No one flinched. Not even Kobeni, who shook her head vigorously, eyes shining with anxiety and resolve. Angel yawned, then raised a hand lazily. "I would like to formally complain that this sounds like a lot of work," he said, voice monotone. A couple people snickered. Angel then gave a half-smile. "But I'm in. Obviously."
Makima almost – almost – looked amused. The tiniest uptick touched her lips before she composed herself. "Duly noted, Angel. Complaint registered."
That broke the tension enough that the room found their voices:
"We've come this far together. We'll see it through," Aki declared firmly, looking around at his teammates. A chorus of agreement met him.
"Hell yeah we will," Denji added, slamming a fist into his palm. "I'm not gonna let some slimy traitors or foreign creeps take over my home. They're in for a world of hurt."
Power pumped a fist triumphantly. "A glorious purge! I shall mount the heads of our enemies on pikes!" she proclaimed. That earned a few groans and laughs – and a stern side-eye from Aki – but no one doubted she meant it figuratively. Probably.
Himeno gave Hiroshi a reassuring nod. "We're with you, sir. All the way. You lead, we'll follow." The cyclops woman's usual teasing tone was gone, replaced by earnest loyalty. "Just promise us one thing." She then grinned, a bit of her old mischief returning. "When all this is over, you're buying the first round of drinks."
A wave of chuckles rolled through the team. Hiroshi found himself smiling, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. "It's a deal," he agreed. "I'll buy a whole barrel of sake if you want."
"Make it two barrels," Kishibe chimed in, his scarred face breaking into a rare broad grin. "One for me, one for the kids."
Kobeni let out a tearful little laugh, emotion welling up from the swirl of fear and relief inside her. She clenched her small fists and mustered her voice. "I-I'll do my best. I won't run away," she said, cheeks wet but eyes determined. Arai put a comforting arm around her shoulders for a second, nodding his own agreement.
Madoka stepped forward slightly. He removed his glasses, wiped them, then put them back on – a gesture of clarity. "Director Makima," he said formally, "I almost resigned once, after…" he trailed off, alluding to the night of betrayal. Everyone remembered – Madoka handing Makima a letter in the rain, saying he had enough. "But I came back. Because I realized I still have colleagues worth fighting for. I won't falter again. I'm with you until the end."
Makima looked at Madoka, and something unspoken passed between them – acknowledgment of their shared history and a promise kept. "Thank you, Madoka," she said softly.
One by one, each member gave their affirmation:
Arai, pushing aside the last of his nerves: "Count me in. I'm done being the rookie – I want to help take these bastards down."
Angel, stretching languidly: "If I must trade my naps for battle, so be it. I expect a long vacation after, though."
Kishibe unscrewed his flask and raised it slightly as if in toast. "To purging Tokyo," he said wryly. "Don't worry, I'll keep these pups in line."
Hiroshi couldn't remain silent at that. He stepped up beside Makima, turning to face his assembled friends – his unit, his responsibility. His heart swelled with pride at their unwavering response. "Thank you, all of you," Hiroshi said, voice strong. "I… I know the risks are high. But I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to lead us to victory and keep you safe. We watch out for each other. We stand together, or we fall together."
"Together," Aki echoed firmly.
"Together!" Denji added, thrusting a fist upward. Power copied him, and then, one after another, they all did – raising fists, weapons, or simply nodding in unity.
Makima allowed herself a small, genuine smile at the sight. For the first time in a long while, perhaps since before the betrayal, she felt a spark of hope. "Very well," she said, and there was a quiet pride in her voice. "Operation Purge – phase one – begins now."
She gestured to the screen, where the word "Tokyo" hovered above concentric rings of threat markers. "Tokyo is our first battleground. We have one year to cleanse it of this rot. In that time, we will dismantle corrupt networks, expel or eliminate foreign agents, shut down illegal facilities, and neutralize traitors. From there, we will spread to the rest of Japan and reclaim each region." Makima's eyes blazed with conviction. "We will take back our country from the shadows."
A chorus of determined "Yes ma'am!" answered her, loud enough to bounce off the concrete walls.
Makima nodded approvingly. "Hiroshi will give you further details in a moment and assign preliminary squads and tasks." She looked at her watch briefly. "It's currently 0400 hours." (No one was surprised to find it was almost morning – time had lost meaning in their travel and debrief.) "I want all of you to get whatever rest you can in the next few hours. We convene again at 0700 for detailed briefings and to commence operations. We have secure barracks prepared on sublevel three of this facility. Use them – you will need your strength."
For a moment, some of them hesitated. Rest? Now? They had expected to charge out the door guns blazing perhaps. But Makima was right; they were exhausted from travel and previous fights. And a war wasn't won in one night.
Yoshimura cleared his throat gently. "Consider this the calm before the storm," he said. "Trust us – you want to be fresh when the storm hits." His kindly smile took on a razor edge. "Tokyo won't purge itself in a day. But dawn is coming, and we have work to do."
With those words, Makima gave a final, satisfied glance over her assembled troops. "Dismissed, for now," she said. Then, in a somewhat softer, sincere tone, she added: "I am proud of each and every one of you. Let's save our home."
The agents began to move – not with disorder, but with purpose. Some headed for the exit where a few PSIA support staff (the few cleared to be here) waited to guide them to quarters or a mess hall for a hot meal.
Denji stretched hugely and groaned, "Man, I could eat a whole cow. They got food here, right? Real Japanese food? I'm sick of ration bars." He was practically drooling at the thought of hot miso and rice.
Kobeni managed a light giggle at Denji's singular focus. "There's always food on your mind, Denji."
"Duh. Revolution runs on food!" Denji grinned, grabbing Aki by the arm. "Oi, Aki, you gotta have some ramen with me, for old times' sake, before we all go to battle or whatever."
Aki rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth quirked up. "Alright, alright. I could use some coffee at least." He caught Himeno's eye and nodded towards the exit, silently inviting her to join them.
Himeno slipped her arm through Kobeni's and Arai's. "Let's get some warm tea into you two. You both look like you've seen a ghost."
Arai let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "I kind of feel like I have," he admitted. "Multiple ghosts. Political ghosts."
Kobeni exhaled shakily and leaned on Himeno's steady presence. "Tea sounds nice," she said softly. "Maybe with lots of sugar…"
Across the room, Kishibe clapped Hiroshi on the back firmly. "Not bad, Assistant Director. You did good for your first troop rally," he said. That was high praise, coming from Kishibe. "Now get some shut-eye. You look like you haven't slept in days."
Hiroshi did feel the weight of fatigue now that adrenaline was ebbing. He gave a wry smile. "I will. You too, Kishibe – you're not as young as the rest of us, after all."
Kishibe barked a laugh. "Brat. I'll outlast you all." He then fished out a new cigarette and placed it between his lips. "But maybe I will catch a nap. I have a feeling we won't get many once this kicks off."
As Kishibe strolled off, whistling an old tune, Angel drifted past Hiroshi, looking as if he might float into bed any second. "I'm heading to 'sublevel three' before someone asks me to lift heavy objects or something," Angel drawled. He gave Hiroshi a lazy two-finger salute. "See you at the bright and cheery hour of 7, boss. If I'm not up, please toss a bucket of water on me."
Hiroshi chuckled. "If you're not up, Power might do worse than water," he joked.
Angel smirked faintly. "Good point. I'll set an alarm." He moved on, hands in pockets.
Madoka was gathering his folders and laptop, methodically tucking everything under one arm. He approached Makima before leaving. The two exchanged a quiet few words – perhaps about specifics he'd continue working on – and Makima placed a light hand on Madoka's shoulder, an almost familial gesture, before sending him off to rest. Madoka looked noticeably more at ease than when he first walked in, as if the weight of isolation had been lifted by being among comrades again.
Power bounded up to Hiroshi next, Denji in tow. "Hiroshi!" she exclaimed, using his real name comfortably now. "I demand you tell me where the strongest enemy is so I can fight them first!" Her eyes sparkled with battle-lust.
Denji elbowed her. "Idiot, we don't even know who they are yet. You can't just ask to fight now."
Power pouted, then waved a hand dismissively. "Fine. Then I demand extra meat for breakfast. Fighting spirit must be nourished!"
Hiroshi broke into a genuine laugh. It felt good, amidst all this darkness, to have these moments. "I'll see what I can do, Power. Maybe the cooks have some steaks on hand for our mighty warrior." He turned to Denji. "And you, Denji – get some sleep. You've had a hell of a week. Consider that an order."
Denji gave a mock salute but was grinning. "You got it. But seriously, thanks for, y'know, being cool. I thought this meeting would be all doom and gloom." He rubbed his nose, almost shyly. "You made it…not so scary."
Hiroshi's chest warmed. If he did nothing else right as a leader, at least he'd managed to ease the fear a little. He clapped Denji on the shoulder. "We laugh in the face of fear, right?"
"And punch fear in the face too," Denji replied, throwing a playful jab. "Night, Hiroshi. Don't stay up too late reading that secret list or whatever." With that, he tugged at Power's sleeve. "C'mon, let's go find that meat you wanted." The two tromped off, already resuming an argument about who would win in a fight: an army of Pikachu or one Chainsaw-wielding man (Denji's weird imagination running wild).
Soon, the hall emptied out save for Makima, Hiroshi, and Yoshimura. The projection screen was dark now; only the humming lights remained, reflecting off the polished floor where minutes ago a dozen agents had stood with fists raised.
Hiroshi let out a long breath, his shoulders finally sagging. The adrenaline of the briefing was wearing off, and a bone-deep fatigue crept in. Makima stepped closer, her voice low and gentle in the quiet. "You handled them well," she said. "They trust you. They're ready."
Hiroshi ran a hand through his silver hair, chuckling softly. "I just followed your example – be honest, but not hopeless. And maybe crack a joke or two to keep sane." He looked at Makima, his blue eyes earnest. "Thank you for trusting me with this, Director. I won't let you down."
Makima regarded him for a moment, then did something unexpected – she reached out and lightly squeezed his upper arm, a rare show of personal warmth. "I know you won't," she said simply. There was absolute confidence in her tone, which made Hiroshi stand a little taller despite his weariness. "Remember, you're not alone in this either. You have us."
Yoshimura gave a grandfatherly grin. "You did splendid, son. I almost wanted to jump up and join the fist-waving myself." He chuckled. "Now, get some rest while you can. Tomorrow… or rather, later this morning… you'll have to start using that brilliant mind of yours to devise our game plan."
"Yes, sir," Hiroshi said with a smile. Yoshimura being there, calling him "son" as he did years ago, it grounded him.
Together, the three of them – Makima, Hiroshi, and Yoshimura – made their way to the exit, last out of the briefing hall. The lights automatically shut off behind them, plunging the room into darkness once more, as if sealing away the secrets shared within.
In the corridor, a few guards snapped to attention as Makima and the others passed. The facility buzzed faintly with the sound of ventilation and the distant echo of footsteps – the night crew keeping watch. It felt almost peaceful down here, insulated from the chaos above.
Makima paused at a junction. "I have a call with the Prime Minister in half an hour," she said to Hiroshi and Yoshimura. Even now, her work didn't stop. "I'll sleep after I send him a preliminary assurance that Phase One is underway."
Yoshimura shook his head, half in admiration, half in concern. "Don't push too hard, Makima. Even you need rest." He teased lightly, "We can't purge Tokyo if our commander-in-chief collapses from exhaustion."