“Why exactly am I even more tired after being sat down for two hours straight…?” groaned Ikusaki, his head left hanging backwards as he remained sat down in one of the front benches of the main auditorium in Tokyo’s military base – usually used for major reunions before an important mission or for announcements in regards to the current warring period and directly related with the Japanese government. Not today, however.

“It’s just the stress and nervousness from having faced the higher-ups,” tried to soothe down Mizusaki, his semblance far more relaxed and leisure than Ikusaki’s but still tired nevertheless. “After you eat four or five portions of today’s lunch, you’ll get back in form.”

“Do the main kitchens even have enough food?” pointed out Eki after having released a soft sigh. “Either my view of the amount of food has undergone a brainwash or I don’t think we currently have enough supplies on us, contrary to what I thought last week…”

“I think it’s the former, Eki,” acknowledged Miue, his chin leaned over the back of his hand. One of his feet impatiently tapped on the stone flooring as his eyes continued to observe more and more soldiers entering inside of the large auditorium and taking a seat in the nearest vacant chair or bench.

Most of the soldiers seemed completely lost over why they had been summoned out of the blue – and by the top dogs of the main military base of entire Japan, out of everyone. Others were giving more importance at the official dismissal of their morning activities over the unknown reason as to why said dismissal was dispatched in the first place.

Then there were the ten of them, the soldiers of the 9th and 10th squad of the 4th platoon of Tokyo’s military base. Two teams handpicked by their commanders, under guidance and authorization from the biggest names of the Japanese military world, to create specialised teams in predetermined types of missions.

Miue had a feeling that not even Murayama was aware of what exactly those predetermined types of missions were, on the whole.

“Hey, Murayama,” called Miue after releasing a low groan and lifting his chin from his hand, straightening his sitting position as he switched his gaze to his commander. “I know you can’t exactly talk about what you discussed with Nakatani-san yesterday but can you at least let us know when the heck is this audit gonna start? All of this suspense and wait is pissing me off!”

“Beats me,” answered Murayama, giving a quick shrug with his shoulders. “If you ask me, they’re doing it on purpose. This is nothing more than a stage and the old cots are the scriptwriters.”

“Huh?” interjected the four squad members in unison.

“…This is just my take on things but…” started Murayama with a certain hesitation, his voice much lower than before to not let anyone except his men hear what he was about to say. “I have the feeling that the higher-ups already knew what sort of actions they were going to take as soon as they got the report that we truly managed to take the Ms out of the lab. They already knew what they’re going to do with them even before we landed in Tokyo. But, for formality’s sake, they need to pull out this stupid thing.”

“What are they going to do with those guys, then?” asked Ikusaki, leaning his upper body forward so he could properly see Murayama from his sitting position on the bench.

“There are only two outcomes for this audit, Ikusaki, and I have no idea which one will be worst for us, the military,” sighed Murayama, a deep frown on his features as his eyes remained stuck to the exclusive seats in the front of the large hall, where the ‘bosses’ would be neatly installed throughout the audit. “Or all six of them are executed, with whichever methods it may be… or those old devils are going to use the shit out of them as if nothing more than human weapons, much like it was being done in the lab.”

“I can’t see any of those six doing as they’re told,” pointed out Mizusaki, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned his back on the backrest of the bench. “Hell would freeze over before M1 took anyone’s orders.”

“That’s exactly why I said I have no idea which one of the outcomes will be worst for us…” confessed Murayama in the shape of an exasperated groan. “Well, if those old sacks of bones talk directly with the Ms, they’ll arrive at this very same conclusion too.”

“So the probability of us having an execution today is higher than a party to celebrate the arrival of new mates, huh…” concluded Eki, softly sighing in… not even he was aware if it had been out of relief or something else.

“I think that was more than obvious from the very beginning,” said Miue, rolling his eyes around at Eki’s words.

Minute after minute, the large auditorium continued to be filled with soldiers, already ready to burst out of its seam as seats ran out and they had to settle themselves with sitting down on the stairs that connected the different layers of benches or simply stand up on the back of the large hall, fighting over the dominance of the best places.

Once the wooden door on the front area of the auditorium was open, a deadly silence appeared in the entirety of the large area, all soldiers expecting to witness the general and council members of Tokyo’s military base making their big entrance and finally give a beginning to whatever general reunion was going to happen.

Gasps and interjections, however, quickly surfaced and took silence’s place when not the famous and excepted general and council members stepped inside of the auditorium but a group of six strangers. They were clad in pure white t-shirts and pants, their ankles cuffed with old fashioned restriction gears.

“Stupid geezers…” cursed Murayama as he observed the Ms being led to the middle of the small round stage in the front side of the auditorium, usually used to accommodate those being sentenced during military court sessions.

“I honestly have a bad feeling about this already…” groaned Miue, rolling his eyes around as he observed the Ms leisurely sitting down on the floor in the small round stage, M0 positioning himself in between M1’s legs as it was usual of them. The same headphones that Ikusaki had lent to the smallest of the mass murder machines were still present on his head.

Not even half a minute after the six targets neatly settled themselves on the floor, not bothered in the least by what was happening or how harshly they were being judged and made fun by the soldiers and, most of all, the higher-ups, the general and council members of Tokyo’s military base finally stepped inside of the auditorium, making their entrance from the door opposite to the one that the Ms had been brought from.