Past Sins of the Houston's Part 1

It then shows Houston walking ahead with Ark, Hina, Terrence, and Fuka following close behind. After escaping the compound that Houston had infiltrated, the four had decided to follow him, wanting to uncover the truth about what was really happening within the League. However, their curiosity had nearly cost them their lives when they were captured, only to be saved by Houston. During the escape, Houston had fought and killed one of the supposed League officials, a heavily armored Juggernaut wielding a live minigun.

Ark glanced at Houston's back but remained silent, fully aware of how angry—or at the very least, frustrated—he must be after they had almost gotten themselves hurt or killed.

"You think Commander Houston is mad?" Hina asked cautiously.

"Well... since he's been giving us the silent treatment, then yes, I'd say he is," Ark replied as they kept moving.

"He never liked the idea of us following him in the first place," Terrence added.

"...Commander Houston, we're sorry that we—" Fuka began, but Houston interrupted before she could finish.

"Not the moment to talk. Just keep moving," Houston said curtly, his tone firm. He didn't turn back to face the group and continued walking.

The group continued walking through the dense forest, the soft crunch of leaves beneath their feet the only sound for a while. The tension in the air was palpable, and the four couldn't help but cast worried glances at each other.

Hina broke the silence first, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think he's going to report us when we get back to Hoja City?"

Ark shrugged, his expression uneasy. "Maybe. I mean, we disobeyed orders, went into a restricted operation, and nearly got killed. That's not exactly a good track record."

Terrence sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "He's not the type to sugarcoat things either. If he does report us, it's not gonna be pretty."

Fuka frowned, her steps faltering for a moment before she hurried to keep up. "But we had good intentions! We just wanted to know the truth about the League and what's really going on."

"Good intentions don't mean squat when it comes to disobeying a superior's orders," Ark muttered. "Especially with someone like Commander Houston. You saw what he did back there—how focused and ruthless he was. I'd bet anything he's furious at us, even if he's too composed to show it."

Hina bit her lip nervously. "But he saved us... doesn't that mean something? He could've left us behind after what we did, but he didn't."

"Doesn't mean he's happy about it," Terrence pointed out. "The guy's like a storm—you can feel it building up even when it's quiet."

Fuka looked at Houston's broad back ahead of them, her voice soft with worry. "Do you think he'll forgive us?"

The group fell silent for a moment, the weight of her question sinking in. Ark eventually sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know. But I do know one thing—when we get back to Hoja City, we're going to have to face whatever punishment he decides. And I'm not looking forward to it."

As they trudged on, Houston's unyielding silence only deepened their anxiety, each of them left to wonder what awaited them once they returned.

After a few days had passed since Montana, Saunders, Grand Lake, and Red's Able Company from Davy Crockett had departed Hoja City, the scene shifts to Houston and the others. After nearly a week of walking and camping through rugged terrain, they finally made it back to the city's outskirts.

As they approached, the Rangers of Davy Crockett patrolling the perimeter immediately took notice of Houston. Many of the Rangers who spotted him stopped what they were doing, straightened their posture, and saluted with sharp precision.

"Boss!" one of the Rangers called out.

"Welcome home, Boss!" another chimed in.

Houston, maintaining his usual composed demeanor, didn't say a word. Instead, he gave a casual wave, signaling for them to return to their duties. "At ease," he muttered as he continued walking past them.

Ark, Terrence, Fuka, and Hina followed closely behind him, each of them exchanging curious glances. It was clear they were surprised at the reverence the Rangers showed Houston.

"Man... they really respect him, huh?" Terrence whispered to Ark, his tone equal parts impressed and uncertain.

"No kidding," Ark replied, his eyes darting to yet another group of Rangers saluting as Houston walked by.

Hina couldn't help but speak up, her voice hushed but filled with awe. "I didn't realize just how much Commander Houston means to them. It's like he's a legend or something."

"He's not just their leader," Fuka added quietly. "He's their 'Boss.' That's more than just a title—it's trust, loyalty, and maybe even fear, all rolled into one."

Each time they passed a group of Rangers, the scene repeated. Salutes snapped up, voices called out greetings, and Houston either waved them off with his hand or returned the salute briefly before continuing on.

The scene shifts to a medical tent where Maho sits beside Edward, watching as Ben, the head medic of Davy Crockett High School, cuts off Edward's leg cast. The air is filled with the sound of scissors snipping through the plaster, and Edward winces slightly but doesn't complain.

"You've gotten lucky this time, Edward," Maho said with a faint smile, arms crossed as she leaned back in her chair. "Next time, maybe don't try to show off in front of everyone."

Edward chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, yeah. Lesson learned. But hey, at least I managed to score a few laughs before I hit the ground."

Maho shook her head, a mix of amusement and exasperation on her face. "You're incorrigible."

As Ben finished removing the cast, he tossed the remains into a bin with a grunt. His bloodshot eyes were framed by heavy bags, evidence of many sleepless nights tending to injured or sick students. Straightening up, he popped a pill into his mouth, swallowing it dry before loudly clearing his throat, drawing both Maho and Edward's attention.

"Alright, lovebirds," Ben said in a gravelly voice, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You can take your sweet little reunion elsewhere. This is a medical tent, not a social club."

Edward blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, we're not—"

"Save it," Ben interrupted, pointing dramatically at the exit. "Out. Both of you. I've got more patients coming in thanks to people who think jumping off tanks or wrestling with machinery is a good idea. Apparently, common sense is a rare commodity around here."

Maho raised an eyebrow, standing up slowly. "You don't have to be so rude, Ben. Maybe you need some rest."

"Oh, thanks, Commander Obvious," Ben retorted, rubbing his temple. "Rest would be great if I didn't have to spend every waking minute patching up boys and girls who think they're invincible. You want to help? Tell your team to stop doing dumb things."

Edward chuckled nervously, standing up and testing his newly freed leg. "Point taken. We'll get out of your hair."

Ben pointed to the door again, his expression deadpan. "Door's that way. Don't trip on your way out, or I'll have to tape you back together, and I'm fresh out of patience."

As Maho and Edward exchanged amused glances and made their way to the exit, Ben muttered under his breath, returning to his paperwork. "What I wouldn't give for one quiet day..."

After leaving Ben's medical tent, Maho and Edward made their way back through the camp, heading toward the central meeting point where their allies from the League had gathered. The sounds of activity buzzed around them: troops moving supplies, vehicles being repaired, and guards keeping a watchful eye on the perimeter.

Maho glanced at Edward, her expression skeptical. "Do you really think it's wise to send Rivers and Kay with Graham and Houston's little brother to retake the lost cities?"

Edward shrugged, his tone pragmatic. "It's the best shot we've got. Houston's two-front attack plan gives us a chance to reclaim lost ground. With the League declaring Houston and his team traitors, it's smart to use them while we've got them. They know the League's strategies better than anyone."

Maho frowned, her arms crossed. "Maybe, but not everyone is thrilled about working with the League defectors. You've seen the tension—it's like a powder keg waiting to explode."

As they passed a group of North High School's Wehrmacht boys, they couldn't help but notice the glaring standoff between them and a group of boys from Virginia High. The two factions exchanged wary glances, their distrust evident.

"It's still a work in progress," Edward admitted, keeping his voice low. "Sooner or later, they'll warm up to each other. They have to—we're all on the same side now."

Maho's eyes narrowed as she looked back at the tense scene. "I hope you're right. Because if you're wrong, this alliance could collapse before we even have a chance to win."

Entering the war room, they found the commanders already deep in discussion. Wesley, wearing his red and yellow beret, stood next to his second-in-command, Colton. His English accent rang out as he made his case to the group.

"I'm telling you, mates, Homedale is the next target. Elijah and I were planning this long before we were on your side. It's only a matter of time before the League's officials—or those boys who betrayed us—make their move."

Davis leaned over the map, skepticism in his voice. "How do you know they'll attack Homedale? They could fake it and hit somewhere else—probably go after our supply lines instead."

"They could try," Elijah interjected, his arms crossed confidently. "But they'd have to go deeper into our lines to disrupt them. My Comanche boys are guarding the key routes. If they want to take out our supplies, they'll face a serious fight."

Darjeeling, ever poised, rested a hand on the table as she spoke. "If that's true, how can you be certain Homedale is their primary target? What's your reasoning?"

Muller, clad in his Wehrmacht officer's uniform, stepped forward, his expression calm and calculated. With a measured hand, he moved the League's markers on the map, arranging them in a way that outlined potential attack routes and strategic choke points.

"It is simple," he said in his thick German accent. "If they attack Homedale, they will cut off any means of escape from the city. Once isolated, they will lay siege or launch a direct assault. Prisoners will be taken—or worse, none at all."

The room grew quiet for a moment as everyone considered Muller's assessment. Wesley finally broke the silence, tapping the map. "It's a risk, yes, but it's one we can't afford to ignore. If we fortify Homedale now, we might have a chance to stop them before they gain more ground."

The weight of the decision hung over the room, each commander deep in thought as they prepared for what could be the pivotal moment in their campaign.

As the discussion continued in the war room, Johnathon from Edison High School spoke up, his voice steady. "If Homedale is as critical as you say, then count Edison High in. My team and I will join Muller's effort to defend it."

Muller nodded approvingly. "Your expertise will be invaluable, Johnathon. I am glad to have you on board."

From across the table, Miho Nishizumi raised her hand slightly. "I'd like to join the effort as well. My team has experience in defensive maneuvers and counterattacks. We could provide critical support."

Muller paused, his piercing gaze locking with Miho's. After a moment, he inclined his head. "Very well, Commander Nishizumi. Your help will be appreciated."

As the planning continued, the atmosphere grew more focused, with ideas and strategies being drawn up on the map. It was then that Edward and Maho entered the war room, the Marshal Commanders of the Association and Federation High Joint Forces making their presence known.

The gathered commanders turned their attention to them, acknowledging their arrival. Edward immediately began reviewing the drawn-up plans, nodding in approval. "It's a sound strategy. The counterattack and defense layout should give us a solid chance of regaining control. I support this."

Before the conversation could proceed further, the heavy sound of boots echoed in the room. The door swung open, and Houston entered. Still clad in his OctoCamo suit from his infiltration mission, his appearance immediately drew all eyes. The tension in the room became palpable.

Houston walked directly up to Edward, his expression unreadable—until he suddenly threw a punch that connected with Edward's jaw, sending him stumbling back. Gasps erupted around the room as the commanders froze in shock.

"What the hell?" Davis shouted, rushing forward with Johnathon to restrain Edward while Muller grabbed Houston, holding him back.

"Get off me, Muller!" Houston roared, his voice trembling with anger. "You sent them after me!"

Edward wiped blood from his lip, his expression a mix of anger and guilt. "I did what I thought was right!"

"Right?!" Houston spat, struggling against Muller's grip. "You sent Ark, Terrance, Fuka, and Hina to follow me behind enemy lines! They almost got themselves killed!"

Edward bristled but remained steady. "We were worried about you, Houston! I wasn't going to leave us blind to what you were doing."

Houston's eyes burned with fury. "They're not soldiers, Edward! They're kids playing in a warzone! You don't send people into a mission like that unless they're ready for the consequences—and they weren't!"

The room fell silent as the weight of Houston's words hung heavy. Muller tightened his grip on Houston's shoulder. "Calm yourself, Houston. Anger will not solve this."

Edward took a step forward, his tone firm but softened. "I made a mistake. I thought they could help. I didn't think—"

"You didn't think at all," Houston snapped, his voice lower but no less sharp. He yanked his arm free of Muller's grasp and stepped back, breathing hard. "Next time you want to make a call like that, you damn well better think twice. Because if it happens again, I won't just be punching you."

Maho stepped forward, her voice steady and commanding. "Enough. We have bigger issues to address than personal grievances. Houston, Edward—resolve this later. For now, we need focus. Every second we waste here gives the League an advantage."

As Houston walked away without saying a word, Maho sighed heavily, watching his retreating figure. The others in the room began to disperse, leaving only Maho and Edward alone. She turned to check on him, concern evident in her voice.

"You okay?" Maho asked, noticing Edward rubbing the area where Houston's punch had landed.

"Yeah... just didn't expect Houston's punch to be that hard," Edward replied, still massaging his cheek.

"Well, he didn't break anything on your face, so I'd say you're fine," Maho said with a small smirk.

"That's a relief, hearing that from you," Edward said with a wry chuckle.

The tension eased as the two began sharing a quiet moment together. Their conversation softened, their words turning personal. Outside the room, Houston stood hidden behind the door, unintentionally overhearing them.

As their voices turned intimate, he heard the unmistakable sounds of kissing and murmurs of excitement about their future. They spoke of the child they were expecting—Maho was two months pregnant with Edward's child.

The warmth of their conversation cut deeper into Houston than he expected. It stirred memories of his own past, of a love he hadn't held in years. All he could remember now was Lisa—her smile, her voice, the feel of her hand in his. It had been three years since that time, back when they were freshmen. Before he became Commander of Davy Crockett, he had been Vice Commander at Vermont Tankery Academy.

The memory came rushing back.

Three Years Ago – The Day Before the Incident

Lisa stood with him under the warm afternoon light, the weight of their conversation making her hesitant. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his.

"Don... do you love me?" she asked, her voice soft but laced with an undertone of seriousness.

"What kind of question is that? Of course, I love you," Houston replied without hesitation, his expression firm.

Lisa hesitated again, her fingers tightening around his hand. "Would you still love me no matter what I told you? Or... what might happen to us?"

"Of course I will. What kind of question is that?" Houston asked, concern creeping into his voice as he studied her face.

Lisa offered a faint smile, though her eyes seemed to carry a distant sadness. Houston frowned, realizing there was more she wanted to say, but the moment slipped by as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

Later on the Dallas match had marked a turning point—a horrifying chapter that haunted Houston to this day. It was supposed to be a showcase of skill and strategy, but it turned into a nightmare. The first gunshot, piercing the silence and killing a young boy, ignited chaos, and the Dallas Incident began. For three weeks, the violence raged, and in the second week, Houston discovered the horrific truth: Lisa, the girl he loved, was being used as a pawn by her brother, Anderson.

Anderson had planted a bomb inside Lisa, a sickening betrayal of blood and trust. With the help of Ben, Houston managed to remove the device through a painful, harrowing surgery that tested everyone's resolve. But the relief was short-lived.

Lisa, with courage that Houston would never forget, tried to reason with her brother, begging him to stop. All she received in return was a knife to the stomach, a fatal betrayal. Houston, bound and forced to watch, screamed in anguish as Anderson plunged the blade into Lisa.

Breaking free of his restraints, Houston rushed to her side, holding her as her life slipped away. Her final words to him were soft and heartbreaking, a whisper of love and hope that he clung to. As she breathed her last, Houston cried out in rage, his voice echoing through the chaos:

"You're the bastard who's going to pay, ANDERSON! You KILLED the woman I loved! And for that, you're going to DIE!"

Back to the Present

The light rain fell steadily, cooling the air and dampening the earth as Houston walked alone, seeking solace. He found a small hill, far enough from the others, and sat down. The gentle patter of the rain mingled with his thoughts, bringing him a fleeting sense of peace.

Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a worn photo—a picture of Lisa smiling brightly, kissing him on the cheek as he grinned at the camera. It was a simple, joyful memory, yet it carried a weight that pressed heavily on his heart.

A single tear rolled down his cheek as he gazed at the photo, the pain of her loss as sharp as it had been years ago. She had shared her dreams with him, her hopes for a peaceful future, and now she was gone.

However the quiet moment was interrupted.

Something shifted in the air, a presence that Houston couldn't ignore. He quickly scanned the area, his instincts on high alert.

"Come to apologize for your sins, Houston?" a male voice called out, echoing eerily through the rain. "Because if you did, you're too late... way too late."

Houston's eyes darted around, trying to locate the source. "Who is it? Who's out there?" he demanded, his voice firm yet cautious.

The voice chuckled darkly. "I'm wondering what's more insulting: that you don't know who I am, or that you're such a damn coward to admit it."

Before Houston could pinpoint the voice, he was tackled to the ground. The two figures rolled through the wet grass, their struggle intense. The masked assailant landed two hard punches across Houston's face, each blow leaving a sting and drawing blood.

"How does it feel, huh?!" the masked figure taunted. "How does it feel knowing there's no one to help you? That you're going to die here, alone!"

Summoning his strength, Houston kicked the attacker off and scrambled to his feet. But before he could fully recover, another figure launched a brutal dropkick, sending him sprawling to the ground. Blood dripped from his mouth as he coughed, struggling to catch his breath.

The two masked figures stood over him, their presence menacing.

"Good job," the male said to the other, his tone smug. "We made that bastard bleed."

"Now we can kill him," the female replied, her voice cold and resolute. "Let's finish this!" Pulling out her knife.

The rain continued to fall as the masked boy and girl moved in for the kill. With knives in hand, they lunged at Houston, their strikes swift and deliberate. Each blow was narrowly avoided as Houston relied on his instincts and training, twisting and turning to evade their relentless attacks.

One of the blades whistled past his face, slicing a lock of hair. Another strike aimed for his ribs, but Houston deflected it with his forearm, enduring the sting of the impact. Seizing an opening, he grabbed the wrist of the boy and twisted it sharply, forcing the knife to clatter to the ground. A quick follow-up disarmed the girl, sending her blade skidding into the wet grass.

Despite his injuries, Houston wasn't ready to go down. As the two regrouped and charged at him once more, Houston reached into his gear and pulled out a flashbang grenade. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it at their feet.

BANG!

The blinding light and deafening sound disoriented the masked pair, causing them to stagger and shield their faces. Houston took the chance to make his escape, sprinting into the darkness of the rain-soaked night.

By the time the two assailants recovered, Houston was gone, the faint sound of his boots splashing through puddles disappearing into the distance.

The boy cursed under his breath, ripping off his mask in frustration. Shadows cloaked his face, but his voice dripped with bitterness.

"He got away," he muttered, his tone icy.

The girl glanced around cautiously, shaking the rain from her mask before speaking. "What do we do now? Should we keep after him?"

The boy shook his head, his jaw tight with suppressed anger. "No. Not tonight. We're too exposed, and he's already out of sight." He paused, his voice lowering. "We report back to Laughing Jester... or Kai. Either way, this isn't over. The next time we meet him, we'll finish this."

As the boy spoke, a crack of lightning illuminated the darkened sky, briefly casting his face into sharp relief. For a fleeting moment, his features became visible—an uncanny resemblance to Houston, down to the piercing gaze and sharp jawline.

The girl noticed the lightning flash and caught the eerie resemblance but said nothing. Instead, she turned and began walking, her knife retrieved and tucked away. "Let's move before anyone else shows up."

The boy followed, his fists clenched. The storm masked their retreat, but the brief glimpse of the boy's face left a lingering mystery, one tied inexorably to Houston and his past.

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