AREA 11 – YOKOSUKA SHIPPING DOCKS
0200 Hours
The fog hugged the harbor like a veil, masking the bloodshed that had already begun.
A pair of dockhands wheeled a shipping container across the platform, the sound of squeaking wheels drowned beneath the rumble of distant tankers.
"You hear what the Britannians did in Sector 3?" one of them asked.
"Another ghetto purge?" the other replied, lighting a cigarette. "That's the third this week."
The smoke never left his lips.
Thuck! A humming shuriken embedded itself in his neck. He gurgled, eyes rolling back as he collapsed. The other man turned just in time to see a blur—white, fast, silent.
Then darkness.
A stun baton jab to the spine dropped him to the ground, and a carbon blade slid through his throat like paper. Blood pooled between the shipping crates.
From above, three figures in stealth armor observed the scene through tactical visors. One of them, a former FOX operative turned cyborg ninja, gave a silent nod.
Raiden.
Gray Fox.
Null.
They descended into the shadows.
Nearby, a patrolman adjusted his NVG goggles. "Sector's clear," he mumbled, unaware of the canister rolling to his feet.
Clink.
Pfffft.
White phosphorus hissed from the can, blinding him.
"Wh—GAH!"
A sword pierced his chest from behind. Gray Fox twisted the blade, whispering, "Rest now, pawn."
His body dropped, unnoticed by the others already lying in silence.
NEO-KYOTO – BABEL TOWER CASINO
Patriot-Controlled Zone
The casino glittered with artificial wealth. Holographic ads flickered between exotic car brands and discreet Refrain injection services. The floor was alive with the chatter of Britannian elite, their laughter hiding a festering rot beneath the glitz.
A man in a blood-red trench coat and obsidian top hat sat at the poker table. His face was hidden behind a customized anti-surveillance mask with a mirrored visor.
He was once called Adrian, but to the world now, he was only Zero — a phantom, a former double-agent of the Philosophers, turned architect of The Patriots' new world order.
Across from him sat a cadre of warlords, fixers, and mobsters. One, clearly military, adjusted his gloves.
"You're here to buy access to the ghettos?" he asked. "Through us?"
Zero laid down a straight flush.
"I'm here to share the future."
He gestured, and a woman in an EVA flight suit approached, long blond hair pulled into a tactical ponytail. Her walk was practiced, both seductive and purposeful. She wore an eye patch over one eye and carried a sealed nanite-proof briefcase.
EVA — once the Mother of the Patriots, former Chinese double-agent, and the only person Zero ever trusted.
She set the case down gently. "Boys, try not to spill your drinks," she purred, stepping back.
The case hissed open. Inside was a vial of shimmering, emerald-blue liquid.
"Refrain," Zero said. "A designer neuropeptide. It doesn't just simulate pleasure. It simulates memory."
He let the word hang. "Specifically, euphoric nostalgia. It lets the user relive their happiest moments. Vividly. Permanently."
The suit across from him leaned forward. "It's a drug."
"It's a weapon," EVA corrected.
Zero nodded.
"A cultural weapon. Britannia built this colony on stolen pasts. The Japanese remember their lives before the occupation. Refrain gives them access to that again — while we take control of the present."
"And what's in it for us?" another fixer asked.
"You get distribution. Black-market dominance. And protection under The Patriots' digital blind spot."
They considered it.
Zero added quietly, "Say yes… and you'll be at the heart of the new world's neural infrastructure."
They nodded.
LATER – CORRIDOR OVERLOOKING THE CASINO PIT
EVA leaned on a rusted pipe, eyes following Zero as he watched the card games below.
"Still hiding behind the mask," she said softly. "Afraid they'll recognize the boy who used to believe in heroes?"
Zero didn't look at her.
"That boy died with Big Boss."
She moved closer. "We were freedom fighters once. Now you're feeding Refrain to kids who don't even know what freedom means."
"This is war, EVA. An information war. And in war, you don't win by fighting harder. You win by rewriting the battlefield."
She looked down at the glowing vial in her palm. "It's poison."
"It's control."
A ping on Zero's communicator interrupted them.
Incoming: The Black King — local arms dealer and human trafficker.
He entered with a squad of PMCs in exosuits.
"I was told I'd be getting merchandise," the King said. "Women. Elevens. Not biochemicals."
Zero's tone grew cold. "You were told you'd be allowed into the tunnels beneath Area 11. Nothing more."
"You lie."
"I manipulate. There's a difference."
King drew a pistol. "This is checkmate."
Zero tilted his head. "Funny. Everyone obsesses over chess. But I prefer dominoes."
Boom. The power died. Neon vanished. Emergency lights flickered red.
"I like knocking things over."
BLACK SITE ASSAULT – MINUTES LATER
The outer perimeter guards were dead before they reached the comms.
Raiden moved like lightning, slicing through armored guards with his HF Blade. Gray Fox cleared the surveillance floors, dragging his katana through steel doors and skulls alike.
They reached the tower's core. EVA watched from the shadows, twin Makarovs drawn.
A pair of nobles tried to run.
"Please, we're not—"
Thpp! Thpp! Silenced shots to the head.
"No witnesses," she whispered.
In the fight pit, King tried to crawl to safety. A shuriken pinned his leg.
"Zero! You bastard!"
Raiden approached, silent.
"Please! Please don't—!"
One cut. Head off. Blood sprayed the arena's walls.
Zero watched as the screams died out.
"This is what order looks like," he said.
LATER – BABEL TOWER: RUINS
Knightmare Frames stood outside the decimated tower. Cornelia li Britannia entered with a royal guard.
She stared at the carnage — blood-soaked walls, hanging corpses. On the main floor, burned into the floor in phosphorus was the emblem of The Patriots:
A coiled snake wrapped around a globe, biting its own tail.
Cornelia narrowed her eyes. "Who did this?"
No answer.
YOKOSUKA DOCKS – 0600 HOURS
A crowd gathered under flickering halogen lights. Refrain was passed out in small, untraceable syringes. The addicts — mostly Japanese — drifted into euphoric stupor.
Among them, a young woman in a once-pristine Ashford Academy uniform clutched a vial tightly.
"I'm sorry, Kallen…" she whispered. "I'm so sorry…"
She injected it. Her eyes fluttered shut, lost in the dream of a life that no longer existed.
From atop a rusted container, EVA and Zero observed.
"It's spreading," she said, voice low.
Zero nodded. "One hit at a time. The past will consume them. While we rebuild the future."
Gray Fox appeared behind them. "Shall we initiate the next phase?"
Zero turned to him.
"Let the virus deploy. Target their information networks next. The truth is irrelevant. Only control remains."