The wail of sirens had long faded, leaving only the quiet hum of fluorescent lights in the dim interrogation room. Two officers, a man and a woman, sat across from the boy, separated by a cold metal table. His eyes remained fixed on the ground, silent and withdrawn, as the officers exchanged glances, unsure of where to begin.
The woman finally broke the silence, her voice soft. "Do you need anything? Water? Maybe a snack?"
The boy shook his head without looking up, and silence settled in again until the male officer leaned forward, clearing his throat.
"So let me get this straight," he began. "You shot a man. Multiple times. It wasn't in self-defense… but you still turned yourself in?"
The boy nodded, his response wordless but unwavering.
"Why did you do it?" the woman asked gently, searching his face.
After a long pause, he found his voice. "He killed Scraggy," he whispered. "And it was my fault. Scraggy didn't deserve to die."
The two officers exchanged a glance, surprised at the boy's tone. There was no trace of menace or defiance in his voice, only the hollow grief of someone who seemed as lost as they were.
"How did you even end up in that place?" the woman asked, hoping to piece together the boy's story. "What were you doing there?"
The boy hesitated, his gaze faltering. "I… ran away from home," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "It felt like… the only option at the time."
Another pause stretched, the weight of his words filling the room. The officers were still digesting his admission when another officer slipped in quietly, handing the woman a file before stepping back out.
She skimmed through the pages, her eyes widening slightly as she read, then looked up, the shock evident in her expression. "You were adopted, right?" she asked.
The boy nodded again, and as the man picked up the file, the boy's shoulders drooped, a sense of guilt settling over him.
"I know you'll send me back," he said quietly. "I just… I just don't want you to hold any of this against my foster parents. They didn't do anything wrong."
The woman's expression softened, sympathy mingling with confusion. The male officer turned his gaze between the file and the boy, a flicker of unease crossing his face.
"There may be… an issue with your request," he started, his voice cautious. "You see..."
But the woman interrupted him with a sharp look. She leaned in, whispering, "You really think now's the right time to tell him?"
"He'll have to know eventually," the man whispered back, his tone firm. "Better now than later."
The woman shook her head, glancing at the boy, whose gaze was still fixed downward. "He's already in shock," she said gently. "Why pile more on him now?"
"Betty, he killed someone," the man replied with an unyielding edge.
"That's not fair," she countered, her voice softening even more. "This isn't a typical case, and you know it."
The man exhaled heavily, resigned. "Fine."
Their whispered exchange was broken by a small voice. "I can handle it," the boy said quietly, causing both officers to look over in surprise. "If it's something I need to know… I want to know now."
They exchanged another glance, taken aback that he'd heard their entire conversation from such a distance. The man looked at Betty one last time before he turned to the boy, settling into a grim expression.
"It's about your adoptive parents," he began, his voice steady but tinged with sympathy. "Your mother… she was under a lot of strain. She took on multiple jobs and kept up the housework. But… ultimately, she passed a few years back."
The boy's head lifted, his wide eyes searching the officer's face as the man continued.
"It happened at a hospital nearby," he said, hesitating before he added, "According to the report, there were indications… of self-harm."
The boy blinked, taking in the words, his gaze a mixture of confusion and growing sorrow. The man looked down briefly at the file before continuing.
"As for your adoptive father… he didn't handle her passing well," the man said, his tone now low. "He turned to a life of crime, robbery. It ended tragically. He was shot by an officer after taking a hostage in a failed attempt."
The silence hung heavily as the boy sat in shock, each word echoing in his mind, filling him with a grief he hadn't expected. Tears slipped down his face, and the officers watched as he wrestled with a flood of emotions. His adoptive mother, who had always been the image of resilience, the person he'd wanted to make proud, was gone. And his father, whose approval he had longed to earn, had met a tragic end he could barely comprehend.
It was a harsh reality, one that stripped away the hopes he had carried for so long. His dreams of returning to them, of showing them the man he'd become, had all vanished into the silence of the room.
The two officers sat silently, watching as the boy wept quietly. After a few minutes, he steadied himself, drawing in a deep breath before he spoke.
"What happens now?" he asked softly. "Am I going to jail?"
"No," the woman answered quickly.
The man cleared his throat. "We don't know that yet."
She shot him a look of frustration before turning back to the boy. "No matter what," she continued gently, "you'll need a new place to stay. Possibly another foster home."
The boy sat, taking in her words. He understood the need but dreaded the idea of moving again, fearing that his presence, with all the trouble and guilt he carried, might just burden someone else. It felt too easy to slip into a new life without facing his past. Suddenly, an idea surfaced in his mind, and he looked at the officers with a hint of determination.
"Would it be possible," he asked, his voice steady, "for me to join the military?"
The question stunned them both. The woman's brow furrowed. "Are you… sure about that?" she asked, her shock evident.
The man's expression hardened. "Don't tell me you're considering this," he said to his partner. "He's not even sixteen."
"I know," the boy said, cutting in. "But I want to atone... really atone, in a meaningful way." His gaze dropped, and his voice softened. "Everything is my fault. Scraggy was killed because of me. I beat and shot a man... and my adoptive mom…" His voice broke, then steadied. "Maybe if I'd been there, she'd still be alive. My dad wouldn't have…"
He trailed off, but his words weighed heavy in the air. He was opening himself up completely, revealing the pain and guilt he carried, hoping they'd understand.
"Please," he continued, barely above a whisper, "let me atone for my sins by serving my country."
The officers looked at him in astonishment, moved by his raw honesty and willingness to accept the consequences. For such a young boy, his words held a sincerity that felt unshakable.
Finally, the woman turned to her partner, and then back to the boy. "I'll see what I can do," she said, her voice firm with an edge of reassurance.
The man stayed silent, almost surprised by his own agreement. After a pause, the two officers rose, gathering the files from the table before giving the boy a final nod and heading toward the door, leaving him alone in the quiet room.
Months slipped by after the boy's last encounter with the officers, and after persistent negotiations, he was finally enrolled in the United States military. Lacking a formal name, he was registered as Alex Majors, giving him a new identity for official records.
The boy tackled every test and trial with unexpected ease, his experiences as a homeless youth and his sharpened instincts helping him glide through the rigorous training. His abilities surprised his instructors, who frequently questioned if he was really as young as his records indicated. Physically, he exceeded expectations, matching- and in some areas, outclassing- his older peers. Yet, it was his marksmanship that left the most lasting impression.
Though he had only handled a gun once before, his aim was remarkably precise. After just weeks of training, he became an exceptional marksman, earning the admiration of his instructors, who sometimes exempted him from drills in recognition of his advanced skills. Though he insisted on participating alongside his comrades.
Despite his standout talent and the clear respect of his superiors, the boy was popular among the other recruits. He treated everyone with kindness and respect, fostering friendships and gaining a reputation as a grounded, selfless young man. For a boy who had once felt so alone, the camaraderie was both unexpected and deeply comforting. Over the next year and a half, the boy, now fifteen, was accepted as an equal. Those few who had been skeptical of him eventually warmed up, recognizing his genuine heart.
One exception remained, however; Jackson Shaw. At nineteen, Shaw was another of the camp's younger recruits, a hard worker with fierce dedication to earning his own name in the military. But where others praised the boy, Shaw felt overshadowed. Though he tried relentlessly to prove himself, he resented how effortlessly the boy seemed to shine, his jealousy brewing into resentment.
One evening, a fellow recruit stopped by Shaw's quarters to retrieve something, surprised to find Shaw alone.
"Shaw?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're not at the mess hall?"
Shaw shrugged, feigning disinterest. "What's happening there?"
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"It's Majors' promotion party," the recruit explained. "We're throwing him a celebration for making Corporal."
The name made Shaw's expression darken. "Majors, huh?" he muttered, as though the word left a bitter taste.
The other recruit gave him a curious look. "You don't seem to like Majors," he noted. "Why's that?"
Shaw shifted, lying back on his bed. "It's not that I dislike him," he said with forced indifference. "I just don't see the need to be his friend."
It was obvious to the recruit that jealousy lay at the heart of Shaw's words. "I get it," the man said, "but Majors is one of the best people I've met. He's always helping others, even when he doesn't have to."
"Maybe," Shaw replied, "but I don't need his help."
The recruit lingered, looking thoughtful before asking, "So, why did you join the army, Shaw?"
Caught off guard, Shaw hesitated. "To serve my country," he replied.
"So you joined on your own terms?" the man pressed, nodding as Shaw gave a slight nod.
"That's a privilege," the recruit pointed out, his tone firm. "Not everyone has that choice. Some people are here because it's their only chance to survive."
Shaw was taken aback, realizing the recruit was talking about the boy. He'd never considered that the boy might have had no other option. He'd assumed the boy's constant smile was simply youthful optimism, not resilience. The recruit, having retrieved what he needed, gave Shaw a long look as he left.
"Be grateful you don't know if you could smile like he does after going through what he has," he said pointedly.
His words stung, but Shaw understood. His resentment suddenly seemed petty. For the first time, he wondered if befriending the boy might help him grow stronger, both as a soldier and as a person.
Shaw hadn't known about the trials the boy had faced to end up here, joining the military at such an impossibly young age. It spoke volumes about his desperation, and Shaw could feel his perspective shifting. His initial resentment over feeling outclassed by the boy now seemed petty, and he felt a pang of sympathy for what the boy had endured. With a sigh, he swallowed his pride, determined to make amends.
Later, Shaw arrived at the party, where laughter and chatter filled the air, and recruits were clapping each other on the back, enjoying the rare chance to celebrate. In the midst of it, Shaw spotted the boy and approached him.
"Congratulations," Shaw said quietly, catching the boy's attention. "On your promotion."
The boy looked up, breaking into a warm smile. "Thank you," he replied. "You must be Jackson Shaw. I don't think we've met formally."
Shaw nodded, feeling somewhat awkward. The boy extended his hand. "Well, it's nice to meet you officially. They call me Alex Majors here, though it's more of an assigned name than anything."
"Assigned name?" Shaw asked, grasping the boy's hand for a firm handshake.
"Yeah," the boy said with a shrug. "My biological parents passed before I had a real name, and my adoptive parents never gave me one. They just needed something for the paperwork here."
Shaw felt a chill as the boy recounted this without the slightest shift in expression. It only deepened his respect and guilt. The boy seemed unfazed, though, flashing another smile.
"Anyway, enough about me," he went on. "I've heard a lot of great things about you from the others. Glad we finally got to meet."
Shaw found himself genuinely moved by the boy's positivity. He managed a smile, nodding back. "Likewise," he said. "It's… good to have someone kind-hearted and younger than I am around."
The boy laughed lightly. "I try," he said. "Honestly, I'm just grateful to have you guys as support."
The two fell into easy conversation, enjoying the party. They played games, joined in the festivities, and quickly formed a friendship that grew over the coming days, brought closer by their shared youthful perspective amid a group of older recruits.
A few weeks later, both boys were summoned by the camp commander. Inside the commander's office, they stood side by side at attention, waiting for orders while the commander, seated at his desk, reviewed several documents.
"At ease, soldiers," he said after a moment, not looking up from his papers. The two relaxed slightly, awaiting further instructions. Finally, the commander set down his pen and met their eyes.
"I'm sure you're wondering why you've been called here," he began.
They exchanged glances, both equally uncertain.
"Let me begin by asking you both a question," the commander said, turning back to the paperwork, pausing before asking. "Why did you join the army? What was your main reason?"
Both stood quietly, sensing the importance of the question. Shaw straightened first, speaking up. "To serve my country, sir."
The commander remained silent, signing the papers before the boy took a breath to reply. "To protect as many lives as I can, sir," he said.
The commander gave a small, approving nod. "Excellent answer, Majors," he said. "Protecting lives is the highest duty anyone can aspire to, no matter the connection to those lives."
He turned his gaze to Shaw. "It's commendable to want to serve one's country. But remember, you may face moments when your country's choices might not align with what you believe in. When that time comes…what will you do?"
Shaw stood in silence, just as the boy did, as neither could find the words to respond to the commander, who continued flipping through his documents. Without looking up, he spoke in a steady voice.
"America has one of the largest military forces in the world," he began, his tone practical yet charged with an undertone of pride. "It's no surprise we're feared. But we're also respected, and that respect allows us to create alliances when they're needed most. One of those alliances is with Japan."
The commander placed his pen down, rising from his chair as he turned to face the window behind him. The seriousness in his stance grew as he began to reveal the reason for their meeting.
"Recently, Japan has been struggling with a sudden surge of mafia groups spreading across the country, concentrated particularly in Osaka," he explained. "These gangs are now at each other's throats, and their war is causing widespread instability, civilian casualties, and unwanted public attention."
The man's gaze was unyielding, even though Shaw and the boy couldn't see his expression. "Japan has requested our assistance, in utmost secrecy, to address this issue before it escalates any further."
Turning back, the commander fixed his piercing stare on the two young soldiers. "And that's where you two come in," he announced. "Our base has been chosen to send two of our finest recruits, those with both combat skill and intelligence, for this top-secret mission. You two were selected as representatives."
Shaw and the boy exchanged a quick, serious glance before returning their attention to the commander. "Do you think you're capable of the task ahead?" he asked, a silent weight in his words.
"Yes, sir," they responded in unison, voices firm.
"Good," he replied. "Effective tomorrow, you'll both depart for South Korea. There, you'll board a ship that will discreetly take you into Kyoto. Once in Japan, our specialists will escort you to a secure base in Osaka, where you'll join the team working to neutralize this threat."
The boy listened intently, understanding the gravity of this mission. He felt a blend of anticipation and determination. He was ready to take on this new responsibility. After a final exchange of instructions, the commander dismissed them but called out one last reminder as they turned to leave.
"And remember," he added, his voice steely, "this is a top-secret mission of extreme importance. Do not fail."
"Yes, sir," they replied, departing with resolve.
That night, the boy kept quiet about the mission, unable to share a word of it with his fellow recruits. By dawn, he and Shaw were on their way to a military base for a transport flight to South Korea. Upon arrival, they were taken to a port and boarded a small, unmarked ferry that would take them to Japan. Their destination, a remote base well hidden in an isolated region, would be the headquarters for their mission.
Entering the base, they immediately sensed the covert nature of the assignment; only about twenty personnel moved around the main room, each absorbed in their own tasks. Soon, they were brought to the commander of the facility, who greeted them as they stood at attention.
"You're the recruits from Fort Hamilton, correct?" the man asked, scrutinizing them with a calm yet assessing eye.
"Yes, sir," they confirmed without hesitation.
A smile tugged at the commander's lips. "Good to have you both on board. This mission demands absolute precision, and I believe you're up to the challenge."
He spoke briefly with them before directing them to another room where they met the head of the operation. Stepping inside, they saw it was a meeting room, and standing at the front was the head of the operation; a Japanese man with an air of calm authority, surrounded by others assigned to the mission.
As they entered, the man turned to greet them with a warm smile. "こんにちは (Kon'nichiwa). Welcome," he said, addressing the two recruits. "You must be the last to arrive for this project."
The man offered a polite nod before returning his attention to the small gathering. "It's a pleasure to meet you both, as well as everyone here," he said with a welcoming tone.
Shaw and the boy found their seats as the room shared a brief but cordial smile. Once they were settled, the head of the operation continued. "I'm sure many of you are wondering why you were summoned here on such short notice," he began.
The recruits exchanged uncertain glances, confirming their curiosity. "Don't worry," the man said reassuringly. "I'll explain everything now."
Moving to a board at the front of the room, he drew their full attention. "Some of you may have been briefed on our objective prior to your departure. But the summary is that Japan's infamous Yakuza organizations are becoming alarmingly active," he began. "A conflict has erupted among them, sparking violence that's destabilizing Osaka and affecting all of Japan, threatening countless innocent lives."
The boy listened closely, every word sharpening his understanding of the mission. "The issue traces back a few months ago to the main Yakuza family, the Kagutsuchi (カグツチ)."
The man's voice took on a grave note. "Their leader was recently imprisoned after interfering in government affairs and businesses. This arrest incited serious backlash. While some Yakuza factions loyal to the Kagutsuchi have mobilized to defend the clan, others question their allegiances and what the situation meant for their families. This eventually triggered a war between the Kagutsuchi and the Rokurokubi (ろくろ首); another powerful family vying for dominance."
The boy tried to absorb the details, sensing the tension mirrored on the other recruits' faces. The cultural and political complexity was dense, but he listened intently as the man explained.
"This war has impacted Japan deeply, with other families joining either side depending on their views, escalating the conflict further," the head continued grimly.
A shadow crossed the man's expression as he lowered his voice. "And this conflict has only fueled the ambitions of the Ishin (維新)," he muttered bitterly.
The unfamiliar name stirred confusion, which the man noticed. He chose to elaborate.
"The Ishin are a mercenary group operating in Japan. They claim to want a better government, to make Japan a safer place. But they take justice into their own hands, assassinating politicians and other bodies of power they deem unworthy, all in the name of 'peace.'"
The boy felt a chill run down his spine. "Who would kill others in the name of peace?" he wondered, a quiet unease growing within him.
To him, it seemed contradictory, and he struggled to see any logic in taking lives to protect them. He decided to focus on the briefing for now, pushing his misgivings aside.
"The Ishin have been taking matters into their own hands, targeting factions that have grown excessively violent," the man continued. "In fact, they've already wiped out three entire Yakuza families under the Rokurokubi's influence in Kyoto, all due to the high civilian toll caused by their clashes."
A series of shocked murmurs rippled through the room. The scope of the Ishin's influence was chilling.
"They are indeed a deadly force," the man went on after a pause, "but their methods are brutal and unwanted, stoking the fire instead of putting it out."
The man paused, realizing he had digressed, and steered the conversation back on course. "But the main concern is the conflict between the two families," he said, shifting his focus to the recruits. "This is where all of you come in."
The recruits watched as he explained their mission. "For the next few months, you'll have access to the public surveillance cameras around Osaka, gathering intel that might help the government resolve this war without any further bloodshed," he explained. "Your task is critical, so let's begin."
Once the meeting concluded, the recruits were immediately put to work. The boy immersed himself in understanding the situation fully, dedicating himself to his role in achieving a peaceful outcome. He even started learning Japanese, though it wasn't his primary focus.
Over the next month, the facility made substantial progress in gathering intel, identifying and stopping harmful activities by smaller factions, and averting numerous civilian casualties. The boy and Shaw worked tirelessly, sharing insights and gradually forming a close friendship.
One evening, Shaw caught up with the boy after a long day. "Hey, Majors, I heard you wrapped up your recon on the north side," Shaw said.
"Yeah," the boy replied, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "We managed to neutralize a few threats up there."
"Impressive," Shaw nodded, giving the boy an appreciative grin. "So what's on your plate now?"
"They're having me hold off until we're done with Osaka," he explained. "Then I might get sent to assist in Kyoto."
"Kyoto?" Shaw's eyes widened. "That's huge."
"Right?" the boy replied, a hint of excitement in his tone. "Maybe you'll be joining me if..."
Before he could finish, a sharp, deafening blast echoed through the building. Both boys turned in shock, watching as one of their teammates collapsed to the floor, blood pooling from a wound at the back of his head.
Panic flashed between them as alarms blared throughout the facility. Shaw and the boy exchanged a horrified look, the weight of the situation settling over them like a cold shadow. Taking a shaky breath, the boy managed to speak.
"We've been infiltrated."