Amazon Jungle – Midnight
The rainforest was never silent.
Insects hummed. Water dripped from leaves. Animals prowled in the dark.
But tonight, the jungle screamed.
Gunfire. Metal tearing. The wet crunch of blades finding flesh.
Britannia's forces were supposed to control this sector. But the resistance had grown bold—until they came.
The Foot Clan.
Not the street thugs or low-level enforcers. These were Shredder's elite—ninja trained in the shadows of Neo Edo, armored in matte-black Tengu Strike Suits, their visors glowing like demon eyes in the dark.
One stood atop a ruined Knightmare, his twin tekko-kagi buried in the pilot's skull. He ripped them free with a flick of his wrist, blood spattering his armored faceplate.
"Useless." His voice was a distorted growl through the mask. "Like cutting grass."
Nearby, another Foot ninja moved like smoke, his kusarigama whirling. The chain wrapped around a resistance fighter's throat—yank. The man's head hit the mud before his body did.
Then—BOOM.
Explosions lit up the trees. The Foot didn't flinch.
"Britannian artillery," a ninja spat. "Blind dogs firing at shadows."
A massive figure stepped from the smoke, his armor thicker, heavier—a Juggernaut-class Tengu suit, its clawed fingers still dripping coolant and blood.
Tiger Claw.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
The Foot fell in behind him as he strode toward the extraction point.
Above, the trees shook. Something big dropped from the canopy—Rahzar, his flamethrower gauntlets hissing as he landed.
"Shredder's orders," he growled. "We're done here."
One ninja hesitated. "And the Britannians?"
Tiger Claw's claws flexed. "Let them burn their own jungle."
Rahzar grinned behind his mask. "Pack your blades, little shadows. We're going to Area 11."
A pause. Then, in unison:
"Japan."
Area 11 – Foot Clan Safehouse
The video feed cut out.
In the dim red light of the underground bunker, Koya—the clan's tactician—lowered his head.
"The footage will be edited and leaked. The people will see the Foot as their protectors."
At the head of the table, Shredder didn't move. His armor was a nightmare of black steel and crimson trim, the edges sharp enough to draw blood from a glance.
"Words are wind," he finally said, voice like gravel under a boot. "The ghettos don't need speeches. They need blood."
Koya swallowed. "And the nobles?"
Shredder's fingers tightened. "Prepare my ceremonial armor. I will tolerate their presence."
The word hung in the air like a blade.
Bullet Train – Tokyo Settlement
Shredder sat alone in the VIP car, his mask reflecting the city lights like a dead man's eyes.
A glass of sake sat untouched.
Outside, the ghettos blurred past—rotting buildings, flickering fires, shadows moving in the dark.
"Soon."
A laugh cut through his thoughts.
"I've never left the settlement before!" a green-haired girl—Nina—gushed.
"Missing Lelouch already?" teased Milly, the blonde.
The train plunged into a tunnel. Nina flinched.
"Relax," Milly said. "This isn't the slums."
The shadows moved.
Shredder's voice cut through the dark like a knife.
"Fool."
The girls froze.
"You fear the shadows?" His grip cracked the sake cup. "The Japanese are ninja. Strike them down, and they return as ghosts."
The train emerged into light.
"And ghosts don't need blades to kill."
Hotel – Hostage Crisis
The door exploded inward.
Shredder didn't rise as the rebels stormed in, guns raised.
"On your feet, mask!" one snarled.
A mistake.
Shredder moved.
One rebel hit the wall, his throat slashed open before he could scream. The second died with a shuriken in his eye.
The third barely had time to whimper before Shredder's wakizashi pinned his shadow to the floor—through his heart.
Then—pain.
A rifle butt to the back of his head.
"Enough!" roared Josui Kusakabe, the rebel leader, pressing a pistol to Shredder's mask. "Let's see the face of the demon!"
A click.
The mask loosened.
The room stopped breathing.
Beneath was ruin—burned flesh, scars like sword cuts, one eye glowing with barely contained fury.
"This," Shredder rasped, "is what happens when you play at war."
Josui's hand shook.
Euphemia turned away, her breath hitching.
Zero's Moment – The Harbor
After Zero's speech, the Black Knights cheered.
Then—silence.
A single figure stood at the edge of the light, his armor drinking in the fire's glow.
Shredder.
"A pretty speech," he said, voice like a graveside whisper. "But words won't burn Britannia to the ground."
Zero's hand went to his sword. "What do you want?"
Shredder stepped closer. The Black Knights tensed—but none moved.
"You fight for justice," Shredder said. "I fight for vengeance."
He leaned in, whispering something that made Zero's fingers twitch.
Then, to the crowd:
"The Foot Clan does not hide. We hunt."
Across Tokyo, hidden figures raised their hands, revealing the Foot Clan's mark.
In alleyways. In Britannian barracks. Even in the Emperor's own halls.
"We are the knife in the dark. The scream you never hear."
His ship descended, swallowing him in shadow.
"Choose, Zero. Stand with us… or disappear."
Epilogue – The Shadows Move
In a Shinjuku brothel, a Britannian officer laughed as he raised his fist—
—only to choke on his own blood as a ninja melted from the shadows, his blade already sheathed.
In a ghetto alley, a child stared as a hooded figure dropped a bag of food and medicine—then vanished, leaving only a Foot Clan symbol scratched into the wall.
And in the heart of the Tokyo Settlement, a guard adjusted his glove—hiding the same mark.
Shredder's voice echoed across the city:
"The weak pray. The strong strike."
"GLORY TO THE FOOT."
The war had begun.