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(POV: Marco)
The echo of the engine cracked through the early morning calm like thunder through an open wound. I was already at the southwest guard post when the perimeter alarms blared to life, harsh and raw, sending our teams scrambling into action. Kohta was yelling coordinates, Rei was already taking position by the main gate, and Kanako barked orders through the radio like she'd been born with a comm in her throat.
But I saw her first.
Black sportbike. Low to the ground. Engine still roaring with power. And behind the dark visor of a crimson helmet, a silhouette I didn't recognize—at first.
She skidded the bike sideways as it cleared the barricade, her boots hitting the asphalt with practiced ease. There was a submachine gun strapped to her back, a revolver—a twin from Rei's father revolver—on her hip. Her suit was reinforced, matte black fabric stretched over a body that moved with calm, lethal grace. The visor came up.
Rei froze. "...Kaa-san?"
The woman stepped forward, pulled the helmet off, and let her short-cropped brown hair shake free. Her blue eyes locked on Rei.
"Rei," she said simply. Her voice wasn't cracked with emotion. It wasn't dramatic. It was steady—strong. "You've grown harder. Good."
Rei dropped her rifle.
"Kaa-san!" she screamed, crossing the distance and throwing herself into her mother's arms.
Kiriko Miyamoto didn't stumble. She embraced her daughter tightly, her gloved hand stroking Rei's hair as Rei cried against her shoulder, sobbing half-broken syllables. I gave them their moment. Everyone else instinctively backed off.
She was supposed to be missing—or dead.
But here she was. Alive, scarred, and carrying her late husband's gun like a badge of honor.
By the time Rei pulled herself together, we were already escorting Kiriko through the outer perimeter and into the main courtyard. The others stared as we passed—Saeko's expression unreadable, Kanako nodding silently, Takashi standing dumbfounded with his rifle half-lowered.
Kiriko walked like a soldier. Everything in her body language said discipline, and her eyes were scanning everything—entries, cover, choke points. This woman was more than just a cop.
I stepped in beside her.
"Marco Di Balla," I said. "You've caused a stir, Miyamoto-san. Perimeter breach protocol would usually get someone shot."
"Would've been worth it," she said dryly, eyes not leaving the line of fortifications being worked on by Kanako's team. "If I died seeing Rei was alive, that'd be enough."
I nodded. Respect.
We reached the main strategy room. Kyoko was already at the command table when I brought up her panel.
[SYSTEM PANEL - MIYAMOTO, KIRIKO]
Age: 41Combat Class: Urban Counterterror / Riot SpecialistPrimary Weapon: MAC-10 SMG (modded)Secondary Weapon: Colt Python .357 (Legacy - Lt. Miyamoto)Tactical Aptitude: ★★★★☆Firearm Accuracy: ★★★★☆Survival Experience: High — Evaded urban hoardes solo for over 1.5 months.Body Analysis (for equipment fitting):Bust (Cup): D-CupWaist: 68 cmHips/Glutes: 101 cmCore Muscle Definition: AdvancedMobility Rating: HighSex Drive: High
I forwarded the data instantly to Kyoko.
"She's yours," I said. "Design a role that fits her. She's got elite-level solo endurance. We're not wasting it."
Kyoko blinked, then nodded. "I already have ideas."
Kiriko turned to me, folding her arms.
"You're the one they talk about. The Half-Italian," she said.
"Depends what they say," I replied, smirking.
"They say you kept my daughter alive. That's enough."
She extended her hand.
I took it.
Firm grip. The kind that didn't flinch.
"Welcome to Fortress One, Miyamoto-san," I said. "Hope you brought more than bullets."
She looked back at Rei, who stood a few steps behind, wiping her eyes.
"I brought purpose."
And I believed her.
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(POV: Marco)
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the remnants of the city. The distant groans of the undead were a constant reminder of our reality, but within the walls of our fortified district, a semblance of order had been restored. Yet, the weight of leadership pressed heavily on my shoulders.
As I reviewed the latest patrol reports in the command center, a soft knock interrupted my thoughts. The door creaked open, revealing Kiriko Miyamoto, her presence commanding as ever.
"Marco-kun," she began, her voice steady but laced with urgency. "I've been analyzing the surrounding areas and recalled some warehouses that might still hold valuable supplies. Before the outbreak, they were stocked with medical equipment and non-perishables."
I leaned forward, intrigued. "Do you have exact locations?"
She nodded, unfolding a map and laying it on the table. Her fingers traced routes and marked spots with precision. "Here, here, and here. These warehouses were part of the city's emergency reserves. If they're intact, we could bolster our supplies significantly."
Studying the map, I recognized the strategic advantage these locations offered. "This is invaluable, Kiriko-san. Organizing retrieval teams has been challenging with our current manpower."
She met my gaze, determination burning in her eyes. "I can assist. My experience with the police force and familiarity with these areas can be an asset."
Her offer was unexpected but appreciated. "Are you certain? It's perilous beyond the perimeter."
A faint smirk played on her lips. "I didn't survive this long by avoiding danger."
Respecting her resolve, I nodded. "We'll depart at first light. Rest up; we'll need our wits about us."
Dawn broke with a muted glow, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink. Kiriko awaited by the garage, her motorcycle gleaming even in the dim light. She was clad in her police uniform, the fabric worn but well-maintained, a testament to her resilience.
"Ready?" she inquired, fastening her gloves.
"Let's move," I replied, mounting the bike behind her.
The engine roared to life, and we sped through the deserted streets, the wind whipping past us. The city's silence was eerie, buildings standing as hollowed-out monuments to a bygone era.
As we navigated the labyrinth of debris and abandoned vehicles, Kiriko's familiarity with the terrain became evident. She maneuvered the bike with precision, avoiding potential hazards and undead alike.
After what felt like an eternity, we reached the first warehouse. The structure appeared intact, its metal doors closed.
Dismounting, we approached cautiously. Kiriko produced a set of keys, remnants from her police days.
"Let's hope these still work," she murmured, attempting to unlock the door.
The lock clicked open, and we slipped inside, weapons at the ready. The air was thick with dust, particles dancing in the beams of our flashlights.
Rows upon rows of shelves greeted us, stocked with boxes labeled with medical insignias and food supplies.
A genuine smile broke across Kiriko's face. "Jackpot."
We began inventorying the supplies, marking items for retrieval. The atmosphere was tense yet charged with a sense of accomplishment.
As we worked side by side, I couldn't help but notice the ease with which we collaborated. Our movements synchronized, a silent understanding passing between us.
At one point, our hands brushed while reaching for the same box. A spark of electricity shot through me. I glanced at Kiriko, who seemed equally affected.
She cleared her throat, breaking the moment. "We should move on to the next warehouse."
"Agreed," I replied, though my mind lingered on the fleeting connection.
The second warehouse yielded similar results, our spirits buoyed by the success. As we secured the premises, a familiar voice called out.
"Kiriko-sensei?"
We turned to see Mizuho Kazami approaching, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"Mizuho-chan," Kiriko responded, a mixture of surprise and relief coloring her tone.
The two women embraced briefly, the weight of their shared experiences evident.
"I thought... I feared the worst," Mizuho admitted, her voice trembling.
Kiriko placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We're survivors, Mizuho. And together, we'll rebuild."
The reunion was a poignant reminder of the bonds that endured amidst the chaos.
As we prepared to return to the fortress, a distant rumble caught our attention. From the north, a massive horde of undead was advancing, their numbers staggering.
"We have company," I muttered, tightening my grip on my weapons.
Kiriko's eyes narrowed, her stance shifting into one of readiness. "Then let's give them a proper welcome."
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