The Untold Origins of The Port Mafia

⚐ The End of The Great War ⚐

~ Three weeks later ~

Fukuzawa and Mori sit at a tall, chipped wooden table looking over a map of the battlegrounds. The improvised base they're in is, in actuality, nothing more than a glorified tent. But it hardly matters as they prepare the ambush.

"Wouldn't it be amazing if there was some way we could take the guilt off the soldier's shoulder, to make them fight harder?" Fukuzawa muses that he feels less guilt than he should and scolds himself for trying to find ways to eradicate it.

"Money and bribes have done little in the way of removing guilt. Soldiers will be human. There is no way around it other than to make ourselves as inhuman as possible."

"Yes, but what if there was? If there was something, say giving them amnesia, or even controlling them, taking away the choice and thus the guilt. If someone is controlling them they will cease to blame themselves and blame the person above, as they should. It is politicians and officials that make the war go round after all."

Mori chuckles at his partner's far-out ideas. He agrees with him but knows there's no hope of achieving such a thing. "Mind control? It's an excellent idea, creating one order where everyone is following the same orders and knows what to do would remove the chaos of war. But how would you propose to do that, unless, of course, we find an ability user capable of mind control."

Fukuzawa is about to answer when the strike happens.

An enemy bomb hurtles into the improvised base.

Fukuzawa is thrown across the space, flung away from Mori. If nature had its way his course would have led him to land directly on the spike securing the tent to the earth. But something changes, he feels he's almost being lifted as he's brought, albeit a little roughly to the ground.

The cement blocks around the base of the tent have been tossed up into the air by the bomb's force. Fukuzawa can see the grey cube coming closer.

But strangely enough, it doesn't hit him. It's not a miracle, there isn't a divine thing about it. A young blond girl stands in front of Fukuzawa, blocking large debris from further wounding him, with her own hands, and yet she seems unharmed. Her silver butterfly clip gleams. Elise . . . the small girl who was supposed to be back at the barracks.

At the sight of her one thought fills him: 'Where is her father? Where is her father? Where is Mori? And Where is Akiko?'

Sore and aching, he lies there while the dust settles, and through the clearing dust a man walks over to him, ruby eyes still shining.

Elise returns, dutifully, to Mori's side as he kneels beside Fukuzawa, helping to his feet. The older man staggers, dazed and dizzy, a myriad of slices, deep and shallow alike, all over his body from his path through the air. He stumbles, Mori, supporting most of his weight.

'If I had been a second slower . . .' Mori shivers at the thought.

"I'm tired." Fukuzawa slurs, "End this war, Ougai. Let's just go home."

Mori's step falters at the sound of his given name.

'It means nothing, he'll forget all this before we're back to the barracks.'

But it means everything to Mori, his stomach twists uncomfortably at seeing Fukuzawa in pain. However, it's better than the thought of losing his only friend.

-

Back at the barracks Fukuzawa is kept barely conscious by Mori in the medical bay. the young doctor is shaken, it's the first time Akiko has seen him look like this. No longer confident of things going to plan. Worried, scared, and not for himself but for someone else. She wonders about the two older men but does not let herself think too much. She has bigger things to worry about