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

The grand procession moved through the heart of the Capital, a sea of polished armor and crisp uniforms reflecting the midday sun. The banners of the Imperial Army fluttered solemnly in the breeze, each emblazoned with the insignia of honor, duty, and unwavering loyalty. The heavy toll of a funeral bell echoed through the streets, a grim reminder of the loss suffered that night. The city itself seemed to hold its breath, its people watching from the shadows, murmuring among themselves. Some whispered condolences; others muttered uneasy questions. If even a man like Ogre could be slain, what did that mean for the rest of them?

At the center of it all lay Captain Ogre's casket, draped in the Empire's colors. His soldiers stood rigid, their faces stony masks of discipline, yet beneath their rigid composure lingered an air of unease. Whispers of his death had spread like wildfire, tangled in conflicting rumors—some spoke of assassins in the dark, others of a lone warrior cutting him down. None knew the full truth, but all understood one thing: Ogre, a man of power and influence, had been slain. And if even he could fall, who among them was truly safe?

Among the mourners stood a lone figure, clad in uniform, silent and still. She did not weep like some of the others, nor did she bow her head in respect. Instead, her posture remained eerily composed, her hands resting at her sides—save for one, which absently traced over the head of the beast curled at her feet. The creature, small yet unnerving in its presence, let out a soft growl, sensing the emotions radiating from its master. A flicker of something—grief, rage, or perhaps both—briefly crossed her face before vanishing beneath a hardened mask. Her grip tensed ever so slightly before she forced her fingers to relax. She could not allow weakness. Not now.

The words spoken by the officiant barely reached her ears. To her, they were empty formalities, meaningless condolences that could never erase the truth. Ogre was not merely a superior officer; he was a protector of justice, a man devoted to rooting out the evil that plagued the Empire. His methods were harsh, but such was the price of order. And now he was gone, slain in cold blood by those who sought to bring ruin to everything he stood for. The thought burned within her like a smoldering ember, quiet but unrelenting.

Her fingers curled, tightening into a fist.

This is unforgivable. Whoever is responsible must be eradicated. No, it's not enough to simply kill them. They need to understand—understand what they've done, understand the pain they've caused. Only then will justice be served.

A soldier nearby muttered something about Ogre's strength, how he could never imagine such a powerful man being bested. The figure's ear twitched at the words, her grip tightening slightly. Strength alone isn't enough. Strength without justice is meaningless. Captain Ogre was strong, but he was also righteous. The ones who killed him, they couldn't have understood what he was fighting for. They're cowards who lurk in the shadows, preying on those who uphold order.

The guilty would pay. Every last one of them.

As the final rites concluded, the figure turned away, her steps silent but sure. She did not linger for final words, nor did she acknowledge the grieving officers around her. There was nothing more to be said. Only actions remained. As she stepped into the shadowed streets beyond the funeral procession, her form seemed to meld into the darkness, a harbinger of vengeance yet to come.

Captain Ogre believed in me. He saw my resolve. I won't let his faith be in vain. I'll cleanse this world of evil, just like he would have wanted. No matter what it takes.

She exhaled, slow and steady, as she walked deeper into the city. The streets felt quieter than usual, as if even the Capital itself was mourning. Somewhere, she knew, the killers were hiding. Perhaps they were already planning their next move, celebrating their so-called victory in the dark. Her lips curled slightly, the smallest hint of a smirk.

They think they've won. They think they can just walk away from this.

She paused, staring down at the small, dog-like creature at her feet. Its dark fur gleamed under the faint light, its massive jaws slightly parted to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. Beady red eyes glowed with an eerie intelligence, scanning its surroundings with quiet vigilance. Despite its compact size, there was a weight to its presence, a silent, unsettling aura that hinted at the carnage it was capable of. It remained still, save for the occasional flick of an ear or the subtle tensing of its muscles, as if awaiting an unspoken command. a creature of compact yet formidable build, its round form deceptively hiding the lethal strength coiled within. Its gleaming, button-like eyes carried an eerie intelligence, unwavering and alert. The fur along its back bristled slightly, and when it parted its maw, rows of razor-sharp teeth gleamed in the dim light.

"What do you think?" she muttered under her breath, fingers tracing over the creature's head once more. It let out a low growl, baring its fangs as if it too understood the weight of her words.

"Exactly," she murmured, eyes hardening. "They won't get far."

The path ahead was clear.

The dimly lit chamber inside Night Raid's hideout buzzed with quiet tension. Najenda sat at the head of the table, her mechanical arm resting on the surface as she exhaled a plume of smoke from her cigar. Before her, a collection of documents lay scattered—intel freshly gathered by Lubbock. The rest of Night Raid gathered around, waiting for her to speak.

"We've got our next target," Najenda announced, flicking away some ash. "Iokal, a noble with ties to the underground slave trade. His mansion operates as a front for his operations. The bastard enjoys abusing his captives before selling them off. We're putting an end to him tonight."

Akame's crimson eyes narrowed, a silent promise of death. Leone cracked her knuckles, grinning. "Sounds like another scumbag who won't be missed."

Najenda nodded. "His guards are well-trained but nothing we can't handle. The objective is simple: infiltrate, eliminate Iokal, and vanish before the Imperial Army catches wind."

Lubbock rolled out a crude map of Iokal's estate. "Guards are posted at the front, but the real problem is the security inside. There's also been unconfirmed reports of outside forces moving around the area."

"Outside forces?" Mine asked. "What kind?"

"Still unknown, but if they're there, we should proceed with caution."

"Uninvited guests mean more complications," Akame said, scanning the map. "We should prepare for unexpected resistance."

Mine leaned back, flipping Pumpkin's barrel open to check its charge. "No problem. I'll take the shot. Let's see how well this so-called noble like being hunted."

Najenda acknowledged her with a nod. "Move out."

The towering estate of Iokal loomed under the moonlit sky, its once-pristine facade now bearing the scars of battle. Night Raid approached from the eastern ridge, their movements swift and silent. Mine adjusted Pumpkin's scope, her finger hovering over the trigger. 

"Wait," Lubbock muttered, raising a hand to signal the others to halt. "Something's off." 

From their vantage point, the mansion was already in chaos. Torchlight flickered wildly through shattered windows, casting frantic shadows against the grand walls. The sounds of splintering wood, hurried footsteps, and distant gunfire filled the night air, accompanied by the panicked screams of the mansion's occupants. 

Leone narrowed her eyes. "What the hell? We're not the only ones here." 

The front doors had been blasted open, the heavy wood splintered inward as if something—or someone—had torn through it with brute force. Dark figures moved within the halls, overturning furniture, ripping paintings from the walls, and rifling through drawers with practiced efficiency. They weren't Imperial soldiers. Their movements were too fluid, too uncoordinated for trained guards. These were scavengers. No… professionals. 

Akame's crimson eyes sharpened as she observed from the shadows. "They're looting." 

Then, amidst the carnage, a single figure caught her attention. A masked individual clad in a flame-resistant suit stomped through the wreckage, the weight of their presence palpable even from a distance. In their grasp was a massive flamethrower, its fuel tanks gleaming under the firelight. 

With a gleeful, muffled giggle, Pyro pulled the trigger. 

A jet of fire erupted from the weapon's nozzle, spreading like a living beast. The inferno surged down the corridor, swallowing everything in its path. Velvet curtains shriveled into embers, and ornate wooden beams cracked as the flames hungrily consumed the mansion's lavish interior. The screams that followed were brief, drowned beneath the roaring blaze. 

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," Mine hissed, gripping Pumpkin tighter as she recognized the silhouette. "Them again?" 

A sudden explosion rocked the eastern wing of the estate. A shower of debris rained down as one of the mansion's side towers collapsed inward, sending a plume of smoke into the sky. Through the haze, more figures emerged. These weren't panicked nobles or desperate servants—they moved with purpose, their postures relaxed yet alert. 

"Those guys aren't just looting," Lubbock murmured, narrowing his eyes. "They're searching for something." 

Through the flames and chaos, a tall figure with a sharp hat and a long rifle moved with calculated precision. Sniper perched himself on the remains of a shattered balcony, his gaze scanning the battlefield, his rifle primed. 

Beneath him, Scout darted through the wreckage, leaping over a collapsed chandelier and shoving an unconscious guard aside as he rifled through a cabinet. "Ain't here either!" he called out. 

Near the western hall, Engineer worked methodically, dismantling a reinforced safe with his wrench, his movements quick and efficient. Whatever he was after, it wasn't mere riches. 

And behind them all, a looming presence watched from the shadows—Heavy, his minigun resting across his shoulders, standing as a silent sentinel over the operation. 

"This isn't just a random attack," Akame muttered. "They're looking for something… or someone." 

Mine steadied her rifle, debating her target. Should she eliminate the pyromaniac first before the fire spread further? Or take out the sniper before he spotted them? 

Before she could decide, another explosion sent a shockwave through the estate, shaking the ground beneath them. 

Najenda's voice crackled through Lubbock's communicator. "Night Raid, report. What's going on down there?" 

Lubbock glanced at the inferno before them, his grip tightening. 

"The mission's gone sideways," he muttered. "We've got company."

The heat was unbearable. Smoke choked the air, filling Iokal's lungs with every desperate gasp. His silk robes, once a symbol of status and wealth, were now tattered and soaked in sweat. He scrambled backward, hands clawing at the soot-streaked floor as he tried to escape the looming figure before him.

Pyro took slow, deliberate steps, the rhythmic hiss of the pilot light underscoring each movement. The flames reflected in the polished surface of their round, glassy mask, their head tilting ever so slightly in eerie amusement. Their entire body language exuded something beyond simple duty—this was enjoyment.

Iokal's breath hitched. "No—please! I'll pay you! Anything! Just spare me!" His voice cracked as he backed into a smoldering wooden pillar, the heat licking at his skin.

Pyro paused, tapping a gloved finger against their mask in mock contemplation. Then, ever so slowly, they leaned forward, pressing the muzzle of the flamethrower closer to Iokal's face. The noble sobbed, his hands trembling as he raised them in a feeble defense.

A muffled giggle escaped from behind the mask—distorted, warped, almost childlike in its glee. Pyro wiggled their fingers at Iokal in a small, playful wave, as if teasing a frightened animal.

Then they pulled the trigger.

BOOM!

A single, deafening gunshot cut through the inferno. Before Pyro could unleash the blaze, a hole punched clean through Iokal's forehead. His pleas ended mid-scream, his body crumpling unceremoniously to the ground, lifeless.

Pyro's head snapped toward the direction of the shot, the orange glow of the fire casting their mask in an ominous sheen. Their grip on the flamethrower loosened slightly, the bright pilot light flickering. They stared at Iokal's corpse, then slowly looked up toward the shattered window across the courtyard.

Mine exhaled sharply, lowering Pumpkin slightly as she assessed her shot. "Not letting you steal my kill."

She expected anger. Maybe frustration. Instead, Pyro simply stood there, their head tilting to the side as if they were a confused dog. A gloved hand rose to scratch at the side of their mask, before they let out another muffled giggle—this one less gleeful and more intrigued.

It was almost as if they liked this.

The moment was short-lived.

A bullet whizzed past Mine's shoulder. She barely managed to duck in time before another shot followed.

A lone figure stood on the opposite rooftop, rifle steady, eyes locked on her.

Sniper.

Mine clicked her tongue in annoyance. "So, that's how it's gonna be, huh?" She adjusted Pumpkin, already lining up her next shot.

Sniper didn't respond. He didn't need to. His focus was absolute.

A sharp crack split the air as Mine fired, but before the bullet could find its mark, Sniper had already shifted, his body moving fluidly as he repositioned. He returned fire, forcing Mine to roll behind cover.

Damn. He's good.

Mine was fast—her reflexes sharp, her aim deadly. But this guy? He was different. There was no wasted movement, no hesitation. Every time she adjusted, he was already ahead of her. It's like he knows exactly where I'm going to be.

Sniper's mind was calm, methodical.

She's fast. Impulsive. But her aim's solid. Won't make this easy.

His scope locked onto the faint shimmer of movement. She'd fire and immediately reposition—textbook guerrilla tactics. But he'd hunted enough dangerous prey to know how to counter that.

Another shot rang out. Sparks flew as his bullet struck the metal railing Mine had ducked behind.

Mine wiped the sweat from her brow, her frustration mounting.

He's not just fast—he's patient. He's not trying to overwhelm me, he's wearing me down.

Sniper remained still, finger resting lightly against the trigger. He wasn't in a rush.

You're pushing too hard, lass. Gotta be smarter than that.

Then he saw it—an opening.

Mine darted between cover, her silhouette exposed for a fraction of a second.

There.

Sniper fired.

A sharp sting tore across Mine's arm. She hissed in pain, rolling into cover as her sleeve darkened with blood.

Shit! Her heart pounded. He wasn't just good—he was better. And she knew it.

She clenched her teeth, steeling herself. No. I won't lose.

But before she could retaliate, a sharp voice cut through the night.

"Cease fire."

The words were calm yet commanding, spoken with absolute authority.

Sniper hesitated for only a second before pulling back his rifle, his posture shifting from attack to retreat.

Mine frowned, watching as a new figure emerged from the wreckage—Medic, his coat stained with soot and blood, yet his presence unwavering. He barely spared her a glance as he walked past the corpse of Iokal, adjusting his gloves with a practiced ease.

"That's enough," he declared, his voice carrying over the crackling flames. "Ve got vhat ve came for."

Mine kept her rifle trained on them, her instincts screaming at her to take another shot. But Sniper had already stepped back, his form disappearing into the darkness.

From the burning mansion, the remaining RED mercenaries emerged—Scout, carrying a satchel of documents, Engineer fastening a toolbox to his belt, Heavy ensuring the path was clear.

Pyro, still standing near Iokal's corpse, let out another muffled chuckle before giving Mine a small, mocking wave. Then, as if completely unbothered by the night's events, they turned and skipped off into the inferno.

Mine's grip on her rifle tightened.

"What the hell were they after?" Leone muttered, stepping up beside her.

"They weren't just here for Iokal," Akame said, her crimson gaze narrowing. "They came prepared."

Mine scowled, watching the REDs vanish into the night. "Tch," she muttered. "I'll get the next one."

Akame placed a hand on her shoulder, her voice quiet but certain. "Next time."

And from the distant rooftops, unseen by them all, a masked figure lingered just a moment longer.

Spy smirked beneath his balaclava, before slipping into the shadows once more.