The halls of Beacon Academy buzzed with whispers and rumors, the usual lighthearted chatter replaced by a mix of curiosity, anxiety, and outright disbelief. The events at Mountain Glenn—what little had been revealed—were the only topic of discussion. Students gathered in clusters, exchanging stories that blurred the line between truth and fabrication.

By now, every student had heard some version of what had happened. Each account seemed wilder than the last:

Team RWBY sat in their dorm, listening as Ruby tried to piece together the fragments she'd overheard. "I heard there were Huntsmen—like, secret Huntsmen—fighting down there. But they didn't use Dust! Their weapons were... I don't know, mechanical?"

Weiss rolled her eyes, her arms crossed. "Mechanical weapons without Dust? That's ridiculous. Dust is the backbone of everything we use. It's probably some experimental Atlas tech."

Blake, sitting by the window, spoke quietly. "What about the rumors of glowing green eyes? I've heard that too many times for it to be made up."

Yang smirked from her bed. "Maybe they're some kind of super-Huntsmen. You know, the kind you read about in comic books. I mean, glowing eyes? That's kind of awesome."

In the cafeteria, similar conversations were unfolding among other teams:

Team JNPR sat together, Jaune leaning in close as he recounted what he'd heard. "Okay, get this: they didn't just fight Grimm. They fought something else—some kind of giant monster that made the Grimm look small."

Nora gasped, her eyes wide. "A monster bigger than a Goliath? That's insane!"

Ren, ever the pragmatist, shook his head. "These are just rumors. Until we hear something official, it's best not to speculate."

Pyrrha tilted her head thoughtfully. "But what if they're true? If someone out there is using technology we don't understand, it could mean we're dealing with a threat—or an opportunity."

As the students debated, the rumors continued to evolve. Some were grounded in kernels of truth, while others veered into outright fantasy:

True Rumors:
Unknown soldiers had been spotted at Mountain Glenn.
Their weapons didn't appear to use Dust.
Some of them had glowing green eyes and exhibited unnatural physical abilities.
A massive explosion—one that could be felt miles away—had destroyed much of the area.

False Rumors:
The soldiers were robots created by Atlas.
They had single-handedly wiped out every Grimm in the city.
They were part of an ancient secret order of Huntsmen that had been hiding for centuries.
The explosion was caused by the soldiers unleashing a new type of Grimm as a weapon.

While many students treated the rumors as a source of excitement or amusement, others felt a growing sense of unease. The idea of unknown forces operating with such devastating power didn't sit well with everyone.

In the library, Blake sat alone, flipping through a book about Grimm migrations. But her mind wasn't on the text. The mention of "human terrorists" by some of the Vale Council in leaked rumors unsettled her. She had seen firsthand what humans were capable of when driven by fear and hate. If the rumors about these new soldiers were true, what did it mean for the fragile balance of their world?

Nearby, Pyrrha and Ren were engaged in a quiet conversation. Pyrrha's tone was contemplative. "If they're using weapons without Dust, they could have an advantage we've never seen before. What if they're not from here?"

Ren raised an eyebrow. "Not from here? You mean not from Remnant?"

Pyrrha nodded. "It's a possibility. There are so many unknowns."

Amid the swirling rumors, one fact remained constant: Professor Ozpin had said nothing about the events at Mountain Glenn. The students, ever curious, had tried to glean information from their teachers, but no one had offered any insight.

"I bet Ozpin knows exactly what's going on," Ruby said as Team RWBY walked to their next class. "He always knows."

"Then why isn't he telling us?" Weiss asked, her tone sharp. "If there's a threat to Vale, we should know about it."

"Maybe he doesn't want to scare us," Yang suggested. "Or maybe he doesn't know as much as we think."

Blake, walking slightly behind the others, frowned. "Or maybe it's something we're not supposed to know."

As the students went about their day, the mystery of Mountain Glenn lingered in their minds. Some were excited by the prospect of new allies or technology. Others were wary of the implications of such power. But all of them felt it—the sense that the world around them was shifting, and that whatever had happened at Mountain Glenn was just the beginning.

Meanwhile at a base near Los Angeles, California.

The sprawling joint military base near Los Angeles hummed with activity. Soldiers, Marines, Airmen, and Sailors moved about with purpose, some engaged in training exercises, others relaxing in the recreation areas, and a few conducting maintenance on their weapons and equipment. The base was a hub of coordination and preparation, but it also served as a momentary reprieve for those rotating out of high-intensity combat zones like Mountain Glenn or Menagerie.

On the far side of the base, a row of phone booths offered troops a chance to reconnect with their loved ones. David, still in his fatigues, leaned against the booth, a faint smile on his face as he held the receiver.

"Yeah, Sienna," he said, his tone unusually light. "I'm at the new base near LA. It's not as cramped as the carriers, but it's not Menagerie either."

The voice on the other end was muffled but distinct—Sienna, her sharp tone softened by affection.

"You're lucky I'm letting you call me," she teased, though the warmth in her voice was clear.

David smirked, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "I know, I know. But I figured you'd want an update. Base is solid, the food's tolerable, and no one's tried to shoot me since we left Mountain Glenn."

There was a pause before Sienna spoke again, her voice quieter. "Be careful, Dave. I mean it."

"I always am," he replied, his smirk fading into a genuine expression of care. "I'll call you again when I can."

With a soft goodbye, David hung up, glancing around at the other troops in the area. His glowing green pupils—a side effect of Compound-Y—caught the attention of a few younger troops, who quickly looked away when he met their gaze. He chuckled to himself and stepped aside, allowing the next trooper to use the booth.

Nearby, Jason stood in another phone booth, his expression gradually shifting from hopeful to devastated. He held the receiver tightly, his knuckles white as he listened to the voice on the other end.

"Jason," his girlfriend said, her tone firm but unapologetic. "I can't keep doing this. The distance... the waiting... it's too much."

Jason swallowed hard, his throat dry. "We talked about this. I thought we agreed—"

She interrupted, her words cutting like a knife. "I've been seeing someone else. Since... since you enlisted. I didn't want to tell you, but I can't lie anymore."

For a moment, Jason said nothing. The world around him seemed to blur as her words sank in. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. "So, what? This is it? You're dumping me over the phone?"

Her sigh was audible. "I'm sorry, Jason. I just... I can't do this anymore."

The call ended with a click, leaving Jason standing there, the receiver still pressed to his ear. Slowly, he hung it up and stepped out of the booth, his expression blank but his eyes betraying the storm of emotions inside.

David, having finished his call, noticed Jason standing nearby, his posture slumped and his shoulders tense. He approached, his sharp gaze taking in the younger soldier's demeanor.

"You good, Henderson?" David asked, his tone neutral but with a hint of concern.

Jason looked up, blinking rapidly as if trying to hold back tears. "Yeah. Just... girlfriend stuff."

David raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "She dumped you, huh?"

Jason nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah. Been seeing someone else. Since I enlisted."

David let out a low whistle. "Damn. That's rough. She at least say it to your face?"

"No," Jason muttered, his voice bitter. "Over the phone."

For a moment, David said nothing, his expression thoughtful. Then he clapped a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Look, kid. It sucks. No sugarcoating that. But you've got two choices: you let it break you, or you use it to fuel you. Up to you."

Jason managed a weak smile, though his eyes were still red. "Thanks, Fernandes."

"Anytime," David said, giving him a small nod. "Now, come on. Let's hit the range. Blowing off some steam usually helps."

As the day wore on, the base settled into its routine. Troops conducted PT in the early evening, while others cleaned their weapons, prepared for drills, or simply relaxed in the recreation areas. Despite the looming threats of the Grimm and the unknown landmasses, moments like these reminded everyone why they fought—to protect their home and the people they cared about.

For Jason, the sting of heartbreak was still fresh, but the camaraderie of his fellow soldiers, especially veterans like David, was a small comfort. As he joined the others on the range, the sharp crack of gunfire and the familiar weight of his rifle offered a temporary escape from the chaos inside his mind.

The gym echoed with the rhythmic clinking of weights and the occasional grunt of effort as Marines and soldiers pushed their limits. Anthony Grant, clad in his workout gear, was in the corner of the weightlifting area, methodically squatting under a loaded barbell. The plates stacked on either side totaled 340 pounds, and a small crowd had gathered to watch him as he closed in on his personal goal.

"194," he muttered under his breath, lowering himself with precision and power. The barbell rested snugly on his shoulders as his legs pushed the weight upward again. His breathing was controlled, his muscles trembling but steady.

As he bent his knees for his 195th rep, he suddenly felt additional pressure on the bar—someone was pushing down on the weights. Anthony's lips curled into a slight scowl as he steadied himself and racked the barbell with a loud clang.

Turning around, ready to tell whoever it was to back off, his annoyance vanished, replaced by shock and surprise.

"Karma?" he said, his voice caught between disbelief and amazement.

Standing before him, hands clasped behind her back, was a young woman with short, dark hair, her bangs slightly covering one eye. Her face bore a playful smirk, her lips curling in that adorable :3 expression he hadn't seen in years. She wore a Republic of Korea Marine Corps (ROKMC) uniform with the rank of Corporal proudly displayed on her sleeve.

"Annyeonghaseyo, oppa," she said casually, tilting her head slightly, her smirk widening.

Anthony's mind raced as he processed the sight before him. Memories flooded back to 2033, during the brutal days of the Second Korean War, when he was just an 18-year-old PFC fresh off the transport ship from Busan.

He vividly remembered the mission in Ongjin, North Korea—a remote and desolate area where his platoon had stumbled upon a research lab. The horrors they found there were still etched into his memory: a bloodbath of corpses, both adults and children, scattered like discarded trash. The North Korean regime's cruelty had reached new depths in that lab, conducting heinous experiments on minors to create biological weapons.

And in the center of it all, standing amidst the carnage, was a 13-year-old girl—Yoon Karma.

Even now, Anthony could recall the way she had looked at them, her eyes devoid of fear or mercy, as if she were deciding whether they were worth killing. Blood splattered her face, and she stood over the bodies of scientists who had likely tortured her and others like her.

Despite the psychopath diagnosis from the medics—caused by frontal lobe damage from the experiments—Anthony had seen something in her, something worth saving. He and David had stepped forward, extending their gloved hands. They had been exhausted, wounded, and unsure if she would attack them.

Instead, she had reached out and grasped their hands. It was a moment of unspoken understanding: she wouldn't kill them, and they wouldn't abandon her.

Instead of sending her to a juvenile detention center as planned, Anthony and David had convinced their platoon's Lieutenant to let her stay with them for six months.

During that time, Karma had bonded with the platoon, her quirky, psychopathic personality somehow endearing her to the battle-hardened troops. She treated them like family, particularly Anthony and David, whom she saw as her older brothers.

Though she was incapable of feeling pain or shame, she had proven to be fiercely loyal and protective, her combat skills unmatched for someone her age. She had even helped the platoon in a few skirmishes, though her methods were often... unorthodox.

Now, standing in front of him, Karma seemed taller and more mature, but her playful, slightly unhinged personality was still intact.

Anthony crossed his arms, his lips twitching into a faint grin. "You're the last person I expected to see here. What are you doing in LA, Karma?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "ROKMC sent me to train with the Americans. Something about joint operations. But when I heard Anthony-oppa was here..." Her grin widened mischievously. "I couldn't resist saying hi."

"You could've said hi without messing with my weights," he said, shaking his head but unable to hide his amusement.

"Where's the fun in that?" Karma teased, rocking back on her heels. "You're still strong. I approve."

David's voice cut in from behind them. "Holy shit, it's really you, Karma?"

She turned, her smirk softening slightly. "David-oppa. Still alive, I see."

"Barely," David said with a laugh. "You've grown. Look at you—an actual Marine now."

Karma's expression turned mock-serious as she saluted him. "Yes, sir. ROKMC Corporal Yoon Karma, at your service."

The three of them spent the next several minutes catching up, with Karma recounting her journey from North Korea to becoming a Republic of Korea Marine. She had undergone extensive training and rehabilitation, though her quirky, unpredictable nature remained intact.

Anthony couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. Despite everything she had been through, Karma had found her place in the world—a place where she could fight for something better than the horrors of her past.

"Well," Anthony said, clapping her on the shoulder, "if you're here for joint ops, you'd better get ready. We don't go easy on our Korean counterparts."

Karma grinned, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Good. I'd hate it if you did."

As they left the gym together, Anthony couldn't shake the feeling that Karma's arrival was more than just a chance reunion. Whatever lay ahead, he knew one thing for sure: with Karma around, life was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

The Horrors of the North Korean Experiments

The North Korean regime's experiments to create supersoldiers for their army were among the most heinous war crimes of the Second Korean War. Seeking a counter to the American Chem-X and Chem-Y programs, they focused their efforts on creating genetically and biologically enhanced soldiers—"perfect warriors" who would surpass conventional limitations of strength, endurance, and pain tolerance. This program, known only by the codename "Project Black Vein", was spearheaded by none other than Dr. Yoon Sung-ho, a brilliant but deranged scientist—and the father of one of its most infamous subjects, Yoon Karma.

The experiments were conducted on minors, considered ideal subjects due to their developing physiology. The program aimed to mold them into killing machines who could rival the chemically enhanced US forces. The methods were cruel and inhumane, involving genetic manipulation, chemical infusions, and neurological reconditioning.

Phase 1: Genetic and Chemical Alteration

Black Veins:

A synthetic chemical compound, developed by Dr. Yoon, was injected directly into the bloodstream of the victims. This compound was designed to alter the hemoglobin and cellular composition of the blood, increasing oxygen absorption and muscle performance.
The most visible side effect was the blackening of veins during times of heightened physical or emotional stress, as the compound interacted with the circulatory system.

Enhanced Strength and Reflexes:

The victims were subjected to high doses of growth stimulants and adrenaline analogs, which forced their muscles and reflexes to develop at an accelerated rate.
While this gave them inhuman physical capabilities, it also caused severe joint pain and spinal deformities in many subjects.

Phase 2: Neurological Rewiring

Emotion Manipulation:

The scientists used a combination of electroshock therapy and chemical inhibitors to sever the victims' natural connections to fear, pain, and empathy.
This left the subjects capable of rational thought but emotionally detached, making them ideal for combat but incapable of normal human relationships.

Red Pupils:

A direct side effect of neurological manipulation was the red pigmentation of the irises during heightened emotional states such as anger, excitement, annoyance, pleasure, or extreme sadness.
The red pupils became a defining feature of Project Black Vein subjects, marking them as something no longer fully human.

Phase 3: Psychological Conditioning

Reprogramming:

The minors were subjected to endless cycles of propaganda, combat simulations, and torture, breaking their wills and instilling an unshakable loyalty to the North Korean regime.
Many of them were made to kill other subjects in staged "combat trials" to further desensitize them to violence.

Sadistic Tendencies:

The combination of emotional detachment and prolonged exposure to violence led many subjects to develop sadistic traits.
This was especially true of Karma, who, by the time of her rescue, displayed a calculated cruelty toward anyone she deemed an enemy.

Dr. Yoon Sung-ho, Karma's father, was the architect of Project Black Vein. A brilliant biochemist, he had been tasked by the regime to create soldiers who could level the playing field against the chemically enhanced Americans. Despite his intellectual prowess, he was a cold and remorseless man, willing to use his own daughter as a test subject.

Experiments on Karma

Karma was subjected to the full spectrum of the project's procedures, becoming one of its most "successful" results.
Dr. Yoon viewed her not as his daughter but as a proof of concept, a living embodiment of his work.
While Karma exhibited exceptional strength, speed, and endurance, the experiments also left her emotionally stunted and psychologically unstable.

The Bloodbath at the Lab

By the time Anthony and his platoon found Karma, she had already slaughtered the scientists who had tortured her, including her own father.
Her red eyes and blood-splattered form became an image that Anthony and David would never forget.

Noticeable Traits of Project Black Vein Victims

Black Veins:

When subjects clenched their fists or experienced heightened emotions, their veins would visibly darken, creating a web-like pattern of black lines across their skin.
This was due to the chemical compound remaining active in their bloodstream.

Red Pupils:

During intense emotions, their pupils would glow a deep, unnatural red, a side effect of neurological damage and chemical alteration.

Inhuman Strength and Reflexes:

Subjects could lift several times their body weight, sprint at unnatural speeds, and react faster than normal humans.

Pain Tolerance:

The removal of their ability to feel pain allowed them to push their bodies far beyond normal limits, often at the cost of long-term physical damage.

Sadistic and Detached Behavior:

While highly intelligent and capable of rational thought, most subjects displayed a cold, sadistic nature, using violence as both a tool and a form of expression.

Karma's Survival

Despite the horrors she endured, Karma's bond with Anthony, David, and their platoon gave her a semblance of humanity. Their care and guidance, though unconventional, helped her to channel her violent tendencies into controlled aggression.

Her eventual decision to join the ROKMC was a testament to her resilience, though her black veins and red pupils remained a constant reminder of the atrocities she had survived—and the weapon she had been turned into.

The trio entered the mess hall, their boots echoing faintly on the polished floor as the sound of clinking trays, chatter, and laughter filled the air. The place was bustling with activity, a mix of Marines, soldiers, and other personnel unwinding after a long day. Anthony, David, and Karma made their way to the serving line, grabbing trays and eyeing the day's offerings.

"American food hasn't changed much," Karma remarked, wrinkling her nose at the sight of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and steamed vegetables. "Still... bland."

David chuckled as he grabbed a double portion of mashed potatoes. "It's not about taste; it's about getting the calories. You'll get used to it."

Karma raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You're assuming I haven't been eating real food for the past six years. South Korea has actual cuisine, you know."

Anthony, balancing a tray loaded with enough food to feed two people, glanced down at her. "If you don't like it, don't eat it. Nobody's forcing you."

"I didn't say I wasn't going to eat it," she shot back, following them to an open table near the far corner of the mess hall. "Just making an observation."

They settled into their seats, the tray clattering faintly against the table. Karma immediately launched into a barrage of questions, her curiosity boundless.

"So, what have you two been up to? Besides, you know, fighting Grimm and blowing up cities?"

David leaned back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face. "Not much. Just the usual. Rescuing people, breaking things, being awesome."

Anthony shook his head, cutting into his meatloaf with deliberate precision. "David's still the same. Me? I've been working on my patience."

Karma smirked, resting her chin on her hand as she leaned forward. "Oh? How's that going?"

Anthony's expression didn't change as he said dryly, "Not well. Especially when you're around."

David laughed, nearly choking on his potatoes. "She's already breaking your patience, huh?"

As they talked, Anthony couldn't help but glance at Karma, now a 20-year-old ROKMC Corporal, confident and self-assured. It was hard to reconcile the woman before him with the 14-year-old girl who had clung to him like her life depended on it when they'd been separated in South Korea.

The memory was vivid, even after all these years. It had been six months since they'd found her in the blood-soaked lab in Ongjin, and despite her violent tendencies and emotional detachment, she had bonded fiercely with the platoon—especially Anthony. He had become her surrogate older brother, a role he had never expected but had grown into naturally.

When the time came for her to be transferred to a refugee safe zone in South Korea, Karma had refused to leave his side. She had wrapped her arms around him in a death grip, burying her face in his chest and refusing to let go.

"Don't send me away!" she had screamed, her voice filled with a desperation Anthony had never heard before. "I'll be good! I'll stay quiet! Just don't make me go!"

Anthony had tried to console her, whispering assurances that she would be safe and that they would see each other again. But she hadn't budged. In the end, it had taken two medics, a lieutenant, and a crowbar to pry her off him.

He had watched as she was loaded into the transport, her tear-streaked face pressed against the window as the vehicle drove away. That moment had stuck with him, a reminder of the deep scars Project Black Vein had left on her.

Karma, too, hadn't forgotten. As she poked at her food, her sharp eyes flicked between the two men who had been the first to show her kindness and humanity.

"You know," she said softly, her tone uncharacteristically serious, "I hated you for a while. For letting them take me away."

Anthony paused mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air. David glanced at her, surprised by the sudden shift in tone.

Karma shrugged, her usual smirk returning. "But then I realized... you were just doing what you thought was best. And I turned out fine, didn't I?"

Anthony set his fork down, meeting her gaze. "You've grown a lot. We're proud of you, Karma."

She tilted her head, her expression softening into something almost vulnerable. "Thanks, oppa."

David, never one for emotional moments, clapped his hands together. "Alright, enough of this mushy crap. Let's talk about something fun. Like how I'm still the better fighter."

Karma's smirk widened into a grin. "Better fighter? You? Please."

Anthony shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Here we go again."

As they finished their meal, the mess hall buzzed around them, soldiers and Marines laughing, chatting, and unwinding. For the three of them, it felt like old times—back in the war, when they'd faced impossible odds together and come out stronger for it.

But this wasn't just a reunion. It was the start of something new. With Karma now part of the joint operations, Anthony and David knew their bond with her would only grow stronger. And as they walked out of the mess hall together, joking and laughing like no time had passed, they couldn't help but feel that, for once, the future looked a little brighter.

The mess hall at the joint base near Los Angeles was unusually quiet as dozens of troops—Marines, soldiers, and even a few Air Force personnel—crowded around the large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The news report was broadcasting on CNN, showing a special segment about the recent operation in Mountain Glenn, now public knowledge after some classified footage had been leaked.

The anchor, a polished woman in her early forties, delivered the report in a neutral tone, though her words carried weight.

"Reports are emerging of a joint operation involving United States Force Recon Marines, the United States Army 75th Ranger Regiment, and other U.S. military units in a previously unknown landmass labeled Mountain Glenn. This operation involved significant engagements with hostile creatures known as the 'Grimm,' resulting in heavy casualties among the enemy forces. However, the fallout from this mission is not without controversy."

The screen shifted to footage of Force Recon Marines and Rangers engaging the Grimm, their weapons lighting up the ruins of Mountain Glenn. The precision and brutality of the U.S. forces were on full display, showing soldiers clearing buildings, tanks firing on massive Grimm, and B-21 Raiders dropping napalm bombs.

David leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Look at that. That's us, baby. Clearing out nightmares like it's a Tuesday."

Anthony, sitting next to him, nodded but kept his eyes on the screen, his jaw tightening. "Wait for it. They're building up to something."

The report abruptly cut to leaked footage, grainy and distorted, allegedly from a hacked surveillance camera. It showed a conference room with unfamiliar individuals gathered around a large screen. The figures were quickly identified in the caption:

Professor Ozpin
Professor Glynda Goodwitch
Vale Council Members

On the screen in the footage was Mountain Glenn, with American troops fighting Grimm. The room buzzed with whispers and muted gasps from the leaders as the footage played.

A male councilman leaned forward, his voice disdainful. "These... humans are clearly not from here. Their weapons, their vehicles, their aircraft—none of it uses Dust. They're dangerous."

Another councilwoman spoke up, her tone sharp. "Dangerous doesn't even begin to cover it. Did you see the way they leveled the Grimm? They're not Huntsmen. They're... mercenaries."

Professor Glynda Goodwitch adjusted her glasses, her voice calm but concerned. "If they're mercenaries, who is their employer? No kingdom we know of would have the resources or reason to field forces like this."

A third councilman interjected, his voice rising with hostility. "They're not mercenaries. They're terrorists. Look at what they did! They destroyed Mountain Glenn, collapsing half the city and causing untold damage. These people—whoever they are—are a threat to our kingdoms!"

The atmosphere in the mess hall shifted dramatically. The Marines and soldiers watching the broadcast sat up straighter, their expressions darkening with barely suppressed rage. The words "terrorists" and "mercenaries" struck a nerve, especially when combined with the council's clear ignorance of what had actually happened.

One Marine near the front slammed his fist on the table, his voice a low growl. "Did that asshole just call us terrorists?"

A nearby soldier added, his voice dripping with venom, "Mercenaries? These jackasses don't know the difference between a soldier and a goddamn Boy Scout."

David leaned forward, his face a mask of cold fury. "They called us terrorists?! After we saved their sorry asses by wiping out those Grimm?!"

Anthony's grip on his fork tightened bending the poor utensil, his knuckles turning white. "Not just us. They called the Rangers, the Navy, the Air Force—all of us terrorists. They have no idea what we went through out there."

Sitting between the two men, Karma was visibly seething.

Her usually playful demeanor had vanished, replaced by a cold, dangerous anger. She clenched her fists under the table, her black veins faintly visible as her body reacted to her emotions.

"They called you terrorists," she said, her voice low and tight. "They don't even know what you've done, what you've sacrificed. You risked your lives for them, and this is how they repay you?"

David glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "You're pissed? Welcome to the club, Karma."

Her red-tinged pupils glinted as she stared at the screen.

"They insult my oppas. They insult my family." Her tone turned icy. "If they were here, I'd show them what a real terrorist looks like."

Anthony placed a calming hand on her shoulder, though his own anger was barely contained as his eyes glowed green. "We get it, Karma. But you don't need to do anything stupid. They're just ignorant."

She didn't respond, her gaze still locked on the screen. Her voice softened but remained cold. "Ignorance doesn't excuse disrespect."

More voices rose from the mess hall as the troops vented their frustration:

"Call us soldiers again, I dare you. Marines aren't goddamn soldiers!"

"How about we invite those council jerks to a training exercise? Let's see how they handle a live round."

"Terrorists? We didn't bomb their city! We cleaned it of Grimm so they could sleep at night."

"Who the hell do they think they are?"

The anger in the room was palpable, the troops united in their shared sense of betrayal. They had risked their lives to protect the landmass now known as Vale, only to be labeled as criminals and threats by the very people they had helped.

Anthony stood, silencing the room with his imposing presence. He turned to the screen, watching as the footage ended and the CNN anchor resumed her report.

"We've been called a lot of things in our line of work," he said, his voice calm but filled with authority. "Killers, grunts, expendable. But terrorists? Mercenaries? That's new."

He turned to face the troops, his gaze steady. "Let them talk. Let them call us whatever the hell they want. At the end of the day, we know the truth. We're Marines, Rangers, soldiers, sailors, and airmen. We're not here for their approval. We're here to win."

The room quieted as his words sank in. Slowly, the anger in the air shifted to determination. Whatever the leaders of Remnant thought of them, it wouldn't change their mission—or their resolve.

David smirked, clapping Anthony on the back. "Couldn't have said it better myself, big guy."

Karma crossed her arms, her glare softening into a faint smile. "Fine. I'll wait. But if I ever meet one of those councilmen..."

David laughed. "They'd better hope they never meet you, Karma."