Han-Min stared at his rifle. The steel held memories of his fireteam—a chapter that refused to close even as he moved toward a new mission.
As he cleared out his dorm, he lingered in the doorway of the silent room. The laughter and the shared struggles ended here. With a new identity and fireteam card in hand, he was transferred to Sector Tango. The timing was grim; the PLA had seized Thonburi in less than thirty-five hours. A massive assault had decapitated the capital, dissolving the Junta and installing a puppet regime: the "Republic of Siam." The monarchy was dead, the society upended.
While the I.N.N. had secured the Philippines in the wake of Thonburi's fall, only two obstacles remained: the Indochina Federation and a handful of GOC coastal posts in the Indies. If those fell, the HFC could launch a full-scale assault on Sector Tango. For now, the Sector held. Protected by a massive metal sea wall, it was a fortress designed to repel anything coming from the new Republic. A naval invasion was possible, but suicide—the enemy held total supremacy over the Tangoes ocean.
Han-Min watched from the transport helicopter as they cleared the wall toward the Burmese mountains. The GOC called it the "Great Wall of Tango." Below, soldiers patrolled the ramparts in a constant, rhythmic cycle of surveillance. Some saluted as the chopper roared overhead; others didn't look up. They had work to do.
They touched down in Delhi. A member of "The Butler"—a GOC special branch dedicated to officer logistics—met him on the tarmac. As a newly promoted 2nd Lieutenant, Han-Min now drew these exclusive perks, including his own fireteam command.
The world outside was changing fast. In Sector Bacardi, geologists near Sector Kilo had struck Tanzanite. The HFC was ecstatic; the material was four times stronger than gold and vastly more valuable. Supply was tight, sparking an immediate feeding frenzy. The Zaibatsu and Chaebol corporations from Nihon and Roku moved in, monopolizing the find for profit. The HFC didn't stop them—they were short on cash and needed the kickbacks.
After arriving at the Delhi outpost, Han-Min noted the troop movements. The 7th and 15th Armies were digging into the eastern front near the Burmese range. He entered his new dorm—empty. The brass hadn't assigned his new team yet. He was alone.
He moved into his office and dumped his gear on the floor, the sound of equipment hitting tile echoing in the small space. He stared at the mess. "Huh... never would've done this in the old office," he muttered. "Maybe I'll just let it stay broken."
He left the mess behind to collect his new credentials. Inside the administration office, the clerk slid the plastic across the desk with a cold stare.
"Your ID and card, sir. Use them well. If you lose them, the punishment will be severe. We're watching."
Han-Min nodded, ignoring the threat, and headed back to his room to face the mess he'd made.
Meanwhile, in Tokonatsu-Ken, Kiriyama watched a crescent moon hang over a calm sea. She felt a knot in her gut—a restlessness she couldn't shake. She had searched everywhere for Han-Min, but he had vanished from Sector Bacardi without a trace.
"Where are you?" she whispered to the salt air. "You really just left us all with nothing but questions."
She stood there for thirty-five minutes before turning toward the Tokyo ferry. Her mind circled the same dark thought.
"Should I give up?" She shook her head. "No. We made a promise. But it feels like you've already forgotten yours."
She stepped onto the ferry, the single question burning in her mind: Was he even still alive?