.

"I'm not following the orders of a dead man." the first muttered, as the second started walking back down.

"It's your head on the chopping block if you do-!" Grizzly leaped up and grabbed the second guard then, as Eagle aimed his pistol at the first. Surprised the first guard slowly held his hands up, not making any sudden movements. Eagle walked up to him then, eyeing him up carefully.

"Anyone else up there?" he asked, not letting the man leave his sight.

"No, there on lunch break." the guard replied, still holding his hands up. The man tried to appear as if he wasn't afraid, but Eagle could still see it.

"Grizzly, Gator, zip tie them and gag that one." he ordered before addressing the guard, "I expect you to stay quiet."

The guard simply nodded, while the other one was struggling against Grizzly. It didn't last long as Grizzly choked the man out quietly. Looking back up, Eagle continued forward with Kangaroo following behind him. At the top, they found it empty, just as the guard described. After a brief search of the room, Eagle turned on his radio.

"Eagle here, the tower is secure."

"Hornet here, barracks is secure."

"Koala here, hangar is secure."

The others soon chimed in, the now successful stealth op over.

Mammoth sat in his chair anxiously as he continuously checked the clock. The C-17s were all ready to go but just sat waiting on the airstrip. He feared his comrades had failed, that the mission was a failure. He hoped he was wrong but as the hours ticked by he couldn't help but feel it was the case. And just as he was about to crack, the word came in over the radio.

"The airfield has been secured. All craft prepare for takeoff."

Nagant sighed in relief as Lieutenant Ape checked in. For all the skills hero work had given her, managing a war was not one of them. The moment Snake sent her to Nigeria was the exact moment the highest-ranking official was killed in an artillery bombardment. That made her the highest-ranking member on the field. And boy, was she out of her league. The junior officers had helped a lot, but she couldn't help but feel responsible for every death.

Even the deaths she could have done nothing about, hurt. So, when word that the operation had been successful reached her, it was music to her ears. Nagant wasted no time as she pulled up the maps on the table, just as the junior officers assembled with her.

"With the airport secured our logistics issues should be alleviated, but what about the enemy's air defense?" Nagant asked, turning over to one officer.

"Latest reports suggest that several S-300s were positioned along the high ground near the coastline. Specifically, here…"

The officer would point out several key areas on the map, areas that Nagant did not like. For while heroics didn't give her a sense of military knowledge, it did give her common sense. And common sense told her that these areas were bad news.

"Here, here, and here. There were also reports of enemy armor being spotted in the area, along with minefields surrounding the flanks."

Nagant pondered this for a moment, as she looked over to other reports. The C-17s should be arriving in three hours at the most. They very well could get shot down before they made it to the airfield, but desperation held them by the throat. Artillery couldn't do anything, as most of the guns were running low on shells or missiles. Not to mention the distractionary offensive while being a success in its original goal, had stalled as half of the two tank companies ran out of fuel.

"How far is it?" she asked the officer, looking up from the map.

"Roughly thirty miles mam." the officer replied, as Nagant stood up. She ran the calculations in her head and found it to be roughly an hour away.

"You're in charge while I'm gone," she told the officer, a look of confusion falling upon his face. Of course, his confusion disappeared as he thought about it for a second.

"Understood mam."

In the end, Aizawa found at least one kid that had potential. However, that was after Ocelot traumatized the remaining students. It wasn't even a fair fight. Out of every team that went forward, none had managed to win. It made him all the more curious about the HPSC rep. He seemed to possess very dangerous skills, but then again all HPSC personnel did to some degree. Whether it be espionage, torture, or just being a damn good liar.

But Ocelot was something else. That became especially apparent as the last exercise ended, and all the students learned of their expulsion.

"Everyone except Nakamura is effectively expelled."

"What!?"

"You can't be serious!"

"Do you know who my father is!"

"I… I guess it was for the best."

As they all yelled or begged, Aizawa simply looked over at Ocelot as the man spun his revolvers.

"Bit harsh," Ocelot stated, flipping both guns into the air.

"You don't agree?" Aizawa asked.

"Oh no I do," he caught both guns, before holstering them both, "just expected a little more kindness from a teacher."

"Kindness is a luxury many can ill afford. It's not logical to coddle them with anything but the truth." Aizawa replied.

"Heh, seems we agree."

Aizawa looked back over to the now Gen Ed students. None got quiet, even after he activated his quirk, so he simply sighed and turned back to Ocelot. Better to let them exhaust themselves.

"Anyways, how did you do that shot with the revolvers?" he asked.

"Which one?" Ocelot asked.

"When you shot both guns, and the bullets perfectly ricocheted off the wall," Aizawa answered.

"Same way I did all the others, quick calculations," Ocelot replied.

"So that wasn't your quirk."

"It was not."

"So it's an intelligence quirk then." Aizawa surmised, starting to turn away.

"Nope," Ocelot replied, causing Aizawa to pause for a moment.

"Some sort of accuracy quirk?"

"Wrong again," Ocelot answered, before pulling out one of his revolvers. This was becoming more confusing as he kept asking.

"Mental quirk?"

"Nada."

It stumped him. And it stumped the students as they slowly calmed down and watched the interaction.

"Alright, I'll bite. What's your quirk?" Aizawa asked.

"Don't have one," Ocelot replied, still focused on spinning his revolver. And Aizawa thought the brats couldn't get any louder.

"Your quirkless!"

"H-how!?"

"I lost to someone who doesn't even have a quirk!"

"Ha! You did," Ocelot stated as he looked over the students, "You want to know what makes it better? Were this a real event, and not an exercise, all of you would be dead."

And the students instantly shut up as the ramifications hit them. The originally prideful ones quickly turned pale. He could have killed them, and they would have been helpless.

"M-maybe uh, heroics isn't for me."

"Y-yeah."

"I still could have kicked his ass."

As the students began seeing the logic behind Ocelot's words, an idea soon came to Aizawa. The HPSC rep spent a lot of time at the school, most of it with the principal. But maybe he could convince him to accompany him on some other exercises. If only to keep the students quiet.

"DAD!" Midoriya yelled as he rammed into the wounded Snake leaving the helicopter. It had taken both of them a while to get used to it. For Snake it was being considered a father, something he never actually expected. For Midoriya, it was more who he would be addressing as Dad. Since to him, Snake had almost always been Snake, but now he was something else.

"Ow," Snake muttered with a slight chuckle, returning the hug Midoriya had given him, "Easy on the ribs there kid."

"Sorry, but I was excited to see you!" Midoriya replied, backing up from the still-wounded Snake. His fight with the Tyrant had been a bit more brutal than he expected. Several of his ribs were fractured, or in some cases broken. There was also a broken arm, a concussion, sprained ankle, and several fractures across his fingers.

"So, how have you been holding up?" Snake asked him, as he hobbled along with a crutch.

"Good. Oh! I beat the training exercise!" Midoriya answered excitedly, as DD followed the both of them.

"Really?"

"Yeah! I made it all the way without anyone seeing me!"

"Heh, well good for you! Not bad for your…?"

"... Twentieth try," Midoriya answered, a slight look of embarrassment appearing on his face.

"Not bad. Seems I'll have to up the difficulty then." Snake told him, the pair continuing forward. Of course, Midoriya had something else to ask him as they walked.

"So… the MSF's made a deal with the Principal of UA right?"

"Right," Snake replied, looking down at him.

"So… do you think I could go see UA?" Midoriya asked, confusing Snake for a minute.

"I thought you were done with the pro-hero dream?" Snake asked curiously, as the two of them stopped. It was true though, Midoriya's dream of being a pro-hero had been abandoned years ago. The MSF continually received volunteers from all over the world. Lots of them were ex-villains, heroes, or civilians.

It became surreal as villains told him stories of why they turned to crime. Some did it out of desperation, not having enough money to live life. Others had quirks that made them dangerous without certain items to assist them. And a lot of them were forced into it. The majority of the last category came from Venezuela or different parts of Africa. It was sad for him as he learned of this.

Then there were the ex-heroes. The ones who abandoned their capes and took up rifles. They told him they weren't satisfied with heroics, that they could have been doing more. That the never-ending life of selfies and autographs made them feel worthless. They were supposed to save people, and while thousands were dying, they could only stand by and give away merchandising deals. It felt disheartening for them.

And finally, came the civilians. They were refugees who had everything taken from them, and the only people who came to help were the MSF. They were at the bottom of society, fending for themselves as they felt they had no purpose. They were searching for anything to give them stability, a reason to exist, to live. And all these groups found it. Villains found a second chance, heroes found a chance to do real good, refugees found an opportunity to regain what they lost, and civilians found a purpose all could strive for regardless of quirk.

They had found it in the MSF. A home for many and accepting of many. This is what heroism was supposed to be to Midoriya. Helping those beyond just punching a villain. That is why the question confused Snake. Yet Midoriya had his reasons.

"I am, but I still want to see it. It's all I could think of as a little kid. Well that and the MSF." Midoriya replied, before crouching down to pet DD, the dog thoroughly pleased with the attention he was receiving.

"I don't want to attend it, not anymore. But it would still be nice to visit it."

"Hmm, I don't know kid. I don't want to risk it with the HPSC looking for you." Snake answered.

"We could dye my hair," Midoriya countered, looking back up to Snake, "Give me a fake name, maybe some makeup to hide some of my distinct features."

"I'll think about it, but for right now no."

"I must agree," a voice piped up, causing Snake's eye to widen in surprise, "As much as I would love to have you attend my school, I believe you would have a much better time here."

Snake and Midoriya looked around confused, before a bark from DD dragged their attention downward. There Nezu sat offering a bone to DD. A bone the dog graciously accepted.

"When did you get here?" Snake asked him before another voice cut in.

"Same time I got here," Ocelot replied, as the clicking of his spurs got closer. He held a briefcase in one hand, with the other spinning a revolver.

"A pleasure to finally meet you," Nezu began, holding out his paw, to which Snake shook carefully, "I hear the nukes were disposed of?"

"They were, and I hope they were the only ones." Snake stated as he pulled out a cigar. The doctor said it wasn't good for him, especially with his broken ribs affecting his lungs. But if he was going to die, then he was dying by his rules.

"I would hope so too. I'd rather not deal with a nuke-filled Africa." Nezu agreed, the chimera mentally shuddering at the thought.

"So, I hope this isn't just a friendly visit," Snake replied, his cigar now lit.

"Don't worry, I come bringing gifts, and worrying news," Nezu told him, as Ocelot passed over the briefcase.

"Do tell,"

"For one," Nezu began bringing out a document before handing it to Snake, "I give you the Sig Spear or the XM7. Chambered in 6.8mm, it was going to replace the US's M4. However, not enough were made before the rise of quirks."

"Not bad. Might send this down to R&D," Snake mused, before taking a quick puff from his cigar. Seeing Midoriya also wanted to see it, he held it out for him.

"There's more, I also brought along the designs for the XM250 LMG, M338 MMG, and the XM157 optic."

Snake let out a low whistle as the newer documents were handed to him. It was strange for him to think about. Nine years ago the MSF was an outdated army made up of seventies equipment. Now they were pushing cutting edge.

"Anything else?" Snake asked, already intrigued, while Midoriya went ham examining the new firearms designs.

"Only the worrying news I'm afraid," Nezu began, "I received word from my sources that a large contingent of heroes is on its way to Nigeria."

That made Snake pause for a moment, as the ramifications settled in.

"How many?"

"At least sixty thousand."

The number made Snake choke on his cigar in surprise.

"S-sixty thousand?"

"That was of the lower estimate. The majority of them are US heroes, sprinkled in with Japanese, British, French, German, Italian, Canadian, and others."

"Damn it, we've got over two thousand men down there stuck in combat," Snake muttered, as he brought his hand to his forehead.

"Would they happen to be the armed force protecting forty thousand refugees?" Nezu asked, "Because then I know what the HPSC's after."

Snake dropped his hand before clenching it into a fist. So the HPSC wanted a war? He turned on his codec as he hastily called Miller. He was going to do either one of two things. Get his men out of there or reinforce them with enough damn ordinance to send the HPSC packing.

"Kaz, I want a naval landing on the Nigerian coastline."

"I'll get it done Boss."