The Truth Lies/Past Sin's of the Houston's Final 

Shortly after the last chapter...

Houston moved cautiously, likely trying to escape, until he was tackled by the masked woman. The two tumbled to the ground, landing hard in an isolated area near Hoja.

As Houston slowly got to his feet, so did the masked girl. He looked at her and spoke.

"What do you want from me?" Houston asked, now standing.

"I want you to die—for the pain and suffering you've caused," the girl said coldly.

"What pain? What did I do to you that makes you want to kill me?" Houston asked, his voice laced with confusion.

"For what you did three years ago," she replied. "I know your family background, your tactics, and the fact that you have the decency to try and make things right."

"And what would that be?" Houston questioned.

"Let me kill you. Right here. Right now. It's the only way to protect the people you care about. Sooner or later, the Jester will hurt everyone close to you—especially the girl you're starting to care for, Edward's girl," the masked woman said with venom.

Houston remained silent, his gaze fixed on her and the pistol she was pointing at him.

"Well? Why don't you pull the trigger? What's stopping you?" Houston asked, his voice steady.

"Because you can disarm me anytime you want," she retorted. "The world fears you because of that codename... Big Boss. The Hero of the Dallas Incident. So, then... hero..."

She cocked the gun, training it squarely on him.

"Let's see if you're truly the hero who'll accept the sacrifice of your own life," the girl challenged.

Houston quickly looked around for a distraction. Spotting a loose rock nearby, he kicked it hard, sending it skidding noisily across the ground. The sound caught the masked woman's attention for just a moment—enough time for him to rush toward her, drawing his knife in one swift motion.

The two clashed violently, her pistol narrowly missing as he knocked her off balance. Their struggle was fierce, the glint of steel flashing in the dim light as blades and strikes collided. Houston's knife slashed through the air, narrowly missing her, while she countered with quick, precise movements, aiming to regain control of the fight.

After a brutal exchange of blows, the two finally broke apart, breathing heavily. She didn't hesitate—raising her pistol, she opened fire.

Houston dove for cover, instinctively pulling out his own pistol. Without wasting a moment, he returned fire, gripping both his pistol and knife in each hand. His shots were precise, forcing her to duck behind a nearby rock for cover.

Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted off the hard surfaces around them. Houston stayed low, his eyes sharp as he tracked her movements. Holding his pistol steady in one hand and his knife in the other, he moved strategically, circling to gain an advantage while keeping up the suppressive fire.

As the gunfire echoed through the isolated area, Houston managed to close the distance between them once more. His movements were calculated, precise. He feinted to the side, drawing her aim away before lunging forward. His knife slashed out, catching her arm and drawing blood. She hissed in pain, momentarily stunned, giving him the chance to drive his boot into her chest, sending her sprawling to the ground.

The masked woman struggled to get back up, but Houston was on her in an instant. They grappled fiercely, rolling across the dirt, each vying for the upper hand. In the chaos, Houston's hand shot out, grabbing the edge of her mask.

"Let's see who you really are!" Houston growled, yanking the mask free.

The moment he saw her face, he froze. His breath caught in his throat, and his knife slipped from his grasp, falling to the ground.

"No... it can't be," Houston whispered, his voice trembling. His eyes widened in shock as he stared at her.

The girl had the same short blonde hair, the same piercing blue eyes, and the same delicate features as... Lisa.

"You..." Houston stammered, his voice cracking. "You look just like her."

The girl's expression hardened as she used his moment of hesitation to deliver a swift kick to his chest, knocking him backward. She scrambled to her feet, clutching her injured arm.

The girl's eyes burned with emotion, but she said nothing more. Instead, she turned and fled into the shadows, disappearing into the dense foliage.

As Houston watched the girl disappear into the shadows, he stood there, frozen. Confusion clouded his mind as he struggled to process what had just happened. Why did she look so much like Lisa? His gaze drifted down to the blood smeared on his knife. He clenched it tightly, his jaw tightening.

"There's more to her... there has to be," he murmured to himself, the unanswered questions gnawing at him.

A few moments later

Back at the rendezvous point, Graham and the others returned. Edwards and the rest of the team were relieved to see Rivers and Kay safe and sound. However, their relief turned to shock when they noticed Red stumbling toward them, covered in blood.

At first, Red didn't seem to understand their stunned expressions. He paused, looking at their faces in confusion.

"What?" he asked, his tone nonchalant despite his battered appearance.

"Is that... um..." Miho began, her voice hesitant.

"It's that you're covered in blood! Jesus Christ, Red, what the hell happened?" Johnathon exclaimed, stepping forward in alarm.

"Oh, that?" Red glanced down at himself, almost as if noticing the extent of the blood for the first time. "Well... I can't really explain right now. But I need to see Ben and Samuel immediately."

Clutching his side where blood seeped through his shirt, Red turned and began limping away.

The group exchanged worried and puzzled looks.

"What the fuck was that?" Davis finally said, breaking the silence.

Rivers swallowed hard, his face pale. "Red... Red killed Victor and his gang. The ones who attacked us a month ago. It wasn't just a fight—it was... a massacre."

Kay, still rubbing her arm nervously, nodded. "Yeah. He... he cut off Victor's head with his sword. Right there in front of us." Her voice shook as she spoke, the memory clearly disturbing her.

The group fell silent, the weight of Rivers' and Kay's words hanging over them. Red's actions—and the brutal way he carried them out—left them unsettled.

"What's happening to us?" Miho whispered, her voice barely audible.

As Red disappeared into the distance, Rivers broke the uneasy silence. "I'm telling you, it wasn't just a fight. He didn't just beat them—he made sure Victor and his gang could never come back. It was brutal."

Darjeeling, standing nearby, frowned slightly, her usual composed demeanor faltering. "I don't condone unnecessary violence, but in certain situations... extreme measures may feel justified. However, such actions can also weigh heavily on the soul."

"Weight or not, what he did is horrifying," Miho said softly, her expression conflicted. "I understand the need to protect people, but to go that far..." She trailed off, glancing at Kay.

Kay rubbed her temple, clearly distressed. "I was there, Miho. I saw it happen. And I can't stop replaying it in my head. Red wasn't just fighting for us—he was fighting like he had nothing left to lose."

"Nothing left to lose?" Katyusha asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head. "That's ridiculous. He's got friends, family—what could make him act like that?"

"Maybe it's not about what he has now," Maho said, her voice sharp. "It's about what he's already lost. Red's not like us. He's been through things we can't even imagine. That kind of trauma changes people."

Darjeeling nodded in agreement. "Precisely. It's not about condoning or condemning. It's about understanding the burden he carries. Still, such unchecked anger... it can be dangerous, not only to others but also to himself."

Meanwhile, the boys stood a short distance away, their discussion taking on a different tone.

"I don't like this," Davis muttered, pacing back and forth. "We've already got enough to worry about with the Jester showing up everywhere. Now Red's out here going full Rambo on people? What's next?"

"Rivers," Johnathon said, turning to him, "you were there. Did it look like he was out of control? Like he wasn't himself?"

Rivers shook his head. "No. That's the scariest part. He knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't crazed—he was calculated. Like he planned to make an example out of Victor and his gang."

Edward, who had been silently listening, finally spoke up, his tone grim. "This isn't just about Red. This is about the bigger picture. If Red's willing to go that far, what's going to happen when the Jester shows up again? We've been lucky so far, but luck won't last forever."

"You think this is connected to the Jester?" Davis asked, raising an eyebrow.

Edward nodded. "Think about it. The Jester's not just some random threat. He—or they—are a destabilizing force. And that's what they want: chaos. Red snapping like this? It's exactly the kind of thing the Jester would exploit. They thrive on breaking people, making them question everything they stand for. If Red's already walking that line, it's just a matter of time before the Jester pushes him—or someone else—over the edge."

The group fell silent, the weight of Edward's words settling over them.

At the Medical Building

"Maho has these conditions?!" Ben exclaimed, scanning the medical report in disbelief. His brow furrowed as he flipped through the pages. Across from him, Samuel sat calmly at his desk, his hands clasped.

"Yes," Samuel replied evenly. "Something you haven't encountered before?"

Ben shook his head, still processing. "Nausea and hyperventilation, sure—I've handled patients with those symptoms before. But destabilization of her entire body? That's serious. What the hell could've caused this?"

Samuel leaned back slightly, his tone measured. "During our match against the Japanese, we captured Commander Akari. Edward came to me afterward and explained how Akari managed to provoke Maho into having an anxiety attack."

"An anxiety attack?" Ben echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Just from something Akari said?"

"At the time, yes," Samuel confirmed.

Ben sighed, closing the file with a snap. "Well, lucky for you, that's relatively easy to handle compared to what I've dealt with."

Samuel gave him a curious glance. "Easy to handle? And what would you consider difficult, then?"

Ben's face darkened, and he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a grim tone. "Three years ago... during the Dallas incident. I was working as a field medic. One of my colleagues brought me a patient—young girl, late teens. She'd recently undergone stitches, courtesy of Anderson. They told me something was wrong, that she'd been rigged."

"Rigged?" Samuel asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

Ben nodded, the memory clearly haunting him. "We didn't have time to put her under anesthesia to dull the pain. I had to reopen her stitches—no painkillers, no prep. And when I did..." He paused, swallowing hard. "I found two bombs inside her body. One in her stomach. The other..." He hesitated, then forced the words out. "The other was in her womb."

Samuel sat up straighter, his calm demeanor cracking slightly. "In her womb?"

Ben nodded again, his gaze distant. "Anderson rigged her like a walking time bomb. Every second I worked on her was a gamble. If I made the wrong move, she'd die, and so would everyone around her. I got them out... but she did make it. But shortly after that she later died"

Silence hung heavy in the room as the weight of Ben's words settled between them.

Samuel finally spoke, his tone somber. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. And I hope to God we never see anything like it again."

Ben leaned back, letting out a slow, shaky breath. "So do I, Samuel. So do I."

The door to the medical room swung open, and in walked Houston, his face set in a grim expression. Ben looked up from his desk, already letting out a sigh.

"Commander," Ben said, his tone weary. "Don't tell me you're injured again."

Houston raised a hand, stopping Ben mid-grumble. "Relax, Doc. I'm not hurt. I need your help with something else."

Ben narrowed his eyes suspiciously as Houston pulled out a bloodied knife, placing it carefully on the nearest table. "I need you to run a DNA test on this blood—and match it to mine," Houston said, his voice steady but his gaze intense.

Ben groaned, rubbing his temples. "Great. Of course. And to do that, I'll need your blood."

Houston, without missing a beat, pulled out a second knife and made a quick cut on his forearm.

"Goddammit, Houston!" Ben shouted, leaping to his feet. "Not on the floor! Are you trying to turn my med bay into a crime scene?"

Houston smirked faintly, unfazed. "You needed blood. I was just saving time."

Ben grabbed a clean cloth, pressing it against Houston's wound. "Saving time? More like giving me a heart attack. Sit down and stop bleeding all over my workspace!"

As Ben was finishing his tirade, the door opened again, and Red stepped inside, his shirt streaked with dried blood and his posture slightly hunched.

"Oh, this a bad time?" Red asked casually, his gaze darting between Ben and Houston.

Ben's eye twitched, his patience visibly fraying. He took a deep breath, muttering something under his breath before shoving the knife into Samuel's hands. "Here. You run the DNA test before I lose my mind completely."

Samuel nodded calmly, stepping aside to start the process. Meanwhile, Ben turned his attention to Red.

"Alright, Red, let's deal with you now," Ben said, ushering him to the examination table. "First off, you need a shower. And second, you're bleeding through your damn shirt—again."

"Fine, fine," Red muttered, pulling off his jacket as he shuffled toward the small adjacent shower stall.

As Red stepped away, Ben turned to Houston, still holding the cloth against his self-inflicted wound. "And you," Ben said, jabbing a finger at him, "stay put. I'll patch that up after I'm done with Mr. Bleeds Everywhere."

Houston simply leaned back against the wall, his smirk returning. "Take your time, Doc."

Ben muttered something unintelligible, turning his focus to Red's injuries, while Samuel quietly worked on analyzing the blood sample. The tension in the room hung thick, but it was clear to all present: something bigger was brewing, and this was only the beginning.

As Ben finished stitching Red's stomach wound, he wiped his hands clean and patted Red's shoulder. "You're all set for now. Don't go ripping those stitches open again, or I'll use duct tape next time," he muttered before moving to assist Samuel with the DNA analysis.

Red, now cleaned up and bandaged, slumped into the chair beside his older brother, Houston. He glanced at him, his expression grim. "It's done," Red started.

Houston tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing. "What's done?"

"Victor. He's dead," Red said, his voice low and flat. "I didn't want to, but I didn't have a choice."

Houston's expression darkened as he studied his younger brother. "You didn't have a choice?" he repeated, his tone skeptical.

Red leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his voice tightening. "You know what it's like, Don. We were trained to kill. That's what we do, and when it comes down to it, sometimes it's them or us. Victor wasn't going to stop. He was going to hurt more people."

Houston sighed, sitting back and crossing his arms. "We were trained killers, yeah," he admitted, his voice carrying a weight of resignation. "But that doesn't mean we're monsters. We're human, Red. And sometimes being human means carrying the weight of what we've done... even when we think we've left it behind."

Red nodded slowly, his eyes downcast. "Guess it's just hard to believe we can ever leave it behind."

Before Houston could respond, a soft chime from the nearby computer drew their attention. Samuel leaned in, eyes narrowing at the screen. "The DNA download is complete," he announced, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

Ben joined Samuel at the workstation, peering over his shoulder. The computer displayed a series of genetic markers and a flashing result. Ben's brow furrowed as he leaned in closer, his eyes widening slightly as he processed the result.

"No match to Houston," Samuel murmured, clicking through the details.

"But it's a match to someone else," Ben said, his voice taut. He tapped the screen, a name highlighted in bold letters. "Lisa."

Samuel turned to him, confused. "Who's Lisa?"

Ben exhaled slowly, leaning back. "Lisa was a patient of mine three years ago during the Dallas Incident," he began, his voice somber. "She was... rigged. Anderson had her stitched up, and I had to remove two bombs from her—one in her stomach, the other in her womb."

Samuel's expression remained neutral, though his eyes reflected quiet shock. "And now this?"

Ben nodded grimly and hit another key, initiating a secondary scan. "I'm running a cross-check. If Lisa's DNA is showing up here, there has to be a second match—something or someone else to explain this."

A few moments passed in tense silence as the secondary scan ran. Finally, a notification popped up. Ben clicked it, his eyes narrowing as he studied the results. "Got it," he said, printing the report.

He turned to Houston, holding up the sheet. "Don, we've got a problem," he said, his voice heavy. "It's Lisa's DNA, yes, but it's also a partial match to another individual—this girl might be..." He paused, searching for the right words.

Houston's jaw clenched as he stood up, taking the paper from Ben's hands. "Might be what?" he asked, his voice sharp.

"Her daughter," Ben said finally.

Houston stared at the report, his mind racing. The memories of Lisa—the Dallas Incident, her pain, her sacrifice—all came flooding back. His hand tightened on the paper as he muttered under his breath, "What the hell is going on here?"

Red, noticing Houston's distant expression as he stared at the DNA report, frowned. "Don, what's going on? Why does this have you all worked up?"

Houston set the paper down on the nearby table and ran a hand through his hair, the weight of the situation pressing on him. "I encountered a masked figure earlier tonight," he began, his voice steady but tense. "Two of them, actually—a boy and a girl. They ambushed me when I was alone. I managed to separate the two before I escaped, but..."

He trailed off, his gaze hardening as he recounted the fight in his mind. "The girl... she fought me hard, Red. And when I managed to get her mask off, I saw her face. She looks like Lisa. Same hair, same eyes, same face. It doesn't make sense."

Red's brow furrowed deeply as he processed this. "Lisa?" he asked cautiously. "You mean that Lisa?"

Houston nodded, his jaw tightening. "Yeah, that Lisa."

Red sank back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. "That's... a hell of a coincidence," he muttered. But then he shook his head. "But Don, it doesn't add up. You saw the DNA results. There's no match between you and this girl. It's impossible for her to be your kid."

Houston crossed his arms, his gaze distant. "I know that," he said quietly.

Red studied his brother, sensing there was more to this. "Then what's the deal? You and Lisa... I mean, you two never—"

"No," Houston cut him off, his tone firm. "We never... It wasn't like that. Lisa and I never crossed that line."

Red leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Then how the hell could this girl exist? You sure there's not another explanation?"

Houston's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "The only explanation," he said through gritted teeth, "is that Lisa must've been with someone else. But that doesn't make sense, Red. Lisa and I... we loved each other. She wouldn't do that. She couldn't."

Red leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe there's more to this than we know," he suggested. "This doesn't mean she cheated, Don. Maybe she had a past you didn't know about or..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "... maybe something happened to her that neither of us could've predicted."

Houston's face darkened as he considered the possibility. "Lisa never talked about anyone else. Not before, not during, not after the Dallas incident," he said, his voice low. "But if this girl isn't mine... and she's Lisa's... then who the hell is the father? And what does that boy have to do with all of this?"

Ben and Samuel, still seated at the computer, exchanged a glance. Ben cleared his throat. "Don," he said carefully, "there's no definitive way to know unless we dig deeper. If you want, I can try running a broader search on the girl's DNA—see if it matches with anyone else in the system. It might take some time, though."

Houston nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Do it," he said firmly. "And run the boy's DNA, too. If they're connected to Lisa, I need to know how."

Ben nodded and got to work, while Red reached out and gripped Houston's shoulder. "Whatever this is, Don," Red said, his voice steady, "we'll figure it out. But you've got to keep your head in the game. Don't let this mess with you."

Houston looked at his brother, his expression softening slightly. "I know, Red," he said quietly. "But seeing her face... it's like seeing a ghost. And ghosts don't just show up without a reason."

Red nodded, understanding the weight of what Houston was feeling. But deep down, even he couldn't shake the eerie feeling that this was only the beginning of something much bigger.

Chicago, Illinois
November 28, 2XXX

The dimly lit bar smelled of stale beer and smoke, a far cry from the polished offices and military bases Doyal Houston and Alex McKenzie once frequented. Both men now sat inconspicuously in a corner booth, dressed in civilian clothing that did little to conceal their commanding presences. Doyal swirled a glass of whiskey, his expression hard and distant, while McKenzie sat across from him, studying a faded photograph.

The photo was black-and-white, taken during the Vietnam War. It showed a group of young soldiers and a Soviet scientist they had extracted from the jungles. Time had yellowed the edges, but the memories it carried remained sharp. McKenzie placed the photo on the table with a sigh.

"I still can't believe we pulled that off," McKenzie murmured, his voice low. "Feels like another life."

Doyal smirked faintly but didn't look up. "Another life is right. Now look at us—ghosts in our own country."

Before McKenzie could respond, the door to the bar creaked open, and an older man stepped in. His gait was slow but purposeful, his eyes sharp beneath the brim of a worn fedora. Bronson, a retired CIA agent and one of their old squadmates, approached the booth and slid in beside McKenzie.

"You've got guts calling me and the others out of retirement, Doyal," Bronson said, his tone a mix of amusement and frustration. "You better have a damn good reason."

Doyal finally looked up, his gaze steady. "I do."

Bronson leaned back, crossing his arms. "Well, you've always been good at dragging us into your messes. How's Alex holding up under your leadership these days?"

McKenzie gave a small, humorless laugh. "He's... consistent," he replied.

Bronson chuckled. "That's one way to put it."

Doyal leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Decker and Ramirez are outside?"

"Yeah," Bronson confirmed. "They've got the gear loaded in the back of the car. But I'll tell you what, none of us expected Ivanov to show up here of all places. The question is, do we even know where to find him?"

Doyal pulled out a crumpled map and spread it on the table. "He owns a house a few miles from here. Quiet neighborhood, lots of security. Typical ex-KGB paranoia."

Bronson whistled softly. "And you think he's going to help us clear your name?"

"Ivanov owes me," Doyal said, his tone resolute. "Back in '68, we risked everything to get him out of that jungle alive. He knows what's at stake."

Bronson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Risking everything seems to be your specialty, doesn't it?"

Doyal ignored the jab and focused on the map. "Decker and Ramirez know the plan. We go in, secure Ivanov, and get the information we need. No mess, no noise. We can't afford to draw attention."

McKenzie frowned, his gaze flicking between Doyal and Bronson. "And what if he refuses to cooperate? Ivanov's no saint. He's been playing both sides for decades."

Doyal's eyes hardened. "Then we remind him of the price of betrayal."

The table fell silent for a moment, the weight of the mission settling over them. Outside, the city buzzed with life, oblivious to the quiet storm brewing in this unassuming bar.

Bronson broke the silence with a sigh. "Well, if this goes sideways, at least I'll go down knowing I didn't die of boredom in retirement. Let's get this done.

A Few Miles from Ivanov's House

The car pulled to a stop several blocks away from a modest suburban home that looked like any other on the street. The house's unassuming appearance masked the danger lurking inside. Doyal killed the engine, and the group sat in silence for a moment, steeling themselves for what was to come.

McKenzie leaned forward, pulling out a folded dossier from his jacket. "Listen up," he said, his voice low but firm. "Ivanov isn't just some washed-up ex-KGB officer. Back in the day, he was working on a biological weapon for the Reds—something experimental, meant to destabilize entire populations without a single bullet fired. Problem was, he never perfected it."

"Let me guess," Bronson interjected, "he's decided to give it another go?"

McKenzie nodded grimly. "Intel suggests he's manufacturing it again. Small scale, for now, but it's only a matter of time before he ramps up production. If he succeeds, it's going to make the that incident in Nam look like a warm-up act."

Decker, who had been silent until now, muttered, "And we're just supposed to stroll in there and convince him to stop?"

"We're not here to convince him," Doyal said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We're here to secure him and find out how far this operation has gone."

With that, Doyal popped open the trunk, revealing an assortment of small arms, body armor, and equipment. Each weapon was fitted with a suppressor, and the gear was compact enough for close-quarters combat.

"Light and quiet," Doyal instructed, grabbing an SMG and slipping on a tactical vest. "We're not here to start a war."

Bronson smirked as he picked up a silenced pistol. "Light and quiet? Not exactly your style, is it, Doyal?"

McKenzie grabbed a weapon and handed one to Ramirez. "Focus, Bronson. This isn't the time for jokes."

Once everyone was geared up, McKenzie slammed the trunk shut, and the group moved out. They stuck to the shadows, weaving through backyards and side streets until they reached a vantage point near Ivanov's property.

The house was surrounded by a high fence, with cameras perched at strategic angles. A single guard patrolled the perimeter, his movements methodical but predictable.

"Standard security setup," McKenzie whispered, surveying the area through binoculars. "Cameras and one man on patrol. Probably more inside."

"Bronson, Ramirez," Doyal said, his voice a low growl, "take out the cameras. Decker, you're with me on the perimeter guard. McKenzie, you hang back and coordinate."

The team nodded, slipping into their respective roles like clockwork.

Bronson and Ramirez moved first, using silenced pistols to shoot out the cameras one by one. The faint phht of the suppressed shots blended seamlessly with the ambient noise of the city.

Meanwhile, Doyal and Decker crept toward the patrolling guard. Decker moved in from the right, drawing the man's attention with a faint rustle, while Doyal came up behind him and put him down with a swift chokehold.

"Clear," Doyal whispered, dragging the unconscious guard into the shadows.

With the perimeter secure, the team regrouped at the back door of the house. McKenzie knelt by the lock, producing a set of tools from his jacket. "Give me a minute," he muttered, working the tumblers with practiced ease.

The lock clicked open, and McKenzie pushed the door ajar, peeking inside. "Living room's clear. Move in."

The team filed in, weapons raised. The house was eerily quiet, the only sounds coming from a faint hum of machinery somewhere deeper inside.

"This place is too clean," Ramirez murmured, his eyes darting around the sterile living room.

"Because the real action isn't here," McKenzie replied. "Basement, most likely. Let's move."

The group advanced cautiously, their footsteps muffled by the carpeted floors. They reached a door at the end of the hallway, which led down to a dimly lit staircase.

As they descended, the faint hum grew louder, accompanied by the occasional clatter of metal. At the bottom of the stairs, they found a reinforced door with a keypad lock.

"I've got this," McKenzie said, pulling out a small electronic device. He attached it to the keypad, and after a few tense moments, the device beeped, and the door unlocked.

Doyal pushed the door open, and the team stepped into a makeshift laboratory. The room was cluttered with tables covered in vials, centrifuges, and notebooks, all signs of intense experimentation. But the scene was overshadowed by what lay in the center of the room.

Ivanov's body was sprawled on a metal table, lifeless.

"Shit," Doyal muttered, moving toward the body.

McKenzie knelt beside him, inspecting the wound. "Somebody got to him first," he said grimly, pointing to the deep puncture wound in Ivanov's neck. "Looks like someone stabbed him with precision. Straight through the artery."

"Great," Bronson muttered, his tone laced with frustration. "So much for taking him alive. Guess the real question is—who wanted his work bad enough to kill him?"

Before anyone could speculate further, the silence was shattered by a sharp crack. A bullet slammed into the wall just above Bronson's head, sending shards of plaster flying.

"Contact!" Ramirez barked, diving for cover behind one of the lab tables.

The room erupted in chaos as a hail of gunfire poured in through the shattered basement windows. The team scattered, ducking behind equipment and overturning tables for cover.

"Grab what you can!" Doyal shouted over the gunfire. "We're not leaving empty-handed!"

McKenzie pulled a satchel from his back and began stuffing it with notebooks and vials. "These look important!" he called out, wincing as bullets ricocheted off nearby metal surfaces.

"Move faster!" Bronson growled, returning fire with short, controlled bursts from his silenced SMG. One of the assailants crumpled to the ground, but more figures poured in, their faces obscured by tactical masks.

"Damn it, they're coordinated!" Ramirez yelled, tossing a flashbang toward the advancing enemies. The grenade detonated with a blinding flash and deafening pop, buying the team precious seconds to regroup.

Decker leaned around a corner, taking out two more attackers before ducking back. "We're getting boxed in!"

"Not yet, we're not," Doyal growled. He grabbed a bundle of notes from Ivanov's workstation and shoved them into McKenzie's bag. "That's enough! Fall back to the stairs!"

The team moved in pairs, providing cover fire as they retreated. McKenzie was the first up the stairs, hauling the satchel of stolen data. Bronson and Decker followed, firing over their shoulders to keep the attackers at bay.

Doyal and Ramirez brought up the rear. Ramirez paused to toss another grenade—this time, a smoke canister. The lab filled with thick gray smoke, obscuring the enemy's line of sight.

"Go, go, go!" Ramirez urged, pushing Doyal ahead of him.

They burst out of the basement and into the main house, only to find more attackers waiting for them.

"Ambush!" Bronson shouted, taking cover behind a doorway.

The group quickly engaged the new wave of enemies, their suppressors making sharp, muted pops as they fired. Decker managed to take down a sniper stationed at the top of the staircase, clearing their path to the exit.

"We're not going out the front!" McKenzie said, scanning for an alternate route. "Too exposed!"

"Kitchen!" Doyal barked, pointing toward the back of the house.

The team fought their way to the kitchen, taking down two more assailants as they went. Ramirez kicked open the back door, and they spilled out into the yard, bullets still flying around them.

"Get to the car!" McKenzie yelled, leading the way through the backyard.

The team sprinted toward their vehicle, which was parked a block away. Ramirez and Bronson provided cover fire, slowing the pursuing attackers.

As they piled into the car, Doyal took the driver's seat and slammed the accelerator. The tires screeched, and the car sped off, narrowly avoiding a fresh hail of bullets.

"Everyone accounted for?" Doyal asked, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.

"All here," McKenzie confirmed, clutching the satchel protectively. "And we've got the intel."

"Good," Doyal said, his grip tightening on the wheel. "Now let's get the hell out of Chicago."

Behind them, the attackers regrouped, but by the time they reached the street, Doyal and his team were long gone, their car disappearing into the night.

Meanwhile at Tomodachi Island

It was a nice, sunny day as the scene showed Houston sitting in his command tent, talking over the codec. To anyone else, it might have seemed like he was staring off into space, but in reality, he was deep in thought.

"Uncle, you there?" Houston spoke into the codec.

"I hear you loud and clear, Nephew," came Doyal's voice from the other end.

"Is this conversation secure?" Houston asked.

"Yeah, it is. The monitor is off, so no one can trace this call from my end here," Doyal replied.

"Alright, what you got? Did your hunt lead anywhere?" Houston inquired.

"Well, it led me to a dead scientist, for one," Doyal began. "However, McKenzie and the others managed to grab some important documents as we escaped. These documents detail payments."

"Payments for what?" Houston asked, his curiosity piqued.

"The bio-weapon you discovered," Doyal explained. "The payment logs show that someone in the League has been buying this kind of stuff and sending it to the island..."

"Does it say who the buyer is?" Houston pressed.

"No," Doyal answered. "Whoever is buying these chemicals has kept their name and bank information hidden. I've got some of my old buddies looking into it, but with the League involved, it's sketchy and dangerous."

"Can Aunt Delia figure out who's buying it since she's a chairwoman and works closely with the League President?" Houston suggested.

"No," Doyal replied. "I can't have your aunt worried about this. If she or anyone else hears about it, it could cause unnecessary panic. I'm going to have to let Colonel Abernethy and the Japanese Sensha-Do Federation know about it, but we need to keep it quiet for now."

"Right. In the meantime, I've drawn up a list of suspects for getting the gas," Houston said.

"And who do you think is behind it?" Doyal asked.

"Jester... I think. Or it could be the person on the run, Kai. I don't know for sure, but I'm betting on one of them," Houston said, his tone resolute.

"Alright... I'll leave it to you, Don. Just be careful," Doyal warned.

"I will..." Houston responded before ending the codec call.

As Houston blinked, signaling the end of his call, he stood up from his seat and stretched, his muscles stiff from being still for too long. After finishing his stretch, he exited the tent and looked around to see most of his men going about their usual routines. It wasn't long before Jefferson walked up to him.

"Boss!" Jefferson called out.

"Any reports?" Houston asked.

"So far, I've got some updates. After sending Red's airborne team, Graham's boys, and Rivers and Kay's teams in, we managed to take down Victor and his men. One traitor off the list," Jefferson reported. "Right now, Wesley, Davis, and Darjeeling have been sent out to deal with Wesley's traitors. We won't be seeing them for a couple of days."

"Right, but we need to wrap this up fast," Houston said, his tone firm. "Have we tracked down Sobel and the others who betrayed us?"

"None so far. Our scouts are still trying to pinpoint their location," Jefferson replied.

"Okay. What about morale?" Houston asked.

"So far, it's good with our boys and the other allied schools. However, the Association and Federation schools aren't too happy. They didn't take kindly to Red killing Victor and the Vermont boys in that massacre," Jefferson explained.

"I know, but Victor pushed Red's hand into killing him. That one's on Victor," Houston said, his voice steady but regretful.

"Right... Any ideas on catching the Jester yet, Boss?" Jefferson asked.

"Not at the moment. He's pretty good at hiding right now. He's waiting for the right time to strike," Houston replied, his gaze distant.

"When do you think that will be?" Jefferson asked, adjusting his sunglasses and tilting his neck to loosen it up.

"Probably sooner rather than later," Houston said, his tone serious.

Just as Houston said that he then get's radio call in.

"Hey Boss... Ben said come by he got something for you of what he found." Dean on the radio spoke.

"10-4 I'll be there in a bit." Houston said nodding Jefferson as he leave his Vice Commander alone.

Meanwhile, in the War Room...

"Victor's done. Now we have four traitors left in the League. After that, we'll figure something out with Houston and the others, once Wesley, Davis, and Darjeeling come back," Edward said, looking over the maps on the table.

"Hmmm, I'd say this would be easy, despite Wesley and the other League players not being too familiar with the island. If Davis and Darjeeling can lure them out of the city, we might be able to ambush them in the forest," Johnathon suggested, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"Right, but what we're lacking is the combat effectiveness the League has. What they're used to—infantry assaults, air support—is something we're struggling to counter," Edward added, frustration creeping into his voice.

"I agree with that, Ed," Rivers said, nodding in agreement.

"I just hope we can end this soon so we can finally go home," Edward sighed.

The door to the war room opened, and Austin and Mark walked in.

"Austin, what happened?" Edward asked, noticing the serious look on their faces.

"This... was left for you," Austin said, handing Edward a folded piece of paper. "William found it on your tank. We thought it was something you should know."

Edward took the paper, unfolding it. The paper showed the location of a place and was signed with a chilling note: 'Come and get me' with a Jester emblem drawn underneath.

Edward's heart sank as a sense of unease washed over him, but he shook it off. He'd been waiting for this moment—waiting for payback against the crazy bastard who had been causing all the chaos. He turned to Austin and Mark, his face hardening.

"Get the others ready. We're hunting this clown down," Edward said, his voice cold with determination.

"Shouldn't we tell Houston about this?" Mark asked, uncertain.

"So what, so he can kill him again? No. We need answers. Houston isn't telling us anything. If we can capture Jester, we can get the answers we need. Let's go," Edward said firmly.

With that, Edward, Mark, Austin, Han, and William prepared for the hunt. Meanwhile, Maho, overhearing what Edward was about to do, stepped forward. The two shared a brief, heartfelt moment as Maho expressed her concern.

"I'll be back soon, Maho," Edward reassured her, his eyes softening. He leaned in and shared a quick, tender kiss with her before turning to leave.

"I know you will," she replied, her voice steady, but the worry in her eyes evident.

Austin and Nonna exchanged a few words about staying safe, the weight of the situation pressing down on them all. With one last look at his girlfriend, Edward led the group out.

As Edward and his team stepped cautiously through the abandoned mall, their footsteps echoed eerily in the empty space. The stale air hung heavy with the smell of dust and decay, their only light coming from the dim, flickering overhead lights. They held their airsoft weapons tightly, each of them scanning the surroundings, nerves on edge. The atmosphere was thick with tension.

"I don't like this, it's too quiet," William muttered, his eyes darting around as he kept his weapon ready.

"Keep your guard up," Edward responded, his voice low. "Stay sharp. We're not alone here."

As they moved deeper into the mall, the floor became cluttered with wires running in all directions, their ends converging toward the center of the building. The wires were connected to several large barrels, all marked with the unmistakable chemical hazard symbol. They were strapped to bombs.

Edward froze, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "What the hell...?" He muttered under his breath.

Before anyone could react further, the sound of an elevator door opening cut through the silence. The team immediately took defensive positions, their weapons aimed toward the elevator.

Out from the elevator stepped a group of Vermont boys, armed and dangerous, their rifles raised and aimed directly at Edward and his group. The tension in the air was palpable.

"Drop your weapons! Now!" one of the Vermont boys shouted, his voice carrying through the empty mall.

Before Edward could issue an order or make a move, the sound of maniacal laughter echoed throughout the mall. A familiar voice—crazed, almost gleeful—rang out, sending chills down their spines.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the good ol' boys coming to save the day," Jester appeared from behind a pillar, his wide grin sending an unsettling chill through the group. "You really thought you could walk into my little playground and just leave, huh? How stupid do you all think I am?"

Edward's eyes narrowed as he took a step forward, his posture tense. "Why? Why lead me here, Jester? You've had your fun—what do you want?"

The Jester's grin only widened, his laugh softening into a chuckle. "Oh, it's not about me wanting anything, Edward," he said, his voice almost a sing-song tease. "It's about who I've been working with."

Edward's expression shifted from anger to shock as the elevator doors opened once more, and out stepped none other than Kai. His face was cold, detached, but there was no denying the alliance between him and Jester. Kai walked over to stand beside him, his gaze meeting Edward's with no hint of remorse.

Edward's voice cracked with disbelief. "Kai... You're working with him?"

"Of course he was the one who led me here so I could get my revenge against you!" Kai shouted, his voice laced with fury.

"On what? Having your sister in jail?!" Edward shot back, disbelief in his voice.

"YES!" Kai seethed. "After all this time, spent on the run, just trying to survive in this harsh world, I don't care about what happened after the match. I don't care about Sensha-Do—that was her thing! What I want is to make sure none of you bastards hurt my people or destroy my family! I'll take everything away from you that you've earned!"

Edward's gaze hardened, but he didn't say anything for a moment. He could see the pain in Kai's eyes, but it was clouded by misguided rage.

"You see, Edward, what you've done to my poor partner," the Jester chimed in, his voice smooth and mocking. "It's a shame to see him go to all this trouble. Lucky for him, he survived long enough to see me as I was hiding, and now, as I lead him to his goal, he can finish what he started."

"And what's that, kill me?" Edward asked, his voice dripping with defiance.

"No, something far worse than that," the Jester said, his grin widening. "But he's going to enjoy what we do with you."

Before Edward could retort, the tension in the air snapped. One of the Vermont boys suddenly lunged forward, disarming Austin and taking his weapon. In a split second, the air was filled with the sharp crack of gunfire as chaos erupted.

"Austin! Watch out!" Mark shouted, ducking behind cover as bullets whizzed past.

The firefight exploded in an instant. Austin, Mark, Hans, and William found themselves separated from Edward amidst the chaos of the battle. The Vermont boys, armed and well-coordinated, pressed forward, forcing the group to retreat.

"Austin, get down!" William yelled, grabbing Austin's arm and pulling him to safety as a hail of gunfire tore through the space they'd just occupied.

They made their way toward the back of the mall, doing their best to evade the gunfire, but William was hit. A sharp cry of pain escaped him as he stumbled, clutching his side.

"Austin, I'm hit!" William grunted, his face pale.

"Stay with us!" Austin shouted, but the situation was growing worse. The team was scattered, trying to regroup.

With William struggling to move, the group was forced to retreat further into the mall, dragging their injured teammate. Austin's heart pounded in his chest, but his eyes were fixed on the struggle ahead.

As they retreated, Austin caught a glimpse of Edward up ahead. Despite the chaos and gunfire, he was still locked in a desperate struggle with Jester and Kai. Edward was fighting fiercely, using every ounce of his strength to hold his ground, but the Vermont boys were closing in on him, overwhelming him.

Austin's stomach twisted as he saw one of the Vermont boys rush up behind Edward, grabbing him in a chokehold. Edward struggled, but the grip was tightening, cutting off his air. The look on Edward's face was one of pure defiance, but even he couldn't escape the grip of his assailant.

"See you in hell," the Jester said, his voice cruel and gleeful as he watched the scene unfold.

Austin's breath hitched, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow. He could see Edward's struggles growing weaker, the fight leaving him as the chokehold began to take its toll. The sight was haunting, but they couldn't afford to hesitate.

"We've got to get to him!" Austin shouted to the others, but there was no way to break through the wall of enemies between them.

In that moment, it seemed like everything was slipping out of their control.

It was too late. Despite their best efforts, Austin and Mark could do nothing but watch helplessly as Edward, barely conscious and barely able to move, was dragged away by the Vermont boys. The enemy fighters had a firm hold on him, and in that moment, it became clear: they had lost.

"No... No!" Austin shouted, his voice filled with desperation. He tried to push through the chaos, his hand outstretched toward Edward, but the barrage of gunfire and the overwhelming presence of their enemies held him back.

Mark gritted his teeth, a grim expression on his face. "We can't do anything now, Austin. We need to fall back, now."

But Austin's gaze remained fixed on Edward, who was now limp in the hands of the Vermont boys. They dragged him with cruel efficiency, hauling him toward the waiting helicopter in the distance. It hovered low above the mall, its blades cutting through the air as it awaited its prisoner.

"Edward..." Austin muttered, his throat tight with frustration and guilt. He could only watch as the enemy fighters secured him, forcefully lifting him into the helicopter. The rotors spun faster, the helicopter rising into the sky as the sound of its engines filled the air.

Meanwhile, just moments before Edward's capture, Ben was deeply focused on the task at hand. He sat at a desk surrounded by scattered reports and old files, his eyes scanning through rows of data on his computer screen. The DNA results he'd discovered about the girl—the one linked to Lisa—had raised far more questions than answers. He couldn't help but wonder who the father was. Ben had already checked through every database connected to the American Tankery League, but none of the profiles matched the DNA. Frustrated but determined, he moved on to the next step: the old Battle Reactment Association database.

His fingers clicked rapidly on the keyboard as he ran new searches, pulling up every possible connection. But the results were slow to appear, and his eyes began to strain from reading the endless data. This wasn't just a scientific puzzle; it was personal. The mystery of the girl's father loomed over him, and the pieces of the puzzle didn't quite fit.

Just then, Samuel walked into the room, a tray of drinks in hand. He approached Ben's desk, placing the drinks on the side without disturbing his work.

"Hey, Ben, you might need something to drink," Samuel said, trying to lighten the mood with a friendly gesture.

Ben barely looked up from the screen, his mind absorbed in the search. "Thanks. Just put it to the side. I'll drink it later," he replied, his voice distant.

Samuel raised an eyebrow but didn't press him. He knew how focused Ben could get when working on something important. "Still searching for the girl's father?" he asked, casually leaning against the desk.

"Yep," Ben answered, his tone weary but resolute. "I've checked the entire database from every male in the American Tankery League, but I didn't find anything. Now I'm going through the old Battle Reactment Association database. It's my last shot at this point." He clicked another search and watched the screen populate with data.

Samuel nodded, understanding the weight of what Ben was doing. The girl's identity was still a mystery, and the implications of finding her father were even more critical. He set the tray of drinks aside and pulled up a chair, sitting down next to Ben to wait. He didn't say anything; he knew Ben was determined to get to the bottom of this, and Samuel wasn't one to interrupt.

As the seconds ticked by, the database began to load more results, but there was still no match. Ben's frustration grew with each passing moment. He adjusted the filters, refined his search, and crossed his fingers.

Then, just as he was about to give up, the screen blinked. The name of a man appeared in the results, someone from the Battle Reenactment Association but however for Ben surprise was horror as he couldn't believe what he seeing.

Later on, the tension in the room was palpable. Houston stood by the window, his eyes fixed on the view outside, though his thoughts were far from the peaceful scene in front of him. He had been waiting for answers, and now that they had arrived, the weight of them was heavier than he could have ever anticipated.

Ben, standing behind him, held the results in his hand. The moment felt suffocating, as if every second dragged on. Houston finally broke the silence, his voice low but steady, trying to grasp the truth that was slipping through his fingers.

"So apparently we know that Lisa is the mother of the girl, right?" Houston asked, the words sounding almost foreign as they left his mouth.

Ben nodded, his expression grave. "Yeah, but Houston, I want you to understand this... Whatever Lisa did... She didn't mean to do it."

Houston's brow furrowed, confused and defensive. "What do you mean by that, Ben? Lisa and I loved each other. There was nothing wrong with me."

"I know that, Boss," Ben replied softly, "but according to this test result, she saw another guy... and—"

Houston's heart skipped a beat, the air thickening around him. He turned to face Ben, shaking his head in disbelief. "No... It just... it can't be." His mind raced back to the memories of happier times with Lisa—the trips they had taken, the laughter, the promises. But then came the trip, the one that kept her away for eight long months. She had come back on the ninth month, and Houston had been overjoyed to see her again. But the thought of who had been with her during that time, someone else... that gnawed at him now like a festering wound.

Ben hesitated, unwilling to deliver the final blow. But Houston's gaze hardened, his voice now strained with desperation. "Who is the father, Ben? I need to know."

Ben took a deep breath, finally allowing the truth to spill out. He wasn't sure how Houston would handle it, but it had to be said. "I can't say, Boss..."

Houston's eyes narrowed, but the sharp edge of pain in his voice made his words clear. "Ben... Please."

Ben hesitated again, his hand tightening around the report. He had already lost so much. The last thing he wanted to do was rip apart what Houston had left. But with a heavy heart, he spoke the truth that had been sitting in the pit of his stomach.

....

"It's Robert, sir, the Laughing Jester is the father of the girl."