War is Peace Part 1

 The recording continued playing, showing a group of rogue North High School boys armed with airsoft weapons, trying desperately to hold their position. Captain Alwin could be heard shouting in German, urging his boys to stand firm.

Watching the supposed gunfight unfold, Jester leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, clutching one of them tightly. Nearby, Kai glanced at him, while a boy and a girl stood silently beside General Reyes in the room.

The recording showed Austin taking down Alwin. Despite trying to fight back, Alwin quickly surrendered, raising his hands and speaking in German.

As the recording ended, Jester let out a frustrated sigh.

"Goddamn it... should've recruited stronger people than those boys," Jester muttered.

"Well, that just leaves Sobel. We should launch Peace Walker right now," the girl suggested.

"No... Not yet. It's too early." Jester turned to Reyes. "General Reyes, what can you tell me about the league's status right now?"

Reyes nodded. "They're doing better than ever since this match started. Many countries around the world have taken an interest in this 'Civil War' match between the League, the Association, and Japan's Sensha-Do teams."

Jester smirked. "And the world doesn't know who's really backing them... which is good. All we need to do is spook them. General Reyes, do you believe the League has a powerful enough broadcast system to stream live footage to every major city and directly to people's televisions?"

"Yes, we do. Why? What are you planning?" Reyes asked.

"The pieces are all in place. We should take advantage of this," the boy chimed in.

"Our guy back in America is standing by," the girl added.

Jester nodded. "Agreed. Now, it's our turn to make a move. Make the call. Tell... Dr. Death he has the green light."

Meanwhile

As Kai finished the meeting, he heard someone calling his name.

"Kai!" Akari called out.

"Sister... what's wrong?" Kai asked, turning to her.

"What's wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong!" Akari said angrily. "You're working with a terrorist! The Jester?! Kai, I didn't want this to happen. I don't want you following whatever twisted plan the Jester has for you."

Kai's expression hardened. "He saved me! He saved our family! And most importantly, he saved you from jail! Without his help, I wouldn't have come this far. Hell, he's even helping me get even with the bastards who caused all of this!"

"By torturing Edward? By hurting innocent people on that island?" Akari snapped.

"Yes!" Kai shot back. "Until those damn bastards who caused us pain—who hurt our people—are stopped for good! Jester is going to create a new world order, one where no one can hurt us again, sister!"

Akari shook her head, her voice trembling. "A world built on blood? I don't want that future, Kai. And deep down, I know you don't either!"

Kai's tone softened, but his resolve remained firm. "I do, actually... because that's the peace I've been seeking. Man... I wish I could've met Jester's old commander. Anderson had a brilliant dream—an ideal. A vision of creating a world where War is Peace."

Kai stormed off, leaving his older sister standing alone. Akari watched him go, her heart heavy with worry. She hated what the Jester had done to twist her younger brother, to fill him with such anger and hatred.

Before she could move, a low, mocking chuckle echoed behind her. 

"You're awfully quiet, Akari," a voice taunted.

She turned slowly, and there he was—the Jester. Leaning casually against the wall, he spun a knife between his fingers, the blade gleaming under the dim light. His lips curled into a wicked grin, his laughter reminiscent of a madman.

"You disapprove, don't you?" Jester sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "Of me. Of what I've done to your dear little brother."

Akari's glare was unwavering. "I'll stop you. I'll go to the others, and I'll put an end to your twisted games."

The Jester's grin widened, and he laughed—a dark, unsettling sound that sent chills down her spine. "Stop me? Oh, Akari, do you really think anyone will listen to an escaped criminal like you?"

He stepped closer, flipping the knife in his hand, the tip catching the light ominously. "Do you even know what I've done? All of this—all the chaos, the destruction—it's for one reason and one reason alone. Revenge."

Akari's expression tightened, but she didn't speak.

"Yes," Jester hissed, his voice lowering to a venomous whisper. "Revenge on him. Houston. My old Vice Commander. The traitor who made my life a living hell. This isn't about saving your brother or stopping some grand evil plan, Akari. This is personal. And if you ever try to interfere again..."

In one swift motion, he brought the blade close to her face, the cold steel brushing her cheek. His grin twisted into something truly deranged.

"I'll gut you like a fish," he snarled, laughing maniacally as he stepped back, his eyes gleaming with madness.

Akari stood frozen, her fists clenched, her breath shallow. She knew the Jester's threats weren't idle; he was dangerous, a man consumed by his own insanity. But she also knew she couldn't let him win. Not now, not ever.

Meanwhile at Hoja City

"Wait, you're saying that crazy clown Jester is holding Edward in New Avalon, your guys' old base station?" Davis asked.

"Yeah, apparently so. That's why we've been trying to hunt down most of the traitors who betrayed us," Graham replied.

"Ja, that's why we've been careful about who we're sending. However, we could have captured Victor alive if Red hadn't been forced to kill him—though that was Victor's fault for pushing Red into it," Muller said with his distinct German accent.

"Well, luckily we captured Calder. I'm surprised you guys made him talk. How'd you do it?" Darjeeling asked.

"Truth serum... a whole lot of truth serum. And I happen to be pretty good at interrogations," Graham said with a small smirk.

"Right... so now that we've dealt with Victor, Calder, and Brock, all that's left are Alwin and Sobel," Davis said, counting down on his fingers.

"You can scratch Alwin off the list. He's already been captured," said Houston, stepping out of the radio tent.

"Wait, we captured him?" Davis asked, surprised.

"Yeah. Your Association boys and the Federation girls got the bastard," Houston said, arms crossed. He pulled a cigar from his pocket, placed it in his mouth, and lit it with practiced ease.

"Then we're close to ending your subordinates' mutiny," Davis said.

"Yeah, we are. But we're going to have to move out soon because this ends now," Houston said firmly.

With that, Davy Crockett's Rangers, Airborne, and Tankery teams began loading up, hopping onto tanks, Humvees, and APCs. They were joined by Grand Lake High, North High, Washington Boys' and Girls' Academy, Virginia Academy of Arts, and St. Gloriana. Together, they began their march.

As Days Passed

On the outskirts of New Avalon, a camp was set up far from the city. Elijah scouted ahead, using binoculars to survey the area. He spotted numerous rogue Rangers and Airborne soldiers patrolling the city, along with several Shermans and Pershings stationed defensively.

After gathering the intel, Elijah crawled back to the rest of the scouts and gave a brief whistle, signaling them to pull back.

"This is it," Rivers said, crouching beside him. "We're already at the doorstep of the last rogue league captains."

In the command tent, representatives from both the Federation and the Association waited for Houston and the others to arrive.

"How much longer until Houston and the others get here?" Katyusha asked, perched on Nonna's back as usual.

"Davis radioed in. They'll be here in about two hours," Johnathon answered.

"We can't wait that long! It's been days since Jester captured Edward. We should attack them now!" Maho said, her frustration evident.

Miho watched her older sister with concern. She understood Maho's frustration and shared her worry about Edward's fate. None of them were experienced in fighting this kind of war—it was unlike anything they were used to.

Meanwhile

Hector cautiously moved through the ruins of a small town, stepping over damaged tanks scattered across the area. The air was eerily quiet, save for the sound of his footsteps echoing against the rubble.

"All around me are familiar faces..." someone sang softly in the distance.

Hector paused, scanning his surroundings. The voice continued:

"Worn out places, worn out faces... Bright and early for their daily races... Going nowhere, going nowhere..."

Hector sighed in irritation. Turning, he spotted Gus trailing behind him, singing to himself.

"Will you shut up? Shut up! Shut up!" Hector snapped, waving his right arm in frustration.

Gus stopped, looking sheepish as he adjusted the straps of his radio backpack. "Sorry."

"Worn out places? Worn out faces? What the hell does that even mean?" Hector muttered, slinging his airsoft M16A2 over his shoulder.

"It's... uh, something about a dream? I think?" Gus guessed uncertainly.

"How about this instead: Mama's little baby loves shortnin' shortnin'... Mama's little baby loves shortnin' bread," Hector sang sarcastically.

To his surprise, Gus joined in for a moment. The two trailed off awkwardly, looking at each other.

"Okay... that was weird," Hector muttered, shaking his head.

"Yeah, let's not do that again," Gus agreed, scratching the back of his neck.

"Hey, you two! Quit screwing around. The 'Boss' will be here soon. Now let's head back to camp," Dean called out, walking up to Hector and Gus, with Sean following close behind. The two nodded, falling in line behind their sergeant.

At the battle camp, Dean and Captain Ludwig sat by a campfire, cooking freshly caught food. Around them, Ludwig's men were either resting or maintaining their airsoft weapons. As the fire crackled, Ludwig broke the silence.

"You know, it's quite a challenge for those Association boys and Federation girls to fight alongside us," Ludwig remarked in his German accent.

"How so?" Dean asked, glancing at his German friend.

"Well, for starters, they aren't trained like us. They've never experienced this kind of situation, especially not a siege like this at New Avalon," Ludwig explained.

"True," Dean agreed, nodding. "They don't have the skills we do. But some of them are impressive—like Austin. Man, I heard a story about him. A few months back, before this Civil War match started, a Federation woman whipped him, and then he went on to fight a goddamn bear. That's insane."

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. "A bear?"

"Yeah, a bear. That guy's got my respect, that's all I'm saying," Dean replied, shaking his head in disbelief.

"That is... remarkable," Ludwig admitted as he began eating his freshly cooked meat.

Their quiet meal was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Confused, the two turned to find Rabbit Team from Ooarai Girls' Academy standing nearby, looking expectantly at them.

"Can we help you?" Ludwig asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We were hoping Sergeant Dean could train us," Yuuki said, her teammates nodding eagerly in agreement.

"Yeah!" the girls chorused.

"Well, Dean?" Ludwig asked, smirking slightly.

Dean sighed, setting his food aside. He looked over the six girls, noticing Saki staring off into the distance. Clearing his throat, he addressed them.

"Fine, I'll train you. If your friends or anyone else want to join and learn the basics of CQC, they can meet me here. But let me warn you—this isn't going to be easy."

Minutes later, Dean stood in front of a surprisingly large group. Students from both the Association and Federation had gathered, inspired by Houston and his Rangers' impressive CQC tactics during previous battles.

"Wow," Dean muttered, genuinely surprised by the turnout.

"What's wrong, Yankee? Having trouble processing all this?" Anzu teased, her arms crossed.

"Yeah," Adam chimed in, while Grant, Nicholas, and Kyle chuckled.

Dean shook his head, stepping forward to address the group. His voice boomed like a drill instructor's as he paced in front of them.

"Alright, listen up! You all probably know me as Dean from Davy Crockett High. But judging by the fact that you showed up here, it's clear your pansy asses don't know how to fight hand-to-hand."

"Bullshit, we do!" Ark interrupted, crossing his arms.

"Oh yeah? Then why the hell did you guys lose to me or my Rangers in hand-to-hand combat, huh? That's what I thought! Now shut your pretty mouth, maggot! First, we're gonna go over the basics of a proper CQC stance. If you just stand there like an idiot in front of an enemy, you might as well kill yourself now!" Dean shouted

Shortly after Dean's CQC training ended and the day stretched into late afternoon, Houston and the others arrived back at camp. The scene buzzed with activity as Davis and Darjeeling returned from their successful operation, greeted warmly by their comrades. However, for Houston, Graham, Wesley, and Elijah, the reception was a little colder from the others expected Muller.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Houston quietly retreated to his corner of the camp. He pulled out his trusty Walkman, slid a cassette tape into place, and pressed the record button. The familiar whirring sound filled his ears as he began to speak, his voice heavy with exhaustion and contemplation.

"It's been a few months since we arrived on this godforsaken island. Morale among my Rangers is still holding strong, but I can't say the same for the Association boys or the Japanese girls. Truth be told, they're getting tired of this war—can't blame them, either. Most of them haven't seen or experienced anything close to the shitshow we're stuck in now.

"Honestly, I thought this match would be quick and clean in the first couple of months—easy, even. But then... sigh... the mutiny happened. And the return of him... Robert."

Houston paused, running a hand over his face as though to steady his thoughts.

"I should've checked his body three years ago after the Dallas Incident. Should've made damn sure he was dead. But I didn't. Now he's back, and Edward's capture... yeah, that's on me. Feels like all of it's my fault. I let it happen."

He leaned back, staring into the flickering glow of the campfire as he collected his next thoughts.

"And then there's Lisa's kid..." His voice faltered slightly, but he pressed on. "I—I don't even know what to say about that. The girl should've been what... three? Four years old? But she's sixteen. Sixteen. Something tells me Robert's been messing around again, did something unnatural to make her age up so fast. And that boy who was with her..."

Houston's brow furrowed in thought, his tone darkening.

"There's something personal there. I can feel it. He's got a grudge against me, and I don't even know why. But I'll be damned if I don't figure it out. I've got too much blood on my hands already to let this mess spiral even further."

He exhaled slowly, letting the words linger in the recorder before clicking it off. The tape clicked softly as it stopped, but Houston sat still, staring into the darkening horizon, burdened by the weight of the past and the uncertain future.

After recording his report, Houston removed the cassette from his Walkman, grabbing a pen to label it before placing it among his collection of tapes. He moved carefully, but in his exhaustion, his elbow accidentally knocked against one of the boxes holding his tape storage.

"Damn it," he muttered as the box tipped over, scattering five tapes across the floor. Kneeling down, he cursed himself under his breath while hastily picking them up. It wasn't until he looked closely that he froze.

They were Lisa's tapes.

Houston sat back, his movements slowing as he carefully turned each cassette over in his hands. These weren't just any tapes—these were Lisa's diaries, the recordings he had listened to once before, years ago. Memories of Dallas, of her voice, came flooding back like a wave. With a quiet sigh, Houston set the box aside, holding the last tape he had heard before.

He hesitated. For a moment, it felt as if touching these tapes had disturbed something in the air—like uncovering a ghost. Finally, he inserted the first cassette into his Walkman and pressed play.

Lisa's voice crackled to life, bright and full of hope, untouched by the horrors that would come later:

"There's going to be a kind of festival held in Vermont. They're calling it 'Peace Day.' Don and my big brother may be the Dogs of War, but they're still an army, and that means sometimes they have to fight the different schools. Of course, they shouldn't fight at all; it's obvious to me that any problem can be solved with reasonable discussion."

Houston leaned back, closing his eyes as her voice filled the room. It was as if she was still there, alive, chatting away like she always did.

"Maybe Erol and the others think so, too, because the idea is to set aside war for one day a year and relax in peace. I don't know how it came about, but apparently, Erol and I got the idea while we were talking, and everyone in the school went along with it. To think that deep down they all share a love of peace... it makes me happy."

Houston couldn't help but let a small smile slip. He could almost see Lisa's grin as she rambled on about the preparations.

"But never mind that. Somehow, I've ended up singing on stage! Jester was all, 'Come on! It'll be great to hear your voice!' Why does that mean I have to sing? Then he roped Silent Cobra Floyd in, too, saying, 'Hey! Floyd, you think Lisa sings good, right?' I'm not sure Jester really understands. But then again, you always have to take Jester's talk with a grain of salt."

Houston chuckled dryly. "Typical Jester," he muttered to himself.

"What I can't believe is, he went and told everyone I'll be performing without even asking my opinion! Now everyone thinks it's all been decided. I like to sing, but I've never had to perform in front of a crowd... I don't think I'm up to this. But everyone seems to be looking forward to it... I guess I'd hate to let them down. And anything is better than letting Anthony sing! (laughs) Ooh, that was mean. Erol said he was going to write a song for me. I wonder what it'll be like? He's funny like Don. The more nervous I get, the more I find myself looking forward to it."

As the first tape clicked off, Houston sat silently for a moment. His rough hands turned the tape over and placed it gently on the floor beside him. The memories were fresh now, as if no time had passed. He grabbed the next cassette and loaded it in, pressing play once more.

Outside his tent, Maho, Rivers, Davis, and Johnathon approached, their voices low as they debated their plan.

"You really think he's going to listen to us?" Davis asked skeptically.

"Of course he will," Rivers replied firmly. "And if he doesn't, we're going in without his support. Saving Ed is worth the risk. Those defectors have no clue where we'll hit them, which gives us the advantage."

"Yeah, and plenty of time to stop that crazy clown and Kai," Johnathon added.

Maho glanced at the others. "Let's just hope he hears us out first."

As they reached the entrance to Houston's tent, they paused. The faint, crackling sound of a voice—Lisa's voice—reached their ears. They exchanged glances before peeking through the flap.

Inside, Houston sat alone, his shoulders slumped, his Walkman in his hands. The fourth tape was playing, Lisa's words drifting through the space like a ghost.

"But I can hardly criticize his voice. I thought I had learned the song well enough listening to the tape as I wrote the lyrics, but I had trouble with the pitch and kept missing the rhythm. I have to practice, but there's almost no time left. It's just three days until Peace Day. Wait... I thought there were three days left before. I went and checked today's date with my brother and Don. The date hasn't changed. It's the same day. Something is strange... Am I reliving the same day?"

The recording clicked off abruptly.

The group stood frozen, confusion and unease settling over them. Houston sat there, staring blankly at his Walkman, as if the tape had transported him to another time entirely. None of them spoke. None of them dared to disturb him.

For now, they simply waited.

As Houston loaded the fifth tape, his hands trembled. This was the last recording—made after Lisa had endured a brutal surgery without anesthesia, without anything to dull the pain, as Ben extracted the two bombs from inside her. It was moments before her death, before Houston faced Anderson during the Dallas Incident, when Lisa had ultimately sacrificed herself.

Struggling to steady his hand, Houston let out a shaky sigh before finally loading the tape into his WALKMAN and pressing play.

Lisa's voice echoed softly through the small tent, a phantom carried by the old tape:

"Peace Day never came. Every morning, I wake up expecting it to come, but it is always three days away. That can't be it. I haven't woken up at all! It's just a dream. It's all a dream. I'm in it, and you're in it too. I am the dreamer, but you're having my dream. Do you get it now? You do, don't you? Peace Day... never... came."

She paused, her voice wavering before continuing.

"With three days left, I followed my orders from Anderson and launched the operation. I betrayed you. I fought against you. I lost... and was thrown into the dark. I survived, but I was captured by Anderson. How happy I would have been if my older brother had just let me die then and there...

Our wishes don't come true, Don. We cling to dreams, to phantoms. Mine and yours. But I think this one is coming to an end... After all, you've figured it out now, haven't you? You can kill Anderson, murder your squad, slaughter everyone... Burn the whole world down, and it still won't bring me back. Me or any of the dead.

And that was our business—war. We bought our daily bread with money paid to us for killing. Maybe us getting killed was just balancing the scales.

You know, Vermont Tankery Academy was never the heaven we wanted it to be... but I was still happy to have lived with everyone there. It was a short time. Such a hypocritical peace. But while I was there, I was happy. So I hope I'm not the only one who looks back on those days with happiness. There's more to remember than hatred and rage.

But of course, this is you, thinking that I should think that. It's no mystery now. I am just a phantom, a fragment of the mind you've lost. The real me died a long time ago. But even so... more so... I can tell you what you're really feeling. The real emotion locked away at the bottom of your heart. Let it fly out. Let it guide you. Live, Don.

I think it's my job to tell you that. That's why I exist. So this tape is the last one. Once you're done listening to it, I am one phantom limb that will be gone for good. My flesh, my bones—joining the silt on the ocean floor.

But do not forget... As long as you remember me, I will always live within you. Not as a phantom limb, or a phantom anything... As part of your heart. I will always be your angel of peace. So I know exactly how to finish...

Say peace!"

The tape clicked to a stop.

Houston sat motionless, his body trembling as Lisa's voice lingered in the air. Her words, so tender and yet so haunting, carved through him like a blade dulled only by time.

He slowly removed the tape, cradling it in his hand as though it were fragile, as though he might break it just by holding on too tightly—an unspoken metaphor for all the memories he carried. His breath shuddered, heavy and uneven. That phantom of her voice, the love and regret intertwined, refused to leave him.

"Peace..." he whispered, as if the word itself carried the weight of all their sacrifices.

It felt like a prayer, a vow, and a curse all at once. Lisa's message had stripped away everything he buried beneath his resolve—the bitterness, the rage, the guilt—and left him with nothing but himself. He had no excuses anymore. She knew. She had always known.

"Peace... huh?" Houston murmured again, though his voice now trembled, no longer hiding the quiet storm of emotions roiling beneath his hardened exterior. He placed the tape back in its case and set it gently in the box with the others.

Unbeknownst to him, Maho and the others at the tent's entrance remained rooted in place, unable to interrupt the moment. None of them had ever seen Houston like this—vulnerable, human, broken.

"Houston..." Maho finally spoke softly, stepping in.

Houston jolted slightly, masking his raw expression with a sigh and his usual stoic look. "I know why you're here."

"We need to talk about Edward," Rivers added, his voice hesitant as though unsure if now was the time.

Houston looked down at the WALKMAN, his thumb hovering over the play button as if daring himself to listen again. Instead, he set it aside, rising from his chair with a heavy exhale.

"Alright. Let's hear it," he said, his voice firm but quieter than usual. The phantom had spoken, and he would not let her final words be in vain.

As they sat down to discuss their next move, Houston couldn't shake her last line from his mind. "Say peace."

If only peace were that simple to find.

While this was happening, the scene shifts to Austin and Nonna walking together after finishing their workout. Both were wearing their shirts, sweat-drenched but relaxed.

"Man, to be honest, I've never felt this tired before," Austin said, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

Nonna nodded, matching his pace. "Well, most of the League players were trained for this kind of thing. We weren't. We were trained for tanks and nothing else."

"Yeah, I'll agree with that," Austin replied, chuckling. However, as he glanced over, his smile faded when he noticed Nonna's expression. She looked tired, but more than that—she seemed distant, almost sad.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Austin asked, concern etched into his voice.

Nonna hesitated before speaking. "It's just... how did we even get here? We finished our match and somehow ended up in another one, but this doesn't feel like a match anymore. It feels like... war."

She stopped walking, turning to face Austin. Her gaze searched for understanding.

"That's what it feels like for these guys. They don't fight like it's just a game—they fight like it's life or death. I don't understand them, or this match, or especially the League. Back when we fought you, we had one simple goal: to dismantle your team's Tankery. But somewhere along the way... after everything we've been through, and after what Akari did to you guys... it became something more than just Tankery."

Austin nodded solemnly. "Yeah... I get that. But for the League—and especially the organization—they love putting someone like 'Big Boss' in the spotlight. The so-called 'Hero of the Dallas Incident.'"

He paused, his brows furrowed in thought.

"I don't understand him either, or the others. Why are they so fixated on him? It's like... he's carrying some sort of legacy."

Nonna sighed softly, her expression troubled. "Maybe he is. Or maybe we just don't know the full story yet."

The two continued walking, the silence between them heavy with unspoken thoughts.

As they continued walking, Austin and Nonna stumbled upon an unusual sight. Red stood in the clearing ahead, shirtless, balancing himself on one foot. His toned physique was on full display, though it was not his strength that caught their attention, but the scars that marked his body.

A single bullet scar marred the skin near his heart—a small, yet deadly reminder of a moment that could have ended everything. Lower on his stomach was a far larger scar, jagged and prominent, as though it had taken its time to heal. Despite these marks of violence, there was a serenity in the way Red stood, unmoving, eyes closed.

The world around him seemed to match his stillness. The only sounds were the whispers of the wind as it rustled through the trees and the soft, rhythmic descent of leaves as they fell to the ground. It was as if nature itself respected the moment.

Austin stopped in his tracks, blinking as he took in the sight. "What is he... doing?" he whispered, as if afraid his voice would disturb the quiet.

Nonna, equally puzzled, shook her head. "Balancing, maybe? Meditating?" She studied Red's face. His expression was calm, almost detached, like he had escaped from everything around him.

Red swayed ever so slightly but quickly steadied himself, his breathing controlled and even. The scars no longer seemed to tell a story of pain but instead of survival—proof of what he had endured and overcome.

"That guy's tougher than nails..." Austin muttered under his breath, impressed.

Hearing Austin's voice, Red opened one eye, a faint smirk appearing on his face. "You're not exactly subtle, you know."

Austin flinched as though he'd been caught sneaking around. "W-We didn't mean to interrupt!" he stammered.

Red lowered his raised foot and planted it firmly on the ground, relaxing his posture. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and stretched his shoulders, his muscles flexing slightly with the motion. "Don't worry about it. I was about done anyway," he said, his voice steady, as calm as the wind that surrounded them.

Nonna eyed him curiously. "Were you... meditating or something?"

Red shook his head with a faint chuckle. "Nah. Just focusing my balance and breathing. Keeps the body sharp and the mind clear. It's good for you—especially when there's too much noise in your head."

Austin scratched the back of his neck, feeling a little awkward. "Well, you definitely look focused... and, uh, strong, too."

Red gave him an amused look. "Strong enough to keep going. That's all that matters."

For a brief moment, the wind picked up again, swirling the fallen leaves around them. Red stood tall, a silent figure in the peaceful clearing, as if he were part of the landscape itself—a warrior who carried his scars not as burdens, but as badges of honor.

Nonna, still watching him, finally spoke, her tone thoughtful. "You're not like the others, are you?"

Red turned his gaze to her, his smirk softening into something gentler. "No. I'm not."

"What do you mean by that?" Nonna asked, her tone soft but probing. "You're not like the others?"

Red glanced over his shoulder at her and Austin, a thoughtful expression crossing his face before he looked forward again. "I mean exactly that. I'm not like my brother, Don."

Austin raised a brow. "Wait, you're talking about Big Boss?"

"Yeah." Red's voice was steady, but there was no bitterness in it—just a quiet acknowledgment of the truth. "Everyone sees Don as a legend, a hero... and he is that, I guess. But me?" He shook his head slightly. "I never cared much for tanks. I never wanted to command a big metal beast across the field like he did. Don loved tankery, lived and breathed it. But me..."

He paused for a moment, taking in the scenery around them as the golden rays of the sunset filtered through the trees. "I've always been different. I like airplanes. The freedom of the sky... the way you can look down and see everything from above. You're not trapped—you're soaring."

Nonna blinked, intrigued. "Airplanes?"

"Yeah. And samurai, too," Red added with a slight grin, his voice carrying the excitement of someone speaking about something they loved. "The way they lived, the honor they carried. I've read about them all my life. Their dedication, their journey—it's inspiring. If I had lived back then, I'd have been one of them, wandering the land with nothing but my sword and a thirst for adventure."

Austin smirked. "So, what? You're a samurai pilot who hates tanks?"

Red chuckled at that. "Something like that. I don't hate tanks—I just don't love them like Don did. It's not my world. My world is one where I can jump out of a plane with nothing but a parachute and the wind at my back." He looked at Austin with a mischievous glint in his eye. "I always wanted to be airborne, you know. Jumping into the unknown, miles above the ground? That's the kind of thing that makes you feel alive."

Nonna listened closely, a small smile forming on her lips as Red spoke. There was no pretense in his words. He wasn't trying to be anyone else—not his brother, not a hero—just himself.

"You've always wanted to make a name for yourself," Nonna said quietly, as though putting the pieces together.

Red stopped, turning to face her and Austin with the same faint smile. "Yeah. Not as Don's little brother or as a shadow of what he left behind. Something different. Something that's mine."

Before either of them could reply, Red's attention shifted to a small hill just ahead, bathed in the golden-orange glow of the setting sun. His eyes lit up, and without another word, he began walking toward it.

Austin and Nonna followed, curious about what had caught his attention. They reached the top of the hill just as Red stepped forward, the sunlight catching the edges of his silhouette. The sprawling horizon stretched out before him, the sun sinking lower, painting the sky in shades of amber and crimson.

Without hesitation, Red planted his feet, straightened his posture, and struck a familiar pose—one they'd both seen before in movies. He stood tall, one hand hanging at his side as he gazed out over the sunset like Luke Skywalker in A New Hope, a lone figure against the vastness of the world.

For a moment, neither Nonna nor Austin said a word. The scene before them felt timeless, like something out of a storybook. Red didn't look like Don's brother anymore, or anyone's shadow. He looked like a man searching for something—his adventure, his name, his place in the world.

Austin finally broke the silence with a low whistle. "You're really going for the full 'hero at sunset' look, huh?"

Red smirked, though his eyes never left the horizon. "Just taking in the view. You should try it sometime."

Nonna crossed her arms, smiling faintly as she looked at him. "You really are different, Red."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. I am."

The scene transitioned seamlessly to Jefferson and Houston walking side by side, their boots crunching against the dirt as the unmistakable hum of rotors echoed above them. A Black Hawk helicopter circled overhead, preparing to land in a makeshift landing zone cleared for the op. Dust and debris swirled in the air, swept up by the downwash.

Jefferson turned his head slightly toward Houston, his brow furrowed in concern. "You sure you want to go alone on this, Boss?" he asked, raising his voice to compete with the roar of the helicopter.

Houston's gaze remained steady, focused on the landing craft. "I have to. It's the only way to save Ed from the Jester. Besides..." He adjusted his gear, the subtle clink of metal filling the pause. "I know he's waiting for me to walk into his trap. Might as well spring it myself and get Edward out of there while I still can."

Jefferson smirked slightly, though his expression remained serious. "Crazy as always, Boss." He stopped and turned to face Houston fully, extending his hand. "I'll handle command while you're out there. The boys and I have your back—just make sure you don't get yourself killed by your old crazy teammate."

Houston clasped Jefferson's hand firmly, their grip saying more than words could. "I won't. Trust me on that."

Without another word, Houston turned and made his way to the helicopter. The crew chief was waiting at the ramp, waving him aboard. As Houston climbed in and strapped himself into his seat, the Black Hawk's engines whined louder, lifting the aircraft off the ground in a powerful ascent.

Jefferson took a step back, watching the helicopter rise into the sky. His eyes followed it until it was a silhouette against the evening sun.

From a short distance, Maho stood silently, observing Houston and Jefferson's exchange. Her arms were crossed, her expression unreadable, but her gaze lingered on the departing helicopter as it flew toward the horizon. She knew Houston well enough to recognize that this mission was personal—and dangerous.

The scene cut to Houston approaching the outskirts of New Avalon, the city sprawled before him. It was heavily fortified, the defenses more robust since the last incursion he'd made with Graham and Muller to rescue their captured men. Floodlights swept across the perimeter, guards patrolled in organized rotations, and checkpoints dotted the walls.

Houston crouched behind an abandoned outpost, pulling out a pair of binoculars. He scanned the perimeter for a weak point.

"Come on, Ed... where are they keeping you?" Houston muttered under his breath.

His eyes narrowed as he focused on the sewer system. A massive pipe jutted out from beneath the city wall, expelling waste into a runoff stream that led away from the city. Houston adjusted the focus, noting the absence of guards near the area. It was clear why—the foul stench alone would deter anyone from getting near it.

Houston sighed heavily, lowering the binoculars. "Figures..."

He hoisted his gear and made his way toward the sewer entrance, his boots sinking into the muddy banks. The closer he got, the more the pungent stench became unbearable. Standing before the massive pipe, Houston paused, mentally preparing himself.

"God, I hate going through here," he mumbled, shaking his head. Taking a deep breath—though he immediately regretted it—he ducked inside the pipe, wading through ankle-deep sludge as he moved into the darkness of the city's sewer system.

The sound of dripping water echoed around him, the faint hum of machinery reverberating through the narrow tunnels. Houston's movements were deliberate, careful to avoid making noise that might travel upward.

After a few minutes of trudging through the muck, his codec crackled to life, Jefferson's voice cutting through the silence.

"Boss, status?"

Houston grimaced as he pressed the codec to respond. "Going through the sewer," he replied in a hushed voice. "I'm under the city now."

There was a pause on Jefferson's end before his voice came back, layered with equal parts amusement and sympathy.

"...Yeah... look, Boss. Once you get Ed, do us all a favor—take a long, nice shower before you talk to any of us when you come back."

Houston scoffed lightly, shaking his head as he pressed on. "Yeah, yeah..."

As Houston emerged from the sewer system, he crouched low, instinctively staying in the shadows. The faint glow of streetlights illuminated the alleyway ahead, casting long, angular shadows across the grimy cobblestone streets of New Avalon. He could still hear the distant hum of generators and the chatter of guards patrolling nearby. His boots were soaked, but he paid no mind—his focus was sharp, his movements silent.

The codec in his ear crackled softly, Jefferson's voice coming through with a hushed tone.

"Boss, you're clear for now, but you'll be entering a patrol zone soon. Head north toward that old market square—looks like there's a small cluster of those Rangers who betrayed us hanging around. Might be worth paying one of them a visit."

Houston paused behind a stack of crates, pulling his binos again and peeking around the corner. Sure enough, three men in mismatched fatigues stood near a derelict building, laughing amongst themselves. The one closest to Houston leaned lazily against the wall, his rifle slung over his shoulder. He looked younger than the others—a new recruit, probably.

Houston clicked the codec. "Jefferson, you think one of these guys knows where Sobel's keeping Ed?"

Jefferson's voice carried a smirk. "You know the drill, Boss. You're persuasive when you need to be. Find out."

Houston grunted in response, lowering the binoculars. "Copy that."

With a practiced fluidity, Houston melted into the darkness. Moving between shadows with near silence, he closed the distance to the lone Ranger in seconds. Every movement was deliberate—like a predator stalking prey. When the time came, Houston struck with precision.

In one motion, he grabbed the Ranger by the collar and yanked him backward into the darkness, wrapping his arm tightly around the man's neck while keeping a knife in his free hand. The blade hovered menacingly near the Ranger's throat, glinting faintly in the moonlight. The young man choked out a surprised gasp, but Houston covered his mouth with his gloved hand, muffling any sound.

"Shhh." Houston's voice was low, calm, and commanding. "Make a noise, and I'll end you."

The Ranger froze, his breathing rapid.

"Codec, Jefferson," Houston whispered, pressing his earpiece. "Got one. Stand by."

Jefferson's voice came back with a casual edge. "Take your time, Boss. Don't scare him too much."

Houston ignored the quip, turning his focus back to the terrified Ranger. Tightening his grip slightly, Houston leaned in, speaking just above a whisper—a tone colder than ice.

"You're going to tell me exactly what I want to know."

The Ranger trembled, squirming weakly in Houston's hold, but Houston held him firm. "Where's Edward? Where's Sobel keeping him?"

"I-I don't—"

Houston's knife shifted ever so slightly closer to the man's throat, the cold steel grazing his skin. "Don't lie to me." His voice dropped to an even more dangerous tone, calm and lethal. "Think carefully before you answer. I'm not asking again."

The Ranger's resolve cracked like glass. "Okay, okay!" he stammered, sweat rolling down his face. "I don't know the exact location, but Sobel—he's keeping him somewhere central! In the old courthouse or the underground holding cells nearby! That's all I know, I swear!"

Houston paused for a moment, judging the truth in the man's voice. The panic in his eyes told him everything. He pressed a little harder, just enough to make the man gasp.

"You're sure?" Houston whispered coldly.

"Yes! Yes, I swear!"

"Good boy," Houston said, releasing his grip slightly but maintaining control. With practiced speed, he slammed the man's head gently—but firmly—into the nearby wall. The Ranger slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Houston dragged him further into the shadows, ensuring he wouldn't be found immediately, then pressed his codec.

"Jefferson, you get that?"

"Loud and clear," Jefferson replied, his tone serious now. "Courthouse or holding cells—it's a good lead. I'll update the map. You're heading into a rough area, Boss. More patrols, tighter defenses. Think Sobel knows you're here?"

"Doesn't matter," Houston said quietly, sheathing his knife and adjusting his gear. "I'll get Ed out before he can react."

Jefferson chuckled softly. "You're still scary when you do that sneaky crap, Boss. Be careful out there."

Houston smirked faintly, slipping back into the shadows. "I always am."

Houston moved like a phantom through the darkened alleys and streets of New Avalon, each step calculated and deliberate. The closer he got to the old courthouse, the tighter the security became. Patrols walked their routes with practiced rhythm, but their complacency was his advantage—none of them noticed the shadow slipping by, barely a breath's sound to mark his passage.

The courthouse loomed ahead, its once-grand facade now marred by years of neglect and conflict. Houston approached cautiously, hugging the building's outer wall as he crouched beneath a cracked window. He gave the structure a quick scan—spotlights swept lazily across the perimeter, and he spotted guards manning key points.

Stay quiet. Stay alive.

His codec buzzed in his ear, Jefferson's voice low. "Boss, cameras are active in the building. You're walking into a hornet's nest."

"Already saw that," Houston replied tersely, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the faint glint of a camera lens near the entryway. "You're still on overwatch?"

"Always. I'll mark out blind spots and routes on your HUD. Just don't make friends with the cameras, yeah?"

Houston didn't dignify that with a response. Pulling up his map on his wrist-mounted PDA, he tracked the camera's sweep pattern. Its motion was slow but methodical, leaving only a small gap for him to slip through. He waited, muscles coiled like a spring.

The camera turned left.

Now.

Houston darted across the open space, keeping low, and slid beneath its blind spot to hug the adjacent wall. His breathing remained steady—years of sneaking in and out of places like this had honed his skills to an art. He gave the courtyard a final glance and then slipped into the building's service entrance.

Inside, the courthouse was eerily silent, the air thick with dust and the faint hum of electronic systems. Flickering lights mounted in the hallway cast sharp contrasts of shadow and light, the perfect cover for someone like Houston.

The codec chimed again. "Boss, I'm tagging multiple cameras on your route—looks like they wired the whole building. Stay sharp."

"Noted," Houston whispered, eyes scanning the walls. Up ahead, a camera hung from the ceiling, swiveling from left to right. He hugged the wall, crouched low, and kept a sharp eye on its movements. Timing it perfectly, he darted under its blind spot, slipping out of its view before it could sweep back.

As he moved deeper into the building, Houston began to hear the faint sound of footsteps and idle conversations echoing off the walls. Guards. He kept to the shadows, leaning out carefully to see a lone soldier manning a narrow corridor. The man looked bored, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he fiddled with his rifle sling.

Houston didn't hesitate. He slid his MK.22 tranquilizer pistol from its holster, cocking the slide back with a faint click. Taking a deep breath, he aimed down the sights and squeezed the trigger.

Pfft.

The guard let out a soft gasp as the tranquilizer dart struck him in the neck. He stumbled slightly, his hand reaching instinctively for the dart, but within seconds, his knees buckled, and he slumped quietly to the floor.

Houston moved quickly, grabbing the man by the collar and dragging him into a nearby storage room. He checked the soldier's pulse—he was fine, already drifting into unconsciousness. Houston tucked the man's rifle out of reach and exited the room, silently shutting the door behind him.

He keyed his codec. "One down. Moving deeper."

"Copy that," Jefferson replied, his tone focused. "You're getting close to the center of the building, Boss. Watch yourself—if Sobel's got Edward locked up, it'll be heavily guarded."

Houston nodded to himself as he continued forward, skipping past more active cameras and weaving through blind spots. Every movement was purposeful, every breath controlled. The hum of machinery and the distant crackle of radio chatter were his constant companions as he crept closer to his target.

Houston froze mid-step as the distant boom of an explosion rattled the building, dust cascading from the rafters above. A moment later, the blaring wail of alarms echoed down the halls, turning the tense silence into chaos.

"What the hell?" he muttered under his breath, instinctively pressing against a wall to remain hidden.

Through the cracked window at the far end of the hallway, he saw them—Rogue Rangers and Airborne trainees pouring outside, shouting orders and scrambling for cover. They were armed with airsoft rifles, but the way they moved had the same urgency as real combat. Houston's brow furrowed in confusion.

He keyed his codec. "Jefferson, what the hell's going on out there? I've got hostiles mobilizing outside."

Only static answered him.

"Jefferson, come in! I need a sitrep!" Houston hissed into his radio as he moved down the hallway, still staying low.

The static lingered for a second longer before Jefferson's voice crackled through, filled with irritation and urgency.

"Damn it, Boss! The others launched the attack! Rivers, Davis, and Jonathan—along with the Japanese schools—got tired of waiting on you. They're hitting the place hard! Sobel's forces are scrambling to respond. Just get to Edward, quick!"

"Son of a..." Houston clenched his teeth, picking up the pace as adrenaline surged through his veins. This was bad. The sudden assault might have created a distraction, but it also meant the clock was ticking faster than ever. If Sobel realized what was happening, he might move Edward—or worse.

Houston sprinted through the halls now, ducking beneath cameras and darting past empty rooms. The alarms blared louder as he made his way deeper into the facility, the echo of boots on the floors above signaling that more reinforcements were inbound.

He burst through a doorway into a dimly lit basement corridor—this was it, the holding cells. Rows of steel-barred doors stretched down the hall, each one sealed tight. The faint flicker of fluorescent lights above cast eerie shadows across the cracked walls. Houston moved quickly, peering into each cell as he passed.

Empty. Empty. Empty.

His heart pounded harder with every step. Then he saw it—one of the last cells on the left. The small, dirty window in the door gave him a glimpse of the inside.

There, strapped down on a rusted medical table, lay Edward Hills.

Houston cursed softly and bolted for the door, pulling out his combat knife. He shoved it into the lock mechanism and pried it open with a loud click, then pushed his way inside.

The sight of Edward made Houston's chest tighten. Edward was barely conscious, his face bruised and swollen, his uniform ripped and stained with dried blood. His wrists and ankles were secured to the table with heavy straps, preventing any movement. The lingering evidence of torture tools scattered nearby—pliers, cables, and a bloodied cloth—told Houston all he needed to know about what the Jester had done.

"Edward," Houston called softly as he moved to the table. There was no response.

He quickly began cutting through the straps with his knife, his jaw clenched tight with anger. "Hang on. I've got you."

Edward groaned faintly, one eye fluttering open. "H-Houston...?" he rasped, his voice barely audible.

"Yeah, it's me. You're gonna be okay," Houston said firmly, finishing the last strap and gently helping Edward sit up. Edward winced, his body trembling from the pain.

"Did... Did you walk here?" Edward muttered weakly, attempting humor despite his battered state.

Houston smirked faintly. "Yeah, something like that."

Edward's smile faded quickly as another distant explosion rocked the building, shaking the walls and making the lights flicker.

Houston grabbed Edward's arm and slung it over his shoulder. "No time for jokes. Can you walk?"

"Barely..."

"That's good enough." Houston adjusted his grip, practically carrying Edward's weight as they moved to the door.

The alarms were louder now. The chaos outside had clearly spread, and Houston could hear shouting and gunfire in the distance—real combat was beginning to break out between the allied forces and Sobel's men.

"We need to get out of here before they seal this place up," Houston said as they entered the hallway.

Houston tightened his grip on Edward as they made their way through the dim corridor, his senses on high alert. The alarms still blared, and every distant explosion or shout made his heart beat faster. He wasn't out of this yet.

Then, he heard it.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

The sound echoed through the hallway, deliberate and mocking. Houston froze mid-step, slowly turning toward the source of the noise.

There, standing at the far end of the corridor, was a figure illuminated by the flickering lights—a young girl wearing a smooth, bone-white mask. Her hands moved slowly, clapping with an unnerving calmness. Behind her, a small group of old Vermont boys stood, rifles in hand, their faces cold and determined.

"Congratulations, Houston," the girl said, her voice smooth but laced with venom. "You actually managed to find him. I'll give you that much."

Houston's jaw tensed, his grip on Edward tightening. He knew that voice. He'd heard it before, haunting him like a ghost from his past.

"It's you..." he muttered.

The girl tilted her head slightly, her mask betraying no emotion. "You're finally seeing me clearly. Took you long enough."

Houston adjusted Edward, setting him carefully against the wall so he could stand on his own. He then turned back to face her, hands raised slightly in a placating gesture.

"Listen to me," Houston began. "Whatever you think happened, you've got it wrong. I wasn't responsible for Lisa's death. I tried to save her."

"Lies," the girl hissed, her calm demeanor cracking slightly. "Every word you say is a lie!"

Houston shook his head, his tone firm but not aggressive. "It's not. I'm telling you the truth. I didn't kill her. And I'm not your father. You need to let go of this idea—"

"Stop lying!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the corridor. The group of Vermont boys stiffened at her command, their fingers twitching over their triggers.

Edward, slumped against the wall, stared at Houston in disbelief. "W-Wait... What did she just say? You're... what?"

Houston didn't have time to respond. The girl pointed a gloved hand at him, her voice cold and final. "Kill him. Make him suffer."

Before Houston could move, the Vermont boys opened fire, their rifles barking with the unmistakable sound of live rounds. Bullets shattered the walls and concrete, sparks flying as the air filled with smoke and chaos.

"Damn it!" Houston dove for cover, grabbing Edward and hauling him behind a steel pillar as rounds tore into the spot where they'd just been standing. Concrete dust fell around them, and Edward winced, clearly weak and dazed.

Houston quickly holstered Edward into a safer corner, crouching beside him. "Stay low. I'll deal with this."

With one hand, Houston unclipped his holster and drew his real weapon—a worn but reliable M1911. The solid weight of the pistol in his hand steadied him as he peeked around the pillar, sizing up the situation.

The Vermont boys were advancing, their rifles still blazing as they spread out to surround him. Houston exhaled slowly, his soldier instincts kicking in. One shot at a time. Stay calm.

He ducked back behind cover, mentally counting their positions. Five of them. Close quarters.

With lightning speed, Houston rolled out from behind the pillar, raising the M1911 and firing three shots in rapid succession.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Two Vermont boys dropped, their rifles clattering to the ground as they went down, groaning in pain. The others shouted in panic and turned their fire toward him. Houston dove back behind cover, narrowly avoiding the barrage of bullets.

"You can't run forever, Houston!" the masked girl taunted from the back. Her voice carried a manic edge now. "I'll hunt you to the ends of the earth if I have to!"

Houston wiped sweat from his brow, his mind racing. He had no time to waste with her personal vendetta. Edward needed to get out of here, and every second he stayed put brought more risk.

He reloaded the M1911 quickly, his fingers practiced and sure. Then, taking a deep breath, he sprang into action.

With precise movements, Houston moved from cover to cover, firing calculated shots at the remaining guards. He hit another in the shoulder, spinning him around with a cry. The fourth guard panicked and sprayed fire wildly, but Houston was already too close.

He closed the distance and knocked the rifle away with a sharp strike to the weapon's barrel. Before the boy could react, Houston brought his elbow up into his jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground.

The last Vermont boy turned to flee, shouting, "We need backup! He's here!"

Houston's voice rang out, cold and sharp. "Too late for that."

He fired one last shot, hitting the boy in the leg. The boy cried out and dropped, clutching his wound.

The corridor fell silent, save for the lingering echo of gunfire and the distant rumble of explosions outside. Houston stood tall, his M1911 still in hand as he turned to face the masked girl.

She stood there, unmoving, her fists clenched at her sides. "You'll regret this, Houston. You can't run from the truth forever. You will pay for what you've done."

Houston leveled his gaze at her, his tone calm but deadly serious. "You want to blame me for what happened? Fine. But I don't have time for this now. Get out of my way."

The girl remained still for a moment, her mask betraying nothing. Then, with an angry hiss, she disappeared back into the shadows, leaving her fallen allies behind.

Houston holstered his weapon and rushed back to Edward. "You still with me?"

Edward nodded weakly, his face pale. "Yeah... but I heard what she said. Houston, is it true? About... "

Houston sighed, hoisting Edward back onto his feet. "It's complicated, Ed. I'll explain later. Right now, we need to get the hell out of here."

Houston was just getting Edward to his feet when it happened—

A shadow, swift and sudden, loomed over him. Before he could react, a blur shot out of the darkness, crashing into him with brute force. The impact knocked him back, and Edward crumpled to the floor, groaning in pain. Houston twisted mid-fall, landing hard on one knee as his instincts kicked in. His hand reached for his M1911—

But it was kicked away.

"You've let yourself slow down, old man."

The voice was unmistakable—gravelly yet twisted, laced with a maddening, unhinged edge. Houston looked up sharply, his eyes narrowing at the figure before him.

The Jester.

He stood there with that same chilling grin, his disheveled hair falling over wild, gleaming eyes. A scar ran across his cheek, jagged and deep—a grim reminder of their last encounter. He wore mismatched combat gear that looked cobbled together, almost mockingly, like a parody of a soldier.

"Jester..." Houston growled, rising to his feet.

The Jester spread his arms wide, his grin stretching further as if this moment were a grand performance just for him. "Ah, Houston! I've waited for this! Three years! Three years of nothing but the memory of our last little dance. You remember it, don't you? You left me broken, bleeding... humiliated."

Houston's gaze never wavered. "You did that to yourself. I didn't betray anyone."

"Didn't betray anyone?" The Jester's laughter erupted like a madman's chorus, echoing through the cold corridor. "You really are delusional! You turned on us! On everything we built!"

"I saved lives," Houston snapped, his voice like iron. "You're just too far gone to see it."

The Jester's laughter stopped abruptly, his face twisting with rage. "You talk too much, Houston. Time to finish what we started."

He lunged forward, his movements frenzied yet precise. Houston braced himself, meeting the Jester head-on. The two clashed like titans, their bodies slamming together as fists and elbows flew. Years of combat experience turned every blow into calculated strikes, but the Jester fought like a rabid animal—fast, unpredictable, and merciless.

Houston blocked a wild swing, countering with a sharp jab to the Jester's ribs. The man grunted but grinned through the pain, swinging his knee up to clip Houston's side. Houston staggered but didn't fall, retaliating with an elbow to the Jester's jaw that sent him stumbling back.

The two men circled each other, breathing hard, each movement tense and deliberate.

"Still fighting like you're twenty years younger," the Jester taunted, wiping a thin trickle of blood from his mouth. "But it doesn't matter. You're going to die here, Houston. And I'm going to enjoy every second of it."

Houston squared his stance, his eyes cold and focused. "You're going to have to try harder than that."

They rushed at each other again, fists connecting with brutal force. The hallway echoed with the sound of knuckles meeting flesh and grunts of pain. Houston landed a solid blow to the Jester's stomach, but before he could follow up—

Pain.

A searing, white-hot pain tore through Houston's back. His eyes widened, and a guttural grunt escaped his throat. He staggered, the fight momentarily forgotten, as the Jester stepped back and began to laugh.

Houston turned his head slightly, wincing as he saw who was behind him—Kai. The boy, twisted with loyalty to Jester, stood holding the hilt of a knife that was now buried deep into Houston's back.

"You little—" Houston snarled through gritted teeth.

With sheer willpower, Houston spun, knocking Kai back with a brutal shove. The knife wrenched out of his back as Kai hit the floor with a yelp.

But before Houston could regain his footing, another figure emerged from the shadows.

"Not done yet!"

Another Vermont boy rushed forward, blade in hand, and drove it into Houston's side. Houston let out a sharp, choking gasp as the second knife sank into him. Blood stained his shirt as he stumbled back, his body trembling with the effort to stay upright.

The Jester watched it all, a look of pure delight on his face. He stepped forward, his boots clicking loudly against the floor.

"You see this?" the Jester sneered, spreading his arms in mock triumph. "This is your so-called hero. The legendary Houston, the man who thought he could change the world. Look at him now!"

Houston fell to one knee, his breathing ragged. Blood dripped onto the cold concrete, pooling beneath him.

"Pathetic," the Jester continued, his voice dripping with mockery. "I almost feel sorry for you. Watching my former Vice Commander like this? Broken, bleeding... a shadow of his former self. Maybe you should've just stayed dead."

Houston coughed, spitting blood onto the floor. He slowly lifted his head, his eyes blazing with a fire that refused to die.

"You're not done with me yet..." Houston muttered, his voice hoarse but defiant.

The Jester's grin faltered for a split second, the confidence in his eyes flickering. Houston gripped the second knife that was still embedded in his side, grunting through the pain as he ripped it free.

He staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his wounds, but his stance was steady.

"Come on," Houston growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Let's finish this."

The Jester's grin returned, sharper than before. "Oh, we will."

The fight raged on, a brutal three-on-one clash that tested every ounce of Houston's endurance. His body screamed in pain, the wounds in his back and side sapping his strength with every movement, but he refused to stop.

The Jester darted forward, throwing wild punches that Houston barely managed to block, his arms shaking under the force. Kai circled to Houston's blind spot, slashing at him with another combat knife, forcing Houston to twist painfully to evade the blade. The third Vermont boy capitalized, landing a hard kick to Houston's side.

"Ugh!" Houston grunted, staggering.

Before he could recover, Kai drove his shoulder into Houston's chest, sending him crashing to the ground. His vision blurred momentarily from the impact, his face pressed against the cold concrete as blood dripped beneath him.

The Jester loomed over him, his mask smeared with blood—Houston's blood. That twisted grin carved into the mask made him look like a demon reveling in the chaos. He began to clap slowly, mockingly.

"Look at you, Houston. The so-called legend, brought low by the people he thought he could lead. You're pathetic." The Jester tilted his head, voice dripping with amusement. "Maybe I'll send your body back to Jefferson and your little 'army.' Let them know the old dog finally died, begging."

Houston's fists clenched against the ground, but his body wouldn't obey him.

"Time to end this!" The Jester snarled, raising his boot to stomp Houston's head.

But before he could strike—

BANG!

A gunshot rang out.

The Jester stumbled backward with a grunt, clutching his side as a bullet tore into him. Blood trickled from his jacket. He looked up in shock, his mad grin faltering as he searched for the source.

Edward stood several feet away, breathing heavily, Houston's M1911 clutched tightly in his shaking hands. The boy's face was pale but determined, his aim steady as he pointed the gun at the Jester.

"Don't... touch him," Edward said through clenched teeth.

"Y-you little—" The Jester staggered, his grin twisting with rage.

Kai turned sharply, his bloodlust shifting to Edward. "You're dead, Edward!" he barked, charging forward with the knife.

Edward froze, terror flashing across his face as Kai sprinted toward him.

Houston, however, gritted his teeth and pushed himself up with a roar of effort. Just as Kai was about to reach Edward, Houston struck.

"Not today!"

Houston surged forward, grabbing the third Vermont boy by the collar and slamming him headfirst into the wall. The boy crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Without stopping, Houston barreled into Kai from the side, tackling him with enough force to shatter the window beside them.

The two tumbled through the glass in a chaotic mess of limbs and broken shards, the wind howling as they plummeted toward the ground floor below.

"Houston!" Edward cried out, watching the two disappear into the darkness outside.

Silence followed, broken only by the distant sound of glass settling and the wail of alarms echoing through the building.

Edward, breathing hard, slowly lowered the pistol. His gaze shifted back to the Jester, who was still standing, his gloved hand pressed tightly to the gunshot wound. Blood seeped between his fingers, but the injury didn't seem to slow him down much.

The Jester looked at Edward, tilting his head as though sizing him up. Then, he chuckled—a low, sinister sound that sent chills through the boy.

"You've got guts, kid," the Jester said, straightening with a pained groan. He flexed his fingers, his bloodied mask somehow amplifying his deranged smile. "But you just made the biggest mistake of your life."

Edward gripped the pistol tighter, his knuckles white.

"Your friend—Houston—he's done for," the Jester taunted, slowly advancing toward Edward. "And you? You're going to wish you died with him."

Edward didn't say a word. His breathing steadied, and his stance shifted—resolute, unshaken. He pointed the pistol at the Jester again, his finger hovering over the trigger.

"Come on, then," Edward muttered under his breath. "Let's see if you're as tough as you act."

The Jester's laughter erupted once more, manic and echoing through the dimly lit room. He raised his arms wide, blood dripping from his side, and began to close the distance.

"Alright, kid! Show me what you've got!"

The room was chaos as Edward and the Jester clashed. Edward's heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline numbing the pain of the gunshot wound. The Jester lunged, his movements fast and erratic, like a predator toying with its prey. Edward barely dodged a sweeping right hook as the Jester's fist smashed into the wall behind him, splintering wood and sending dust flying.

"You're quick, kid!" the Jester cackled, pulling back and circling Edward like a vulture. "But I'm going to break you piece by piece. You'll beg for the end before I'm done!"

Edward tightened his grip on the pistol but realized the Jester was too close—too fast—for him to aim. With a growl, he dropped the gun, squared his stance, and charged forward. He threw a wild punch, aiming for the Jester's masked face.

The Jester laughed as he sidestepped it, landing a brutal elbow strike to Edward's gut. "Is that all you've got!?"

Edward coughed, staggering back, but before the Jester could press the attack, Edward planted his foot and drove forward again. His fist connected with the Jester's jaw—hard enough to snap the madman's head to the side.

"You little runt!" the Jester growled, staggering a step as he turned back, the bloodied grin of his mask more menacing than ever.

Edward didn't let up. Fueled by desperation, he lunged again, fists flying in a flurry of punches. He hit the Jester's ribs, his stomach, even managing to crack a small piece of the mask. The Jester grunted in frustration, swinging a wide haymaker. Edward ducked under it, narrowly avoiding another wall-shattering blow.

"You think this matters?!" the Jester roared. He tackled Edward, driving him into the ground. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through Edward's back, and the air was knocked from his lungs.

"Your stubbornness only makes this fun!" the Jester said, raising his fists to pummel Edward.

Meanwhile—

Outside, Houston groaned as he pushed himself up from the rubble-strewn ground. Glass crunched beneath him as he stumbled to his feet. Kai stood nearby, brushing dust off his sleeves, his eyes locked onto Houston with a look of pure venom.

"You really screwed up, Houston," Kai growled, his voice laced with hatred. "I was so close to finishing Edward off before you showed up. You ruined everything!"

Houston, breathing heavily, wiped blood from his lip. "I don't care about your sob story, Kai," he spat, standing tall despite his injuries. "Just shut up and fight."

https://youtu.be/HkW3d-esnqE

(Something for this fight)

Kai snarled, pulling off his torn jacket. Houston's eye narrowed as he noticed the unnatural bulge of muscle on Kai's arms. The veins running up his forearms were discolored, throbbing with a strange energy.

"The serum..." Houston muttered.

Kai cracked his neck and grinned, his eyes gleaming with a manic light. "Surprised? This serum makes me stronger, faster—everything you're not."

Houston's expression didn't waver. "The serum's a crutch. Useless against someone like me."

Kai charged forward like a freight train, fists raised. Houston barely ducked in time, Kai's fist grazing the side of his face with enough force to send shockwaves through his skull. Before Houston could recover, Kai planted a brutal knee strike to his ribs, sending him sprawling to the ground.

On my soul, everybody in the clique strapped, and they all on go

Keep a stick, just like branch, papi, but I ain't a troll

On my mama, can't nobody out here play me for no ho

"See that, Houston? You're nothing now!" Kai taunted.

Houston coughed, rolling to his feet just as Kai rushed him again. This time, Houston sidestepped at the last moment, driving his elbow into the side of Kai's head. The impact staggered Kai, and Houston followed up with a sharp hook to Kai's jaw.

"Still standing," Houston growled.

Kai wiped blood from his nose, his face twisting with fury. "You think that's going to save you!?" He lunged again, faster this time. The two exchanged brutal blows—Houston's strikes focused and precise, while Kai's were wild, powered by unnatural strength.

Guard your grill, guard your grill

Ain't nobody out here hard to kill

The gat I pack go "pap" and peel your cap from front to back

Have you stiff or hard as steel

Ah, tuna fish my hardest meal

Kai managed to grab Houston's arm, twisting it behind his back and driving a fist into his ribs. Houston grunted but slammed his head backward into Kai's nose, breaking free. Kai stumbled back, clutching his face as blood poured from his nostrils.

Houston pointed at his eye patch with a sneer. "One eye! What's your fucking excuse, huh?!"

Kai's expression contorted in rage. He roared, charging again, fists swinging like hammers.

Back inside—

Edward grunted as he wrestled with the Jester on the ground. The masked man's strength was overwhelming, but Edward refused to give in. He twisted his body, using the Jester's momentum to knock him off balance.

Edward scrambled to his feet, fists raised, breathing heavily. The Jester rose as well, chuckling despite his cracked mask and the blood dripping from his mouth.

"You're tougher than you look, kid," the Jester said, his voice low and mocking. "But you can't win. Not against me."

Stay trill when they switch to a harder skill

I'm in the field like a Buffalo Bill with a bubble-coat filled

With a couple little posts, chill

Switch it up, get direct, black and white, Michael Bibby

I get cheese with everybody, but can't do it with no Mickey

Keep a blicky on me for them serpеnts tryna give me hickeys

Who want smokе? Who want smoke? Well, guess what, ho, I'm the chimney, ah

"We'll see about that," Edward snapped, charging forward.

The two collided again, fists flying. Edward landed a jab to the Jester's ribs, only to be caught with an uppercut that sent him reeling. The Jester pressed his advantage, slamming Edward into the wall and grabbing him by the throat.

Edward gasped, kicking at the Jester's legs, desperate to break free.

"You're going to die here, Edward!" the Jester hissed, his face mere inches from Edward's. "And I'll make sure your friend Houston watches every second!"

Edward's eyes flared with anger. Summoning every bit of strength he had left, he twisted his body and smashed his elbow into the Jester's side. The madman grunted in pain, loosening his grip just enough for Edward to break free.

Edward spun and drove his fist into the cracked portion of the Jester's mask. The impact shattered it, revealing the twisted grin beneath. Bloodied and furious, the Jester staggered back, wiping blood from his face.

Bring me the smoke and I'll build you a fire

To burn my desire, burn my desire

Bring me the smoke and I'll build you a fire

To burn my desire, burn my desire

"You're going to regret that," the Jester snarled, his laughter gone.

Edward stepped forward, his fists clenched, his body aching but unyielding. "I'm not done yet."

The Jester smiled—a cruel, terrifying grin. "Good. I was hoping you'd say that."

Houston ducked under another of Kai's frenzied swings, the force of the punch slamming into a nearby concrete pillar, cracking it. Kai's strength was monstrous, but it came at a cost—his movements were unbalanced, his attacks reckless. Houston bided his time, dodging and countering with precise strikes, each blow wearing Kai down.

On my soul, everybody in the clique strapped, and they all on go

Keep a stick, just like branch, papi, but I ain't a troll (Yeah)

On my mama, can't nobody out here play me for no ho

"You're slowing down," Houston growled, his single eye narrowing as he stepped back to avoid a wild hook.

"Shut up!" Kai screamed, his rage boiling over as he charged again, throwing a heavy punch.

Houston sidestepped, grabbing Kai's outstretched arm mid-motion. With a grunt, Houston twisted violently, yanking Kai's arm backward with a sickening crack!

Don't slander all the banter

Just one answer, I'm an animal

I'm just one man, outstandin' though

Part wolf, part king, part Hannibal

Example, proof, I'm built like I'm mechanical

On the mic, I'm a cannibal

You don't know who I'm family to

You don't know my team, you don't know what my mans'll do

Turn it up to the maximum, gorillas in the trap

"AHHHH!" Kai howled, stumbling to his knees, his arm hanging limp and broken at his side.

Houston loomed over him, breathing heavily but focused, his knuckles bloodied. "You put all your trust in a serum, kid," he muttered, shaking his head. "Strength without control is nothing."

Kai, teeth gritted in fury, tried to rise, swinging his good arm in desperation. Houston caught the punch, drove his knee into Kai's gut, and followed with a brutal uppercut.

The impact sent Kai sprawling backward, his head snapping up before his entire body went limp. Houston stood over him, chest heaving, his face streaked with blood and sweat.

"Stay down," Houston muttered, flexing his aching fists. "You earned it."

Meanwhile—

Edward and the Jester were locked in a brutal struggle. Edward's muscles burned, his body screaming tired, but he refused to give in. Each movement was slower, heavier, yet his focus remained razor-sharp.

The Jester, however, was enjoying himself. He circled Edward like a predator, his movements erratic but deadly. His cracked mask revealed flashes of bloodied teeth as he grinned madly.

"Still standing, Edward?" the Jester teased, his voice lilting with mockery. "You're stubborn. I like that. Makes breaking you all the sweeter."

But them got millions watchin' every move I make 'cause I'm what's happenin'

Got jaws droppin', autopsies, drive hard tops, got hard body

'Cause Nas told me, "Y'all problem", this high-powered, high-profit

Edward said nothing, wiping blood from his mouth as he steadied himself. He couldn't match the Jester's raw strength, but he had something the Jester didn't—calm under pressure.

The Jester lunged forward, throwing a brutal punch. Edward ducked low and darted to the side, grabbing a loose piece of wood from the ground. As the Jester turned to attack again, Edward swung the plank with all his strength. The wood shattered against the Jester's side, forcing him to stumble.

"Clever," the Jester hissed, his voice losing its playful edge. "But you're running out of tricks."

Edward took a deep breath, his mind racing. He needed an opening—something the Jester wouldn't expect. Then he saw it: the cracked floor beneath them, weakened from their earlier fight.

"Come and get me!" Edward shouted, waving his arms tauntingly as he backed up toward the broken tiles.

The Jester snarled, his eyes blazing with fury. "You think I'm stupid?! You can't run forever!"

He charged forward, his fists swinging wildly. Edward feigned a stumble, letting the Jester close the distance. As the madman swung a haymaker, Edward dove sideways at the last second.

The Jester's punch hit nothing but air—and the momentum carried him forward. His foot caught the broken tile, which crumbled under his weight.

CRACK!

The Jester fell forward, his body slamming into the ground with bone-jarring force. The impact drove his face into the floor, shattering what remained of his bloodied mask.

For a moment, everything was still. Edward pushed himself up, breathing heavily, his vision swimming. He looked over at the Jester, who lay sprawled on the ground, the remnants of his mask scattered around him like broken porcelain.

The Jester groaned, blood dripping from his nose and mouth as he tried to push himself up, his face finally visible—pale, scarred, and twisted in rage.

Edward clenched his fists, taking a step closer. "It's over," he said, his voice low and firm.

The Jester coughed, his deranged grin faltering. "You... brat."