Chi's office still smelled like old leather, blood, and bitter tea.
The fluorescent lights flickered faintly overhead — one always buzzed like it had a grudge. Sam had made a game of timing his gum chews with it. He was leaning against the wall now, legs crossed like this was just another Tuesday briefing.
I sat hunched over the main console, wrist-patch uplinked, fingers dragging across the transparent interface. Data from the recon drone stitched itself together in real time — heat maps, kinetic patterns, signal footprints.
Behind the glass wall to our left, we could hear him.
The soldier.
Chi was with him now. You didn't have to see it — you could hear it.
The rhythmic thud of flesh against metal. A grunt. Something cracked. Then the low moan of someone trying not to scream.
Sam didn't look up.
"You think he's getting anything useful?"
"Chi doesn't beat people for intel," I muttered. "He does it to enjoy."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Dark."
I kept working.
Signal anomalies were popping up like mold. Something about the timestamps didn't line up. There was a blank zone — almost surgically precise — between 0300 and 0600 hours. No activity. No trace. No transmission.
And then… the drone's buried scan hit a flagged return.
I sat up straighter.
"What?" Sam asked, sensing it.
I magnified the data. The signal pattern under the comms slab was— it was deliberate. Encoded, staggered. Military spacing.
KLA-1 pulsed into my ear:
> "Thermal echo suggests multiple bodies. Estimated: 247 to 253 heat signatures.
Signal jamming initiated from perimeter posts. Encryption: Non-NU. Likely field-grade."
I stared at the numbers.
"Shit."
"What?" Sam uncrossed his arms.
"There weren't three or four. There were at least 250 soldiers stationed near Outpost 19. Maybe underground. Maybe cloaked. And they cut off their own uplink before we arrived."
Sam's gum slowed.
Behind the glass, another scream rattled against the walls — raw and broken.
Chi stepped in a moment later, sleeves rolled up, blood on his knuckles like old paint. He looked like a man who hadn't slept since 2027.
"You done with the toy box, S-14?"
I stood up.
"They weren't caught off-guard. They planned it. Jammed everything. 250 boots or more — armed, stationed, and gone."
Chi didn't blink. "Gone?"
I nodded. "Like they were never there."
He exhaled sharply, dragged a hand down his face.
Sam finally said it. "So where the fuck did they go?"
Chi looked out the small window slit, toward the jungle.
And he muttered:
"They're waiting."
I mean the fuck was I supposed to know they were waiting. He was acting like a hard ass man but I knew he was pretty scared.
Chi lit a match with one hand, lit a stale cigarette with the other.
"Soldier broke," he said. "Eventually. Told me this whole thing was just noise. A scare tactic to keep us out of Hoa Lư while they reposition for the real strike."
I didn't speak. Just let the data pulse quietly on the console screen.
He exhaled — smoke curling like a map folding in midair.
"They're going to hit Hanoi. Maybe in a day. Maybe two. Depends on how long they want to keep pretending they're not ready."
Sam blinked. "That's suicide. Even for them."
Chi gave a dry laugh. "Do you think those bastards are human?"
He walked over, dropped a file on the console. My name was stamped in black across it.
"S-14, your transfer came through."
I looked at him, confused for a second.
"To the NU Humanitarian Aid Wing," he added, quieter now. "Approved two nights ago. I was going to delay it. But…"
He tapped a digital overlay onto the screen — zooming out to a global grid.
NU HQ flashed red.
"Kyushu's fallen. The People's Army of Japan took it last night. And they're rolling through Honshu. They have reached Hyogo and it's going.." He stopped and continued " Let's say it's not to great for the Nihongo government "
The room froze in a long, impossible second.
Sam said, "No way. NU HQ's in—"
"Osaka," I finished, voice low.
Chi nodded. "Gone dark two hours ago."
KLA whispered in my ear:
"Major grid disruption. No internal communication. Satellite relay overridden. Civilian evacuations: blocked. All flights from Japan to continental fronts: grounded."
I felt my breath leave me.
NU — the omnipresent engine, the machine behind every protocol, every AI, every goddamn medpack — was breaking apart.
"You'll be routed through Da Nang," Chi continued. "Then into coastal airlift. You're to assist refugee screening and trauma units. Mostly from Hyogo sectors. Also to end JPA."
"Why me?" I asked.
Chi looked at me like the question was older than both of us.
"Because you not that ruthless young lad I had seen back then but a true man. NU needs that."
Sam turned, jaw flexing. "So that's it? You're out? You get to go play nurse while we wait to get glassed here?"
"Sam—"
"No," he cut in, voice sharper than I'd heard throughout this ass of a convo. "You don't get to vanish now."
But Chi stepped between us.
"This isn't optional."
He looked at me again — quieter now.
"And frankly… I don't think any of us are going to be optional much longer."
Chi leaned back in his chair, the overhead light catching on the scar that cut across his left brow — a reminder of why no one ever questioned him twice. Then he slid a folder across the table.
"Thought you should see this," he said. "The one pulling strings now — the real one — goes by the name Ofuu-Sama."
The name hit harder than I expected. It reminded me of my fav anime's character. Just that: Ofuu-Sama.
He tapped the photo inside. Blurred. Night vision. A masked figure standing atop a downed crawler unit, coat flared in the wind like a war flag. Even grainy, there was something about the posture — upright, still, utterly unbothered.
"She doesn't speak to the media. Doesn't appear in captured drone feeds. But she's everywhere. Strategist. Orator. Executioner," Chi continued. "The face of JPA, even if no one's seen it."
I leaned in. The mask — it looked carved, not printed. Traditional, almost ceremonial. Not for concealment — for declaration.
"Left hand?" I asked, already knowing.
"Kira Kamakura," Chi said, voice sharpening. "Top dog in the Japanese self-defense forces before he ghosted. Genius in terrain warfare. Used to be our nightmare. Now he's hers."
He went to the next slide.
"And the right?"
"Aiden Goodmen," he said, with a grimace. "British. Ex-NU attack soldier like you. Dishonourable discharge after Jakarta Uprising. No record of him after that. We assumed dead. We were wrong."
I didn't say anything. Just stared at the image again — Ofuu-Sama standing alone, above a wreck of fire and metal, as if it was all just part of her plan.
Chi didn't look up as he flipped through the classified dossier. Sam stood by the shuttered window, sunlight cutting hard lines across his face. The silence was thick enough to chew.
Chi finally spoke. "Your surveillance work these past two years—clean. Sharp. Clockwork."
I didn't respond. I already knew what was coming.
Then he said it.
"Móng Cái op file."
Sam turned his head slightly. "What's that?"
Chi continued reading. "Seventy-nine kills. Within 45 minutes. No backup. No witness reports. Just thermal fadeouts."
Sam looked at me. "You were there?"
I nodded once, slow.
Chi tossed the file on the desk like it weighed nothing. "That place died after you left. No more patrols. Whole command structure collapsed. You didn't just cut out the infection. You gutted the entire limb."
He looked at me then, long and tired. "They should've decorated you. Instead, they buried you."
Sam blinked. "Wait... then why were you banned from the attack divisions? That's textbook field brilliance."
I laughed, but it sounded more like a cough. Dry. Hollow.
"That wasn't the only reason."
Sam raised an eyebrow. Chi didn't interrupt.
I leaned against the wall. Cold cement. My skin didn't register it.
"The next morning, Cristian—yes, the same guy who's supposed to be part of our team—he tried to force himself on a minor. Girl from one of the refugee aid tents. Thirteen."
Sam's face twisted.
"I broke his nose. Elbowed him till his blood hit the floor. No one filed the assault. No one punished him. But I got the 'unfit for group integration' tag in my report. No more attack squads. No more resistance."
Chi was silent. Sam looked down, fingers balling into fists.
I continued, voice lower now. "That's what they don't write in the records. Not the names. Just sanitized ink on fake parchment."
Chi finally said, "You walk like a lone wolf, S-14.When you came in it was evident that you weren't at the level but you proved our ass wrong."
I looked back at him.
Chi's hand lingered on the last page of the report. He didn't look up when he said it.
"You ever tell her?"
I looked at him. "Tell who?"
He turned the file around. Tapped a name.
Nguyen Bao.
Date of death: 11.03.2033
Cause: friendly fire.
Filed under: Operation Clay Maw – Móng Cái sector.
Sam looked between us, confused.
Chi's voice was low. "Mama Toui's younger brother. Bao."
My throat clenched. The air in the room turned heavier.
"I didn't know it was him," I said. My voice didn't even sound like mine. "Target was behind him. Bao stepped in, tried to help. I didn't see his face. I just… shot."
Sam leaned forward. "Wait… Mama Toui? You were the one who shot her brother?"
I couldn't look at him.
"She knows," Chi said, arms folded. "She knew the moment she saw you here. Didn't say a word. Didn't throw you out of her café. That's her choice."
I muttered, "I never had the guts to bring it up."
Chi leaned back. "Maybe you should. Maybe not. But don't act like your heart is emotion less, S-14."
I looked away. The corners of my mind throbbed. Bao's face—blurred, silent—never left me, especially in the quiet before sleep.
"She still brews your favourite tea," Chi added. "No sugar. Just bitterness."
Sam whistled, then fell silent again. He didn't know what to say. Honestly, neither did I.
Chi picked the report back up. "You're not the only one with blood on your hands. But you're one of the few still trying to wash it off."
Chi closed the file, slow and firm.
"Go get some air. You leave tomorrow morning."
I nodded. Sam did too, more for form's sake. We pushed the office door open just as the grey light outside crept into the hallway. Felt like the calm before something heavier.
Then my comm buzzed.
Kolkata.
I paused mid-step. Sam waited, arms crossed. The hallway suddenly felt far too long.
I picked up.
From the other side, a woman's voice—soft, tired, worn by routine.
"Shono na, or schooler fees ta bhore dao..."
(Listen, please pay his school fees...)
My chest pulled tight. The kind of tight you don't show.
"Tomay bhabte hobe na, pathiye dichi."
(You don't need to worry, I'm sending it.)
A pause. Then, almost like a whisper breaking through static:
"Tumi kobe bari phirbe abar?"
(When will you come back home?)
I swallowed. My tongue felt like sand.
"Japan-ei posting legeche... Mone hoye na 6 mas ba ek bochor-er age aste parbo."
(Got posted in Japan... I don't think I can come back before six months. Maybe a year.)
She didn't say anything else.
I ended the call and slipped the comm back into my coat pocket.
Sam didn't ask. He just started walking again.
The engine hummed low as we rolled past the dim coastline, stars buried behind smoke and cloud. Sam was unusually quiet, eyes scanning the dark horizon like something might jump out.
I leaned back, felt my pulse against my temple.
"Let's get some coffee," I said, rubbing my forehead. "I'm feeling dizzy."
Sam looked over. "Was that really your wife on the call?"
I laughed—dry, brittle. "No.Just on papers. She was my friend's girlfriend."
He raised an eyebrow, chewing his gum like a question mark.
"We were in the same class, the three of us. She got pregnant at fifteen. That's when the war started—2026. Everything fell apart after that."
The rover turned left, toward the coast road that led to Toui's café. A faint salt breeze crept in through the vents.
"We lived together for a while. Me, him, her—and his little sister. It was cramped, loud, chaotic. After my family died they became my family and lived with me in my family house."
I could hear the boy's laugh. The sound of two tin spoons clinking against a steel plate.
"My friend… he picked up a job at this shady dock. Quick cash, no questions asked. One night he got into it with some lowlifes. They stabbed him."
Sam went still.
"For what?" he asked.
"Thirty bucks. Maybe seventy. I never got the full story. Not that it matters."
I looked out the window again. The world was black and flickering.
"I'd promised him I'd protect everything he loved. His kid. His sister. Her. I tried."
My voice dropped.
"Everything I've done since… it's been for him. But still—he died."
We drove the rest of the way in silence, the kind that doesn't hurt anymore. Just… sits with you.
Mama Toui's café lights glowed faintly in the distance.
Sam glanced sideways at me, then back out the window. "You've been makin' me get the coffee every damn time. She the reason?"
I didn't answer right away. I never did when it came to Toui.
"She was the reason I wasn't eaten alive by those American bastards," I said finally, my voice low. "They called me curry-boy. Tried to break me the first week I landed."
Toui didn't.
She smiled. Called me bae. Shoved rice into my hand when I hadn't eaten in two days. Taught me how to say "fuck off" in three dialects.
"She made me someone here," I said "Respected. She made my ass fucking feel real again."
Sam said nothing. That was his strength — the ability to listen without asking.
"She had a brother. Bao."
I swallowed, felt the ghost of that moment clawing up my throat.
"My friend. My only friend. I killed him."
Sam turned toward me, just a flicker of motion. I kept staring ahead, hands locked on the wheel.
"It was fast. Field op gone wrong. He came around a corner too quick, no ID, no comms. I reacted before my brain caught up. One shot."
Silence.
"I still see it," I whispered. "Not Bao falling. That was bad, but… not the worst part."
I paused, felt my pulse throb in my jaw.
"It was her face. When she saw his body. When she looked at me like something inside her broke and wouldn't make a sound."
That was the moment everything ended.
"I left her," I said. "Walked out of her life like a coward. After four fucking years together. After all the nights and plans and small joys we built. I left."
She cried.
I cried harder.
"And still, even after all of that… she smiled at me. Not like before. Someone she couldn't bring herself to hate."
The café lights shimmered in the distance now. Lanterns swaying, warmth leaking through cracked wooden shutters.
Sam's voice cut in gently. "You asked me to deliver coffee all this time... 'cause you couldn't face her?"
I nodded. "I couldn't go past that vision. Her grief. Her silence. I'm supposed to be S-14. Sharpest asset in Sector ASEAN. But around her? I'm just a fuck-up with blood on his hands."
He didn't say anything else.
Neither did I.
I had the confrot that bitch. Becuase she might have moved on but I haven't. Maybe the Fucking convo will help.