MCA

The battlefield had turned into hell.

Jerry's breath was ragged, his vision blurred from blood loss, but he kept himself steady. His missing hand still burned, even with the makeshift bandages barely holding the wound together. Shaoran stood beside him, calm as ever, as more and more spacecrafts filled the ruined skyline of City 403.

The Earth Industrial Authority wasn't done. The sky above them was a swarm of black and gray warships, their insignia glowing ominously in the smog-filled night. The ground forces had already been devastated, but the EIA wasn't backing down. Now they were bringing everything.

Heavy walkers stomped through the wreckage, their mechanical legs crushing whatever was left of Jerry's crew. Dropships hovered above, their gunports glowing, ready to rain hell. The situation was fucked.

Jerry clenched his teeth. "Shit… this is it."

Shaoran didn't look worried. He adjusted his gloves.

"Looks like we're still fighting." His tone was casual, almost… bored.

Jerry wanted to scream at him. They were outnumbered, surrounded, and with no way out. Shaoran, of course, didn't care.

But then—

More shadows filled the sky.

The next force had arrived.

And this time, Shaoran's expression finally changed.

The Martian Command Authority (MCA) had entered the battlefield.

Sleek red-and-silver ships cut through the clouds like burning meteors, their weapons already primed. The Martians didn't send weak foot soldiers. They sent killers.

The first barrage hit hard. Red plasma fire rained down from above, tearing through the EIA's warships.

The moment the Martian drop-pods hit the ground, the true massacre began.

MCA soldiers, clad in crimson exosuits, stormed the battlefield like a coordinated storm. Their weapons—Martian Railcasters and Shock Scythes—ripped through the EIA ranks with merciless efficiency.

One second, an EIA soldier was preparing to fire. The next? A Martian Shock Scythe sliced him clean in half.

Even Shaoran took a step back.

Jerry muttered in disbelief, "...Oh, fuck."

If the EIA was bad news, the MCA was an entirely different monster. They weren't just another faction—they were the most feared military force in the system.

Shaoran's voice was quiet, but Jerry could hear the tension in it.

"Even I don't want to mess with them."

That alone said everything.

Jerry groaned as he leaned against a broken hover-car, feeling himself getting weaker. The bleeding hadn't stopped. If this kept up, he'd be dead before the fight was over.

Shaoran turned to him, pulled something from his belt, and tossed it over.

A vial.

Deep red. Glowing. Thick.

Jerry caught it, his fingers trembling. "What the hell is this?"

Shaoran's answer was short. "Drink."

Jerry wasn't in the mood to argue. He popped the seal and gulped it down.

The effect was instant.

A heat surged through his veins. The pain dulled. His vision cleared. And then—his severed wrist tingled. The skin began to close, regenerating. It wasn't growing back completely, but the bleeding stopped, and the pain was... bearable.

Jerry exhaled sharply. "That's some freaky shit."

Shaoran shrugged. "It'll keep you alive."

Jerry wanted to say something smart, but then—

The fight escalated.

The EIA unleashed their war mechs.

The MCA countered with orbital rail cannons.

The ground split apart as explosions tore through the streets. Buildings collapsed. The air was thick with smoke, fire, and blood. The sound of gunfire, plasma blasts, and dying men filled the ruined city.

Jerry's remaining crew, what few were still alive, watched the chaos in shock.

One of them—Marco, the guy with the cybernetic eye—spat out his cigarette.

"Bro, I didn't sign up for a fucking interplanetary war."

Another jerry's man who survive up untill now—Duke, a heavy weapons guy—laughed like a madman.

"Too late for regrets, asshole. We're already in it!"

A third, a younger member named Vin, pointed at Shaoran.

"Oi, is this fucker really human?! Did you see what he did back there?!"

Marco shook his head. "Nah, man. That ain't human. That's something else."

Jerry didn't comment. He wasn't sure what Shaoran was.

And then—

The air cracked open.

Something massive emerged from the clouds.

A black ship. A red ship.

The battlefield froze.

Everyone stopped fighting.

The Black Ship and the Red Ship had arrived.

The moment their engines roared, the battlefield went silent.

And then, before anyone could react—

A single figure jumped from the Red Ship.

Tanisha.

She landed right in front of Shaoran.

She looked at him. He looked at her.

Then, without hesitation—

She slapped him.

Hard.

The sound echoed.

Jerry's jaw dropped. The entire battlefield fucking froze.

A goddamn war was happening, but now everyone was just staring at Shaoran getting slapped.

Before Jerry could even process what the hell was going on—

Tanisha grabbed Shaoran by the collar—pulled him in—and kissed him.

Right there. In the middle of the warzone.

The entire battlefield collectively lost their minds.

Jerry coughed. 

"What the actual fuck—" Marco started.

Duke groaned. "I swear to god, if this turns into some romance shit—"

Vin was still processing. "Did she just SLAP him and then KISS him? What kind of relationship is this?!"

Jerry sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"I need a drink."

The War Paused. The Meeting Began.

General Holt of the MCA stepped forward.

The EIA officers also approached.

In the middle of the battlefield, Shaoran and Jerry stood side by side as the two highest-ranking figures of the war prepared to talk.

Tanisha was still glaring at Shaoran.

Jerry whispered to him, "You got some explaining to do."

Shaoran sighed. "It's complicated."

Jerry smirked. "It always is."

The battlefield was ruined. But now, the real game was about to begin.