Clark Still - Tumblr Posts
Karaoke w/ my personal KOF XV team
I decided to do a lil' height comparison chart between most of the cast for the Iron Eclipse AU. I sadly wasn't able to include Red Eye because of the 10 character limit on hikaku sitatter...
Updated: October 14, 2024
Reworked Character #8: Clark Still
POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death and human experimentation.
Real name: Clarkeston Vince Stillwater
Esper title: Avatar of Flora, Wind, Vitality Syphoning, and Physical Adaptability
Aliases: Hard-Boiled Assassin and Coolness in the Strong
Occupation: Lieutenant Colonel of the Ikari Warriors and a tactical spy for the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. (formerly)
Retirement plans: Live in a cabin near a lake abundant with fish and become a professional photographer
Special skills: Survival mastery in many kinds of rough terrain, proficiency in wrestling and grappling, gathering information for missions, sniping with lightweight firearms, and ichthyology
Esper abilities: His go-to esper ability is the Super Argentine Backbreaker, which allows him to effortlessly lift and hurl a vast array of targets into the air, including humans, Martians, Invader Drones, smaller mutants, zombies, mummies, Sasquatches, medium to large-sized tanks, and helicopters. With this ability, he can catch his opponent up to three times in rapid succession, slamming their back into their shoulders before driving them forcefully into the ground.
He’s invincible to weak physical attacks, bullets, and smaller missiles, and can cut through almost anything by generating telekinetic soundwaves with swift hand movements. When activating his infrared x-ray vision, he can see through walls and perceive the heat signatures of people. He has three frilly fish gills located underneath the area of his lungs, allowing him to adapt to an underwater environment. He possesses the cunning predatory instincts of a fox, the acute hearing of a deer, and the swift running speed of a rabbit.
He possesses the ability to manipulate the motion and intensity of wind as well as control the growth, decay, and movement of flowers and vines. He possesses an additional pair of lung-like organs situated on his upper back, between his spine, connected to a pouch located directly behind the pharynx and pointing towards the opening of his mouth. This pouch is sealed by two wrinkled skin flaps covered in mucousal hairs. It can be opened to release a purplish-green breath that contains a deadly poison, causing brain hemorrhaging and organ dysfunction. Clark is immune to the poison contained within his specialised lungs, but occasionally, he inadvertently inhales air into that specific organ. It triggers a cough due to the irritating sensations and causing him to release a small amount of his toxic breath.
His skin contains four types of microscopic pigments: xanthophores, iridophores, melanophores, and leucophores. Unlike other animals, he possesses exceptional control over these specialised colour-changing pigments, enabling him to seamlessly blend into his surroundings. Additionally, he can temporarily render objects and people invisible by scratching or spitting on them. Clark can open the small, closed holes located slightly below the centre of his palms, revealing a seven-petaled flower-like structure. From this, he can extend cartilage pipes covered in spikes with a metallic bronze sheen and a blunt, tri-holed tip from which flame-coloured veins are released. He uses the pipes to pierce the hearts or brains of individuals, utilising the emitted veins to syphon their life energy, thereby healing his wounds, revitalising his physical strength, and preventing his own demise.
Hobbies: Reading books on interesting subjects such as the biology of fish and the history of secret societies, collecting guns, playing casino games, photography, and fishing
Likes: Rugby, his sunglasses, reading gun catalogues, successful fishing expeditions (especially when he catches rare fish), and sharing a couple of drinks with Ralf
Dislikes: The awkward movement and gimmicky controls of the Slugs, being woken up by loud construction noises, people doing obviously stupid things, betrayal of trust, and arson
Favourite food: Oatmeal, tuna and onions pizza, and caramel and cheese popcorn
Sexuality: Heteroromantic asexual
Gender: Male
Age: 23 (in 2022), 29 (in 2028), 31 (in 2030), 33 (in 2032), 35 (in 2034), 42 (in 2041), 44 (in 2043), 45 (in 2044), and 48 (in 2047)
Blood type: A-
Weight: 231 lbs. (104 kg)
Design: He’s a 6’ 3” (190.5 cm) Canadian mesomorph with an inhumanly imposing build, robust musculature, and semi-sloping shoulders. He has pale purple eyes with flecks of magenta, warm beige skin, and a rose gold quiff with subtle curls (it was once a honey blonde). A large patch of burned flesh extends from his left cheek, across his deltoid and shoulder, to the back of his trapezius. He bears a series of small scattered cut marks and a few stab wounds on his arms and torso. Additionally, he has two gunshot wounds, one located above his right kidney and the other near the left side of his navel. He has a long jagged scar on his right cheek, running from the underside of his ear to the centre of his upper lip. The skin on his arms and legs is a charred bluish-black and has a few stitches, and it can be a tad stiff at times, so he often asks Fio to give his limbs a well-kneaded massage.
Clark’s military gear consists of a light cyan tank top, a Bondi blue headband, and purplish-black elbow and knee pads. He always wears a cobalt blue cap with an embroidered Canada jay with outstretched wings, holding an olive branch in its talons. He wears purple-tinted sunglasses to hide a scar on his glabella, caused by Ralf's careless handling of his combat knife. He wears a cobalt blue waterproof vest adorned with the Ikari Warriors logo on the back and lined with grey fox fur. A white magnolia flower is pinned on the left side, just above his deltoid muscle.
He wears a fallow brown wristband with black spikes on his right hand and a blue-green glove with a silver eye surrounded by rays of light embroidered on the palm of his left. He has cargo pants with an army green, brown, and silver-grey camouflage pattern, tucked into his Persian indigo jungle boots. Clark wears a fallow brown belt with six black pouches for bullets and a holster for his handgun. He also carries a Japanese violet waist pack that holds bandages, a small package of cotton swabs, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and four rechargeable batteries for his camera. He wears two black drop leg holsters, each featuring two pointed silvery stripes that form a triangular pattern, holding his combat knife on the right and an electrical baton on the left.
Over his tank top, he wears a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) with a MultiCam pattern, carrying his walkie-talkie and ammo for other firearms. He wears two dark brown bandoliers, crossed in an X-shape, with the left one holding throwing knives and the right one holding ammunition for his handgun. Clark carries a fallow brown load-bearing backpack containing camping equipment, tactical explosives, portable ammo boxes, a canteen full of water, a Black Aces Peacekeeper, a Minebea PM-9, a Benelli Supernova, a Mauser SP66, and a bluish-black digital camera. He also carries a comprehensive fishing kit, complete with various baits and lures, hooks, a rod, floats, monofilament lines, braided lines, fluorocarbon lines, and spincast, baitcasting, spinning, and fly reels. Additionally, he treasures a photo album filled with pictures he's taken from his teenage years to the present, holding it dear as a cherished keepsake. He wears a pair of small silver hoop earrings and conceals a portable, jagged piece of Sol Dae Rokker's red gem in the left pocket of his cargo pants. The red gem appears to be powerless except when reacting to the presence of individuals with malicious intent or those who pose a potential threat.
Thanks to Tarma, he owns a key to access his periwinkle-coloured Velocette MAC motorcycle, which has dark cyan outlining.
Super Devil form: He’s a 16 ft (487.68 cm) wolpertinger-like entity with a slender build, disproportionately muscular arms, and a body encased in iridescent blue-grey scales. Clark boasts a feline head with the left side of his face gruesomely rotted, distinguished by rose gold fur, a silver-grey snout, and fallow brown eye patches. It has majestic Persian indigo elk antlers, elegantly adorned with white magnolia flowers and delicate patches of hanging moss. The head features two jutting fangs and luminous pale purple eyes, accented with magenta flecks and blue-green pupils. He boasts a majestic mane of fluffy light grey clouds and razor-sharp black claws that seem to be forged from a resilient, crystalline material. He wraps himself in a shawl of rippling bluish mist, surrounded by a light scattering of purple leaves that flutter around him, circling his head like a halo.
His fingers are adorned with light cyan webbing, while his back features six prominent vertical cobalt blue streaks. He possesses four majestic 17 ft (518.16 cm) Canada jay wings and an additional pair of arms situated on his inguinal regions. Clark’s lower half is that of a grey fox, featuring silver claws and twelve symmetrically arranged purplish-black eyes along both sides of its back, extending to the base of its tail. His Smith's bush squirrel tail is entwined with a spiky, verdant vine, while the grey fox body's hind legs are replaced by fleshy, charred tree roots that twitch spasmodically and subtly ripple.
Character summary: He's a wise, introspective, hard-boiled, self-disciplined, and self-reliant pescatarian with a stoic demeanour, rarely showing emotion and possessing a taciturn personality. Initially shy and reserved around strangers, he gradually opens up and becomes more talkative and less aloof once he gets to know them. He exudes an unsettling calmness, intensely focused on his professional duties and the safety of others. While watchful and serious, he's not above showing a more playful side, engaging in witty banter and dark, dry humour. Clark often uses sarcasm to tease Ralf about his stubbornness and rowdiness, yet he deeply cherishes him as both his closest ally and surrogate brother. He genuinely worries about Ralf's well-being and will go to great lengths to ensure his happiness, offering comfort and support during difficult times. He frequently enjoys joking around with Ralf, while also keeping a watchful eye to prevent his friend from getting into trouble or engaging in destructive behaviours.
He’s fiercely loyal to Ralf, Heidern, Leona, and his comrades and friends, and will only consider betraying those close to him if presented with compelling reasons. He serves as a father figure to Rumi, cherishing her company, particularly after a gruelling mission, and harbours concerns about her safety whenever she's deployed to the battlefield. He empathises with her struggles to overcome the trauma of losing her two closest friends, Chris and Alexander, and provides comfort during her darkest moments. He has an incredibly close relationship with Leona, whom he views as the little sister he never had. He understands her struggles with forming social connections and respects her capabilities as a skilled fighter. He also admires her fearsome reputation and enjoys going on missions with her, often alongside Ralf. He adores his pets, Sparky, a rambunctious and playful young charcoal Bengal cat with white “goggle” markings and black rosettes, and Mr. Kibleton, a grumpy but affectionate older chocolate smoke Exotic Shorthair cat. He’s devoted to giving them a happy and fulfilling life, providing attentive care and showering them with love and affection.
Notably, aside from Ralf, he shows unexpected support and empathy towards those he genuinely cares about, offering a helping hand when they need it most. Clark is kind-hearted but brutally honest, harbouring a strong disdain for dishonesty, exploitation, and showboating. He has a low tolerance for liars, cheaters, and those who try to take advantage of him or his loved ones. With a keen eye for deceit, he isn't afraid to confront and expose wrongdoers, often calling them out in a blunt and uncompromising manner. He demonstrates significant respect for war veterans, elders, individuals he personally values as being heroic and level-headed, and authority figures who uphold moral justice.
He personally believes that everyone has the capacity to act in accordance with their own moral compass and make decisions based on their unique needs and values. Furthermore, he holds that every individual has an inherent and inalienable right to freedom and personal autonomy, and that suppressing this right is a violation of basic human dignity. It takes a lot for him to get angry, and when it happens, he appears menacing and difficult to approach. Clark gets easily annoyed when people do something he considers stupid or utterly absurd. He has a strong aversion to obstinate stubbornness and betrayal of trust, finding them frustrating and inconsiderate.
He's a light sleeper, prone to occasional sleep-talking and plagued by vivid nightmares that linger into the next day, haunting memories of the experiments he endured and the tragic loss of his parents and comrades. He has a melancholic and cynical side, and in the heat of battle, he sometimes trusts his instincts over strategic planning. Like Ralf, he enjoys diving headfirst into combat, using everything at his disposal, revealing his occasional impulsiveness and craving for adrenaline. He wouldn't hesitate to fiercely confront and verbally or physically shred anyone who tries to harm a child or one of his friends and comrades. He has some trauma that he's slowly coming to terms with, and a deep-seated fear of medical needles and laboratories, which causes him to panic when in their presence.
Backstory: Clarkeston Vince Stillwater was born on May 7, 1999 in Twillingate, Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada. He was born into a loving family that deeply valued the great outdoors, individual freedom, and their diverse expertise. His father, Kenrick Stillwater (commonly referred to as Kent), was a fisherman and a well-respected private detective, and his mother was a successful commercial photographer. He spent countless hours on fishing trips with his dad, Kent, who taught him the ins and outs of fishing, including which hooks and baits to use for each species. Kent also ignited his fascination with the criminal justice system and the complex psychology of criminals. Meanwhile, his mother nurtured his creative side, gifting him a digital camera and photo album on his sixth birthday. She guided him in taking professional-quality photographs, developing Polaroids, and exploring various photography genres.
At the age of 8, he tried out rugby and discovered a passion for the sport, although he only plays when he feels like it. He showed a natural talent for rugby, particularly when playing fullback during pickup games with friends in Crow Head at Sea Breeze Park. By the time he turned 11, he began regularly visiting a new library that had been built near his community two years earlier. He cherished the library's vast collection of intriguing books and the peaceful atmosphere, where patrons were genuinely quiet and respectful. His reading interests spanned various subjects, including criminology, military history, and the occult. He also enjoyed reading about secret societies, undercover operations, philosophical explorations of freedom, and ichthyology.
Before turning 12, he started experiencing symptoms such as persistent fatigue, chest pain, dizziness, recurring headaches, shortness of breath, and pulsatile tinnitus. As his condition worsened, he was forced to discontinue playing rugby altogether. This prompted concern from his parents, who quickly arranged a doctor's visit. Following a medical evaluation, he and his parents learned that he had been diagnosed with anemia, a blood disorder that runs in his father's family. The news disheartened him, but his parents did everything they could to keep him healthy, ensuring he received the best care for his condition. They encouraged him to continue pursuing his hobbies, focusing on those that were less physically taxing, such as reading and photography.
Despite his health complications, his life had been running smoothly, and he was doing alright in school, but this stability was short-lived. Just four months after his 14th birthday party, disaster struck. While he was asleep, his family home was engulfed in flames, set deliberately by unknown assailants seeking revenge against his father's refusal to comply with local criminal demands regarding fishing quotas. As the fire alarm blared, Clark caught a whiff of smoke and sprang out of bed, panic setting in as he heard the faint sound of firefighting sirens in the distance. In that harrowing moment, with smoke filling his lungs and fear gripping his heart, he experienced a sudden surge of energy coursing through his body.
Clark quickly ran out of his bedroom with his digital camera and photo album, desperately searching for his parents. But what he found was his mother, burning alive. Overcome with horror, he tried to exit the building, but the flames nearly trapped him. In a split second, he subconsciously summoned a harsh gust of wind, dissipating the flames and allowing him to escape. As he stumbled out, he saw Kent's lifeless body lying near the front porch, his throat slit and his face brutally stabbed multiple times. He broke down in tears, consumed by grief, cradling his father’s body in his arms. When the firefighters and police arrived, they were met with the devastating scene. One kind-hearted officer took Clark in, providing temporary shelter. Unbeknownst to him, the officer had also contacted the Regular Army. The next day, the Regular Army adopted him, providing shelter, food, clothes, and a new sense of purpose.
A few days after the incident, he received a revelation dream that unveiled his esper title and the key to unlocking his Super Devil form and harnessing his newfound abilities. However, the dream's cryptic nature left him struggling to fully grasp its meaning, hindering his ability to effectively wield his esper powers. Furthermore, he was physically weak due to his anemia, which made his esper training even more challenging and arduous. The Regular Army higher-ups took notice of his struggles and ordered the Amadeus Syndicate scientists to conduct experiments on him, aiming to enhance his abilities and overcome his limitations.
He doesn't recall much of this period in his life because he was constantly kept in a drowsy state. However, he recalls being injected with mysterious drugs that altered and reconstructed his muscles and brain chemistry, miraculously curing his anemia in the process. The experiments were agonising and left lasting scars, including charred bluish-black skin and stitches on his limbs. This incident would also cause him to have terrifying hallucinations, such as seeing blood pouring down the walls and hearing whispering voices that sang incoherent lullabies. The traumatic experiences left him with a deep-seated fear of needles and laboratories as well as a profound mistrust of the Amadeus Syndicate.
During his basic training to become a peacekeeping scout for the Regular Army, he learned valuable lessons in discipline and camaraderie. However, he struggled to come to terms with intense feelings of abandonment and anger stemming from his parents' deaths. Tequila, noticing Clark's aloofness and difficulty connecting with others due to his timidity and unresolved trauma, approached him with kindness. He invited him to a trip to Yr Wyddfa in the Snowdonia region of North Wales, which Clark quietly accepted. The trip proved to be a turning point, as Tequila shared wise words on coping with his emotions and managing his past. From that day forward, Tequila became Clark's mentor, offering guidance and invaluable insights into the ways of a Regular Army soldier and Intelligence Agency agent.
After completing his training and successfully executing several missions as a tactical spy for the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. of the Intelligence Agency, Clark discovered a thriving mercenary group, the Ikari Warriors, was gaining popularity. He then attempted to resign from his position in the Regular Army, but initially faced resistance. However, following repeated requests, his superiors eventually accepted his resignation, recognizing that his unique expertise could be valuable in supporting the Ikari Warriors' missions by gathering crucial intelligence. He joined the Ikari Warriors after demonstrating his skills as a spy and esper by chasing down a disguised terrorist who had infiltrated the biennial tournament. He expressed his commitment to preserving global peace, earning his place among the team.
Upon joining, he befriended Leland and Eikichi, who were fascinated by his esper status and drawn to his kind and mellow demeanour. He also befriended Byron, bonding over their shared love of fishing. Clark’s heroics in single-handedly saving General Kawasaki's and Second Lieutenant Cook's mercenaries from a surprise counterattack by a powerful Mafia organisation earned him their respect. Later, he befriended Ralf, another esper, and they quickly became close friends after collaborating on a mission to take down a corrupt politician.
He frequently partnered with Ralf on numerous missions for the Ikari Warriors, including rescuing Elise, the U.S. President's daughter, from a criminal organisation and dismantling the Serapion Fellowship that was harming Latin America. For his heroism in saving the President's daughter, he received the Medal of Honor, but he prefers to keep it private, as he dislikes drawing attention to himself. His unwavering loyalty and impressive successes as a fighter and spy earned him a promotion to Lieutenant Colonel.
However, he and Ralf suffered a series of devastating losses, including the deaths of General Kawasaki, Second Lieutenant Cook, Eikichi, Leland, and Byron in separate incidents, each of which was difficult to bear. During General Kawasaki's funeral, he remembered Tequila's words that the white magnolia symbolises deep, unspoken trust. He incorporated the flower into his attire as a reminder of his loyalty to those he cares about, both living and deceased. According to popular belief, following Ralf's pivotal role in preventing a takeover of the United States, Clark played a key part in collaborating with Leona and Heidern to draw the Regular Army's attention and persuade them to establish a mercenary branch, ultimately forming an alliance with the Ikari Warriors.
Updated: September 17, 2024
Reworked Group #3: Peregrine Falcons Squad
Overview
Shortly after the establishment of the Regular Army, the Joint Military Police Headquarters assisted the Regular Army in dismantling a transnational drug trafficking organisation led by a corrupt North American politician. Recognizing the benefits of a strategic partnership, the Chief of the Regular Army and the Joint Military Police Headquarters formed an agreement to establish an elite task force. This specialised unit would handle high-risk situations requiring indirect or covert intervention, beyond the scope of conventional military operations. The newly founded elite task force branch would be called the Peregrine Falcons Squad and became the Regular Army's first special forces unit.
As part of their affiliation with the Joint Military Police Headquarters, they serve as highly trained soldiers supporting global law enforcement. They assist police officers from various countries with transnational criminal issues and global security threats. They also aid in preventing global terrorist threats and combating warfare waged by highly dangerous groups.
Insignia
It features a two-engrailed shield outlined in gold, divided into three columns: saffron-yellow on the right side, emerald green in the centre, and crimson on the left side. The initials "P.F." are rendered in dark silver, separated by a gold bullet, and surmounted by a downward-facing sword with a ruddy blue hilt, positioned behind the shield. A circular wreath of laurel leaves encircles the shield, evoking the image of the sun rising over the horizon. Two stylized peregrine falcons with ruddy blue eyes stand guard on either side of the shield, adopting a heraldic pose.
P.F. Squad Base
The Joint Military Police Headquarters is situated adjacent to the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. base, nestled deep within a dense forest in Northern Russia. It’s a high-security, hexagonal-shaped facility equipped with an advanced camouflage system that can adapt and change its exterior appearance to blend seamlessly with its surroundings, mimicking rocky, snowy, and greenery hues. he compound is reinforced with multiple surveillance posts, each manned by expertly trained snipers. Additionally, it features security cameras integrated with non-lethal deterrents and advanced perimeter defence systems, equipped with intrusion detection and rapid response capabilities. Within the compound lies the following facilities:
A Defence Department that serves as a centralised hub for strategic planning, operational command, and tactical control.
A well-maintained barracks for military personnel, providing a safe and functional living environment.
A Combat Academy, led by Sophia Greenville, featuring advanced combat training centre, a simulated warfare environment, a tactical operations centre, a physical conditioning gym, and a medical and recovery wing.
A secure storage facility for firearms, ammunition, and tactical gear with strict access control and inventory management.
A maintenance and storage facility for military vehicles, ensuring readiness and operational capability.
A secure conference facility for senior leaders to conduct high-level briefings, financial planning, and strategic sessions.
A restricted briefing area for P.F. Squad commanders and elite operatives to plan missions, share intelligence, and coordinate tactical operations.
A self-sustaining military city, fully equipped and trained to respond to emerging threats with rapid deployment capability.
Marco’s Base
It's worth noting that the P.F. Squad operates multiple bases worldwide, all of which are named after birds of prey, such as Condor Operations Base, Hierofalcon Operations Base, or Goshawk Operations Base.
Owned by the P.F. Squad, the Sparrowhawk Operations Base, hidden in a forested mountain in an unoccupied area of Britain, serves as the residence for Marco, Eri and her team of rebel Ptolemaic troops, Tarma, Fio, Trevor, Nadia, Ralf, Clark, Tequila, Gimlet, and Red Eye. It’s camouflaged to blend seamlessly into its surroundings, serving as the nerve centre for their operations. They have a nearby landing pad, camouflaged by a thicket of trees, allowing aircraft to land undetected. The base features multiple facilities:
A large, circular room equipped with eighteen business chairs, a holographic display table, a large cork board for investigative purposes, and multiple maps for various missions, serving as a central hub for tactical planning and military briefings.
A private workspace for Marco and the others, which is equipped with a mini fridge, work computers, twenty file cabinets, sixteen rosewood desks, secure communication devices, a business phone to call friends, family, and other military personnel, and a vast library of military strategies and historical texts.
A heavily fortified room storing an arsenal of firearms, ammunition, and tactical explosives.
A well-stocked storage room containing uniforms and tactical gear.
A laundry room equipped with two washing machines and two dryers where they can wash and dry their dirty clothing.
A spacious dormitory features numerous comfortable beds and a secure safe for storing the soldiers' phones and wallets, each labelled with its owner's name. In a cozy nook perfectly suited for Perifa, Sparky, and Mr. Kibleton, their feline-friendly setup awaits, complete with a cat tower, three plush beds, a variety of toys, three food bowls, and a filtered water dish.
Three clean and well-maintained bathrooms with showers, toilets, and sinks.
A secure, climate-controlled garage houses their primary vehicle, the SV-001, maintenance equipment, a couple of motorcycles, and a small oakwood table for Tarma’s boombox and assortment of alternative and metal rock tapes.
A kitchen equipped with a dishwasher, a sink, a marble top counter, a cabinet full of plates and cups, and a built-in breakfast bar and eight stools for quick meals and planning sessions. The kitchen features a refrigerator with a freezer, a secure, locked pantry, a discreetly hidden coffee maker, and modern, high-efficiency appliances with advanced features like automated meal prep and cooking A large, sturdy table made of smooth oak wood serves as a central hub for meal planning, tactical discussions, and mission briefings. Additionally, the kitchen includes hidden compartments and drawers for storing snacks and energy bars.
A cozy recreational space with a plush couch, coffee table, wall-mounted wide-screen television, cabinet full of board games, dartboard, and nostalgic decor featuring posters of 80s action movies and 90s anime. For entertainment and stress relief, the room is also equipped with four classic arcade machines (CarnEvil, Shinobi, Contra: Hard Corps, and Dance Dance Revolution).
Extra Information
Members of the P.F. Squad are commonly known by the monikers "Peregriners" or "Falconists", distinguishing themselves from other Regular Army soldiers and special forces units.
Despite being an elite task force, Peregriners, regardless of gender, receive only half the salary of an average police officer. Furthermore, underperforming Peregriners face additional financial strain, as they often experience delayed salary payments, waiting anywhere from two to four weeks to receive their compensation.
The P.F. Squad is frequently joined by the Intelligence Agency's special forces unit, S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S., in situations that the Regular Army requires them to handle.
They possess a remote archipelago in the South Pacific, which serves as the final training ground for P.F. Squad cadets. This culminating mission challenges cadets to survive in a hostile environment with scarce resources and limited weaponry, fostering reliance on teamwork, independence, and adaptability. In accordance with a mutual agreement, the P.F. Squad has granted the Regular Army permission to utilise the remote archipelago as a training ground for cadets interested in joining the special forces as regular soldiers.
The handguns carried by Peregriners are the Murder .50AE, which is modelled after the Colt M1911A1 pistol. It’s a semi-automatic pistol that fires .50 calibre Action Express rounds. The magazine capacity is seven rounds with an additional round able to be stored in the chamber.
Updated: September 24, 2024
Which characters are assigned to each of the seven Regular Army garrisons?
I know this is very uncalled for, but I just thought about this. The Regular Army is separated into seven garrisons and a good chunk of the characters work for them via their special forces units. I've compiled a list of which characters belong to each garrison.
North American Garrison: Marco Rossi, Ralf Jones, Clark Still, Tequila, Allen Jr., Sophia Greenville, and Margaret Southwood
European Garrison: Fio Germi, Nadia Cassel, and Gimlet
Eurasian Garrison: Hyakutaro Ichimonji
Asian Garrison: Tarma Roving, Eri Kasamoto, Trevor Spacey, Rumi Aikawa, and Madoka Aikawa
Middle Eastern Garrison: Tyra Elson
African Garrison: Red Eye
Oceania Garrison: Walter Ryan
I'm not giving y'all the option to hug them all. You can only choose one...
Conversing with divine greatness
The Stone Turtle lies abandoned, a crumbling shadow of its former glory. The Gaia Elephant stands forsaken, left to rust and burn amidst flickering flames. Ptolemaios and his once-magnificent, human-made divine tower now succumbs to decay, silently waiting to be reclaimed by nature's relentless grasp. Meanwhile, Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio have fully prepared themselves for their final challenge in this arduous journey. Sweat-drenched and bloodstained, their faces set with determination, adrenaline coursing through their veins. Eri orders her team of fellow deserters from the Ptolemaic Army to eliminate the last remnants of the terrorist cult. Without hesitation, they set out to carry out her command.
Behind them, an enigmatic, inverted pyramid pulses with a subtle blue glow, its surface etched with ancient symbols that refuse to yield their secrets. The heroes approach cautiously, eager to leave the tower's lofty peak behind and return to the familiarity of Sparrowhawk Operations Base. But as they draw nearer, a malevolent presence suddenly envelops them, shattering the utter silence. The grey clouds tear apart, unveiling a pitch-black sky. Thunder ominously booms and crackles, accompanied by flashes of electric blue lightning that slice through the darkness. The atmosphere thickens with an air of profound dread and a deep-seated desire to confront the darkest roots of humanity's wickedness.
Emerging from the darkness, a gargantuan entity with bat-like wings, wild hair, razor-sharp claws, and pointed elbows stands before the elite soldiers of the P.F. Squad and S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. special forces, exuding an aura of deafening authority. A writhing flame, shaped like a human skull, protrudes ominously from the behemoth's chest, casting a vacant stare. The entity's glowing red eyes pierce through every fibre of the soldiers' beings as they loom over them. Its pitch-black body is illuminated by the soft glow of nighttime blue and sparkling stars. The entity's right hand grasps a gigantic reaper, its disturbingly organic form seeming to twist and writhe like it has a sentient mind of its own.
A fierce battle erupts between the colossal behemoth and Marco and his three companions, who unleash a hail of bullets into its skull and strategically lob bombs at it. With each hit, the skull flashes a fiery orange, betraying the entity's silent agony. The behemoth retaliates with devastating energy spheres that can incinerate flesh and cloth upon contact. As it shifts into its shadow form, it raises its scythe, unleashing a deadly spray of arcing smoke projectiles that explode upon impact with the stone ground. The entity alternates between this attack and its energy spheres, creating a mediocre battle rhythm that makes the best efforts of the brave soldiers fighting to take it down feel surprisingly easy. Despite their valiant efforts, Marco and his friends can't shake the feeling that the entity is merely toying with them, its true power waiting to be unleashed.
They continue to exchange blows until the behemoth unexpectedly halts its attack on Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio. The four elite soldiers cease firing and bombing, lowering their weapons as they catch their breath. The entity unleashes a deep, echoing chuckle, its large hands gripping the rim of the tower. This surprises Marco and his friends, as they never thought the behemoth capable of producing such human-like sounds.
“Mmmmmmm… I am struck by the profound shock of being in the presence of four militant mortals. Unbeknownst to you all, I secretly observe you and the activities of other humans from a distance too great for any person to reach. I must applaud you all for putting up a successful defence. You have truly shown me your capabilities as defenders of Earth,” the behemoth speaks with remarkable eloquence and fluency.
Their voice loudly echoes in the minds of Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio, creating a sense of relaxation intertwined with uncertain fear. Lingering whispers are layered over its deep, smoothly masculine voice, which carries a potent hint of the demonic. Marco gives the entity a serious look, while Fio partially hides behind Tarma and Eri readies a grenade, gripping it tightly.
"Who are you? What's your purpose?" Marco's voice is laced with a deadly seriousness as he questions them.
“Ahhhh… I knew you were going to try to gather precious information about me. I am the apotheosis of humanity. I am the duality of life and destruction. I am the empowerment of raw emotion. I am the wielder of the Life Reaper, taking the souls of the deceased or those who dare to wrongfully challenge me. I remain nameless, yet I'm known by many monikers. The remaining Pseudo-Incan tribe believe I am Supay, their god of death and the mighty ruler of Ukhu Pacha. Some call me the Dark Lord, while others refer to me as the Deity of Fear. However, I'm often referred to as the Avatar of Evil. Ptolemaios and his terrorist paramilitary cult, who sought to exploit me in their quest for global domination and control over all realities and timelines, demonstrated a startling lack of foresight. They cannot comprehend the essence of my true purpose. However, you four are understanding, gifted with the inner workings of foresight. You have all witnessed things that surpass human comprehension,” the entity spoke with deliberate care, clearly impressed by the strawberry blonde Marco’s stoic demeanour.
“Like the Martians, Mutated Soldiers, and Man Eaters?” Tarma curiously asks, his eyebrow arched in inquiry, as he lowers his dual heavy machine guns, their barrels dipping slightly.
“Indeed, Tarmicle. You four possess the capacity to face the unknown, even when it deeply terrifies you. This is a remarkable achievement in itself. War, criminality, and terrorism are one realm, but the celestial is an entirely different domain,” the Avatar of Evil responds, its gaze sweeping across the group as it gently raises an index finger, then lowers it to the ground.
Tarma gives the entity an utterly surprised look, feeling a tad concerned about how it knows his true name. This sparks a mental alarm in Marco and Fio, who can't help but wonder if the Avatar of Evil is also aware of their real names. Despite being impressed by its words, they remain on high alert, unsure of what this entity truly wants from them. Marco and his friends exchange glances of uncertainty among themselves before Eri bravely steps forward.
“What the fuck do you want from us?” Eri demands, her voice venomous, her brow furrowing slightly as she confronts the Avatar of Evil.
The Avatar of Evil lets out a few low, menacing chuckles, clearly amused by Eri's use of profanity as it flexes its fingers, “Your crass attitude never fails to impress me, Chizuko.”
Eri's eyes narrow into a snarl, tempting her to lash out at the supposed deity of the Ptolemaic Army for uttering her birth name. However, she knows it's futile, so she remains silent, her gaze fixed on the behemoth with a cold, cautious intensity.
“Nevertheless, there is nothing I want from you mere mortals. The only things I require are a small portion of your time and some patience,” the Avatar of Evil proclaims with a sense of boldness, breaking the awkward silence.
Everyone is skeptical of the Avatar of Evil, yet they reluctantly comply with its wishes without a murmur of dissent.
“Let us speak like civilised creatures, shall we?” it mutters, leaning forward slightly, its eyes glow with intrigue and ferocity.
“Like what?” Fio asks in a voice that's sweet and gentle with a hint of nervousness.
The Avatar of Evil strokes its chin thoughtfully, lost in deep contemplation as it searches for a fascinating topic to discuss. Meanwhile, the brave soldiers wait patiently, each finding ways to cope with the tense silence. Tarma lights a cigarette with his silver lighter, while Fio clutches Peppino and caresses her greyish-brown teddy bear for comfort. Marco pulls out a faded photograph from the left breast pocket of his vest, then gazes up at the darkened sky with a hint of melancholy. Beside him, Eri takes a long swig from her flask of vodka, her right foot tapping impatiently. After a couple of minutes, the Avatar of Evil conjures up a clever topic of interest. It tilts its head to the left, clasping its clawed hands together as it rests its chin on them.
“What are your thoughts on morality, war, and the cycle of life and death?” the Avatar of Evil asks suddenly, its voice dripping with intrigue.
It seeks to uncover the elite soldiers' unique perspectives, driven by an insatiable desire to know. Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio exchange dumbfounded glances, their faces etched with intrigue as they stare at the Avatar of Evil. Tarma scratches the back of his head, lost in thought, while Fio gazes up at the blackened sky. Marco's serious expression remains unchanged, but Eri lets out a scoff, tucking her flask of vodka away.
“So… You want us to wax philosophical or something?” Eri replies, her voice tinged with bewilderment, utterly taken aback by the unexpected question.
The Avatar of Evil remains silent, its piercing gaze fixed intently on the elite soldiers as they await their responses.
“Tsk… Fine! We'll answer your stupid question,” Eri says with a heavy sigh, rolling her eyes in exasperation.
Tarma exhales a stream of cigarette smoke, then speaks up, casting curious glances at his friends as he seeks their thoughts on the Avatar of Evil's question, "Who should go first?"
“Mmmmm…” the Avatar of Evil murmurs, its gaze shifting to Marco, the leader of the brave soldiers, as it suggests, “How about Marchrius?”
Marco remains quiet as the Avatar of Evil calls out his real name, but he's poised to respond to its question. His glass eye feels slightly cold against his socket, and his heart rate quickens as he anticipates his social awkwardness kicking in. His dull turquoise eye flickers briefly to Tarma, seeking reassurance, and his queerplatonic friend responds with an encouraging thumbs up.
Marco cleared his throat awkwardly, then replied in a stoic tone, “From what I've learned, morality, war, and concepts of life and death are pretty subjective. They've always been open to interpretation, right? If you're that interested, I’ll share my personal thoughts on these topics…”
He exhales a deep sigh, collecting his thoughts as he composes himself to articulate his views with clarity.
"Uh, so, personally, I lean towards consequentialism—you know, where our actions are judged by their consequences? It seems logical that we should prioritise not hurting people and focus on maximising overall welfare. Over, you know, personal gain. I mean, it's just basic moral math, right? Do what benefits the most people, considering, hypothetically, everyone's fully informed and rational preferences… Yeah," he explains, pacing slightly back and forth, as he outlines his personal views on the subjective concept of morality.
He lifts his head, meeting the Avatar of Evil's glowing red gaze, and continues in a steady voice, initially tinged with awkwardness, but growing more confident.
“War, huh? So, I've come to think that all conflicts might ultimately lead to humanity's unified strength. Perhaps our past wars are stepping stones to one final, decisive showdown that demands global cooperation. Which, theoretically, could totally transform society and usher in an era free from violence, hatred, and corruption. On a sombre note… Mortality inevitably prevails. Moreover, many organisms possess a troubling capacity for destruction, often surpassing their creative potential when unchecked,” his final thoughts are laced with a strong hint of pessimism, but with a sense of relief, he takes a long, deep breath and concludes, "That's all I have to say for now."
Marco glances over at Eri, whose expression, like that of the others, is one of astonishment at the words he articulated so eloquently, belying his apparent social awkwardness. He ceases pacing and stands still, his gaze shifting to Eri as he regards her with intellectual curiosity as he waits to hear her philosophical thoughts. Eri's exhausted dark brown eyes, sunken with fatigue, slowly rise to meet the Avatar of Evil's gaze.
Eri raises her hands briefly in a gesture of exasperation before crossing her arms and sharing her candid thoughts on the entity's question, "Let's get real, folks! Morality is nothing more than a cultural construct. Right and wrong? Just made-up labels. There's no universal moral truth. Every society makes up its own rules based on their quirky customs and beliefs. Good and evil? Forget about it—that sort of shit is just fuzzy, nebulous concepts. We'll never figure out the grand scheme of morality. Cultures slap together values based on what keeps their members in line and feeling good."
She pauses, tucking the grenade into her sage green load-bearing backpack with a practiced motion. With her left hand resting on her hip, she sweeps a stray strand of dirty blonde hair from her face with a swift, precise gesture of her right hand.
Eri cracks her knuckles, relieving the stiffness, and continues with a serious yet weary expression, “War is stupid. It’s a big fucking mess. Once the bullets start flying, we're stuck with the harsh reality of killing, regardless of how messed up it is morally. But let's be real, we've also got a duty to protect the innocent and uphold some semblance of justice. War shouldn't be taken lightly, but sometimes it's necessary. To keep it from getting out of hand, we need strict rules. A war needs to be officially declared, have a legit reason for happening, and aim to bring about actual peace. If I'm being honest, life and death just coexist. There's no magical link between them because that sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me. It seems to me that we simply live and then we die—that's about it!”
Marco, Tarma, and Fio exchange curious glances, sensing a hint of nihilism and apathy in Eri's words. Eri, oblivious to their questioning stares, nudges Tarma with her elbow, causing him to flinch slightly. She scowls at him, struggling to let go of her lingering animosity, her voice barely above a whisper, "It's your turn, moron."
“Urm…” Tarma murmurs, wincing at the sting of Eri's words, a flicker of hurt crossing his face.
He sniffles and runs his fingers through his plum brown hair, which has subtle, effortless curls. Though plagued by insecurities about his intellectual abilities and struggles with complex subjects, he’s fully prepared to give it a try.
“I'm not a philosophy expert. Honestly, I don't even fully understand my own opinions on most complicated topics. However, I'll do my best to share my thoughts…” he speaks, his voice steady and calm as he strives to maintain a confident tone.
He strokes his chin thoughtfully, his gaze locked onto the Avatar of Evil's glowing red eyes, feeling as though they're judging him on an intellectual level. Fio gently places a reassuring hand on Tarma's back, offering comfort. She recognizes that not everyone possesses a deep understanding of themselves and complex philosophical concepts.
The gesture brings Tarma some much-needed comfort. He lightly kisses Fio on the cheek, causing her to blush, before speaking up with a hint of newfound confidence.
“Uh, yeah, so I think our morality thingy is pretty much shaped by, you know, our parents, cultural influences, and some universal rules. Every person has this inherent dignity, so we gotta follow some ethical rules that make sense, logically and all that. It's a good idea to avoid contradictions. If you don't, you might come across as a hypocrite, and that's a label nobody wants to wear. Anyways… Honestly, I don't think what happens after we do something really matters; it's the act itself that matters, not the outcome. As a soldier, I may seem like an unlikely advocate for pacifism, but I strongly believe in it. War and all other forms of violence suck and they’ll always be a pain in the ass. Well… Ummm…” Tarma sniffles, composing himself as he struggles to maintain his calmness in the presence of such a foreboding entity.
He takes a long drag on his cigarette, cracks his knuckles, and attempts to muster a confident air as Fio gently squeezes his free left hand. Following a fleeting pause, he presses on with his speech, hoping to articulate his thoughts without sounding foolish. Fio releases his hand, and he takes a step closer to the behemoth and his friends, bravery and apprehension warring within.
“I strongly believe our best efforts should focus on standing against all of this war. We also can’t forget about actively fighting for peace, even if it means challenging our own moral beliefs. I hope that if we all try really hard, we can make the world a better place. Life and death are like two sides of the same coin, you know? They're always fighting for control, which is represented through our actions. So yeah, that's my two cents. I hope it makes sense, because I'm not really sure what I'm talking about,” Tarma finishes his thoughts with a slight shrug, accompanied by a gentle, albeit uneasy, smile.
Fio gently applauds Tarma, while Marco shoots him a disbelieving glance, astonished to discover that his close friend is a so-called pacifist. Eri's eyes dart upward in wry amusement; Tarma's pacifist ideals seem at odds with his impulsive nature and willingness to brawl for those he cares about. As the Avatar of Evil awaits the final elite soldier's response to its burning question, Marco, Tarma, and Eri turn in unison to face Fio, their attention now focused on her.
“I never gave much thought to such complex subjects until now. Uhhmmmm…” Fio admits, her fingers fidgeting nervously as she toys with the strands of her orangish-brown ponytail.
She pauses for a brief moment, her gaze calmly meeting the Avatar of Evil's. The entity's curious red eyes seem to bore into the souls of Fio and her friends with an unnerving silence. Tarma gently rubs her left shoulder, offering what reassurance he can, and she smiles softly in response, her eyes shining with gratitude.
Fio clears her throat, darting a brief glance at Marco, who nods lightly in encouragement, and then at Eri, who gives her two thumbs up, before speaking up, "Uh, if it's okay... could we, maybe, discuss my thoughts on war? I-I mean, I've been thinking... avoidable and inevitable wars, they just seem like, well, a constant threat to humanity, you know? War just... it doesn't really accomplish anything, only serving as a catalyst for destruction and suffering. It changes the moral fabric of people, and societies, in really profound ways. It greatly accelerates the technological development of war machines and weaponry. And it all starts when conflicts get out of hand, and, well, free will just doesn't seem to matter anymore. The consequences are just... visceral. Devastating. As for morality... Mmmmmm…"
She trails off, her voice fading into a nervous sigh as she fidgets beneath the entity's piercing gaze. Her eyes drop to the stone ground beneath her feet. She lightly strokes her chin, collecting her thoughts with a contemplative gesture, before formulating a thoughtful response.
“Um, so… Morality is concerned with… the kind of person we strive to be, you know? It's about cultivating virtues that make us, well, better humans. To truly live a morally righteous life, we're, uh, called to develop habits like honesty, bravery, justice, and generosity. These traits are, I believe, fundamental to our flourishing as individuals. As we practice these virtues, we become more... resilient, more capable of making tough choices when faced with ethical dilemmas. And that's when it clicks: by honing these habits, we empower ourselves to do what's right, even when it's hard. We learn to trust our instincts, to listen to our conscience, and to stand firm in our convictions,” Fio continues, gathering her courage and speaking with as much confidence as she can muster.
She steps away from Tarma as he releases his gentle grip on her left shoulder, and then distractedly fidgets with Peppino before refocusing on the conversation.
“I want to believe that life's power exceeds death's grasp. Death can feel overwhelming and inevitable... but what if life's resilience is stronger? We've all witnessed it in some form or another. It's truly phenomenal to see nature and the remnants of human civilization reclaim and revitalise what was once destroyed and lost. It's breathtaking, yet terrifying. Can life truly overcome death? I think so. In astonishing ways, vitality perseveres,” she concludes, her voice ringing with genuine sincerity and infectious optimism.
As a Papilio xuthus butterfly flutters past Fio, she feels an unexpected surge of profound fulfillment and calm rather than the instinctive flinch she might have anticipated. The others follow Fio's gaze to the Papilio xuthus, its path seemingly leaving a trail of sparkling calm in its wake. Eri raises an eyebrow, questioning whether her sleep-deprived mind is playing tricks on her. Marco remains stoically indifferent, but Tarma's attention is riveted on the butterfly as it vanishes into the empty eye socket of the colossal skull embedded in the behemoth's chest.
The Avatar of Evil reclines slightly, placing its hands flat on the stone ground of the tower, its seemingly emotionless face illuminated by a newfound understanding, as the diverse perspectives of these four elite soldiers bring a measure of enlightenment.
With a slow, satisfied exhale, the entity speaks in a low, resonant tone, its voice tinged with pride, "Your perspectives on morality, war, and the cycle of life and death are truly fascinating. I must admit, I hold them in high esteem."
Marco, craving a smoke break, retrieves a cigar from the right pocket of his khaki-green army cargo pants and lights it with a gilded lighter hidden in his crimson vest. Meanwhile, Tarma takes a few final drags on his cigarette before crushing it beneath the heel of his paratrooper boot. Fio carefully tucks Peppino into the left pocket of her cordovan Eisenhower jacket, while Eri stands by, her arms crossed, subtly shifting her weight from one leg to the other.
“So…” Fio takes a swift pause to inhale a few meditative breaths from her Ventolin inhaler, then resumes speaking in an exceedingly courteous tone, “What are your thoughts on morality, war, and the cycle of life and death, if you have any to share?”
With a gentle tilt, the entity angles its head to the right, its gaze shifting ever so slightly.
“Well, Fiolina… All of your views are valid, and I find myself in agreement with every single one of them. However, before I bid farewell to this mortal coil, I have a few parting thoughts to share,” it respectfully responds, clearly impressed by Fio's thoughtful consideration and gracious politeness.
Everyone listens intently, not daring to utter another word. Eri drains the last of her trusty flask of vodka, while Marco takes a few puffs from his cigar. The Avatar of Evil's claws scrape against the stone of the looming tower, digging in ever so slightly. Suddenly, thunderclaps boom through the sky, and crimson-purple lightning flashes violently around them. The group of brave soldiers flinch, momentarily caught off guard. As they steady themselves, Marco and his companions are surrounded by a thick, star-studded fog that shimmers like diamonds. It obscures their view of the Avatar of Evil and the lifeless form of Ptolemaios, his defeated body still entwined with the wreckage of his pillar contraption.
"Have you ever considered that morality and war are mental constructs shaped by human psychological and sociological pressures? Why must humanity adhere to the strict, often confusing rules of morality? Does it provide a profound sense of self-righteous gratification or is it a means for humans to conform to societal expectations? Why are some people oblivious to the consequences of their actions, while others hold them in high regard? Why do some individuals adopt a nihilistic stance towards the idea of a universal and individual moral compass?” the Avatar of Evil pauses for a fleeting instant, surveying the four elite soldiers who stand transfixed and stunned by the challenging questions.
Its voice resonates loudly and clearly within the minds of Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio, booming with demonic dread and masculine authority. Whispers of secrets weave through it, spoken in a language that echoes the Martian tongue and the mystical Enochian, incomprehensible to their understanding.
Without further hesitation, it proceeds with a deliberate and calculated calmness, “Why does war exist? What truly sparked its inception? Does war hold any genuine significance? Have you four pondered the notion that life is inextricably linked with destruction? Is there a deeper connection between these seemingly polar opposites? If so, why do some view life as a linear progression from birth to death, while others believe in the possibility of a cyclical existence beyond mortal suffering?"
The blinding fog gradually lifts, revealing the stone ground of the tower's summit, now teeming with life. Moss and an array of vibrant, exotic mushrooms—violet webcap, bleeding tooth, latticed stinkhorn, lion's mane, and indigo milk cap—flourish in every crevice. However, amidst this lush scenery, a gruesome sight lies in stark contrast: Ptolemaios's freshly deceased corpse, half-devoured, exposes rotting flesh, maggots, and bare bones. The once-majestic floating tower now lies in ruins, overrun by an explosion of plant life. Yellow and black butterflies swarm the area, feasting on the nectar of sweet flowers: hollyhock, lavender, milkweed, and vervain. Marco and his three friends stand awestruck, torn between the beauty before them and the horror of how swiftly this transformation occurred. They exchange disbelieving glances with the Avatar of Evil, their questions unspoken but palpable in the stunned silence.
The behemoth gently clears their throat, taking this brief moment to collect their thoughts before delivering their concluding remarks, “Your philosophical views, as Marco noted earlier, are fundamentally subjective. Moreover, as your brains lack a divine spark, your understanding of complex and multifaceted subjects will always be limited. Regrettably, we've veiled your understanding of ultimate truths. Nonetheless, it remains fascinating to observe the extraordinary efforts individuals will undertake to attain absolute knowledge on matters that captivate their interest... I shall take my departure now. May our paths cross again soon.”
As Tarma's worldview begins to fracture under the intense scrutiny, Fio's gentle hand envelops his, her calm demeanour a beacon of serenity that starkly contrasts to the turmoil raging within him. Fio's breath comes in ragged gasps as she struggles to wrap her mind around the profound implications, her gaze fixed on the transformed landscape. Meanwhile, Eri's jaw hangs slack, her mind reeling as she struggles to process the barrage of profound and unsettling questions the Avatar of Evil has posed, each word echoing in her thoughts like a lingering challenge.
Marco takes a step forward, his curiosity piqued, and eagerly prepares to inquire about the notions of "divine spark" and "ultimate truth", seeking clarification on these intriguing concepts. He raises his arm in a pleading gesture, hoping to persuade the entity to linger, but it's too late. The Avatar of Evil unfurls its immense wings, casting a dark silhouette against the stormy sky, where lightning flashes illuminate the darkness. Then, with a majestic sweep, it vanishes into the murky depths, leaving behind the fading echo of its wings beating, growing fainter and fainter until lost in the distance.
Marco gazes out at the horizon as the murky darkness swiftly yields to unveil a breathtaking twilight sky. Though a part of him feels intellectually drained and defeated for not stopping the Avatar of Evil in time, he stands stoically, lost in silent amazement and relief. Tarma approaches him with his characteristic nonchalance, but beneath the surface, he's grappling with his own intellectual doubts. He offers Marco a reassuring pat on the back, and Fio soon envelops them both in a comforting hug, which they gratefully return. Meanwhile, Eri remains transfixed in awe, but gradually snaps back to reality as she retrieves her walkie-talkie from her MultiCam SPCS. She swiftly activates it and checks in with her team, inquiring if they've completed their mission now that Ptolemaios' sinister plans have been thwarted once and for all.
Trevor's voice crackles over Marco's walkie-talkie, "Yo! Major Rossi, can you hear me?"
The sudden interruption breaks the spell, and Marco releases Tarma and Fio from the hug, exhaling a tired sigh as he retrieves his walkie-talkie.
"Yes, Sergeant Spacey, I can hear you. Is everything alright? Did you succeed in apprehending General Morden and his forces?" he responds, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and fatigue.
Trevor breathes a sigh of relief, his momentary fear of losing Marco dissipating.
"The situation is under control! We received an unexpected visit from the Ptolemaic Army, but those punks were crushed like insects," he says with a hint of triumph, followed by a happy chuckle. "Wanna know something even better?"
Marco raises an eyebrow, intrigued by Trevor's query, as Eri draws closer to the group, her interest piqued by the conversation. Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio exchange eager glances, their minds racing with the same unspoken question: what news does Trevor bring about his mission to capture General Morden?
Just then, Nadia's voice cuts through, her tone eerily jubilant, “We've finally captured General Morden!”
"Hey, don't forget about Wysteria," Clark's voice comes through the walkie-talkie, sounding genuinely pleased and relaxed. "We rescued her from General Morden's clutches, and thankfully, she's doing great. She bounced back like a champ, just like always."
The revelation leaves everyone stunned, but it sparks unbridled excitement among the four brave soldiers. Tarma exclaims a triumphant "Boyah!" and sweeps everyone into a warm, tight embrace, prompting Fio to erupt into childlike giggles with unbridled joy. Eri returns the hug, albeit reluctantly, exhaling a weary sigh as a faint, relieved smile crosses her face, glad that the ordeal with Morden has finally come to an end and Wysteria is safe. Fio showers Tarma's left cheek with a couple of passionate, tender kisses, causing his smile to broaden even further. Meanwhile, Marco provides calming solace, gently massaging Tarma's back with soothing circular motions.
For Marco, it's a moment of profound joy, a feeling he hasn't experienced in a long time. He's thrilled that General Morden will finally be brought to justice after his numerous escapes and the multitude of crimes he's committed, and relieved that Wysteria wasn't used for some nefarious purpose. Marco eagerly awaits the day when justice will be served to the man responsible for tearing his comrades apart and sowing strife in the world. Tarma shares Marco's sentiment, looking forward to Morden's impending trial and reuniting with the dearly missed Wysteria. Meanwhile, Eri and Fio are ecstatic to learn that their allies—Trevor, Clark, Ralf, and Nadia—have successfully completed their mission to capture the sly General Morden and his Rebel Army loyalists.
"I guess you all know what this means, right?" Ralf's voice crackles over the walkie-talkie, a playful hint evident in his tone.
Marco and his friends exchange knowing glances, nodding in unison as a shared thought passes between them. They're eager to celebrate this monumental success back at the Sparrowhawk Operations Base, their anticipation palpable. They know that Clark, Ralf, Trevor, and Nadia share their eagerness, anticipating a grand celebration for the successful capture of Morden and his remaining forces. The rest of the Regular Army—including Tequila, Gimlet, Red Eye, Pupipi, Hyakutaro, Rumi, and everyone else that Marco and the others personally know—will be ecstatic once they hear the news.
Reworked Groups #5: Ikari Warriors
POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death and suicide.
Overview
A mysterious Japanese-German man known only as Heidern served as strategist for the esteemed Peregrine Falcons Squad. He’s also the founder and supreme Commander of the Ikari Warriors. Heidern once enjoyed a peaceful yet militant life, living in the countryside with his wife. However, following the birth of his daughter, he contemplated retiring from the Peregrine Falcons Squad on good terms. However, tragedy struck when he lost his family. Consumed by grief and a desire for vengeance, he channelled his energy into founding the Ikari Warriors, an elite force determined to combat global injustices, crime, and terrorism.
With the backing of the Peregrine Falcons Squad's high command, Heidern implemented a rigorous military training program for his recruits. He went above and beyond to identify and refine each soldier's unique skills, recognizing that individuals approach challenges differently. According to Clark, he’s a cold, cunning, and hypervigilant leader who expertly assesses and neutralises high-priority threats. Despite his tough exterior, Heidern treats his recruits like a surrogate family.
After losing his sight in a surprise pirate attack during a Caribbean cruise and subsequently being diagnosed with lymphoma, Heidern relinquished his leadership to General Kawasaki. Following Kawasaki's brutal murder at the hands of a Mexican cartel, Heidern urgently sought a new successor. With the help of his mercenaries, Heidern spent weeks searching until he finally rescued Leona, a young Czech girl, from an unnamed town under siege by rogue militia forces. However, he soon discovered a dark truth: Leona had temporarily lost control of her Orochi blood, resulting in the tragic death of her parents. The rogue militia, seeking to exploit her powers, intended to use her as a bioweapon.
Offering her a fresh start and a chance to fight against global injustices, Leona accepted, largely due to having no other options. Leona was trained by Heidern, Clark, Ralf, and other seasoned members of the Ikari Warriors, who oversaw her rigorous military training and moulded her into a skilled mercenary. According to Clark and Ralf, Leona is a reserved, aloof, and highly efficient individual who struggles with thoughts of suicide and everyday social interactions. Despite this, she excels at commanding her foster father's mercenaries and is deeply committed to their well-being.
Although Heidern has passed on his leadership to Leona, he remains actively involved with the Ikari Warriors, focusing on training recruits and developing tactical strategies. Rumours have circulated that, despite his loss of sight, Heidern possesses the capacity to perceive heat signatures. Notably, he played a pivotal role in training Clark and Ralf, recognizing their exceptional esper abilities—a talent previously unseen among Ikari Warriors recruits. His mentorship forged a strong and enigmatic connection with Ralf, often described as resembling a father-son bond.
Leona developed a strong affinity for Clark, regarding him as an older brother, and consistently felt reassured when partnering with him and Ralf on missions. Clark took on a mentorship role, guiding Leona in mastering her cutting aura, especially her go-to esper ability called the Moon Slasher, and harnessing the power of her Orochi blood. Ralf further enhanced Leona's training by instructing her in Slug operation and maneuverability. Additionally, he encouraged her to integrate explosive tactics into her combat style, an approach she effectively incorporated through her signature earring bombs. She once considered taking her own life after losing control of her Orochi blood and unintentionally harming Clark. However, he didn't abandon her. Instead, Clark, Ralf, and Heidern intervened, successfully persuading her not to jump from the bridge and encouraging her to continue living.
Following the Great Modern War, the Ikari Warriors joined the Regular Army to form its elite mercenary branch. As a private force for hire, they specialise in resolving extreme crises, while also undertaking smaller-scale missions. With a versatile rank structure, the Ikari Warriors can be contracted for a wide range of situations and danger levels.
Insignia
It features a lozenge-shaped silver-grey shield, outlined in shimmering luxor gold and trimmed with reseda chartreuse on the exterior. The shield's centre features the Japanese character “怒” (meaning “fury”) in alizarin red, painted in a bold, expressive style, with a horizontal bronze bullet below. A crimson-hilted silver dagger runs diagonally along its left side, while a bronze full moon is suspended above the shield. An ultramarine motto ribbon sits below the shield with the name of the special forces unit, Ikari Warriors, emblazoned in alizarin red.
Ikari Warriors Base
The Zorniger Mond Hideout is a rhomboid military complex situated deep within a Congolese jungle, its strategic location enhanced by a camouflage system expertly blending into the surroundings. The base's exterior is coated in a range of jungle green tones, including sulu, wild willow, asparagus, mineral green, and timber green. This stealthy design, combined with a state-of-the-art bulletproof system, provides the Ikari Warriors with a significant tactical advantage. They can launch surprise attacks on enemy forces without being detected.
The base boasts perimeter surveillance cameras and discreet, automated turret systems that detect and neutralise unauthorised personnel. They have a reinforced, electrified fence surrounding the base with strategically placed watchtowers featuring sniper positions. Additionally, they have a rooftop helicopter pad and four strategically positioned parabolic satellites, one at each corner of the base. The military complex comprises the following facilities:
A central command centre housing Heidern's and Leona's private quarters, a large strategy room with holographic display and tactical planning tools, communication arrays for secure global connectivity, and a situation room for real-time mission monitoring.
An intelligence room dedicated to gathering and analysing intel on potential missions and enemies, featuring computer systems for data analysis and cryptology, and secure storage for sensitive documents and classified information.
Simple, functional accommodations for mercenaries, including a barracks, mess hall, showers, a gym, a lounge, a game room, and personal storage lockers for gear and equipment.
An armoury with storage for weapons, ammunition, and explosives, and an adjacent repair workshop.
A fully equipped medical facility with an operating room for emergency surgeries, recovery ward, and medical supply storage.
A garage for storing and maintaining vehicles acquired through purchase, donation from the Regular Army or capture from enemies.
A commemorative wall honouring fallen comrades, alongside display cases showcasing the team's highest-achieving awards and medals.
A trophy room displaying captured enemy equipment and memorabilia with a secure storage room for valuable and sensitive seized assets.
A coliseum, cloaked in a muted blend of mossy green, olive drab, and earthy brown hues, is protected by a bullet-proof glass dome. By day, it's a training ground and hosts special tournaments. At night, the dome darkens to an inky black, and the interior shines a vibrant crimson under the moonlight.
Extra Information
Members of the Ikari Warriors are commonly known as "Soldiers of Fortune" or "Hired Ragers”, reflecting their reputation as elite mercenaries of the Regular Army and their fierce combat prowess.
Unlike other mercenary groups, the Ikari Warriors host biennial tournaments that are open to their members and anyone else interested in participating. These events serve as a platform to assess the physical prowess and mental strategies of both seasoned and new members, while also identifying potential recruits who may be interested in joining their ranks.
They’re the only branch in the Regular Army that doesn’t have dedicated soldiers wearing uniforms that identify them as part of the Ikari Warriors.
Soldiers of Fortune, regardless of gender, receive double the average Canadian soldier's salary, acknowledging the high risks involved in their line of work. Heidern's policy ensures these elite mercenaries receive maximum financial support.
The handguns carried by Soldiers of Fortune are the Ultra Justitia Model-1977 .380 ACP or Justitia .380 ACP for short. This semi-automatic pistol is based on the Beretta Cheetah 80X, but features a distinctive grip that would later influence the design of the Walther PK380. Designed in 1977 to enhance the Beretta Cheetah's ergonomics, it offers a superior grip and hold, along with an increased ammo capacity of 15 rounds. It’s primarily used by private military companies, but it has also seen adoption by some Regular Army units.
