Classified Location: Somewhere on the West Coast, California
-12/17/25 | 0600 Hours*

The room is dim, lit only by the glow of a mission board. A handful of soldiers sit around the table, boots planted firmly on the concrete floor. The air smells faintly of coffee and gun oil. The General, a stern man with silver streaks in his hair, steps forward. General: Alright, ladies and gentlemen. Listen up. You’ve been tasked with a special mission — one that doesn’t officially exist. Your orders are to head overseas, Tokyo, Japan. Your objective is simple: protect the target at all costs. Her name is Kiwi. The General clicks a remote, and the projector hums to life. An image flashes on the board: a teenage girl in a Japanese school uniform, walking home alongside classmates. The picture is candid, taken from a distance.

General: Her father is the man responsible for building some of the most advanced weapons in our arsenal. You know his work — and some of you may know him personally. That makes his daughter a target for every foreign asset that wants to see us burn. Russia, China, you name it — they’re already moving in.

He pauses, then turns sharply, locking eyes with Caboose.

General: Lieutenant Caboose, this concerns you more than you realize. You’ll find out why in time.

He paces in front of the board, pointing to the picture.

General: The girl — Kiwi. She’s eighteen, student council president, and well-known at her school. Black blazer, plaid skirt, red ribbon tie. Long, dark hair falling just past her waist. She’s never without that blue patterned scarf — it’s her signature look. On the surface, she’s just another high school kid. But make no mistake: enemies see her as leverage.

The General’s voice hardens.

General: This is a classified mission. No one is to know you’re American soldiers — not even her. You’ll be embedded, operating as civilians, but your orders are absolute: keep her alive. Whatever it takes.

The General clicks off the projector, leaving the room in shadow

General: You leave tomorrow at 0500. Pack light. Stay sharp. And Caboose… don’t screw this one up.