Chapter 542 - 34-37

Chapter 34: An Interbellum

Many considered the Japanese Self-Defense Force an outdated relic of the past, once the age of heroes came into fruition. It would slowly die and decay into a husk of its former self. It had become corrupt, lazy, incompetent, and complacent, as thousands of its personnel would leave the ranks. There was but one problem. What happened to all their weapons? Thousands of assault rifles, rocket launchers, armored vehicles, helicopters, jets, and naval vessels.

Something had to happen to it, and it was far more expensive to destroy all this equipment or repurpose it. After all, you have to be careful when blowing up a thousand-ton warship, lest you damage the surrounding area or accidentally block a trade route. And it's a bit hard to make a fuel-efficient car with a tank. So they turned to another solution. Around the country, these weapons were locked away in military depots.

Well, locked away was a bit of a strong term, Night Owl noted, while walking through the vast warehouse of one such depot. See, remember how the JSDF had become home to the lazy and corrupt? With the loss of political strength and funding, many who had remained in the JSDF were stuck at the bottom. So that meant they were relegated to a dead-end job at one of these depots with little to no pay or hope of moving up in the world.

However, it also meant no one was checking in on the depots, as everyone else was also stuck in a dead-end job. If Night Owl was correct, this specific depot belonged to the Central Army and hasn't had any inspections in the last sixty years. So if the men here were to sell off a few rifles, who's to say it happened? After all the paperwork says they have ten thousand, the men say they have ten thousand, and the inspector they sent once sixty years ago says they have ten thousand. Thus, they have ten thousand.

And so with the Tyrant now dead and Night Owl having miscalculated the number of guns he needed, shocking I know, he was back in the market. He wasn't alone though, for he'd brought along a guest. Soon they stopped walking as his guide opened up two large crates in front of them. Inside were at least a dozen Howa Type 20s, and a large cache of ammunition. Night Owl let out a low whistle as his guide pulled one out of the box.

"It's chambered in 5.56 and has a firing speed of six hundred and fifty, or in some cases, eight hundred and fifty rounds a minute. A single rifle costs almost two thousand dollars." the guide told him, before passing it to Night Owl.

"Color me impressed," Night Owl commented, before turning over to Reaper, "What do you think?"

The guest said nothing, instead looking over the rifle quietly, before silently nodding his head. The only sound that could be heard was the man's shallow breath and the swaying of chains.

"How many do you have available?" Night Owl asked, returning the rifle to their guide. The guide carefully grabbed it, before cleaning it with a rag, removing any fingerprints from the gun.

"At the moment, around five hundred rifles. Only three thousand were ever built I'm afraid."

"That's a shame then, see I was hoping to get a rather large order." Night Owl replied, his guest silently shaking his head at the scientist's nonsense.

"Well, we have an assortment of Type 89s if you're interested." the guide replied, to which Night Owl put his hand to his chin, pondering the proposition. He looked over at his silent guest, receiving nothing but a stone-cold stare.

"Don't give me that look, I told you it was a possibility." Night Owl told him, the guest still staring at him.

"Yes, yes I know of our deal. But it's either the 89s or nothing at all." Night Owl continued, to which the man remained silent. Seeing he was getting nowhere he groaned in defeat, before covering his face with his hand.

"Fine, I'll get you the rifle's blueprint, happy?" Night Owl asked, to which the guest silently nodded. Night Owl turned back over to their guide then, the man a bit confused as to what had occurred.

"I'll have to decline your offer. However, we are still in the market for something more… destructive."

"Destructive huh, well let's start small then." the guide replied, as he led them off to another crate. Just like the first he opened it up along with another box of ammunition. Inside had to be five Sumitomo MINIMI light machine guns and maybe a few NTK-62s. The guide then held a demonstration, as two ballistic dummies were set up. Night Owl, being somewhat bored with all this talk, asked if he could fire the machine gun. To which the guide obliged, and watched as a ballistics dummy was torn to shreds.

"Not bad," Night Owl commented, stepping away from the smoking MINIMI, "I think we'll take…"

He looked back over to his guest, the man simply staring at him as always. And yet Night Owl could tell what the man was wanting, and he was disappointed.

"Forty? Why such a low number? It makes no… Oh your right, on second thought forty's good." Night Owl remarked, leaving the guide even more confused. But he was ultimately satisfied when they agreed to purchase the weapons.

"Excellent, is that everything?" the guide asked them.

"No," Night Owl replied, "We're not even close to done."

The first of the heroes had arrived back on friendly soil, as the media waited outside the plane to greet them. True to the MSF's word, they were allowed to leave. The President of the HPSC couldn't tell whether to be grateful about it or bitter. Especially as the first heroes stepped out of the plane. As a PR move, the wounded, dying, and dead heroes were kept on board to keep the media from hounding them. It also put forth a semi-positive image as all they saw were heroes coming home healthy and alive.

Of course, that only worked when those heroes weren't caked in filth. They walked out of the plane alive, but either had blood, mud, vomit, animal feces, or any other disgusting substance covering their once pristine costumes. The heroes attempted to hold up their personas, with wide smiles and bombastic laughs. But it was clear how tired they were. What made it worse, was the casualty numbers.

The current estimate suggested maybe ten thousand dead, in three days. They couldn't tell if the number was even accurate, as a large number of heroes had simply disappeared. And it didn't account for the wounded or captured. Of those captured, it was decided to write them off as dead. They didn't want any rumors of the true enemy they were facing to spread. Regardless though, the majority of deaths weren't even because of combat, but a lack of supplies. It was going to take a lot of capital to spin a good narrative now.

That much was clear to the President. It didn't help that the only info the Press had, was casualty numbers, and a vague guess as to who the heroes were fighting. For obvious reasons, the HPSC hid the involvement of the MSF, not out of kindness. But out of fear. If the HPSC were to bring the MSF to the spotlight and not the fringes of the third world, then people would begin to ask questions.

Who were they? Where did they come from? What are their goals? And that ultimately creates a paper trail leading back, to Night Owl's damn experiments. The President still wasn't sure where this group came from, or why they intervened in the project at all. But the thought of it being released to the public would be a nightmare. It's what made her realize this disaster could have been worse.

But that didn't matter, there was work to do. So as she saw the press follow the trail of heroes, questioning them at every turn, she pulled out her phone and called Techno. After it rang for a few seconds the man picked up.

"Madam President?"

"I want you to go through the casualty reports."

"Looking for anyone in particular?"

"No one specific," the President replied, "I just need you to fudge a few numbers. Make it seem like some heroes died of circumstances unrelated to the battle."

"I'll see what I can do. Oh and mam, before I forget, Representative Hashimoto was found dead this morning." Techno replied. His response left the President puzzled for a moment. Hashimoto was the runner-up for the Vice Presidency, to have him die so soon was suspicious. Knowing of her confusion Techno continued.

"His throat was slit, and his body was left in a dumpster near his apartment."

"Do the police have any leads?" Madam President asked.

"Not at the moment," Techno began, "however, with the recent engagement in Africa I believe it to be the MSF's doing."

"That seems logical. Keep me posted."

"I will, mam."

Midoriya ducked under Snake's fist, before throwing a punch at the man's gut. He missed as Snake stepped to the side, before grabbing Midoriya's arm. With a tight grip, he pulled Midoriya closer, causing him to lose his footing. Snake, taking advantage, fully tripped Midoriya, and moved to slam him into the ground. But Midoriya recovered fast, stopping just as his nose was about to hit the ground.

He then rolled off to the side, before managing to stand back up. He'd gotten better over the years. Sure, Snake wasn't always around to help with CQC training, but when he was Midoriya put his all into it. The other soldiers held back, but Snake didn't. "If you're truly interested in learning how to fight, then you should know how the pain of one feels" was Snake's reasoning. This wasn't a game, and if Midoriya wanted to become a member one day, then Snake was going to show him what that entailed.

Was it a bit cruel? Possibly, yes, as Snake proceeded to dodge a kick from Midoriya. Then dislocating the kid's left leg. Yet this is what Midoriya wanted, and it was either training in a supervised manner, where Snake can ensure nothing goes wrong. Or Midoriya trying to replicate what he had seen on his own and risk potential harm doing so. The first one was the obvious answer, especially as Midoriya managed to punch Snake in the jaw.

It caused Snake to stumble back a little and gave Midoriya time to pop his leg back into socket. But as he did so, Snake recovered and put Midoriya into a chokehold. Remembering what he was taught, attempted to break free. Yet Snake kept his grip firm, as Midoriya struggled for a few seconds more, before ultimately tapping out. Coughing a little, as Midoriya regained his breath, a small smile soon graced his face.

"You did better that time," Snake commented, before walking off to grab a water bottle. With it in hand, he tossed it over to Midoriya. Once caught, Midoriya dumped some water on himself to cool off, before taking a drink.

"I still lost though," Midoriya replied, standing back up slowly. He cringed as every part of him felt sore. Looking back over at Snake, he found his father figure holding a small box in his hand.

"What's that?" he asked, as Snake walked over to him.

"A gift," Snake replied, before handing Midoriya the small box. He couldn't tell what was inside, but it seemed to have some weight to it. Not much, he still held it pretty easily.

"Now, I know your birthday was three days ago," Snake began, "but this took a while to complete. And, I believe you've earned this."

Confused, Midoriya slowly opened the box, before his eyes widened at the sight. Inside, was a custom M1911 pistol. Everything about it had been modified, the hammer, the grip, the magazine pull, the sights. It left Midoriya entranced as he inspected every inch of his gift. It was a weapon for pros, and Snake had given it to him.

"It… it's mine?" Midoriya asked, not believing what he had been given.

"It is. There are going to be some ground rules, however." Snake told him, "Number one is the most important, you are not allowed to have live rounds unless you're being supervised at the gun range. That means tranq rounds only."

"Got it."

"Second, do not leave it lying around somewhere it can get forgotten about. And third, no tearing it apart."

Midoriya gave an embarrassed chuckle at that last rule. His analytical nature and lack of quirk had led to him becoming a bit of a gun nut. It's why he had sometimes snuck weapons out of the armor, just to see how they worked. So low and behold Snake found him one day with four torn-apart M4s, and Midoriya was unable to remember how to put them together. That became a lesson in itself, of how to clean and maintain a weapon.

"But, other than that it's your-" Snake began before Midoriya slammed into him with a hug. A hug Snake would gladly return.

"Can you steal an F-14?" Rody asked Midoriya out of the blue. And I mean right out of the blue. The two of them were in the middle of a round of Mario Kart Wii The Reboot Seven. Or the seventh reboot of the original game with some new features. The interruption caused Midoriya to lose focus for just a few seconds, and drive off the stage.

"Come on! That's just playing dirty." Midoriya commented as the Lakitu dropped him back onto the course. His response made Rody laugh slightly before Midoriya's cart started moving again.

"Seriously though, could you steal one?" Rody asked again, genuinely serious. It left Midoriya somewhat surprised, and a little concerned.

"I don't think the MSF has any F-14s," Midoriya replied, as his cart drifted across a tight turn. It led to a cave full of large mushrooms, where with some slight difficulty, managed to bounce across them. They just had to play it at two hundred cc.

"I know that, but Iran does." Rody countered, before grumbling when a red shell hit his cart.

"So… you're asking if I could steal an F-14 from Iran?" Midoriya asked him.

"Yeah, could you?"

"I don't know." Midoriya replied, "I'm barely trained at all. Besides, I don't think Dad would let me."

"What about when you start going on missions?"

"Well maybe. I mean I might be better trained then. Why do you ask?" Midoriya asked him, with the race coming to an end. Rody however, remained quiet, distinctly avoiding eye contact.

"...You watched Top Gun again, didn't you."

"It's a good movie!" Rody countered.

"You have a problem, this is what the fifteenth time now?" Midoriya countered.

"There aren't any fighter pilot movies I can watch," Rody replied, with Midoriya thinking it over. He didn't know many plane movies, his genre had always been more heroes or military stuff. So he slowly began to agree with Rody.

"I guess that's fair. Maybe there are some jet games we can find." Midoriya told him, as he prepared to start the next round. Yet as he did so, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. It was small and pink and was currently nested inside Rody's hair. As soon as he saw it, it disappeared, leaving Midoriya confused.

"Hey Rody, I think you've got something in your hair," Midoriya told him, to which Rody slightly panicked. Midoriya didn't notice, however, leaving Rody somewhat hopeful.

"Ah, it's a hairpin. I was playing with my sister earlier and forgot to take it out." Rody told him, hoping Midoriya would believe the lie. He did not.

"Are you sure? Because I saw it moving."

"It must be your imagination."

"Then why isn't it there anymore?"

"Because… you imagined it?"

Midoriya squinted his eyes as Rody started sweating nervously. He was about to turn back to the TV when Rody's hair moved again. At that point, Midoriya could see a small bird with a mask. And Rody found no way to escape. With a sigh, the bird flew out of his hair and rested on his shoulder. The bird had a bashful look on its face, along with Rody.

"Alright, you got me."

"You were hiding… a bird?"

"Kinda, this is Pino. She's my quirk."

Rody already regretted what was said, the moment Midoriya looked over at him.

"So that's what your quirk was! Is she completely sentient? If yes does she possess a will of her own, or is it a part of yours? How far can she fly? Can you see out of her eyes? Does she eat anything? Why is she pink? What's with the mask?" Midoriya asked, the mutter storm only growing more the longer he went.

"Uh, Midoriya?" Rody said, before shaking Midoriya out of his spiel. To which Midoriya sheepishly apologized.

"That's cool though! She's a friend that's always with you." Midoriya told him, the game now completely paused.

"I… guess," Rody replied skeptically, something that Midoriya noticed.

"Is something wrong?" Midoriya asked.

"Well… please don't laugh," Rody began, "but Pino shows what I'm feeling."

And to his shock, Midoriya didn't. Instead, he fell into another mumble tangent.

"Does that include all feelings? What would constitute a feeling? Pain? Joy? Sadness? Hunger? Boredom?"

However, Midoriya stopped himself halfway in, with a wide smile across his face.

"I wonder if your quirk can be used for fieldwork," Midoriya stated, before pulling out a notebook from… somewhere? Rody however was a bit confused by Midoriya's statement.

"...You think my quirk can be used in the field?"

"Well I mean, it has to have some use. It could be an unkillable organic drone! Actually, I think that might be insensitive to Pino." Midoriya replied, slowly having Rody become interested.

"...What about for flying?"

"She might be another pair of eyes you could use. Maybe even assist you in the cockpit somehow. Although that depends on how strong she is."

Slowly but surely, they forgot about the previous game. Instead, they spent hours, dissecting Rody's quirk. To which Rody found it surprisingly fun.

There were many times the R&D department would come forth with a new idea. Some were practical, others not so much. Sometimes they were both, for example, the Walker Gear. With Dr. Emmerich's incarceration, the premiere expert in the field of Metal Gears became Dr. Soul. So that meant the current flaws in its design, had to be fixed by him alone. And there were many. The soldiers operating the machines reported back pain from the walker's odd control positions.

The armor was so paper thin, that most assault rifles were capable of tearing one apart. And worse was when a walker was caught out in the open. They lacked the speed to outrun a tank when on two legs but lacked control when on wheels. All in all, the project was looking to be somewhat of a failure. So it was back to the drawing board. There he considered adding more armor to the sides to further protect the operator, but that would weigh the walker down and slow it down even more.

But then he noticed something else. It was a small space right on top of the walker's chassis and in front of the machine's face shield. And an idea began to form, one he brought to Strangelove.

"Several facilities around the world already have self-autonomous robots for defense. Tartarus comes to mind as does I-Island. There however are lightly armed and mostly limited to basic patrols." Soul told her, presenting the blueprint, "We could do something similar. An autonomous soldier on the battlefield."

Strangelove inspected the blueprints carefully, noting Soul's change in the design. On the walker was a small spherical-like head, most likely a head for the walker. It was an intriguing idea, especially with the advancements she'd made in AI. Contrary to what Emmerich had thought, the Medical Team's predictive AI worked perfectly, if not more so. AIs no longer require AI pods either. So the idea was plausible.

"The design is also made to be adaptive. This can be dropped in behind enemy lines, we can modify them into heavily armed drones, and they could be quite useful in urban environments," Soul continued. And Strangelove agreed.

"It might be difficult, the system will need to be able to very clearly distinguish friend from foe. But I believe it's possible. I believe we could add infrared and night vision sensors to it as well." Strangelove told him, before carefully putting the blueprints down. But it would have to wait, like all their other projects. And there was a long list of them. The XM7 rifles they planned to produce, along with the new optics. The Medical team had made another request, this one asking for research into artificial organs. It was a long process, but one that would get completed. Eventually.

Chapter 35: A New Contract

"Ow! Fuck!" Grizzly muttered, slowly swapping the bandages on his arm. He couldn't tell what hurt more, the wound in his arm or his cracked rib. Yet the medics told him he'd be fine, even if he didn't feel like it.

"Holy shit I need a vacation," Eagle commented, the man sitting next to him in the cramped Stryker. Grizzly watched as the man slowly removed his boot, displaying his broken foot. The last battle had been brutal for all of them. With its end, anyone and anything had been loaded up into transports and shipped out. The wounded kids, prisoners, and the rest of the platoon.

"Tell me about it," Grizzly replied in a strained voice, "Three weeks of scrubbing and I still can't get the mud outta my hair."

"Damn trenches." another soldier muttered, sharing the general consensus between the men.

"Well, then I got good news gentlemen," Ape told them with his lack of sleep clear in his voice, "Command's pulling us off the front for a bit. "

The men gave out a tired cheer as small smiles graced some of their faces. Grizzly however remained quiet, too tired to celebrate. It was strange to think that after months of non-stop fighting, he'd be given a short break. He didn't actually know what he would do when it arrived. They were getting paid, maybe he could visit his parents. At the very least say hi to them.

Then again, the FOB was supposedly getting new recreational additions. Last he heard they added a soccer field, a sauna, and a movie theater. It was clear the others were having similar ideas.

"About time we got some shore leave." one soldier commented, as Grizzly saw him remove his helmet. Even with the air conditioning a thick layer of sweat was present on the man's brow.

"Preach brother," another agreed, "been far too long since I've been home."

"You got a wife?" the first one asked curiously.

"Heh, well not yet." the second chuckled, before pulling a small box out of his backpack. He opened it, leaving the others to let out a low whistle, finding the large ring inside it.

"Hot damn, how much did you spend on that thing?"

"Not a dime. Found it back in one of those mines a while back when I was in the Congo."

"Lucky bastard." A soldier muttered as a new conversation started across from Grizzly.

"Yo Eagle! What about you, got anyone back home?" a different soldier asked, dragging everyone's attention over to Eagle. He was busy polishing his desert eagle, unaware of the discussion.

"Just a sis-" Eagle instinctively replied before quickly stopping, now aware of his mistake, "On second thought forget what I said."

"No no, please tell us more." a soldier joked with a wide smile.

"She like long walks on the beach?" another joined in, to which a few more laughs were heard in the Stryker.

"For your information, Jackal, she prefers a man who can cook."

"Well guess I should start practicing then," Jackal replied, to which Eagle responded with a chuckle. And the entire time, Eagle polished his gun. And continued polishing it. It made Grizzly slowly realize something.

"Hey Eagle, why do you always have that pistol with you?" Grizzly asked, thinking it over for a few moments. Strategically bringing a desert eagle as a secondary was a stupid idea. It was a large heavy gun, and the MSF didn't really have stocks of .50 action express. Yet Eagle carried it with him everywhere.

"I just like the gun," Eagle calmly replied, as he carefully set the gun in his holster, "Consider it my quirk."

"So you have a gun quirk?"

"No, I mean it says 'quirk' on the grip," Eagle told him to which he pulled out his gun. Holding it out, Grizzly could see that it did say quirk. That elicited a small laugh out of Grizzly, even though the joke was pretty dumb. But it did bring more questions forward.

"You got me there, but what is your quirk then?"

"Eh, don't have one," Eagle answered, before leaning back in his chair. He put one arm behind his back, with the other covering his face with his helmet.

"Seriously?"

"Yep," Eagle replied, adding an emphasis on the p.

"Huh, cool," Grizzly commented as he thought back to his previous interactions with Eagle. It made sense as he looked back on it, as Grizzly never spotted a sign of a quirk. Now were this past Grizzly, he would be questioning why someone quirkless was on the battlefield. It was a horrible dangerous place where someone without a quirk could die. After being on said battlefield, his opinion changed. War didn't give a fuck on what your quirk was, all of them were dying to the mortar shell.

Except for Gorilla, he was bulletproof. He instead got cholera from the trenches. But it made a lot of sense.

"Why a desert eagle though? The damn things are heavy as shit."

"I just like it, that and it goes with the codename."

"And yet you can't handle the heat."

"Heh, not all of us are walking ACs rookie."

Nagant was swamped. Reports cluttered the table around her along with a dozen cups of coffee. This entire month had been nothing but a clusterfuck. The hero's assault had only been three days, and yet they had disrupted the MSF's already fragile supply lines. And now, she didn't know what their next move was. The number of refugees under the MSF's population had exploded again, now reaching almost a hundred thousand.

And more kept arriving by the day. It brought a strain on the MSF's capabilities, so they were forced to institute a policy. If the refugees wanted protection, some would have to fight. Nagant didn't like it, and she was pretty sure the rest of the MSF didn't like it. But they didn't have a lot of options. Every day meant another mouth to feed, and another soldier needed to keep the frontline secure.

It had brought a boost to the MSF's numbers in Africa surprisingly quickly. On the first day of the policy's implementation, they went from two thousand five hundred men to five thousand. Most, however, were still in training or they were defecting prisoners. But all of these actions were pointless for one reason. They didn't know what their next goal was. Which is why the rest of MSF's higher-ups were having a meeting. So with a sigh, as she read the last report, she pulled out her Idroid and turned it on. Setting it down on the table, the meeting began.

"Nagant," Snake greeted before the rest of the officers made themselves known. Snake and Miller were obviously there, along with Ocelot. As well as the highest-ranking staff ranging from the Combat teams to Medical. It was surprising however when the voice of Nezu spoke up.

"I assume this is everyone."

"It is." Miller told him before clearing his throat, "Now, as the reports have stated the trail on Night Owl has gone cold again. At best, we have the vague assumption he's somewhere in Asia."

"I can confirm, he just recently met with the President before disappearing," Ocelot chimed in, the sound of his revolvers spinning present. It made Nagant ponder what was said. For the time being Night Owl was effectively untouchable. Both because they couldn't find him, and because he was hiding in the HPSC's backyard. It was a miracle alone that Mother Base hadn't been discovered with how close to Japan it is. But it might not remain so if they continued searching for Night Owl.

"What now then?" an officer asked, "We waiting until we can grab him?"

"Not at the moment," Snake answered before Nagant heard him breathe out. She assumed he was smoking.

"However, that's not to say we don't have work to do," Snake continued, "With Night Owl off the grid that means we have more pressing matters. The most prevalent is what we do about Africa. The moment we leave the warlords are going to swarm into the Tyrant's old territory."

"Leaving thousands of innocent lives in the crossfire," Miller finished, "Meaning until further notice, we are permanently occupying Nigeria."

"That's going to take a lot of manpower, sir," another officer told them, the man quickly running through the numbers in his head.

"I assume this is why we're moving South," Nagant stated then, before receiving confirmation from Snake.

"Yes. The South can be better defended with the reinforcements from the naval landing. It will also make resupply easier."

"Makes sense. Still, we plan on building a nation?" Nagant asked.

"If we have to," Snake replied, to which the meeting became silent. Not out of shock, the idea had crossed their minds before. It was instead due to realization. They would be stuck in Africa, for possibly years. Forced to fight what may be a never-ending conflict. And yet, something was off about it, as Nagant noted the sound of someone sipping tea.

"Truly puzzling, although if I may, has anyone found the reason as to why Africa is in its current state?" Nezu asked, "I've been digging through historical records for a while now, however, nothing is giving me a clear picture. I fear the HPSC is to blame."

Nagant sighed before she responded, "I would expect as much. But truly, not even the locals are sure. Some chalked it up to the emergence of quirks, others think it was growing corruption and some small wars breaking out. I'd personally blame the HPSC."

"How come?" Snake asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"I don't know," Nagant answered, "Just seems like something they'd do."

"For that, I have to agree," Nezu stated before she heard him taking a sip, "If it is possible, could I be given your reports on the matter?"

"I'll see what we can do," Snake replied, "Is that everything?"

"There's one more thing actually," Miller answered, "President Sainz called three hours ago. Said he had someone you'd want to meet, but that he couldn't specify who."

"I'll get on that then. Meeting adjourned."

And with the call ending, it left Nagant in silence.

"Mr President," Snake greeted holding out his hand for Sainz. With a wide smile, the man grabbed it quickly as the two shook. The trip over to Bogota had taken a few days, but Sainz had insisted on an in-person meeting.

"Snake, it's good to see you," Sainz replied as the two sat in his office. He then gave Maria a curt nod when she entered the room, with her doing the same. A fourth person soon entered the office. He was a short man with a receding hairline, and his hand was a solid block of iron. It didn't take long for Snake to spot him.

"I hear there was someone you wanted me to meet," Snake said, gesturing over to the fourth man.

"Ah yes." Sainz began, "Snake I'd like you to meet the Diplomat from Poland Jan Kowalczyk."

Kowalczyk stepped forward then, before shaking Snake's hand.

"A pleasure to finally meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, although, I'm assuming this isn't just a meet and greet," Snake replied, to which Kowalczyk nodded his head.

"You'd be correct. First, on behalf of the Polish government, we'd like to apologize for our actions in Africa." Kowalczyk told him, a look of remorse plastered on his face. "We were not operating with the most accurate intel at the time, and we understand if there is any distrust in us."

"Distrust is an understatement," Snake muttered, but it ultimately went unheard.

"For that, we are willing to pay for the damages incurred against your forces." Kowalczyk continued, with Snake taking a quick puff from his cigar.

"However, I also come bearing business."

That left Snake intrigued for a moment.

"What's the offer?" Snake asked him, as the diplomat moved to the other side of the room. Once there a screen lit up behind him with several maps being present, along with a mugshot.

"As of recently, Europe has been plagued by a large human trafficking organization. We've managed to pinpoint what we assume to be their base."

The screen zoomed in on the eastern border of Belarus, where it focused on a lone city. It zoomed in further, bringing a large skyscraper into view. Standing over fifteen stories tall, a large logo was present on the outskirt. The logo was of a white top hat and a camera, informing Snake it was of some kind of media company.

"Why do you need us then?" Snake asked inquisitively, "If you already have their location, then why can't your heroes do it?"

And that was a question in and of itself. Snake had seen the reports the MSF had on Poland's heroes. Around sixty percent of the MSF's casualties in those three days were from the Poles. So they weren't lacking in capable manpower, something that was proven correct as Kowalczyk went on.

"It's like I said, we assume it's their base but were not entirely sure. And none of my higher-ups want to risk something going wrong with a massive raid, as officially, our neighbors claim this organization doesn't exist." Kowalczyk replied calmly, his foot slowly tapping on the floor.

"Which is why you want me." Snake surmised before taking a puff on his cigar.

"Precisely." Kowalczyk told him, "You'll sneak in, confirm what our intel has been suggesting, where we'll swoop in to arrest them."

"What I am is the fall guy in this plan," Snake muttered, this time being heard by the diplomat.

"I assure you that is not our intention."

"Then do it yourselves. I'm not putting my men's lives at risk, over something your forces are capable of doing. That is unless you're leaving something out?" Snake remarked accusingly, to which the calm demeanor Kowalczyk held faltered slightly. That only confirmed his suspicion, but still left out the why.

"We can't," Kowalczyk replied switching the screen to a new slide, "My superiors were hoping to keep this in the dark, however, this seems to be our last card. The President's daughter was kidnapped about a week ago on a camping trip. Our intelligence service had an unknown mole, and orchestrated the kidnapping as to dissuade us."

The new slide held dashcam footage of the incident, somewhere in a large forest. with the security escorting the President's daughter being gunned down by an unknown force. The road had been barricaded by a semi, with a dozen cars effectively trapping the security. A helicopter then arrived, where the President's daughter was grabbed and shoved inside. It was a coordinated effort, one that required inside knowledge.

"Officially this meeting never happened. As of right now, the only people who know of this are the people in this room and the President. It's unknown but heavily implied that any action taken by our government will be met with her death. This was the President's last option."

Snake thought it over for a moment. Nothing about this deal seemed right. There were still far too many holes in the information he had been given. If Kowalczyk was telling the truth, then he had to do something, but he couldn't be sure. Yet a small part of him nagged away. There were always missions he'd taken, where things were left out. That hadn't stopped him before.

"This organization have a name?" Snake asked, before removing the burnt ash from his cigar. Kowalczyk looked at him somewhat pleased, before changing it over to the final slide.

"They call themselves The Showstoppers."

"You know Midoriya isn't my first name, right?" Midoriya asked Rody, as the two took turns batting. It was a relatively calm day, so the batting cages on Mother Base's residential platforms were empty.

"It's not?" Rody asked surprised. He looked back over at Midoriya before narrowly dodging a baseball. Deciding he wanted his head intact, he stepped off to the side with Midoriya walking up to take his place. Assuming his position, Midoriya replied, "Yeah. You've been calling me my last name all this time, yet we've known each other for years. I thought it was a bit strange."

"Really? Wait what's your first name then?"

"... Rody, if you thought Midoriya was my first name, what did you think my last name was?"

Rody remained silent then, attempting to remain stone-faced. However, Pina gave away his true thoughts, the bird resting on his shoulder with an embarrassed look.

"Heh, I uh, don't remember…"

"To think you're my best friend," Midoriya muttered, with a small smile on his face. The pitching machine threw a ball then, with Midoriya quickly taking a swing. A loud crack echoed as the bat hit the ball, with the two boys watching it fly away. It veered to the right, and slightly dropped off at the out of bounds.

"Yes!" Rody cheered, as Midoriya fished out a five-dollar bill. A punishment for the game they were playing. For this was not simple batting practice. No this had rules. Any ball that went out of bounds meant five dollars to the other. A home run meant the other would have to dress in a chicken costume for a day, anything on the field was fine, and failing to hit the ball got a punch to the face.

A fact Rody "conveniently" forgot. Midoriya didn't, however. So as Rody began counting over his previous earnings, Midoriya slugged him across the face.

"Ow! I was hoping you wouldn't notice." Rody told him, rubbing his cheek, something Pina mimicked. Midoriya simply snickered as Rody stepped up to bat.

"Hey rules are rules," Midoriya replied, watching as the machine launched another ball. In one swift motion, Rody swung the bat. It hit the ball loudly and launched it back. This one veered off to the left instead, where it landed on the field. It was inbounds so Rody stepped back, allowing Midoriya to step up.

"Ok, but if your first name isn't Midoriya, then what is it?" Rody asked as Midoriya put in a few practice swings.

"It's Izuku," Midoriya told him before the machine launched the next ball.

"You could have corrected me you know," Rody pointed out, with Pina nodding.

"I guess," Midoriya replied, all the while he watched the ball fly off. It landed in the middle of the field, with no punishment happening. He stepped back then, allowing Rody to step forward yet again.

"This one's a home run, I can feel it," Rody commented, to which Midoriya chuckled.

"If it is I'll wear the chicken costume for a week," Midoriya replied. The determination that appeared on Rody's face, instantly told him he made a mistake. The machine launched a ball forward, and Rody rocketed the bat forward. The collision echoed around them before the ball went flying back. Victorious Rody looked back over smugly, as Midoriya looked on in abject horror. With only one word leaving his mouth.

"...Fuck"

The Broker didn't have enough alcohol for this, something Miller agreed with.

"So, what do you think?" his friend asked, ignoring the Broker's ghostly white face. It was Miller who voiced the man's thoughts properly.

"How the fuck do you keep doing this?"

Behind him, was a Ticonderoga class cruiser. And enough missiles to level a mountain. And today had been such a nice day for him. He'd sold the MSF some F-22s, some AH-1Zs, a couple of V-22s, and even some MQ-9s. All in all, it brought him a steady profit. Or so he thought as he stared down the behemoth in front of him.

"I mean it was super easy, barely an inconvenience." his friend replied, as he gestured around at the large vessel. As if to somehow further his point.

"That doesn't explain how though," Miller replied tiredly. The Broker for his part had simply walked away, now banging his head on a street light near the dock. He could see the numbers for how expensive this was going to be. To which his friend decided to kill him further.

"I mean it was easier than the submarines."

"Submarines!?" the Broker cried out in hysteric anguish. Forget him not having enough alcohol, the world didn't have enough alcohol. A point his dear friend had missed.

"Yeah, I managed to nab two of them. They were Virginias if I'm right."

That brought another pained yell out of The Broker. It also led Miller to take off his sunglasses, before bringing his hand to his face.

"You mind if I?" Miller asked the Broker.

"Just fucking take them. I'm not paying for this shit again."

Chapter 36: A Stoat Meets A Bird

"I'm being reassigned?" Nagant asked Snake, watching as a helicopter landed. Its side doors opened and out stepped her replacement, a lower-ranking General. She didn't like being forced to leave Africa so soon. There was still work that needed to be done, but Snake had other matters.

"Effective immediately, yes. We've got a new contract out in Belarus. The Polish Government wants us to eliminate a human trafficking organization in the area." Snake told her, "This isn't a large operation, however. Only you and me."

With a sigh, Nagant saw the helicopter's pilot waiting for her. So, she held up a finger, informing the pilot to wait for a moment. With that, she turned around and walked back into her small FOB.

"Specifics on the job?" Nagant asked again, before arriving at the base's armory. Looking around she eyed up the weapons present.

"This group calls themselves The Showstoppers. That's all the intel we've been given. No size estimates, leadership, associates, nothing. Just a name, and where they guess is their main base. The mission starts in two days." Snake replied to which Nagant paused for a moment.

"That's it?"

"That's it. I don't know if there simply hiding something, or if they truly have no intel on this group other than the fact they exist."

"So be on the lookout. Got it," Nagant surmised. As she did so she carefully picked up M24 Remington. Inspecting it for any faults, she asked over the codec, "What's the AOE like?"

"Urban. Lots of tall buildings, and civilians." Snake answered. Nagant pondered her choices then. It was never said, but she inferred Snake wanted this op quiet. So, the Remington might suffice. Might.

"The enemy?"

"Just a vague location, on a building with fifteen stories. Could have guards on every floor."

She set the Remington down then, before turning to her second choice the M110. With an unknown number of enemies, firing speed meant everything. So, with the semi-auto sniper in hand, she walked back out. Finding the helicopter, she hopped in and watched as they took off.

"Can you turn your arm to the left?" Soul asked, watching as the soldier turned his arm to the left. The prosthetic was working well, reacting to the soldier's movements like it was his original arm. With the soldier having completed the task, Soul took note of the first success.

"Great, now open your hand."

And the soldier opened his hand, although with a bit of a delay. The index and middle fingers opened up together, but the ring and pinky took a little longer. The thumb didn't move at all, however. A bit worrying, but the technology was still under development. At least that's the excuse he wanted to use.

In reality, the truth was far more complicated. See humanity had created fully functioning prosthetics, and they were true wonders, being almost indistinguishable from real limbs. That was over a century ago. Over the years nothing has changed in the design. Which honestly bugged Soul. Technology like this should have reached the civilian market years ago. Instead, it would cost both your other limbs just to replace the one you lost.

That or dealing with a shady backroom deal, and hoping that if you wake up, the doctor didn't steal your kidneys. That wouldn't work with the MSF. By the world's standards, they were still a small army. Even if their reputation said otherwise. But that meant every soldier in their ranks was valuable. Every loss was of a skilled pilot or tanker, an esteemed doctor or engineer, a veteran infantryman or sailor.

So, when dozens of men were taken off the field due to missing limbs, a problem began to form. Snake had of course turned to the R&D team to see if something could be made, to which R&D began scavenging the world. Only to find blueprints that would cost up to forty-eight million. They needed a cheaper alternative, so they turned to making one from scratch. This one specifically was made of a polymer plastic, with an aluminum frame.

Some of the project's scientists worried about the prototype's structural integrity, but it seemed to be working fine. The real issue was getting the fluid motion of a normal arm. The wrist was on a hydraulic ball joint, to move the wrist better. But it still moved slowly and robotically. For the next test, Soul placed an apple on the table next to the soldier.

"Can you pick it up?" Soul asked, before adjusting the thumb into position.

"Sure," the soldier replied, turning over to the apple. Slowly, the soldier moved the arm into place. The first few fingers wrapped around the fruit, and the soldier lifted it up. But the fingers didn't stop, instead closing tighter until the apple was crushed in the soldier's palm.

The soldier gave Soul a sheepish look and then, "Sorry."

"Don't be," Soul replied, as he took out a screwdriver, "We are still in the testing phase. Bugs are this are expected to occur."

He then adjusted some of the screws on the arm, before opening up the arm's inner shell. On the indeed were the main mechanisms, a section for batteries, and the most important part, a small computer. Its purpose with some of Strangelove's assistance, would link to the nerves of the body. The electrical signals sent by the brain would be read by the computer and move the arm.

It was essentially an artificial nerve, as the arm could also return an electrical current. At least that was the plan. Like the rest of the arm, they had yet to test this feature, and frying the brain of an amputeed veteran didn't sound all that appealing. Currently, however, Soul couldn't tell if the arm was having programming issues, or if the hydraulics were the problem. If it was the hydraulics, then he could fix it. But if it was the programming then he was going to have to wait for Strangelove to get back.

He couldn't blame her though; every parent could understand celebrating their kid's birthday. So, for the moment, he loosened the hydraulics, hoping that would solve the issue.

"Alright, now try again." Soul told the soldier. He set down another apple and the soldier moved to pick it up. Just like the first time, the fingers wrapped around the apple and the soldier lifted it off the table. And just like the first time, the fingers continued before crushing the apple. With a sigh, Soul returned to his notes, planning the next test.

This was truly fascinating to Nezu. While the MSF didn't have much, he was still given a considerable amount of information. His personnel computer alone had documents dating all the way from 2035. It was such a pain how long it had taken everything to load. But it was here now, and he wouldn't waste a second more. So, with a freshly prepared cup of tea, he opened the first report… and was forced to stop when Aizawa tiredly entered the room. A shame, and he had been so excited about this.

"An HPSC rep is here to see you," Aizawa told him. That struck Nezu as odd. Ocelot would have informed him of a meeting, and the cameras would have alerted him to his presence. Checking over the cameras, he said to Aizawa, "Please, send them in."

As he did so, nothing showed up on the cameras. Now Nezu very rarely was surprised, his intelligence normally allowed him to predict and quickly analyze situations. Yet this was something worrying. This only got worse when he saw who walked in.

"Principal Nezu, a pleasure to finally meet you," the man said, his eyes boring deep into the rodent. His face had a wide smile plastered on it, one that was too wide to be friendly and had an air of smugness to it.

"Xavier Philips," Night Owl introduced taking a seat in a nearby chair. Somehow, Night Owl knew, and Nezu recognized this. But the act needed to continue, as the two smiled at each other. Aizawa, sensing the malicious mood both of them had, decided it wise to vacate the premises. Leaving the two alone.

"I hear you've been making friends," Night Owl remarked, "Tell me, how is Snake doing currently?"

"I don't know what you're talking about I'm afraid, that is unless you're referring to our latest student?"

"Depends, do they have an eye patch and a mastery in firearms?"

"No,"

"Hehe, then as much as I would enjoy another hour of us doing this little game, I think we should cut to the chase." Night Owl told Nezu, to which the rodent nodded.

"Agreed, why are you here?"

"Oh, it's simple really, Madam President assigned Ocelot to a new mission and sent me to 'continue discussions'." Night Owl answered, his hands mimicking air quotes for the end. That statement alone was alarming. Did the HPSC already know of his involvement with the MSF? Did they know about Ocelot? These questions echoed around Nezu's mind, as he kept his stone-faced smile.

"Of course, I know this isn't going to end up anywhere," Night Owl commented, before lounging back into his chair, kicking his feet up on Nezu's desk.

"But you know the drill. Renounce UA's international entity status, or else there will be consequences."

"Is that your demands, or the President's?"

"Hers. I couldn't care less about this school, regardless of how much I want it burnt to the ground," Night Owl commented, before his smile widened further, "Oops, did I say that out loud. Still, that does bring a few thoughts to mind, some very creative thoughts."

Nezu's face shifted, the calm smile, being replaced with calm anger. He could see why the MSF had made Night Owl their number-one target. This man was nothing but an enigma. He colluded with villains around the world, but actively assisted the HPSC. It made no logical sense, outside of him being insane.

"I thought you couldn't care less."

"I really couldn't though, it's like caring over an ant. You don't fear or fret over the ant, but that doesn't stop you from crushing it."

The comparison gave Nezu some information, but not much. It was vague and all-encompassing. Was UA the ant, or was it heroes in general? Maybe he meant everyone, not just heroes. He couldn't tell.

"You are correct however, I will not renounce my school's status," Nezu stated. He took a small sip from his teacup, his eyes never leaving Night Owl.

"A shame, at least I tried my best." Night Owl replied sarcastically, before passing a small document to Nezu. He assumed it was some sort of blackmail at first, or even a bribe. Yet its contents were far different.

"The President wanted to try the kind approach one last time," Night Owl explained. The document was a letter from the UN. It was signed by almost a hundred different countries, all repealing UA's immunity. Nezu didn't let that shock him, he expected this sooner or later. But now he carefully planned his next move.

"You know, I find it funny," Night Owl rambled, before standing up. He turned and walked back over to the door, "Sixty thousand heroes entered Nigeria, and thousands of them died. Tell me, how many went to UA?"

Nezu kept a calm face, trying his best to ignore Night Owl's words. But his paws clenched into fists, straining the paper he held. Seeing he got the reaction he wanted, Night Owl stepped out of the office, walking away.

"It is why today; we celebrate the sacrifices of those lost." Madam President began, addressing the large crowd of civilians and reporters standing in front of her. She had her aides rush out a fresh speech, once the media shifted away from the WHA and instead to their local HPSCs. And it had been difficult to spin the narrative once they were put in a corner. For the moment, they claimed the coalition had been fighting a group of villains in the area.

The villains were well-trained, but "defeated" in three short days. It was, however, at a high cost. Of course, none of this was true. Their children, parents, husbands, and wives, had in truth died for nothing. And this lie was the only thing keeping the pandemonium of that revelation in check.

"It is why today; we remember who they are. For they have given more than we could ever hope to pay back. And we may never fully pay them back, but we start today." the President stated, a hint of sadness in her voice. She added fake tears to reinforce the mask she had created, hiding the anger still looming underneath. Turning over to the aides behind her, she gave a small nod.

The aides moved quickly and a small monument behind them was unveiled. It was a rushed job, but no one would ever know. Its main body was made of white marble, with a name inscribed on every surface. It was the cheapest option they could find. It had the people convinced the HPSC cared and kept the President's pocketbook safe. Yet the crowd seemed pleased with it. Throughout the crowd, the President could see dozens of saddened faces.

They wore the merch of fallen heroes, or of their deceased relatives. She could even spot the faces of heroes forced into retirement, the battle injuring them too gravely. Soon though, she spotted a new face in the crowd. A blonde almost skeletal man, one she would have barely recognized before. Even from this distance, she could see the fury behind his eyes, something she knew she was going to have to deal with.

So as the ceremony came to a close, the weakened figure of All Might walked up to the President, as the crowd began to filter away.

"All Might," she greeted him quietly. It still felt strange to look at what was once a mountain of a man, and now see this. She didn't know all the facts, All Might simply wouldn't share them, but the HPSC has lost a lot of capital the day he asked them for a favor. But that did little to stem his fury.

"Why wasn't I told of this?" All Might demanded, the anger clear in his words.

"There was no time, and taking any longer would have given the villains prep time," The President lied.

"I still could have helped." All Might countered, "I should have been there."

"It wouldn't have mattered, by the time you would have arrived, the mission would have been over." the President told him. And even then, they never wanted him there. The mission could only be done by the more… cannon-fodder heroes. The more famous and experienced ones might question what was going on. However, it seemed to convince All Might for the moment.

"Fine, but the next time something big is happening I better get a call." All Might told her, before walking off. It was a shame the HPSC still had yet to find a suitable replacement for the buffoon. Hawks's training was coming along well, but he couldn't replace All Might. The blonde was simply too caring. He was unable to comprehend the madness that kept society together. But somehow, she knew his time was coming to an end.

It worried the President; All Might was the only thing keeping this system stable. But as she watched him walk away, she felt her phone begin to ring in her pocket. Taking it out, she found Techno calling her.

"I hope I'm not intruding Madam President, but Representative Uchiyama is dead," Techno explained, leaving the President frozen in shock.

"How?" the President asked.

"We're not entirely sure, but we're checking his blood for traces of poison at the moment. It shouldn't take long for the reports to arrive." Techno explained. It did little to end the President's worries. This was the third representative killed in the span of a few days, and most importantly, the third death of a vice presidential candidate. There still was no clue as to why it was happening, but it was becoming far too frequent.

"Until I say otherwise, none of this information is to reach the press." She ordered. The last thing they needed after the Africa disaster, was the sudden deaths of top political figures making headlines.

"And assign the candidates more security. We need a replacement vice president, and we need one now."

"I will mam."

The sound of power tools echoed around Night Owl as he watched the yakuza members work away. To mask the noise the entire warehouse had been soundproofed, and the surrounding block had been bought out by the Ninth Circle. And this operation was now in full swing. They welded outdated L-90s onto cheap pickup trucks, and Type 96 grenade launchers on civilian helicopters.

Several 155mm howitzers were placed onto large trailers and disguised with semi-trucks, along with MLRS launchers. Komatsu LAVS were modified and disguised as civilian vehicles, with the mounted machine guns hidden behind any number of objects. Kayaks, strapped-down boxes, mattresses, and objects that hid away the weapons. It was a glorious effort, one that had completely emptied the JSDF depot.

"I told you it would be worth it," Night Owl stated, turning over to his guest. Well, it would be more accurate to say host now, after all, Reaper was the one who brought him along. Reaper said nothing of course, instead inspecting the warehouse around him. Slowly he nodded though, as Night Owl let out a chuckle.

"By the way, are preparations coming along nicely?" Night Owl asked. To which Reaper yet again nodded, before snapping his fingers. In a flash, a new sight had been brought forward. With a segment of industrial cranes in the warehouse, the chassis of a train was moved in front of them. Its exterior fell away reviling a large segment of anti-ship missile launchers. To which Night Owl laughed in shock.

"Holy shit," he breathed between chuckles, "You truly spared no expense. To think I let you get the first pick."

While Night Owl couldn't see under Reaper's mask, he was sure the Yakuza leader was currently smirking. And Night Owl couldn't blame him. Oh, what fun he was going to have, it was only a shame he had to wait a bit longer. Still, no time like the present to prepare. Standing up, he walked over to a door leading out of the warehouse.

"Mind if I check with your men? I want to see how much work needs to be done." Night Owl asked to which Reaper silently nodded. With Reaper following him, the two walked out of the warehouse, and into a next-door apartment complex. Now it looked innocent on the outside, but the inside was completely different. Like the warehouse, it had been soundproofed and had been renovated extensively. Apartment walls were torn down for more space and were turned into armories, gun ranges, living quarters, and surveillance hubs with hundreds of cameras.

It was so easy to get away with too, it only took a little bit of bribing and the Ninth Circle having a guy with a pocket dimension quirk. They simply called him up and transported the arms with his quirk. And the HPSC didn't know a thing. When Night Owl entered the first apartment entrance, he found it connected to three other apartments. Inside a group of yakuza were inspecting the weapons they had been given.

Four of them were taking apart and cleaning the Type 20s or Type 89s they had been given. Two were firing MINIMIs or Type 62s at the gun range. And a final four were loading Remington 870 shotguns. Surprisingly enough the Remingtons were the only guns Night Owl had given the Ninth Circle. Everything else had been acquired from the JSDF depot. All of them looked over their weapons carefully, before they snapped their heads up to the sight of Reaper.

"Praise be to Reaper," they stated, clasping their arms against their chests and bowing. They only got back to work when Reaper raised his hand. Wordlessly Reaper looked at one yakuza member, who somehow knew what was being asked.

"Preparations go well. Two hundred men are ready for your call, Great Reaper."

Now with all his dealings with the Ninth Circle, Night Owl could best describe them, as a cult. They masqueraded as a yakuza, doing what one would expect a yakuza to do. But they held a revered loyalty to Reaper. One would suspect a quirk, what with how all the Ninth Circles members were so gung-ho to die for him. Except Reaper's quirk was Spectral Chains. A pair of ghostly purple translucent chains wrapped around his forearms.

Night Owl didn't really know what it was, but who was he to question his host's abilities. Maybe the entire group was made of nothing but edge lords, he couldn't tell. Still, a man with an assault rifle, was dangerous no matter how dumb they seemed. So, Night Owl watched as Reaper simply nodded, before the yakuza lined up at the firing range. Swiftly, they all set up targets and aimed.

They fired quickly, not stopping until every gun clicked empty. Once done Night Owl inspected the results. They were decent shots, not as well trained as a soldier, but good enough. Besides, they had plenty of time to prepare.

"You ready?" Snake asked as Midoriya checked over the last of his gear.

"Flashlight, MRE, night vision, 1911, M24, knife, Idroid…" Midoriya listed out loud, before turning over to Snake, "Yep!"

With a small smile, Snake watched as Pequod flew in close. The contract for the mission wasn't for another day, so Snake decided to take Midoriya on another trip. Something he was all too happy for. With DD standing beside him, and the door to the helicopter opening, Midoriya stepped inside. There he went up and sat in the copilot's seat, where Pequod looked at him.

"Hey, kid! How you been?" Pequod asked, ruffling Midoriya's hair. Midoriya simply smiled before he saw DD resting on the chairs behind him. Snake, meanwhile, laid back on the farthermost spot after closing the doors to the helicopter. Giving Pequod confirmation, the pilot soon lifted the helicopter back off. All the while Take On Me echoed through the vehicle's speakers. It gave Midoriya something to enjoy, aside from watching the waves clash below them.

Well, that and discussing quirks with Pequod.

"It still doesn't make sense though. How does an engine grow from a human body?" Pequod asked.

"I think it's due to the traces of iron already in the body," Midoriya replied, with his notebook in hand. He held it out displaying it to Pequod for a moment.

"Over the years it started as a metal quirk, but it changed when it was passed down, becoming more complex."

"But where does the fuel come from… actually never mind I think I can guess," Pequod commented, looking away from the notebook. The pilot didn't think he would ever understand quirks, and he was being proven right day by day.

"It might depend on the engine." Midoriya told him, "Some could possibly be an electric engine, using the body's natural electricity to power it."

As the words left his mouth he began to think deeper on the topic, turning to a different page in his notebook.

"By that line of logic, it would make it a combination quirk. Both a mechanical mutation along with an electrical type of quirk. If it's electric though maybe it could power other things, but to what extent. If it was powerful enough, could it be used for a car? It might be able to if correctly applied. It could do good in hero work, maybe acting as an emergency generator for buildings or vehicles." Midoriya rambled on, not realizing he had entered a long mumble spree. Pequod, however, did not snap him out of it. Cautiously looking at Midoriya he decided to see how long he would be stuck in his head.

"It could also be a radioactive quirk if the engine was instead nuclear powered, but would that immediately harmful rays as well? Then again nuclear reactors are normally large concrete structures, so it would be a very advanced engine quirk. Maybe it could be replicated elsewhere…" It was then that Midoriya looked up from his notes and found Pequod resting back in his chair. Looking out the window, he saw the helicopter had also landed.

"…Was I mumbling?" Midoriya asked.

"You were," Pequod replied calmly, as he lowered his helmet.

"For how long?"

"I'd say about five hours straight," Pequod answered to which Midoriya sheepishly chuckled. He turned over to Snake then, finding the man opening the helicopter's doors. Stretching for a quick moment, Midoriya stood up and walked over to him. Stepping out, he looked around at the wide mountainous terrain of Afghanistan. It was shocking how many times he had come here.

Soon enough though, they were off. Walking through the area Midoriya vigilantly watched the area. He saw DD do the same, the dog also sniffing the ground. Quietly Midoriya called out to Snake.

"What are we looking for again?" Midoriya asked before Snake had them come to a halt. They were perched on a small rock face, looking down at two bears on the bottom of the slope.

"Asiatic black bears," Snake replied, pointing at the creatures. He then crouched down, putting his rifle into position, with Midoriya doing the same.

"You aim for the left, I'll aim for the right," Snake told him. Midoriya silently nodded, before looking through the scope of his M24. Lining it up, he waited for a moment before pulling the trigger. The tranquilizer round knocked the bear out instantly, with Snake soon doing the same.

"Good job," Snake complimented patting Midoriya on the back. Seeing that no other animals were nearby, the two walked up to the unconscious bears. Midoriya watched as Snake carefully fastened the bears to the fultons, before watching as they drifted away. With two down, they both went back to searching the area.

Chapter 37: A Trip Up a Tower

"So, this the place?" Nagant asked, stepping out of a black SUV. Even from three blocks away, the building was still noticeable. It loomed over everything nearby, its presence acting as some great symbol of despair. It was ironic, as the logo situated on the building suggested a more pleasant purpose.

"It is," Snake replied, carefully looking around the city streets. They had been dropped off on the outskirts of Poland, where a small group of heroes provided them a car. It had been a long drive over, but the mission had only just begun. It was late at night luckily, so the majority of the streets were clear. But that meant they stuck out like a sore thumb. Finding the area clear, he walked over to the rear of the SUV.

Opening the door, he pulled out two large guitar cases. With them in hand, he walked back over to Nagant and handed her one. Then with one last check of his surroundings, he pulled out his Idroid.

"We know what's in there?" Nagant asked, briefly inspecting the guitar case. Finding it satisfactory she slung it around her shoulder, as Snake pulled up a map.

"No," Snake replied, watching as the Idroid's hologram built up the floor plan of the building. Fifteen floors with hundreds of rooms and no information as to just how many people were inside. This was going to take a while. So, after a brief few seconds going over the building's blueprints, Snake turned over to Nagant.

"There's a small apartment complex in front of the building. I want you to take a position on it." Snake ordered, pointing off to the complex's location.

"Got it Boss," was Nagant's only reply, before walking off toward her location. Snake soon did the same, walking towards the large skyscraper. The closer he got, the more of an enigma the building seemed. It was both clean and orderly but also dirty and chaotic. Large parts of its walls had paint peeling and cracking, yet the layer underneath held a pristine condition.

It seemed both abandoned and occupied. Coming up to the main building's entrance, he eyed the main lobby through the windows. It was empty for the most part, with most of the lights turned off, but a lone security guard sat at the receptionist's desk. Behind him rested a pair of elevators, with the doors closed. After a quick look, Snake kept walking, moving towards a nearby alleyway.

Turning into the alley he opened the guitar case and pulled out the parts of his M4. Putting it together he then grabbed the rest of his equipment. He had his knife, pistol, flashbangs, zip ties, and of course, a collapsible cardboard box. With everything ready, he peeked out of the alleyway just as Nagant called over the codec.

"I'm in position," she began, "by the looks of it the second and third floors are pretty empty. But I can't be sure, so expect one maybe two guards, tops."

"Got it," Snake replied before turning back into the alley. From what he saw of the floor plans, the building has a backdoor in the alleyway. Sure enough, he found it, resting far off in the back. Its only defense was a broken security camera, hanging desperately on its wires. Sneaking up to the door, Snake inspected it carefully. Finding nothing to suggest it was connected to an alarm, he opened the door slowly.

Inside led to a large stairway with another door connecting to the lobby he saw. He then approached the second door and opened it as well, finding the large lobby. He thought the floor plans had been wrong at first, as they showed the entire first floor as one massive lobby. And he thought so when he peeked through the window. But looking out now he saw just how big the lobby was. The walls had been painted in a way that made the entire place look smaller than it actually was.

Not to mention a series of fake doors that went nowhere and only posed as a distraction. The entire floor was nothing but a massive lobby. But that didn't make sense. It was purposefully wasting space to hide nothing unless something was missing. Moving slowly Snake left the stairwell, drawing his pistol carefully. He approached the security guard undetected, the man lounging back in the receptionist's chair.

With one shot the guard fell unconscious, the tranquilizer acting almost immediately. With the only threat dealt with Snake continued to look around the room. Starting with the desk he found documents laid about sloppily. It was all unorganized and reeked of coffee. None of the documents held anything valuable though, all were just leftover mail from several sources. Although, one did get Snake's attention.

It was a letter from a Russian railway company, dated back a week ago. Its main contents were discussing a package that had been shipped off to Siberia, listed only as a Polish Artifact. That was telling enough, but Snake still held it with a grain of salt. It was convenient, far too convenient. Still, he had his Idroid scan the document over before hearing the elevator behind him ding. Swiftly he leapt over the receptionist's desk, before ducking behind it. The elevator door then opened with people talking inside.

"So, you're sure you have everything secured?" a guard asked as the two stepped out of the elevator. They both only gave the unconscious guard a single glance, and simply assumed he'd fallen asleep.

"For the last time, yes." the second guard answered tiredly. Both had been walking towards the exit now, preparing to leave the building. Snake decided that wasn't going to happen, as he pressed a button on his Idroid. It silently alerted Nagant who was now taking aim at the lobby.

"Just checking. You know how the Boss is." the first guard replied.

"I'll say, I swear something has to be wrong with the man." the second one stated.

"We traffic women and children on the daily, I don't think we have the right to speak."

"I'm saying he's more deranged dumbass. I mean what does he even do with them? With how much we're getting paid it's got to be something big." the second guard began, "Besides, something just feels… off about him. Like he isn't there when you're talking to him."

"That's just crazy talk." the first counter as he grabbed the door handle. The second guard only sighed and shook his head in response.

"I don't know what to tell you, but something just isn't right."

They then opened the door, before the first one fell unconscious. The second guard looked on confused as his buddy collapsed.

"What the…" was all he could mutter before checking over his ally, "Hey, you good?"

He didn't notice Snake rapidly approaching him. In a quick few seconds, Snake held up his pistol, before speaking.

"Hands in the air," he ordered the guard slowly doing so. But as he moved Snake spotted the guard's arm slowly change shape. Realizing what was happening, Snake grabbed the guard's arm, before covering the guard's mouth. In a split few seconds, he shoved the guard's arm down and stuck out his knee. The guard's arm made contact and the bone snapped. The guard let out a small muffled cry, as Snake removed his hand from the guard's mouth.

"Y-you bastard!" was all the guard could manage. Wasting no time Snake returned the guard's attention to his pistol, before putting his boot on the guard's chest. Quickly the guard went pale.

"Where are the prisoners?" Snake demanded, slowly pushing his foot down.

"I don't know what you're talking about." the guard stammered out, attempting to ignore the pain in his arm. It was a weak-willed defiance, Snake noted, before bringing his gun over the guard's head.

"Answer the question, where are they?" Snake demanded again.

"Look, I really don't know what you're talking about. We're a production company we don't have prisoners." the guard replied to which Snake unholstered the guard's sidearm.

"We're going to try this one last time before I pull this trigger. Where are the prisoners?" Snake demands, now firmly planted on the guard's forehead. Panicked the guard stammers out "I don't know! They're not here! A couple of trucks arrived three hours ago and took them some place! That's all I know!"

Angry at the lack of information, Snake pulled the trigger, the tranquilizer round acting quickly. Though not too quickly, the guard was still conscious for a brief few seconds as he heard Snake pull the trigger. Dissatisfied Snake examined the room for hiding spots. Yet the floor was empty, not a piece of furniture in sight. So, Snake did the hard thing and carried the guards out to the alleyway and shoved them into a dumpster. He left the one at the receptionist's desk though, it would be suspicious if he had disappeared.

With the first floor cleared Snake went back inside and entered the stairwell. Looking up he sadly found the stairs only went to the fourteenth floor. So, he might have to risk using the elevator. That was for later though as Snake made his ascent up the stairs. All the while he kept his eyes on his surroundings. Reaching the second floor, he found it to be nothing but office space. It held dozens of small cubicles and as Nagant had reported, was essentially empty.

After a quick check of the floor, he found nothing to be out of the ordinary. It was just a basic workspace. So, he quickly went back and checked over the third floor. This one was also an office space; however, it wasn't as empty as the last one. Two guards sat in two cubicles lounging about. Both were mutants by the looks of it, as one was a sentient lamp and the other a brick-built Lego head.

From what Snake could hear the Lego head guard was playing something on a cubicle's computer while the lamp-headed guard fiddled with their pistol, an MP-443. Quietly Snake approached the two, pulling out his knife. With his knife in one hand and pistol in the other, he prepared to strike as the guards talked.

"Can't you take this seriously for one second?" the lamp-headed guard said, a slight glare somehow present on his face. The Lego-headed guard simply scoffed, both unaware of how close Snake had gotten.

"They don't pay me enough for that." the Lego-headed guard argued to which the Lamp-headed guard groaned in annoyance.

"They don't pay you enough 'cause you don't do shit! I've been here three weeks and all I've seen you do is fuck around with that computer." the Lamp guard countered before turning away from his ally. With the opportunity arriving Snake snuck up behind the Lego-headed guard and aimed his pistol at the back of his head.

"They want me off the computer then they can pay me more." the Lego head countered, with Snake shooting him as soon as he finished. His body leaned forward almost slamming into the desk, but Snake kept him in place.

"This is why I can't get a raise." the Lamp guard muttered, unaware of his ally's now unconsciousness. It wasn't for long though, as Snake holstered his pistol and yanked the guard out of his chair. Putting the guard into a chokehold Snake brandished his knife in front of the guard's throat, immediately stopping the guard's resistance. Hoping to get some new info Snake demanded "Where are the prisoners?"

The guard simply pondered his options for a moment, before noticing Snake's knife get closer to his neck.

"They were shipped out of here three hours ago. A couple of semis drove them off somewhere." the guard answered to which Snake became more annoyed. It was the same answer as the first guard, but at least he had a truck type.

"Where were they going?" Snake demanded.

"I don't know. Higher-ups don't tell us, only the drivers." the guard replied to which Snake grumbled annoyed.

"The trucks, what did they look like?"

"I didn't get a good enough look. I think one was a dark grey, with tinted windows. That's all I know." the guard replied, to which Snake brought the knife closer.

"Wait I'm serious! That's all I know!"

Finding the guard no longer useful, Snake choked him unconscious, before pondering his next move. He still had thirteen floors to check, but none of Showstopper's victims were there. Annoyed, Snake decided to press forward hoping to find any new information.

Miller was in a predicament. Going over the MSF's next move in Africa had been difficult too. Every choice had a dozen different factors and smaller choices they needed to consider. For example, they needed land for the refugees, both for food and resources but also for homes and strategic objectives. For example, there were large oilfields that the MSF didn't want in Militant hands. However, that meant giving up sections of vital farmland.

It was a complex ordeal that took every detail and number into account. This led to the ultimate question where do they go? They could try to capture a city to house everyone, but that meant abandoning even more land. Even worse that wasn't accounting for how long it would take, how many people already lived in the city, and how much abandoned ordinance they would have to clean up.

I mean World War I was centuries ago, and yet they were still digging up live artillery shells in France. They didn't need small children stumbling across abandoned landmines and getting curious. So, with a quick breath, Miller rubbed his eyes and looked at the officers assembled in front of him.

"Alright let's start simple gentlemen. Has anyone found a suitable location?" Miller asked. He had a few in mind, but second opinions never hurt. One officer nodded, bringing up a map on his Idroid.

"I believe I have sir; this is Mgbaba. A relatively small town with twenty-five thousand people. It's situated close to the coastline, so our naval forces should reach it quickly." the officer began, "And if reports are correct, it has a mix of resources we could use. Some small oil fields, a few rivers, farmland, and its infrastructure should hopefully be intact."

Miller didn't share the officer's hope. Africa had been at war for two hundred years after all, so its quality may be in the realm of "well it works" or "it needs some work". Still, they could work with that.

"What about enemy presence?" Miller asked, as a different officer stepped forward.

"From what we've gathered in the field the area should be relatively scarce, as the enemy has devolved into infighting between factions. Both sides have effectively whittled each other down drastically, however, I would still suggest caution."

Miller simply nodded at the officer's words. For now, Mgbaba seemed like their best option. Mentally Miller began counting up how much this was going to cost them, and the number didn't stop going up. This was going to be more expensive than the aircraft carrier and that thing had the MSF in the red for a long while.

"I want battle plans drawn up within the hour," Miller ordered, "And notify me the exact minute our naval forces make landfall."

"Yes sir."

It had been a while since Grizzly set foot on the FOB, and much had changed it seemed. Like with the first FOB and Mother Base, the entire place had been quickly built up. New residential platforms sat across the waves along with recreational platforms. It was a stark difference from when Grizzly had first arrived, back when it was only the military installations. Although he did have to wonder why everything was so spread out.

Every platform had massive walkways separating the platforms with several railcars for faster transportation. Now it made some sense, as some older soldiers told him of an incident involving another PMC. That the platforms were kept far apart to ensure if one fell it wouldn't take a second one with it. Still, it made walking around a bit annoying, especially after coming back from the field.

Everything felt sore, even after the medical team healed his arm. All in all, he just felt tired, both physically and mentally. So that left him with one question.

"Should I get Nigerian food, or should I try Sudanese?" he mused out loud, eyeing the two stands on the platform. He hadn't had it before, but it was either this or another stale MRE. That and the smell from both stands had drawn him there.

"Just pick something Rookie, the rest of us are hungry you know." Eagle commented, with the rest of the group nodding. Grizzly could only smile sheepishly before settling on something called Suya. Now for a reason Grizzly didn't understand, Ape had ordered the platoon to stick together for at least a week. Some had protested but the Lieutenant's word was final. At least it was only a week, Grizzly surmised before taking a bite out of his suya.

The moment he did so, he plunged himself into a coughing fit, his face red as he tasted the spices. The platoon simply chuckled as one man passed him something to drink.

"Can't handle the heat?" Eagle joked.

"I should have reread the menu," Grizzly gasped out, his taste buds no longer on fire. As if to spite him Eagle got suya as well and devoured it unfazed. His face didn't even change tints.

"How?" was Grizzly's only word as Eagle gave him a sly grin.

"I can handle spices Rookie, it's the weather that can fuck off." Eagle replied, before turning to look at a flatscreen TV. It caught Grizzly by surprise when he saw it, especially with the large crowd gathered around it. A soccer game played on its screen, but he didn't recognize the teams.

"This international?" Grizzly asked.

"Not sure," Eagle replied, "The away team seems to be Colombia, but I can't tell who the home team is."

"We're the home team," a different soldier commented, dragging their attention over to him.

"Us?" Eagle asked surprised, to which the soldier nodded.

"Yeah, it's a more recent thing. Apparently, it's a friendly game happening in the Venezuela FOB right now." the soldier answered to which Eagle let out a small chuckle.

"Well, it's a shame we're losing then."

"Ain't that a bit pessimistic," Grizzly countered, "Game still has an hour left Staff Sergeant."

"Really? Want to bet on it then?" Eagle asked, before pulling out a wad of cash. Grizzly didn't hesitate to oblige him, doing the same. He would come to regret this, as an hour later the Colombian team had won.

"Damn it," he muttered, forking over a pair of fifty-dollar bills. Shaking his head, he turned back over to the small park in the center of the platform. A bunch of kids were all running amuck all over the place, bringing a small smile across his face. Yet, something drew his eyes away, a young voice.

"Excuse me?"

He turned around, finding a little girl standing beside him. In her hands was a small doll, with button eyes and a stitched mouth. But nothing was defining about the kid. That's all they were, a kid. He couldn't make out what their face looked like, or what their race was. It just seemed foggy.

"What's up kid?" he asked, almost subconsciously, yet he barely heard his own voice. It echoed around him, yet he couldn't hear it. The kid looked up at him, he thought before she turned her head to the side. It unnerved Grizzly, but he couldn't tell why.

"Why didn't you help me?" the girl asked, small coughs lining the last word.

"What?"

"Why didn't you help me?" the girl asked again, now coughing in between every word. Pieces of her skin began flaking away as a smokey scent hit Grizzly's senses. The doll in her hands became fleshy and charred, the girl's hands disappearing into the doll. Shocked Grizzly stepped back, but he didn't seem to move. He looked down and found his feet moving but every step did nothing.

"Why didn't you help me?" the girl asked again, her skin now charred and gone. Barebone and muscle took its place, blackened and scorched. The smell of smoke got strong making it hard to breathe as Grizzly fought through it. His lungs seemed to fail him as he tried to breathe in. His eyes came back up from the ground before Grizzly stopped breathing. He couldn't, his brain wouldn't let him.

The face of the girl was recognizable now. How could he ever forget the charred corpse he found back in the radioactive zone. She was standing right in front of him, her head unable to support itself as it drooped forward. The thin lines of burnt muscle were the only thing holding it to the neck. He… he couldn't do anything. He never could do anything. He tried to step away from the corpse.

He tried to look away, but he couldn't. His eyes were fixated on the girl, examining her burns and exposed muscle. Grizzly just couldn't look away. He didn't realize it, but his hands started shaking. His entire body soon followed as he tried to wrench his eyes away. He wanted to run out of this burnt-out house. Run out of this charred village and forget about becoming a hero.

He couldn't deal with this. He never thought this was what he would deal with as a hero. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this.

And just like that, it was over. He blinked, once, twice, a third time. Regaining his senses, he smelt the cool sea air around him. Slowly he remembered where he was, kind of. He wasn't at the park anymore, instead, he stood on one of the walkways overlooking the ocean. Did he walk out here? He couldn't remember. He gasped for air then, realizing he hadn't been breathing. Grizzly went over everything, confused, only to find a tired Eagle running up to him.

"Holy fuck," the staff sergeant wheezed out, clearly out of breath, "you are fast when you want to be Rookie. What the hell were you doing?"

Grizzly tried to respond but his voice came out as a hoarse cough, so he decided on a small shrug. It left Eagle shocked for a moment before the staff sergeant had Grizzly sit down. With a somber look on his face, Eagle sat down next to him. They didn't speak, not yet. Eagle simply waited for Grizzly to go. Reluctantly, Grizzly spoke up.

"What uh, what happened?" he asked nervously, not sure what he had done in the last… however long it had been. Eagle seemed like he had been running for a while after all. Somberly though Eagle answered him.

"Well, you turned away to look around, before staring at the park for a few minutes. Then you stood up and started running. I chased after you for a few moments, before I found you here." Eagle explained. A small silence hung between the two, as Grizzly brought his hands to his face.

"You want to talk about it?" Eagle asked. He was the only one who understood Ape's reasoning. The two had been in similar circumstances after Venezuela. And it helped. Grizzly didn't know though, he wanted to say he was fine. It was a hallucination nothing more, he tried to reason. But his eyes disagreed with him, as he felt something wet stream down his face.

"Damn it," was all he could mutter. He tried to keep a strong face, to remain unfazed, to remain calm. But he couldn't. So, he wept, as quietly as he could. Eagle said nothing. No judgment, no condescending or disappointing tone. He just sat there, staying with him. Slowly he stopped, wiping his face with his hands.

"I thought I could do this." he muttered, his hands now shaking.

"We all did Rookie," Eagle replied, "we all did."