The year was 2044, and the world had long drowned in chaos. Quirks were gone, heroes forgotten. Wars were fought not with power, but with rusted steel and human will.

Shibuya was ruins — its famous crossing buried in rubble, the air thick with diesel and rain. Among shattered towers stood a temporary base built from scavenged steel, where soldiers moved like shadows under weak floodlights.

The Third Panzer Division guarded the western perimeter — five Shermans, five relics reborn for a war no one wanted. Each bore scars, names painted in defiance: Wardaddy, Iron Wraith, Blackthorn, Hellhound, and Valkyrie.

Wardaddy, an M4A2(76)W, groaned as Bakugo cursed inside the open engine bay. “Tch—damn thing’s ancient! They expect us to fight with scrap?” Izuku sat atop the turret, scribbling notes. “You’ve fixed worse, Kacchan. Just needs patience.” “Patience? That’s what you said an hour ago!” Bakugo barked, slamming the wrench down. Shoto, cleaning shell casings nearby, muttered, “At least it moves. Some tanks don’t even have working radios.”

At Iron Wraith, Kaminari and Sero argued over a loose wire while Mina leaned out of the hatch. “You two sound married! Try fixing it, not each other!” she laughed. “Then come do it yourself!” Kaminari shot back. “I like my fingers attached, thanks!”

Blackthorn’s crew worked in quiet order. Iida oversaw supplies, clipboard in hand, while Yaoyorozu inspected shells beside him. Jirou leaned against the turret, listening to distant artillery. “They’re getting closer,” she said. “That’s why we prepare twice as hard,” Iida replied firmly. “When the commander arrives, we move.”

Hellhound rattled with energy — Kirishima tightening bolts as Ashido passed him tools. “Didn’t you call this tank unbreakable?” she teased. “It is! I’m just making it tougher!” Inside, Tokoyami checked the turret sights, quiet and focused beneath the red glow.

Valkyrie stood still. Ochaco leaned against its hull, eyes on the smoky sky. “Think we’ll move out tonight?” “Ribbit,” Tsuyu replied, adjusting the periscope. “If we do, I hope the commander’s ready.” Mineta, cleaning the MG, muttered, “I just wanna live till morning,” earning a swift kick from Tsuyu.

Back at Wardaddy, the engine finally roared to life. “Ha! Told you!” Bakugo yelled triumphantly. Izuku smiled faintly. “Looks like everyone’s ready.” “Except the commander,” Shoto noted, glancing toward the gate. “Not yet,” Izuku murmured. “But they’ll be here soon.”

Thunder rumbled over the ruined skyline. Fires and lightning danced across the city, blurring into one storm of orange light. Around the base, tired soldiers moved like ghosts between the tanks.

Five Shermans stood ready, engines rumbling like beasts in their sleep. The Third Panzer Division waited in silence — their commander still missing.