Volume 1. Prologue. 

"FREEDOM!" Our chorus erupted as Callum, with a mighty kick, flung the barracks doors wide open. Like a pack of hounds released from the kennel, we jostled and shoved through the narrow doorway, each vying to be the first to claim our quarters.

The barracks, cramped with two bunk beds, a small kitchen, a modest table, and four lockers, felt like a palace. "Oi, shift it, Callum! Your superior officer comin' through!" I boasted, elbowing Callum aside with a triumphant smirk, swinging open my locker.

"Bugger off, ya tosser! Quit lordin' it over us with yer new stripes!" Callum, the fiery Scot, retorted, staggering against his locker to regain his balance.

"The Irishman's got a point, piss off, William!" Oliver chimed in, landing a playful jab to my ribs.

"I'm Scottish, ya dimwit," Callum corrected, casting a glare at Oliver. "What's the bloody difference?" Marcel quipped from his adjacent locker, his French accent thick with mischief. "Both of ya are into shaggin' sheep, non?" His jest set off a round of roaring laughter among us.

"Bloody French frog…" Callum muttered under his breath. "Why don't ya go surrender to a baguette or somethin'?" He shot back, earning a chuckle from Marcel.

"Ah, but at least I do not seek amour with farm beasts, mon ami," Marcel retorted, winking at Callum. Callum's face reddened like his hair, and he grumbled, "Yer lucky I ain't got my rifle. It's gettin' fixed."

"And a good thing too," Oliver piped up. "You wouldn't need repairs if you hadn't used the bolt as a bloody screwdriver."

"Sod off! You told me it'd work!" Callum's indignant shout filled the room.

Oliver shrugged, feigning innocence. "Can't remember advising such idiocy. And even if I did, only a daft git would've listened." He shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Continuing from the lively banter, I tossed my backpack onto my locker with a flourish. "Lads! We've got mere hours before those trains whisk you away. Let's make the most of it, eh?" I announced, instantly quelling the playful squabbles. "Yes, Sargent!" they echoed in mock salute.

"Ah, that's the spirit," I grinned, only to receive a playful shove from Callum. "Quit yer gloating and let's get to it!" he barked, his Scottish brogue thick with feigned annoyance.

"Right away, sir," I replied with a mock salute, heading towards what we generously called the kitchen. The barren little room boasted nothing more than a microwave and a fridge.

Upon opening the fridge, I was greeted by the sight of three twelve-packs of beer, a triumphant reminder of our long-awaited return. Balancing the precious cargo, I nudged the fridge door shut with a kick and returned to the main room.

The others had stowed their gear and gathered around our humble table, deep in conversation. "Gentlemen, behold!" I announced, hoisting the beer packs high.

"The nectar of the gods - alcohol!" Their cheers erupted, drowning the room in excitement as someone pulled out a chair for me.

I set the beer on the table and took my seat, quickly opening a can. The rest followed suit, their movements echoing mine.

"To us!" We shouted, our cans held high. A few drops of beer escaped, victims of our enthusiastic toast, but it was a small price to pay for the joy of being back home, free at last.

As I savored the familiar taste of the bittersweet, fizzy drink, I let out a satisfied sigh, setting down my can. "Hits the spot, that does," I murmured, feeling the tension of the past months start to ebb away.

Six months in the Iraqi heat, sand in every crevice, dodging bullets - it's no wonder we were all wound tighter than a clock spring.

"Tastes like piss..." Marcel's voice cut through, earning immediate scowls from around the table. "Oi, watch it, Frenchy," Oliver retorted, taking another gulp of his beer.

"What?" Marcel shrugged, a playful smirk on his face. "I am French, non? My palate is refined for wine and cheese, not this... what is the word... swill." He waved his can dismissively.

"If you don't fancy it, I'll take it off your hands," Callum chimed in, his hand sneakily inching towards Marcel's beer.

But Marcel was quick to pull it away, eyeing Callum warily. "Ah, but despite my critique, I am in dire need of a drink. I have endured enough of your English cuisine to stomach such garbage." He took a defiant swig, as Callum clicked his tongue in mock disappointment.

A brief, peaceful silence fell over the table, a moment of reflection for us all. The last six months had been a relentless grind, fraught with danger and narrow escapes. But we'd made it back intact, a testament to our bond and grit.

I took another sip, feeling the moment was ripe for some chatter. "So, what's next for everyone?" I ventured, breaking the silence.

Marcel's eyes lit up at the question. "Ah, I plan to escape this dreary island for a bit. First, a visit home to France, see the family," he began, taking a sip. "Then, perhaps some travel. Meet some lovely ladies, live up to the Frenchman stereotype, you know." He grinned, the light of adventure dancing in his eyes.

Callum's sudden, loud snort broke the tension, drawing a sharp glance from Marcel. "What's got your kilt in a twist, eh?" Marcel retorted, a hint of irritation in his voice.

Callum, with a smirk, took a leisurely sip of his beer. "Oh, nothing much. Just tickled by the thought of your so-called 'French charm' in action. I'd bet my last quid on the number of lasses who've fancied a chat with you during our stint." He flashed a hand, showing a big fat zero. "That's how many - none!" he bellowed, dissolving into raucous laughter.

Marcel's expression twitched, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Ah, and what about you, monsieur? Planning a wee bit of travel yourself? Maybe a visit to the zoos, looking for new... companions?" His words were light, but the barb was clear, making Callum's face scrunch in mock outrage.

Leaping up, Callum jabbed a finger at Marcel. "I'll have you know, I don't shag animals!" he proclaimed, setting off another round of laughter among us.

I couldn't resist joining in, a mischievous grin spreading across my face as I glanced towards Oliver. "Speaking of bestiality," I began, causing Oliver to tense visibly. "Don't you even start," he muttered, but it was too late.

The others shot him a look of mock sympathy, realizing where this was going. Oliver's face drained of color. "No, you cant... dont tell me..." he stammered, apprehension in his voice.

"We all know, mate," Callum said, resettling in his chair with a smug look.

Oliver's shoulders slumped as he sank back into his chair, the fight going out of him. "It was a dark time," he tried to defend, but our chuckles only grew.

"Sure, sure," Marcel hummed skeptically. I raised my eyebrows suggestively. "I bet even our Callum here wouldn't have let 'that' one serenade his bagpipes, dark times or not."

Callum nodded solemnly. "I've seen more fetching heifers in the fields," he added, eliciting a groan from Oliver, who swiftly downed his drink and reached for another.

With a dramatic flourish, I feigned wiping away tears. "Poor Ollie, entrapped by a 300-pound damsel," I quipped, barely holding back a grin.

Marcel, ever the instigator, chimed in, "And to think, she was part of the combat unit!" His remark drew a nod from me.

"True, she might have missed the 'navy' part, but was all in for 'seal'," I added, my smirk widening as laughter erupted from the others.

Oliver, trying to defend his bruised ego, shot back, "Easy for you to mock, eh? Not everyone's charmed the Captain like you." His words, laced with a hint of mischief, sent a jolt through me.

"Shit," was all I could muster, as Marcel and Callum's heads snapped towards me, their expressions a mix of shock and envy. "Oliver's pulling your leg," I protested, but the disbelief in their eyes was evident.

"How the hell did you manage that?" Marcel blurted out, his face a picture of disbelief. Callum, ever blunt, cut in, "Shut it, Frenchy! William, I need the juicy details!" 

I turned away, taking a strategic sip of my beer, pretending they were part of the furniture.

"Not so fast, you lucky sod!" Callum's voice boomed as he grabbed my shoulders, giving me a vigorous shake. "Spill it, how'd you bed her?" His shake was so enthusiastic that beer splashed over my sand camo uniform.

"How'd you charm her? She's known to skin any bloke that even glances her way," he persisted. Annoyed, I brushed off his hands. "Easy there, mate. You're ruining the uniform," I said, attempting to deflect.

"I'd buy you a whole new kit if you spill the beans!" Marcel interjected, suddenly appearing behind me, his hands firmly on my shoulders, pinning me to the chair.

Realizing escape was futile, I let out a resigned sigh, ready to divulge my unlikely escapade.

I downed the rest of my beer in one go, tossing the empty can into the bin, and promptly cracked open a fresh one.

"So, about three months back, right after that hairy situation at the border, I found myself in the HQ break room, messing about on one of my gacha games," I began, pausing for a swig of my beer. "She saw me land a five-star pull and actually congratulated me. Turns out, she's into the same game, but she's a proper mega whale." I shrugged nonchalantly.

"We got chatting about it - the storyline, the best servants, their abilities. One thing led to another, and well..." My voice trailed off as I bobbed my head, noticing their stunned expressions.

"That she-devil plays video games?" Oliver blurted out, his face a picture of astonishment.

Marcel, ever the enthusiast, leaned in. "Hold on, what game is this? I might need to start playing!" he declared, his desperation clear.

Callum chimed in with similar eagerness. "Yeah, what's the name of the game?"

Leaning back, I gave them a look of smug triumph. "I've already mentioned it to you lot before, but none of you were interested in downloading it. Why should I bother repeating myself?" I said, relishing their blank expressions.

Then, a lightbulb seemed to go off in Oliver's head. "Wait a second!" he exclaimed, pointing at me. "You're talking about that game with the gender-bent King Arthur, aren't you?" His realization, confirmed by my nod, sent Marcel and Callum reeling in shock.

"What? She's into gender-bent King Arthur?" Marcel's voice was laced with disbelief, as he flopped back into his chair, overwhelmed by the revelation.

Callum's reaction was no less dramatic, as he too slumped into his seat, his face a mix of shock and bewilderment.

Their flabbergasted expressions brought a grin to my face. "Yep," I said, taking another leisurely sip.

"Maybe if one of you had given the game a chance, you'd be in my shoes right now. Instead, you've had no action for the last six months. Except for Oliver, of course, though I reckon no action might've been better than his... encounter." My jab earned grunts of agreement from Marcel and Callum, and a pained whimper from Oliver.

As I gave my mates a stern look, I pressed on the need for discretion. "Just remember, lads, let's keep my little rendezvous with the Captain just between us, yeah?" I said, trying to sound casual but serious.

"Don't fancy the higher-ups poking their noses in and mucking things up." Marcel, with his usual flair, gave a theatrical bow. "Consider it forgotten under the haze of this awful brew," he declared, receiving nods of agreement from the others.

"I'll do the same. And hopefully bury the memories of... Madison," Oliver added, his voice trailing off into a shiver as he mentioned the name of his own, rather hefty, romantic misadventure.

The night rolled on, fueled by laughter and an endless stream of stories from our six months in the field. Marcel bragged about the scores of women he would've charmed, if not for the stress of duty, while Callum was unanimously voted as the one with the most nerve in our platoon, possibly the whole battalion.

Gradually, my beer stock dwindled to nothing, transforming us from hardened soldiers into a band of wobbly, tipsy messes, each struggling with our equilibrium.

Our drunken musings were brutally interrupted by the shrill blare of the classic apple alarm tone. "Bloody hell!" Callum exclaimed, clumsily scrambling for his phone as the piercing sound filled the room. "That blasted Radar sound," Oliver grumbled, hands over his ears.

Callum finally managed to silence the alarm, letting out a relieved sigh. "Time to scoot, boys. Our train's leaving in twenty minutes," he announced, swaying as he stood up.

"Indeed, it is time for departure," Marcel agreed, his words slurring slightly as he too wobbled to his feet, followed by a similarly unsteady Oliver.

Realizing it was time to bid farewell, I pushed myself off the wall and staggered toward the door, trying my best not to topple over. Leaning against the wall for support, I watched, amusement mingling with a twinge of sadness, as my brothers-in-arms fumbled with their shoes, each battling their own battle with gravity.

Leaning against the wall with a casual air, I eyed my mates. "Need a hand getting to the station?" I inquired, trying to mask my concern.

Callum, ever the stubborn Scot, pointed at me as he hoisted his rucksack. "I'm fine, mate. Just had a few brews, is all," he slurred, trying to sound convincing.

Shaking my head with a grin, I strolled over and clapped him on the back. "Alright, enjoy your break then," I said, my smile doing its best to hide the sudden lump in my throat. "Catch you all in a few months."

Oliver, with his deadpan humor, shot back, "No need for the long face, Will. We're just stepping out for a bit, not heading off to war." His words, meant in jest, somehow made me feel more self-conscious.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah, maybe I'm getting a bit soppy," I admitted, prompting light-hearted laughs from the group. I flashed them a small smile and a wave. "See you soon, lads."

"Au revoir," Marcel quipped with his usual flair as he opened the door and stepped out. Callum and Oliver followed suit, tossing back their own goodbyes before shutting the door behind them.

Left alone, a quiet sigh escaped me as I ambled back to the chairs. Pulling out another beer, I cracked it open, feeling a wave of melancholy wash over me. For six months, those blokes had been my world - through the grit, the sweat, and the unyielding desert heat. Together, we'd faced the toughest challenges and emerged unscathed.

But now, back on home soil, the sudden stillness felt jarring. No welcoming arms, no one to miss me if I hadn't made it back. It struck me then, the stark realization that I'd felt more valued, more alive, in the harsh landscapes of Iraq than here, in the place I called home. With a deep swig of my beer, I sank back into my chair, lost in thought.

Alone now, with the adrenaline of the battlefield a distant memory, I found myself at a bit of a loose end. Maybe I should take a leaf out of Marcel's book, jet off somewhere, try my luck with the ladies. But I doubted my trusty gacha game would be much of a wingman this time around.

With that thought, I fished out my phone and fired up the app. Keeping up with the daily check-ins was crucial, especially since I was determined to play without splashing any cash. Every little reward counted.

As the game finished loading, a pop-up notification appeared. I squinted, trying to make out the text through my beer-blurred vision. It seemed like one of those update notifications - you know, the kind you can't really ignore. The 'accept' button was grayed out, suggesting some mandatory policy update was waiting for my attention.

I let out a small sigh. Policy updates are usually just endless paragraphs of jargon. Without much care for the contents, I scrolled down rapidly, watching as the accept button turned from gray to white. I jabbed at it, accepting whatever terms they'd cooked up. After all, what's the worst that could happen?

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A/N

Welcome my reader Overlords, please add this to your library and give me some comments, stones and Reviews, as it would be much appreciated.

Now that the mandatory begging is done, time to ask the hard hitting questions.

Who is your favorite servant in FGO, or in Fate in general? 

Mine is Solomon, bro needs more love in the FF community. And Caren Hortensia comes in a close second with her terrible personality and biting words making her a most amusing character.

And for those who are connecting non-existing dots, no I do not have a fetish for white haired yellow eyed individuals, and if you spread such slander, you'll be hearing from my non-existent legal team.

Next question.

What is your favorite storyline in Type-Moon? (Tsukihime, Fate Series, or things like Singularities or Lostbelts)

Mine is currently LB6, though a few long time favorites are: Kara no Kyoukai, Fate/Zero, FSN Fate Route (Aka, Saber route).

Now, go ahead and enjoy the next chapter!