Reliable Excavation & Demolition: A Rotten World, and Pure Chaos

The sun had barely begun its slow ascent when the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the dense forest surrounding Night Raid's hideout. The morning mist clung to the trees, swirling around the lone figure making his way up the rugged path. A messenger, clad in a worn, dust-streaked robe, moved with purpose, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed his nerves. His breathing was uneven, his forehead slick with sweat despite the crisp dawn air. His grip on the sealed parchment was tight, as if letting go would spell his doom.

Night Raid's hideout was nestled deep within the mountains, hidden beneath the dense canopy of ancient trees. The terrain was treacherous—steep inclines, rocky outcrops, and thick undergrowth made it difficult for any unwelcome visitors to approach unnoticed. A winding path, barely distinguishable from the rest of the forest floor, led to the entrance—a reinforced wooden structure, once an abandoned watchtower from a bygone war. Now, it served as the base of one of the Empire's most dangerous enemies.

Inside the hideout, the dim glow of lanterns cast flickering shadows along the wooden walls. The air was heavy with the scent of aged wood, ink, and faint traces of gunpowder. Najenda sat at the center of the room, her single visible eye sharp as she listened to Lubbock read aloud from the newly delivered parchment. The paper was slightly creased, its official wax seal partially smudged—clear signs it had changed hands more than once before reaching them.

"Captain Ogre and a merchant named Gamal," Lubbock muttered, eyes narrowing as he scanned the request. "The client cites corruption, extortion, and abuse of power as reasons for elimination. Payment promised upon completion." He set the paper down and tapped a finger against it. "Seems pretty standard… but something about this stinks."

Najenda exhaled slowly, rolling a cigar between her fingers without lighting it. "You noticed it too."

Lubbock nodded. He stole a glance at the messenger standing rigidly near the entrance, his posture too controlled, his hands clasped behind his back with unnatural stiffness. The man's expression remained neutral, but his eyes flickered nervously between Najenda and Lubbock, as if gauging their reactions—or worse, calculating an escape route. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, catching the dim light before he quickly wiped it away.

Najenda's voice was calm but firm, cutting through the heavy silence. "How did this request reach you?"

The messenger straightened, swallowing hard. "The client sought me out personally," he replied, a little too quickly. "Said it was urgent. I was instructed to deliver it directly into your hands."

Lubbock leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "That's a little strange, don't you think? Most people looking to hire assassins don't go around tracking down Night Raid's couriers. They either drop the request anonymously or use an intermediary."

The messenger's fingers twitched slightly—a tell. "M-Maybe the client was just desperate," he stammered, attempting to keep his voice steady.

"Or," Najenda said smoothly, her expression unreadable, "you've been compromised."

The air in the room thickened, the weight of her words settling over them like an iron shroud. Lubbock's usual smirk faded, his fingers subtly tightening around the thin, razor-sharp wires concealed beneath his sleeves. The messenger visibly stiffened, his breath hitching as he took half a step back before catching himself.

"I swear, I only did what I was told!" the man blurted out. "I have no reason to deceive you!"

Najenda studied him, her gaze piercing. The way he stood, the way his voice wavered—it all pointed to a man under duress, someone either afraid for his life or trying to sell a well-rehearsed lie. A forced delivery, an anxious courier, and an assassination request targeting both an Imperial officer and a well-connected merchant? It had all the makings of a carefully laid trap.

A long silence stretched between them before Najenda finally leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. "We'll proceed with the mission," she said at last, her voice steady, "but with caution."

Lubbock arched an eyebrow. "And what about him?" He jerked his chin toward the messenger, who was barely holding back a sigh of relief.

Najenda's gaze didn't waver. "Follow him after he leaves. I want to know where he goes, who he speaks to, and how quickly he reports back. If he does anything suspicious, we act."

Lubbock grinned, though the amusement didn't reach his eyes. "Understood."

The messenger gave a quick, stiff bow before hastily turning to leave, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. The moment the door shut behind him, Lubbock let out a dry chuckle.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, twirling a strand of his green hair. "Imperial dog, or just a nervous wreck?"

Najenda tapped her finger thoughtfully against the table. "Either way, we're being watched."

Outside, the messenger moved swiftly through the trees, his breathing erratic. He had done his job, but the weight of their suspicion clung to him. He wasn't sure if he would make it back to his contact without a knife in his back.

The dim glow of lanterns flickered inside the 'war room' of the mansion, casting elongated shadows against the grand wooden walls. The faint scent of old wood and oil hung in the air, mingling with the subtle traces of gunpowder that clung to Heavy's vest. Spy leaned against the table, idly flipping his butterfly knife between his fingers with practiced ease. The rhythmic clicking of the blade drew Heavy's glance, though the larger man said nothing. Tatsumi, however, shifted uncomfortably, eyeing the weapon with thinly veiled unease. Spy smirked, amused by their reactions, but said nothing as he continued his idle motions. The metallic glint of the blade reflected the firelight as his sharp gaze lingered on the parchment laid before them—the assassination request Night Raid had received just hours ago.

Heavy sat across from him, arms crossed, his massive frame making the modest room feel even smaller. The wooden chair beneath him creaked slightly as he shifted. He hummed in thought, eyes narrowing at the names scrawled on the page. "They go after Captain Ogre," he rumbled, his thick accent weighing down the words. "Corrupt man. Deserves bad death." His fingers tapped lightly against the table, a slow and deliberate rhythm.

Spy smirked, his voice smooth and laced with quiet amusement. "Oui, but the way they do it? That is what interests me." He flicked his wrist, and the knife disappeared into his sleeve as if it had never been there. "Night Raid is efficient, but they are still assassins. We should see how they handle their affairs." His tone carried an air of detachment, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity.

Tatsumi, standing by the doorway, stiffened. He clenched his fists, his nails pressing against his palms. "You make it sound like we're watching some kind of show," he muttered, his voice carrying an edge of discomfort.

Spy exhaled a faint chuckle, his expression unreadable. "Everything is a show, mon ami. The trick is knowing when to step onto the stage." His fingers tapped against the table in a slow rhythm, mirroring Heavy's earlier movement. He studied Tatsumi carefully, as if assessing whether the boy truly understood the weight of the world he had stepped into.

Tatsumi's jaw tightened. His mind flashed back to the night before—to the bodies of his friends, to the sickening laughter of that noble girl before he put a bullet between her eyes. The weight of his sword felt heavier at his side, but he welcomed it. He had sworn to change things with his own hands, and now he had the chance. The weight of his sword felt heavier at his side, but he welcomed it. He had sworn to change things with his own hands, and now he had the chance.

"I'll take care of Captain Ogre myself."

Spy's amusement faded, and he tilted his head slightly, studying the younger man. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by something more calculating. "Bold. But are you certain?" His voice, though still smooth, carried a sharpness now.

Tatsumi nodded, his grip tightening around his sword's hilt. The cold steel pressed against his palm, grounding him. "I won't sit on the sidelines. I need to do this." His voice was steady, but there was an undeniable tension in his posture. The air in the room seemed heavier, thick with unspoken weight.

Heavy let out a low chuckle and reached over, clapping a massive hand on Tatsumi's shoulder with surprising gentleness. The weight of it was reassuring, firm but not overpowering. "Then we watch. You fight, we see." His expression hardened slightly. "But do not get yourself killed, little man." The softness in his voice betrayed the gruff exterior, a reminder that while he was a warrior, he was also a man who had seen too many fall before their time.

Spy sighed theatrically, adjusting his gloves. The gesture was fluid, effortless, but there was an undeniable shift in his demeanor. "Very well, if you insist. I suppose it will be… educational." He turned toward the window, where the city loomed beneath the moon's glow. The Capital stretched out before them, its streets alive even in the late hours, a world of corruption masked by grand architecture. A smirk returned to his lips, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Let us see if you truly have what it takes."

The tension in the room thickened, but Tatsumi didn't waver. His grip remained firm, his breath steady. The echoes of his past clashed against the weight of his future. Tonight, he would prove himself—not just to them, but to himself.

Night had fallen, casting long, eerie shadows over the Capital. The city, still vibrant with the sounds of merchants closing their stalls and distant chatter echoing down narrow alleys, hid the dark undertones of a much more sinister battle unfolding. Beneath the surface, the streets had become a silent battleground, and the corrupt elite of the Capital were unaware that their reign was being silently torn apart.

The team of Night Raid moved swiftly, as shadows themselves. Their footsteps were absorbed by the thick layer of dust that coated the cobblestones, muffling their presence. Each member knew their role, their purpose clear, the weight of their mission pressing heavily on their shoulders. The Capital, with its towering buildings and grand architecture, no longer seemed like a home but a hunting ground—an arena for a clash between justice and tyranny.

Ahead, Akame and Leone had already set off to take down their target—Gamal. The corrupt noble had long been a hidden architect behind the atrocities committed by those in power. From pulling strings to causing suffering, he had done it all with a hidden hand, keeping himself insulated from the bloodshed that stained the streets. But tonight, his reign would come to an end. Akame's blade was ready, its edge sharpened by years of painful memories, and Leone's sharp eyes gleamed with the thrill of justice yet to be served. Their mission was clear: strike fast, strike silent, and leave no trace behind. No mercy. No hesitation.

Meanwhile, the REDs moved with their own sense of purpose, each mercenary familiar with the intensity of such missions. Spy, ever calculating, had already deduced the nature of their target. Through careful observation and planning, he had realized that while Gamal was the obvious choice for Night Raid, it was the more dangerous threat—Captain Ogre—who needed to be taken down. He was a symbol of everything corrupt, a man whose cruelty was as much a weapon as his military rank. Spy's mind worked swiftly, formulating the plan in a way that would outsmart any surprises, and soon he shared it with the rest.

"Gamal's for Night Raid," Spy murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "Ogre is our target. The others can handle Gamal, but Ogre… he's the one pulling the strings too close to our operation."

Heavy, the silent observer, stood off to the side, his hulking frame hidden in the shadows of the darkened alley. Despite his massive size, his presence was barely detectable, a testament to his experience. His steely eyes scanned the area, ensuring no one would interfere with the operation. The night was still, almost too still, as though the city itself held its breath. But Heavy remained alert, his massive hands resting calmly on the grips of his weapons, ready to strike at a moment's notice. He was the safeguard, the quiet force watching over the others with a sense of calm vigilance. His role tonight was crucial—he was the one who would see them through if anything went wrong.

Tatsumi, on the other hand, felt a growing unease in his gut, a mixture of anger and anticipation. He clenched his fists, eyes narrowed. While the rest of the team prepared for their roles, Tatsumi couldn't help but focus on the greater purpose that fueled him—the memory of those he had lost, the lives destroyed by people like Captain Ogre.

"I'm handling Ogre," Tatsumi said, his voice barely more than a growl, as if he was speaking to himself more than the others. He didn't look back as he adjusted his sword, his eyes locked forward, already visualizing the confrontation ahead. The fire inside him was unstoppable, a steady rage that had only grown stronger since that fateful day he lost everything.

Spy raised an eyebrow, studying Tatsumi's form in the darkness. There was no mistaking it—Tatsumi was more than determined. There was something dangerous in his calm, the kind of resolve that didn't allow for failure. But Spy also knew better than to push him now. "You sure about that?" he asked, voice low but filled with a note of curiosity. Tatsumi's anger was his to deal with, but Spy knew better than anyone that vengeance could be as much a hindrance as a motivator.

"I'll be fine," Tatsumi replied flatly, his voice devoid of doubt. "You handle Gamal. I've got a score to settle."

Spy smirked, though he knew this wasn't the time to question the younger man. Tatsumi had always been like this—unwilling to allow anyone else to carry the weight of his personal vendettas. Spy trusted his skills, but he also knew that this mission wasn't just about eliminating a target. It was about something deeper, something that went beyond just the mission itself.

Heavy gave a single, silent nod from the shadows, his eyes never leaving his post. Tatsumi, resolute as always, moved ahead into the dark streets where the scent of dust and decay clung to the air. His footsteps were steady, but his mind was anything but calm. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, the cold steel a reminder of the task ahead.

In the distance, he could already see the outline of Captain Ogre's patrol. A cruel man with the arrogance to match his uniform. Every step Tatsumi took brought him closer to the man who embodied everything he despised. The night air was thick with anticipation, and the city seemed to close in around him, each breath heavy with the promise of what was to come.

As the shadows deepened, Tatsumi's determination solidified. There was no turning back now. Not when the enemy lay ahead. And not when the fires of vengeance burned so hot inside him.

The district was quiet, save for the distant clatter of armor and heavy boots on stone. Tatsumi moved with practiced steps, keeping to the shadows, his fingers resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. He had memorized Ogre's patrol route, thanks to the reconnaissance they had done earlier. The man was predictable—arrogant, even in his routines.

Then, just as expected, Captain Ogre rounded the corner, his heavy boots clanking against the stone with an air of arrogant authority. He walked with a swagger, shoulders squared, chest puffed out as if he owned the very streets beneath him. His smirk was ever-present, a smug expression that spoke of unchecked power. In his mind, he was untouchable, just another enforcer of the Empire's will—one who had crushed countless hopefuls under his heel without a second thought.

The sight of him alone made Tatsumi's blood run hot. Memories surged—his friends, laughing beside him, full of dreams. The promise they had made to rise together. And then, the betrayal, the cold realization as he held Ieyasu's broken body. Ogre had played a part in it. He was another cog in the Empire's corrupt machine, another monster hiding behind a soldier's badge. Tatsumi's grip on his sword tightened. He would not falter. Broad shoulders, thick armor, and that self-satisfied smirk that oozed overconfidence. He looked more like a thug than a soldier, his posture lax, as if he had nothing to fear. The sword at his hip gleamed in the torchlight, but his stance suggested he didn't expect to use it.

Tatsumi stepped forward, blocking his path.

Ogre slowed to a halt, raising a thick brow. "Oh? And what do we have here? A little brat out past curfew?" His voice was coated with mockery, and his lips curled into a smirk. "You lost, kid?"

Tatsumi didn't answer. He simply held his ground.

Ogre clicked his tongue and crossed his arms. "Tch. No? Well, I don't have time to babysit—" He stopped, his eyes narrowing as they scanned Tatsumi's expression. Recognition flickered across his face. "Wait a second... you're that new recruit, aren't you? Tatsumi, right?"

Tatsumi remained silent.

Ogre let out a short laugh. "What, you here to file a complaint? Maybe beg me to let you in the military after all? Hah! You should've been smarter, brat. This world chews up weaklings like you."

Still, Tatsumi didn't move.

Ogre's smirk twitched slightly. "You're getting on my nerves, kid. Out of the way."

Tatsumi's fingers curled tighter around his sword. The time for words was over.

Heavy, from the shadows above, watched in silence, his brow furrowing slightly. He had seen many fights, many warriors eager to prove themselves, but something about the way Tatsumi stood—rigid, simmering with barely restrained fury—made him pause. This was not just a battle for the boy. This was something deeper. Heavy exhaled quietly, his massive frame unmoving. He would let Tatsumi have his fight, but if things turned dire, he would be ready. The fight had not yet begun. But the storm was coming.

And when it did, there would be no mercy.