The air in the command tent was heavy, the flicker of dim lights casting long shadows across the battered faces of the officers. Lieutenant Noah was the first to break the tense silence, his voice sharp with accusation.
"We need to eliminate Simon," he said coldly, glaring across the table at Robert. "He's a traitor. He nearly cost us an entire platoon with his reckless behavior. He went against every order we gave—every protocol. He killed people who didn't need to die. And let's not forget… he's the reason Michael is dead."
Robert's eyes widened in disbelief. "That's a lie!" he snapped. "Simon didn't betray us—he saved us! You're twisting everything that happened."
Noah leaned forward, his voice dripping with disdain. "You call ignoring direct orders 'saving us'? He endangered everyone out there. He thought he was above the rules—like he was some kind of hero—"
Robert slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing through the tent. "He is a hero, Noah! You know it as well as I do. Without him, we'd be nothing but names on a memorial wall. You think he was reckless? He was the only one who had the guts to do what had to be done—when everyone else hesitated."
Noah's voice rose, trembling with anger. "He's dangerous. You saw what he did—he's not right. He doesn't follow orders, he doesn't care about the mission—"
Robert cut him off, his voice rising to match Noah's. "He cares about the mission more than anyone! He saved Colonel Cameron three times—three! He saved Captain William, you, me—he's the reason half of us are still breathing!"
Noah's jaw clenched. "You're blind, Robert. You're so caught up in your loyalty to him that you can't see he's a threat to everyone."
Robert's voice turned icy. "And you're so scared of what he is that you'd rather kill him than admit he's saved your life more than once."
Noah's fists tightened. "He killed innocent people—"
"No!" Robert shouted, his face flushed. "They weren't innocent. They were working with the organization—spies, saboteurs. He saw through their lies when no one else did."
The two men were leaning across the table now, voices overlapping in heated fury. "You're delusional—" "You're a coward—" "He's a killer—" "He's a savior—"
Colonel Cameron's voice cut through the clamor like a blade. "Enough!" he barked, his tone so sharp that the tent fell instantly silent. Both men snapped back to attention, their anger still simmering but contained.
Cameron's gaze swept over them, heavy with the weight of command—and something else, a tired understanding of the cost of this endless war. "I know what Simon has done," he said quietly. "I know he's supposed to be in prison for breaking orders. But I also know how many lives he's saved. He didn't just fight for himself—he fought for all of us."
He paused, his eyes hardening. "We won't kill him. We won't lock him up. We will help him recover—because like it or not, he may be the only one who can end this madness once and for all."
The tension drained slowly from the room, replaced by a heavy, uneasy silence. Robert let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping with relief. Noah turned away, jaw tight, saying nothing.
Meanwhile, deep within the makeshift medical wing of the base, Captain William stirred on his cot. He blinked awake, his injuries minor compared to the man lying in the bed beside him. William turned his head and saw Simon, deathly pale, his body battered and broken.
Simon lay motionless, his back and right leg crushed in the battle. A deep gash in his left arm had bled more than anyone thought possible, and he had lost consciousness on the way to the base. William remembered the blood, the way Simon's breathing had slowed to ragged gasps as the medics fought to keep him alive.
Beside the bed, Matthew knelt, his hands trembling as he held a damp cloth to Simon's forehead. His voice was a hoarse whisper. "He should have died on the way here," he murmured, his eyes red with exhaustion. "My powers… they're the only reason he's still alive. But… I couldn't do more. He won't wake up for at least thirty days."
Jessica stood at the foot of the bed, her shoulders shaking as silent tears fell down her face. She clutched the hilt of the katana she'd carried, as if it was the only thing keeping her upright. Isabel and Lesley sat beside her, their eyes wide with shock and grief.
Lieutenant Robert stepped closer, his expression grim. "Simon…" he whispered. "You stubborn bastard. Why'd you have to do it alone?" He swallowed hard, fighting back the tightness in his throat. "You didn't deserve this."
Matthew's hands trembled as he looked up at them. "I… I'm sorry," he said softly. "I tried. I tried to keep him here with us, but… there's nothing else I can do."
Jessica's voice cracked as she stepped forward, her fingers brushing lightly against Simon's cold hand. "We'll wait for you," she said, her voice trembling. "No matter how long it takes… we'll be here when you wake up."
The room fell silent, the soft hum of medical equipment the only sound. Outside, the world was burning—but for this small group, all that mattered was the man lying motionless on the bed. And in that stillness, one thing was clear: they would not let Simon's fight end here.
That night, long after the others had drifted to uneasy sleep, Jessica sat beside Simon's bed, the flickering glow of a single lantern casting shadows across his face. She reached out, her fingertips brushing the rough bandages that covered his chest and arm, feeling the faint rise and fall of his breath.
"I don't care what anyone says," she whispered, her words a fragile vow. "You're not just a weapon to them. You're not just some… tool for this war. You're Simon. You're the one who stood up when no one else would. And I… I'll be here. I swear it."
She looked around the quiet room. Robert sat with his head bowed, murmuring prayers in the shadows. Matthew had finally slumped against the wall, exhausted but refusing to leave Simon's side. Even Alucard, who rarely showed his emotions, sat cross-legged in the corner, his weapon resting across his knees, a silent guardian.
Jessica turned back to Simon. Her voice was low but fierce. "They can doubt you. They can fear you. But I won't. I'll wait as long as it takes… until you come back to us."
And in that moment, the only sound was the slow, steady rhythm of Simon's breathing—a promise that he was still here, still fighting.
Elsewhere, in a sterile laboratory tucked away in the depths of the base, Colonel Cameron stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Before him, a team of researchers worked tirelessly under bright, sterile lights. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and burned metal.
On a table lay the battered remains of Simon's energy shield and the blackened, rune-carved fragments of his sword. Next to them, the cracked plates of the demonic armor that had been torn from his last battle.
Dr. Hale, the lead researcher, looked up from her notes, her eyes bright with a quiet intensity. "Colonel," she said, "we've never seen anything like this technology. The energy signatures alone… it's not just a weapon. It's something else—almost like it's alive."
Colonel Cameron frowned, his gaze never leaving the strange, faintly glowing shards. "Can it be replicated? Fused into our own armor?"
Hale hesitated, her fingers tapping lightly against the table. "We're close. The energy shield and sword—they're partially organic, partially something… else. They adapt to the user's will, almost like a living extension of their mind."
Dr. Levin, another researcher, adjusted his glasses, his voice low. "We've already begun testing alloy blends to see if we can mimic the energy output. But… there's more. Simon's physiology—it's different. His cells… they're radiating the same energy signature as the shield and sword."
Cameron's eyes narrowed. "And what does that mean?"
Levin swallowed. "If we can isolate the source of that energy… we might be able to amplify it. Enhance it. Maybe even… genetically modify him to make him stronger."
A tense silence settled over the lab. Dr. Hale shifted uncomfortably. "Sir… there are risks. We don't know how much of Simon's mind is tied to that energy. If we tamper with it… we could lose the man entirely."
Colonel Cameron's jaw tightened. "We're not turning him into a mindless weapon," he said quietly. "Simon is a soldier—a man. We owe him more than that."
Dr. Hale nodded. "Understood, sir. We'll continue carefully."
The colonel let out a slow breath, his eyes lingering on the battered shield—its faint glow a reminder of the man it belonged to. In its flickering surface, he saw not just a weapon, but a symbol of a world that still had a chance.
Back in the quiet medical bay, Jessica rested her head on the edge of Simon's bed, her breath slowing as sleep finally overtook her. Around her, the others slept too—each one holding on to the fragile hope that tomorrow would be a little brighter.
For tonight, at least, there was peace. And in that fragile, flickering peace, a promise endured: they would not let Simon's fight end here