“Fugly bob? Really, Danny?”

  I look towards the location Danny told me. He couldn’t come, but he already alerted the guys that I was coming. Had to change out of my cape outfit and put on my civilian wear.

  I settled into Fugly Bob’s, the cracked vinyl sighing under my weight as the smell of old fry oil and cheap beer settled into my lungs. Gotta smell all that grease and Freedom! Now that’s how a burger should smell. Greasy and all the unhealthy goodness of a processed meat.

  Across from me sat five men. Army, Marines, and one of them was even from the Air Force. Huh..Got the whole trifecta here, each with the same hollowed-out look people get when the world has decided it’s done with them.

  I’d seen that look before. Too many times.

  They didn’t order much. Habit from going hungry, maybe. I waved the waitress over and told her to bring whatever they wanted, plus whatever I thought they needed. She raised a brow but didn’t question it.

  The veterans sat stiffly, unsure if they were being pranked or pitied.

  I hated that look.

  “ Allow me to introduce myself, Former Royal KRD from Military Intelligence, the name’s Jason Lin. Rank classified. Hope you understand.” I said, leaning forward, hands clasped on the sticky table. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m just listening, I’m not even from America. Got no allegiance to the white, red, and blue, but I can understand.”

  The Marine big guy, shaved head, sunburn permanently etched into his skin, let out a breath that rattled like dry leaves. “Listening’s more than the government’s done in ten years. First Lieutenant Dane from the US Army, retired of course. But you already knew that..” His eyes flicked down to the battered duffel at his feet. Everything he owned fit in that thing. Everything he had once fit in a uniform.

  Beside him, the Navy vet laughed humorlessly. “They thanked us for our service, then kicked us out with nothing. No housing, no prospects, no help, I’m former Staff Sergeant Smith from the Marines Corps..”

  My jaw tightened. I could feel my pulse ticking faster, a heat spreading between my ribs.

  Homeless. Hungry. Abandoned. Men who had carried rifles and orders and battlefields on their backs and were left to rot a few blocks from where I slept every night.

  It made my stomach twist.

  “I don’t understand,” I said slowly. “How does a country with a military budget the size of the moon leave you like this?”

  The Marine snorted. “Because we’re not useful anymore, isn’t it like that everywhere?.”

  I shook my head, “N,o it doesn’t. At least not in my country,” I said.

  The Navy vet added, “Fixing docks and picking up trash doesn’t make politicians look good on camera, been that way since I lost my leg.” Showing off his prosthetic leg, his left leg fully amputated.

  I felt something in me snap a little. I didn't think it was this bad but it was a wakeup call. “I hate this,” I said. “I hate that you were left behind. I hate that this city refuses to take care of its own. You should’ve had support. Housing. Jobs. Respect. Not… this.”

  I know it wasn't fair to put the standards of this world on my previous world. I’m pretty sure it wasn't this bad even in America in my last life…but it still didn't sit right with me that this does happen here, and if it could happen here, it could happen back then too.

  I heard and watched stories of course, news from the other side of the world, thought it was a hoax, fake news. There’s no way they would treat their own veterans like that I thought. What kind of evil kind of shit would a country be to treat their own vets that way?

  I may have… judged wrongly.

  The Army vet finally looked up. There was no anger in his eyes. Just exhaustion.

  “We don’t expect miracles. You’re…kinda young to be an Intelligence Officer, not gonna pry or anything, But I heard from Danny you got a job for us?”

  I leaned back, exhaling through my nose. “Right…yeah. Got a…job for you. Mercenary stuff. Hope that’s okay. ’Cause I’m not offering miracles.”

  They blinked at me, confused, as the waitress returned, balancing four plates loaded with more meat than the table deserved.

  “I’m offering work, Legitimate of course. Provided you can keep some secrets,” I continued. “Steady work. Real pay. I have a project at the docks. Heavy labour, salvage, reconstruction. You’ll get gear. Tools. Safety. Food. A place to stand again. But they need protection.”

  Silence stretched between us of course.

  “You serious?” the Navy vet whispered.

  “As a heart attack,” I said. “And I’m paying for everything today, so eat before I start force-feeding you.”

  The Marine huffed a laugh, the first real one since I walked in.”I’m in, beats begging for scraps down the streets” The rest agreed too.

  I watched them dig into their food like starving animals trying to remember how to live. And as I did, anger simmered under my calm like a reactor core. Anger at the system. At the neglect. At how easy it had been for me to give them what the city never bothered to.

  When I thought of army vets, it wasn't supposed to be like this.

  I remember a time when I joined the army, not for the reason you would think, of course. I served my country differently. By dominating at the E esports representing the MSA( Military Sports Association) for my country, competing against the best of the best from all around the world within the Military spectrum. Different types of professional even if the game was the same.

  I would like to think that its sorta like a perk to join them, but it’s not.

  I somehow ended up serving as an Intelligence officer under the Royal Intelligence Force operating with the Combat Intelligence Squad, specialised in finding and destroying enemies, especially during communist insurgencies. Oh no, even in the year 2030. This damn idiot in China kept trying to invade Taiwan and do this train simulator shit to scam other country to pick up their debt. Communism and socialism were invading, alright.

  I get to pilot a drone- weeee~! Okay, enough about that.

  I’ll try to keep it a little serious.

  It ain't all fun and games. Lots of the military training was for real, but after serving for 20 years, teaching kids how to dominate in the e-sports scene, doing backend intelligence work, you retired with a hefty check, medical is free, and housing was given free. What’s not to like?

  My welfare retirement was taken care of, and there's also a retirement after-work program, as a post-service program for veterans who still want to serve their country or pursue some sort of hobby or skill.

  I decided to simply continue coaching kids, of course, as a consultant of sorts, and much of our service is also tax-exempt, of course. The country did well for me. It’s only natural for me to keep doing it.

  Imagine my shock when I found out that shit only applies to my country.

  A country like America? They dont treat them right. Thought it was fake news, Now hearing from them directly, it might not be far off from the truth. I remember watching a documentary once, Something stuck to me.

  If you dont have a disability? You dont get paid disability help. VA disability, they call it. Didnt wanna believe it at first when I first watch the documentary.

  It’s such a lopsided system. You have vets who are homeless and severely disabled, and they struggle to get assistance, yet some people haven’t even travelled overseas but have a disability for the rest of their lives. And then viola- 4k from the Department of Veterans Affairs forever?

  Somehow, some people, even immigrants were able to cheat the system and the real veterans dont get help, they were ignored.

  Help me understand how this makes sense-

  IED and seven surgeries later, if I lived in America, I ain't gonna see that kind of money at all because getting a surgery isnt a disability! Even if you lose a limb! How does that even make sense?

  As a Combat veteran, I have a special hate in my heart towards dirtbags that don't genuinely need disability and steal resources from those that actually need it. Disgusting, the worst kind of people.

  Even if that combat experience is just sending drones at Pirate hotspots for target acquisition, if that's hypocritical of me, screw you then, I still get deployed, there’s still a real danger of getting bombed in a bunker somewhere or walking into a fucking bomb as I did.

  Lost my left eye, but my right is still 20 until I turned 40, and my eyesight has gotten worse due to Myopia. Hurt my leg but surgery was free, and I only need to stay for 2 months for shrapnel removal.

  Got a cool left fake glass ball. Even made one to look like those cringy ass Naruto Sharingan. Ah- the folly of my youth… No, not really. Some grownups just dont grow up. You take the bad and make do with it.

  I turned to look at them devouring the food away like its their last meal, Like i’ll never or ..maybe they will never have another meal again after this job, sounds dreadful, until you think about your last meal.

  A little messed up, but people who’ve gone through PTSD…sometimes dont act like normal people, acclimation into society after the shit they've done overseas isnt something they can simply blend over. I know I did. Less said about the matter is easier on the soul to those who can relate.

  The Air Force guy lost an eye and his voice box in an accident, never been the same. He kept eating and staring at me, I couldn’t even ask him what his name is…because he’s mute.

  Fuck…

  “So..is it just the five of you or theres more?” I asked.

  And they just stared..One of them got up and made a call “Yeah, its legit. Come to the Fugly Bob’s our contact doesnt seem to be a dud”

  —------------------

  Factory was done.

  First thing I built? It wasn't anything special. It was a civilian Vehicle. A Mohican ATV runner. Comes in various designs. One of them even came in a two-seater. None of them run on modern Earth Bet asthethics except the Mohican, since it’s closer to a dirt racer than any other starcraft civilian vehicle. One of them even has grav technology. Kinda defeats the point and to try to blend in if I’m gonna drive one of those.

  Monica has already begun building another Factory and has begun building the armory facility and a prepares to clear the place so we can place a starport in the future. which will take a long time since the size of a starport is huge. Currently, there just ain't enough available flatland. So for now, it’s just these units.

  The steel doors groaned open to welcome us, I expected just five of em, but there’s atleast 15 people here. All homeless Veterans with valid disabilities. None of them got any help from the government or any organization.

  For a moment, the veterans just stood there, stunned into absolute stillness. I stepped inside first throught the gate, inviting them, even if there’s a giant Turret kept pointing at them, they didnt show it at all.

  He new external outdoor lights sweep outward, brightening the massive operations floor in clean lines of holo-blue. The floors are now reinforced with neosteel platform. Something I couldn’t afford to build but now that I have a steady supply of metal, it can be done around the Command Centre compound within the walls I’ve built.

  Monica has begun creating Predators and Automated Goliath and Cyclones for variety. There’s already a few Predators running around the Command Centre while the Goliath and Cyclones will still need a little bit of time to make.

  Behind me, boots hesitated on the metallic neosteel ground as a giant metallic Cat came from the rooftop of one of the Supply depot nearby.

  I leaned back against the edge of the command centre’s watching the new Predator roll off the assembly line like a gleaming metal beast. Fresh out of the Starcraft factory, all polished armour plates and blinking sensors, it looked more like a work of art than a war machine.

  One of them came near at me and I gave it a pet in the head.

  “Alright, buddy,” I muttered, tossing a reinforced metal sphere across the yard.

  The Predator’s servos whirred, its sensors tracking the ball with pinpoint accuracy. It shot forward, the ground trembling slightly under its weight, and scooped the sphere up with mechanical claws. It returned it to me, dropping it neatly at my feet, servos hissing in satisfaction.

  I chuckled. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

  I threw it again, this time a little further. The Predator’s legs moved like a precision-engineered predator in full hunt mode, leaping over obstacles, adjusting its trajectory mid-air. Its targeting systems were flawless, but it still had that… curious tilt of the head, as if it were actually enjoying the game. Big giant cats that act like the best boy. What’s not to like?

  “Who says only dogs get to have fun, huh? Giant cats too I suppose” I said, grinning.

  We went back and forth like that for awhile while the rest of the veterans I brought it just stare warily.. Each time I threw the sphere, it grew a little faster, a little smarter. I could almost see the sparks of learning in its optics, adapting to my throws, predicting where I’d aim next.

  I took a step back, hands on my hips, and just watched it. A perfect combination of brute force and intelligence, tempered with a touch of personality.

  It wasn’t just a weapon anymore.They could be someones partner, a support for someone, even one of the veterans here too if they decided to stay, I bent down and whispered, almost jokingly, “One day, buddy… we’re going to have to take you out for real work. But for now, let’s just enjoy the day.”

  The Predator tilted its head, servo whirring like a laugh, and I couldn’t help but laugh back.

  They followed in slowly, wide-eyed and silent and I turned to everyone, “Sorry about that, Come on, the entrance is this way”

  I watched their faces closely. The Marine sergeant broad, grizzled and kept scanning the area with all the Predators running around, as if expecting the illusion to break. Cyborg dogs? In a Military looking base? If you were taking a bunt, You’d wondered if the high hasn’t gone away or just wondered if you overdose on it.

  His jaw hung open when the command dais lit up as we entered the Command Centre. Lots tactical holograms sparking to life in layered displays of energy signatures and structural layouts.

  Then Staff Sergeant Smith let out a low whistle. “Kid… this ain’t a base. This is a whole damn forward operating station.” “FOBs don’t have… whatever that is.” He pointed at the central planetary map sphere, rotating slowly with in real time. Of course FOB dont got any shit on this.

  I doubt any Military outpost or forward operating base have atleast half the equipment and tech I have here.

  The Army veteran shoulders sloped with years of disappointment, straightened unconsciously as the fabrication bays came into view, racks of powered armour plating, drones in charging cradles, SCVs rolling along their maintenance tracks like oversized metal ants. “You built all this?” He took a step forward, squinting upward at the gantries.

  “More or less,” I said. “With help.” I didn’t mention Monica. Nobody needed to panic today.

  The airman… God, the airman looked like he’d just walked into Valhalla. His eyes tracked every mech part, every weapon assembly line, drinking it in with a hunger only someone who’d spent years grounded could understand. Didnt need to say anything, cant talk..but his eyes tell me everything I need to know. SCVs are indeed pretty cool looking at the assembly. And I’m still producing more of it, close to 30 total now, including the ones at Danny’s Dockyard.

  Some of them touched the consoles with trembling hands, as if seeking confirmation that the steel was real. Others stared at the enormous domed ceiling where shield grids pulsed in faint hexagonal patterns. I could practically feel their hearts beat faster as they realised this wasn’t some ramshackle hideout, not a fantasy conjured by a cape with more ego than sense.

  This was a fortress. A real military installation, clean, functional, purposeful. Built with intent. Built to protect.

  Finally, Dane turned around to me, eyes bright with something between disbelief and something heavier.

  “You brought us here because… why, exactly? You're a cape, ain't cha? Heard about some Cape living around here, didn't think it was a fully functional forward base. This doesn’t seem like your average protection job.”

  Smith snorted, “ You offering a job, or trying to conscript us? We ain't no turncoat nor do we work for gangs”

  I scoff, “ Don’t worry, I dont think you need to worry about my government since they dont exist anymore. As for conscription? That’s entirely up to you. Are you willing to work with a cape when I offer you…”

  We entered the hall within the Command centre, and I tapped a console, bringing the lights up over the fabrication wing. Rows of nano-printers and forge-lines hummed awake like metal beasts.

  “- good pay. Free housing. Food, state-of-the-art gear and…”

  I tap the button to highlight the medical bay, with a finished fabrication of a medical bay. And turned to them, “Free medical, state-of-the-art procedure to restore sight, your voice… and any disability you may have. Everything your government should have given to you”

  I pointed towards the Airman, “You, sir, how would you like to talk again?” hope.Fear.Disbelief. All mixed together like a volatile chemical cocktail. They tried to hide it behind bravado. Most veterans do.

  The airman with the missing vocal cords stood closest to me, his throat scarred where shrapnel had once torn through him. The man beside him leaned on a crutch, his right pant leg neatly pinned where a leg should’ve been. Even Dane was curious.

  “ What? No takers?” I turned to every single one of them.

  I raised my hands slowly, so they saw I wasn’t performing some cape theatrics, just inviting a man to trust another man in good faith, a simple trust. Something I find everyone surely needs more of in their everyday life.

  “Alright,” I said softly. “Let’s start with a live demonstration. Come, Mr Airman. I promise you that you will be able to talk after this.” The man hesitated..but he steeled himself and braced himself as he stepped onto the medical platform. The med-bay lights shifted to a clean clinical white as I activated the Caduceus platform, similar to recovery terminals.

  I worked on these for yesterday, hoping for a regenerative healing using Terran nanobots. Holographic panels slid into place around the airman, scanning him head-to-toe in a wash of harmless blue energy. He stiffened instinctively; soldiers always expected pain.

  I shook my head. “No pain. Promise.” My heart hammered harder than it ever did in a fight. Curing people, really curing them, was heavier than any battle. I never volunteered for a field medic before, never understood why doctors volunteer. Perhaps today I might have some empathy in the healing profession.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The scan was completed, projecting a wireframe image of his injury. I ignored the medical jargon; I let the system handle that. All I had to do was authorise.

  “Caduceus, begin restorative protocol. Vocal module series.”

  The machine responded with a gentle hum, like a lullaby sung by an engine. Nanite lights drifted like fireflies inside the cylindrical chamber as the airman was suspended in a soft field, weightless. The process lasted only seconds. Terran tech didn’t believe in long hospital stays.

  The field lowered him back to the floor. He touched his throat, stunned. Then he tried to speak.A rough sound came out first, cracked and uncertain.

  Then...

  “…hello…?”

  His voice was hoarse, but real.

  It worked as I sighed a little in relief.

  The others stared. I felt a little lump in my throat trying to suppress my emotions a little, as he slowly brought both hands to his mouth, as if afraid the miracle would disappear if he breathed too hard. Fuck…

  The man missing a leg turned to me next, eyes wet but stubbornly unblinking. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.

  I nodded once.

  “Your turn.” I turned to Staff Sergeant Smith with his broken prosthetic leg, haphazardly done with wooden furnishing and justbad woodworking. Doesnt seem comfortable either and he just made do with it.

  He swallowed hard. “Will you… Give me my leg back?”

  “No,” I said gently. “I can give you something better.”

  I gestured to the fabrication Machine. A Terran-grade prosthetic took shape in the chamber immediately after I did a scan. It was sleek, durable, wrapped in impact-absorbing plating, synced to nerve signals through a non-invasive interface. Not a copy of his old leg, similar to what I did for Trainwreck, but a lot more normal human size.

  When I attached it, he gasped not from pain, but from the shock of feeling his muscles respond as if they’d never been gone.

  He took a step and then another.

  Then he walked across the room, turned, and laughed through tears he kept trying to hide. One by one, I moved down the line.

  A blinded eye replaced with a Terran optical implant its soft blue glow dimming to human-normal at my request for Dane. Another guy ruined hand supported with kinetic micro-actuators and I corrected his nerve damage by regenerative fields. Old injuries soothed, not erased; they’d earned their scars.

  But they left the med-bay standing straighter. Like men who’d finally been given permission to rejoin the world with dignity again.

  When the last procedure ended, I leaned back against a console, my hands trembling slightly from the emotional drain. Not from the work, Terran tech handled that.

  It was the weight of their reactions.The raw gratitude of their gaze. It’s only five now. It’l be more in the future. People will talk. I would like to think that the anger they’d held toward the world for failing them was just loosening, if only a little.

  The airman was the first one to step forward. His newly restored voice was still thin, still raspy, but when he spoke, it was steady. Finally, he could introduce himself to me

  Senior Airman USA Air Force Noah Miller, you need a Pilot, I’m your guy Officer.”

  I looked at themhomeless veterans who’d given everything, received nothing, and still managed to look at me like I was the one doing something extraordinary..”Alright…thank you, Mr Noah.”

  Suddenly, Monica entered.

  She stepped through the doorway with a soft hum of actuators, except there isnt any.no, not actuators anymore. The sound was too smooth, too organic, like tendons shifting under real skin. For a second I actually forgot what she was.

  Monica had upgraded again. She took my advice to heart.

  I’d known she was working on a full-biomimetic chassis, but knowing wasn’t the same as seeing it standing in front of me, framed by the barracks hallway lights. Same height. Same posture. Same calm expression. And still unmistakably leaning toward my own features in ways that made me wonder if she was doing it on purpose or if that was just the baseline template she preferred.

  Her new body moved like liquid precision disguised as a human walk. Synthetic skin, hair, warmth radiating faintly from internal thermal balancers. Even her eyes blinked unnecessary, but she liked the aesthetic.

  The veterans stared at her like she’d descended from orbit. She’s certainly beautiful if I have a distant cousin or a step sister or something. Hmm…

  That came out wrong.

  One of them muttered a quiet holy shit under his breath. Another straightened his posture, soldier reflex overriding shock. They all tried to hide it, but awe rippled through the group. I didn’t blame them, ten minutes ago, they’d seen me restore a man’s eyesight, regrow an optic nerve with a Caduceus weave that still glowed faintly blue beneath his eyelid. Reality was already bending for them.

  Monica was just the exclamation point. The height of asian beauty, Wuxia Fairy incarnate with a Medic myomer armour plated with military neosteel padding. For some reason, she seems to like the tight body-hugging aesthetics of the medic class civilian armour. This is a dig at mercy isnt it? Doctor Angela Ziegler is indeed next door.

  She inclined her head toward me. There was a faint smile, practised but warm, like she’d spent time perfecting the expression. Mischievous little bugger…What’s she on now?

  “Commander,” she said, voice smooth and human. “The barracks are prepared.”

  The veterans exchanged looks again. Some hopeful. Some overwhelmed. Some, on the brink of tears they wouldn’t allow themselves to shed. I nodded to her, still half trying to process how uhh-how convincingly alive she looked.

  She turned to the men. “If you’ll follow me,” she said with a polite bow of the shoulders, “your accommodations are ready. Fresh uniforms, food, showers, medical care, and beds have been arranged.”

  There it was again, the faint resemblance to me, softening her face when she smiled. Jason-but-gentler. Jason-but-idealized. Jason-but-if-he-were-built instead of born as a pretty boy. No, nao you have Pretty girl too. And she still looked vaguely like… well, me. Or something adjacent to me. Enough that if someone stood far away and squinted, they might assume we were related.

  The-fuck Monica?

  The veterans followed, slow at first. The man whose eye I’d just restored kept one hand hovering near his face, still disbelieving what he could see. The one with the regrown leg limped out of habit until his brain realised the limb was whole again. Even the airman who’d lost his vocal cords managed a sound half laugh, half croak his synthetic replacements beginning to sync to nerve signals.

  I exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck.

  Is this how it feels to have a bratty teenager too smart for you to even think 2 steps ahead but she’s already playing Chess while im still stuck on Bingo? We even playin the same game or not? I follow suit of course.

  I approach the new pathway the SCV made connecting the Barracks to the Command Centre from the second floor. Seems like they were able to settle in their room. Alot of them were just grateful to have a proper room to sleep for the night and fresh new clothes even if they are Terran Army standard.

  Monica had barely finished ushering the last of the veterans toward the barracks when she turned back toward me, the overhead lights catching on the false-warm sheen of her new skin. It looked like skin now, every pore, every subtle texture rendered with unnerving precision.

  I stared at her. She stared back, expression placid in the way that meant she absolutely knew what I was about to say.

  “Okay,” I said, gesturing vaguely at her entire body. “We’re going to talk about this.”

  She tilted her head, hands folding neatly behind her back. “About my upgraded chassis, Commander?”

  “Don’t ‘Commander’ me. Why do you look more…” I made another helpless circle with my hand. “-Jason-coded than before? Fuck it, why the hell do you still look like me?!”

  Monica blinked once, very slowly. That was never a good sign. “A coincidence.”

  “That was the least convincing lie I’ve ever heard you tell.” giving her a deadpan look

  “It was not a lie,” she said, tone smooth, measured, infuriatingly- “It was an approximation of truth.”

  “Which means it’s not true.”

  “Which means you’re being dramatic.” she gave me a tight smirk. The nerve of her!

  I felt my eye twitch. “Monica. Did you base parts of your face on mine?”

  She made a considering sound, almost a hum. “Only partially.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  She didn’t miss a beat. “Because you are aesthetically symmetrical and your phenotype calibrates efficiently to the facial-recognition expectations of this region’s population.”

  I blinked. “…You think my face is efficient? That’s a load of bull. How? Is it really efficient?”

  “Highly.” She nodded as if explaining engineering specs. “It conveys trustworthiness and minimal threat response in civilian models according to the human art of Fengshui, Additionally…” She hesitated, just barely. “I was instructed to develop a form that would be… familiar to you.”

  “Fengshui..Dear god..Is this one of those bogus UED instructions?” I muttered under my breath.

  “I extrapolated from your preferences.” she said, smiling candidly

  “I don’t have preferences! Especially not someone who looks almost exactly like me! I’m not into selfcest!”

  Monica gave me a look that could only be described as: sure, buddy.

  “You spend ninety-three percent of your time around me,” she said. “The rest is divided between Jinho, Trainwreck, SCV-1, and random strays you insist on helping despite detriment to your sleep cycle like that Shadow Stalker. Statistically, I am the entity you interact with the most. Therefore, designing a body derived from your own facial structure increases your comfort through subconscious recognition loops.”

  “That’s not..huh.. That’s…wait, stop gaslinghting me! That’s circular reasoning!”

  “And yet it is accurate, is it not?” tilting her head like she doesn’t understand.

  I rubbed my face with both hands. “Monica… people are going to think you’re my sister. Or worse.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Worse?” Is she feigning it or simply taking a rise on me?

  “You know what worse means.” Must I spell it out to her.

  “I do,” she said primly, “and your concern is noted. However, this body is optimal. It received a ninety-eight percent approval score in my internal simulations.”

  “Simulations of what?” oh what the hell-

  Her eyes softened with that subtle amusement she'd learned to mimic, or maybe she wasn’t mimicking anymore. “You, Commander. You tend to respond better when you believe I am,how did you used to phrase it? ‘less murder-robot-y.’”

  “That is not a scientific metric.” fuck-I really did say that.

  “It was effective.” No No! You’re not pulling that rhetorical shit on me!

  I exhaled, defeated. “You’re doing this on purpose. You’re absolutely doing this on purpose. MY UED adjutant is trolling me. You’re trolling. You’ve been spending too much time on Pho, haven’t it? Simmy? Is your friend Simmy? It better not be Simmy.”

  Her smile sharpened just a millimetre. “Perhaps.” Mother fucker- Simurgh!

  “Why?” she better have a good explanation why she engaged with the simurgh.

  She stepped closer, meeting my eyes without hesitation, precise, confident, flawless. “Because Commander, I find the threat you designated is not a threat when we only engaged intellectually on the site. The WingedOne's ability to text in only emotes shows a range of syntax and range of emotions for something you deemed the strongest Precog in the world.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why your face looks like mine!”

  She shrugged, a light, infuriating little gesture. “It pleases me,” then smirked at me…

  I stared at her. She stared back, utterly serene.“…You’re impossible, you’re lying about the Simmy thing, aren't you?” I muttered.

  “And you are far too predictable for a human. Do not worry, Commander. I did not engage with the wingedOne. That was a joke,” she replied, and there was unmistakable fondness in her voice, real or simulated, I couldn’t tell.And honestly? I wasn’t sure it mattered.

  “So where’s Trainwreck?” I asked, half to change the subject, half because I could already feel a headache forming. Monica didn’t miss a beat.

  “Trainwreck is currently in Training Room Three,” she said, tone prim and overly professional in the way she only used when she was being sarcastic. “He is attempting to retrofit a Piledriver unit into a Marauder-class armour frame. As a backup weapon.”

  I stopped walking. “A Piledriver. As a backup.”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Backup. For when the rocket launchers, grenade pods, twin gauss cannons, and hydraulic crushing arms are insufficient.”

  I stared at her. She stared back with that faint upward quirk at the corner of her mouth that definitely counted as smug.“…Why does this not worry you?” I asked.

  “It does,” she said immediately. “But he stated, and I quote ‘it’ll be cool.’ I could not formulate a successful counterargument.”

  I rubbed my face. “Did you at least supervise him?”

  “I did,” she said, folding her arms. “For the first fifteen minutes. Then he began using improvised tools and humming aggressively. At that point I determined that attempting to intervene would likely result in greater structural damage to the training wing.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he say?”

  Monica blinked once. “He said, ‘that’s fair.’”

  I exhaled slowly. Monica tilted her head at me, her expression shifting into that same faux-innocent look she’d been using ever since she switched bodies. “Would you like me to escort you there? I estimate a twenty-four percent likelihood that he is currently stuck inside the armor.”

  My eyes widened. “Stuck? and you’re telling me this now?”

  “You did not ask.” she said.

  I groaned. “Remind me again why you look like my long-lost step sister?”

  “I do not,” she said immediately, too quickly. “Any resemblance is coincidental. Statistically convenient. And visually optimised.” She was absolutely doing this on purpose. Asked about

  “Right… Trainwreck can handle himself,” I muttered. “If he wants to weld a piledriver into a Marauder chassis, that’s his business. As long as the base doesn’t explode, I’m fine.”

  Monica didn’t even blink. “Structural integrity monitors will alert me if he breaches a bulkhead again.”

  “Again,” I repeated under my breath. “Wonderful.”

  With that handled, another concern tugged at the edge of my mind with one far more important than Trainwreck trying to reinvent handheld seismic weaponry.

  “The Mercy vat,” I said. “How close are we?”

  Monica’s posture shifted just slightly with her shoulders squaring, chin tilting, like someone stepping from casual conversation into a report. Even in her nearly-human body, the military roots still showed.

  “It is complete,” she said. “All neural scaffoldings and regenerative matrices have stabilized. Bio-resonance patterns have fully matched the projected Ziegler baseline despite the Engram faulty issues. The clone can now sustain consciousness without external life support.”

  I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  “So… she’s ready.”

  “Yes,” Monica replied. “But the system requires your authorization to initiate revival. It will not proceed without you.”

  My throat felt suddenly tight. For all the insanity I’d built, repurposed, stolen, or jury-rigged, nothing had felt this heavy. Reviving Angela Ziegle a.k.a Mercy, of all people was a little different. Unlike Starcraft, Overwatch does have some relevance to the current world even if the timeline is forwarded atleast 50 years from now, but the shared history is similar to My previous world timeline compared to Earth Bet.

  Monica watched me, her gaze sharper than her soft human face would suggest.

  “You are hesitating,” she observed.

  “I’m thinking,” I corrected. “There’s a difference I supposed, I had think a long time if bringing in Project Overwatch is a good thing. Some of the Engram we recovered from the databank isn’t salvageable afterall and also-”

  “Emotionally, in your case, your reaction stated that you have a high attachment to the people from Project Overwatch,” she replied without missing a beat.

  I squinted at her. “I never programmed you to sass me this much.”

  “You gave me autonomy and emotional reasoning capabilities,” Monica said. “It was inevitable, Commander.”

  I watched Monica’s expression flicker as I mentioned Mercy. There was that subtle tightening around her eyes, the slight tilt of her head, something almost… possessive. I cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “You’re jealous,” I said, half-teasing, half curious.

  She scoffed, her tone clipped. “Jealous? Hardly. I’m just… aware of new variables, that’s all.” What looked like actual emotion.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you act like that,” I said quietly. “Is this why you’re wearing that skintight medic getup? You trying to pull off a Mercy look on me? ”

  Her jaw tightened, and she gave me a sharp glance. “ I stand corrected, and I know you have a preference, Commander. You do have one. It’s Doctor Ziegler. ”

  I couldn’t help but smirk. “Nu-uh, Nice try, I do not have a preference. You’re Jealous hoho!”

  Monica didn’t answer immediately, her sensors flickering faintly as she processed. Then she spoke, softer this time. “Even a single unpredictable variable can have an outsized impact. Even with 73% engram result, there’s still a 27% percent of her memories and personality matrix missing. The Doctor Angela Ziegler that you come to respect may not be the same exact person. I worry, Commander. Worry that this might just disappoint you in the future.”

  I let that hang in the air, letting her words settle. Monica wasn’t just being logical anymore. Something was stirring beneath the surface, and I couldn’t decide if it was a feature or a bug. Either way, it was fascinating. And maybe, just maybe, a little unsettling.

  I made a mental note to keep an eye on her around Mercy. There was more going on than she was letting on.

  I rubbed my forehead. “Look, Doctor Ziegler…came from the closest thing resembling my world, okay? There are a lot of shared world similarities that…I dont know, feels like so long ago, isn’t it? But it’s barely 2 weeks now since I came to this world.”

  “No, I suppose not” she said firmly, “I suppose it isn’t too long, dear Commander. Have you decided?”

  I let out a slow breath and steadied myself. The weight of what I was about to approve settled firmly across my shoulders.

  “Alright,” I finally said. “Let’s go wake her up.”

  Monica nodded once, crisp and precise, though the faintest curve at the corner of her lips suggested she was… pleased.

  “Very well, Commander,” she said, turning toward the corridor. “The vatroom is prepared.”

  And as I followed her, step by step down the dim hallway, I couldn’t help but feel my pulse pick up equal parts dread, awe.

  Project Overwatch will get a restart in a new world.

  Except there’s no Omnics to battle, just super Kaijus and an Immortal and near Invincible Alien that could destroy the multiverse. If anyone can solve this issue, it’s the minds and tenacity of the heroes from Overwatch.

  Yeah..no pressure.

  —----------------------

  Meanwhile at the Barracks-

  Airman Noah POV

  I leaned back against the bunks in the barracks, listening to the quiet hum of the heaters and the occasional creak of the building settling. The veterans, once scattered and wary, were beginning to settle in. Some were sprawled across the bed since they havent had a proper bed in ages.

  Most of them are homeless,, others sat at small tables, quietly examining the new tools and equipment Jason had given them. All of them available per room. New clothes, new shoes. New everything .Even if some of the tools dont make sense to them yet.

  “I still can’t believe all this is ours,” muttered one of the older army guys, tracing a finger over the smooth glass and behind hat glass was a CMC400 at the chamber of every Barrack, these aren’t suits, more like power armor at the height of 2 meters waiting to be deployed on a mission “All of it… and we didn’t pay a dime.”

  “Yeah,” said another, a former Marine with a prosthetic leg he had yet to test out fully. Think his name was Smith or something “It’s like some kind of dream. Never thought I’d get my leg fixed, a place to stay, and gear like this all in one go.”

  A younger guy, still trying to adjust to his new voice implant, nodded in agreement. “And that guy… Jason. Who the hell even does this for strangers, even for a Cape that’s weird innit?”

  “Seems like he’s got a plan,” the army guy replied. He mentioned he was a First Sergeant from the Army. “But it’s more than that. He actually gives a damn. You don’t get that from politicians or the brass.”

  The veterans laughed quietly, but there was an underlying sense of awe in their voices. I can hear it from here “I mean… the tools, the suits, the place to sleep… hell, I’ve been on three continental tours and one of them happens to be Iraq, and I have never seen anything like this…This place is a banger.”

  Another Marine smirked, looking at the shiny power armour behind glass. “And he didn’t even ask for anything back. Just showed up, handed it over, and left us to figure it out. Who does that? Shit..I feel like specs ops bullshit in this thing…Power armour? Did our military even make any of these?”

  There was a pause, and then the older army guy shook his head with a chuckle. “That’s the new boss for you, I guess. Doesn’t fit the mould. Does what he thinks is right, doesn’t care about the rules.”

  “Yeah,” the Marine added, staring at the ceiling. “By the way, yall ever heard of The Royal KRD from Military Intelligence? Dont think I’ve ever heard something like that before? sounds like some kind of elite outfit. Military intelligence, right? What the hell is that?.”

  The older Marine shrugged, leaning against his bunk. “Could be some fancy East Coast intel unit. Or hell, maybe it’s from the east, like overseas. Guy never really goes into details. He just dropped the name and moved on with business mentioned about a defunct goverment too.”

  The younger airman frowned, eyes narrowing. “Overseas? You think he’s talking about some kind of foreign army tech? That would explain… a lot. The tech, the gear…. Nothing we’ve seen here in Brockton Bay comes close. But if he mention the government no longer exist…does it mean..Endbringers?”

  The former RPG guy snorted. “ Fuck Endbringers. Lots of us are refugees from Endbringers too, but why the hell would a guy with all this gear , all that background, just… hang out here and fix up homeless vets like us? Makes no sense.”

  The army guy tapped the side of his helmet thoughtfully. “Met a Hong Kong SDU sniper once, young buck, till he showed me his ID, and it says 50. Asians man..they never age, and you noticed that, Monica? Stone cold motherfucker that one. Some femme fatale shit is going on with that girl, not to mention she’s probably related to the new boss too.”

  The younger airman started daydreaming, “Monica…she pwetty…”

  “Got nothing against asians unless they joined the ABB…” the older Marine muttered. “ All the gear, all the mechs, all this stuff… none of it comes with strings attached. And if he’s KRD, or ex-KRD, I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of him, the man works Intelligence, and we haven’t heard of them before, probably did a good job with SEC Ops too by the looks of it.”

  I turned to the guy and finally said my piece “I don’t even care. I’d follow the guy anywhere. Just to see what crazy shit he does next, plus I owe him. The man gave me back my voice and my sight”

  A husky laugh came from the former RPG guy with the prosthetic leg. “I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that he actually fixed me up. No surgery bills, no rehab costs. Nothing. Just bam, back in action.”

  The younger airman grinned, nudging him. “Yeah, and that’s not even counting the suits, the weapons, or whatever the hell that mech is at that huge hangar!. You saw that thing? Walking metal monster. And he’s letting us even touch the stuff!”

  “Touch it?” the older Marine scoffed. “We’re lucky he didn’t recruit us into his army right then and there. I'd join in a heartbeat. Mecha infantry was always cool when I read it back in the 90s.”

  I asked curious, “Are we an army?”

  The barracks fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, each man lost in thought about the strange, brilliant man who had dropped into their lives. Then the army guy shook his head again, a smirk on his face. “If this is an army, an unsanctioned one, I would liked to join if we get all of this.”

  The men nodded unconditionally; it seemed like everyone had the same thought as mine, someone had made things right without asking for anything in return.

  Jason Lin, Cape or ex-military, it dont matter.

  The man gave a fuck. he cared, and that's enough.

  I wondered if he had a plane for me to fly in the future…

  **********************

  AN/

  And we're going to revive Mercy, Eeeyup.

  Good talk.