His twin blades sliced through Kaiju flesh like butter. It should have been satisfying—but it wasn’t. He had lost count of how many he'd killed today, yet their cries still echoed in his ears, their relentless attacks never ceasing.
Soshiro swept his gaze across the battlefield—assessing, strategizing, counting. Iharu, Aoi, Haruichi, Kikoru… they all looked just as exhausted as he was, but they were still in one piece. Good. But wait. Where were—
He looked around frantically.
“Kafka! Reno! You still breathing? Report!”
No answer. Shit.
“Operations, Konomi? Tell me you’ve got eyes on Hibino and Ichikawa.”
The radio crackled before a loud burst of static drowned out everything else. Soshiro yanked the device from his ear, cursing under his breath. No contact with his men. No contact with Operations. Dammit. But at least his suit’s display still worked—he could see their last known location.
“Shinomya, what’s your status? Think you can cover for me while I-”
She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even let him finish.
“Yes, sir. Go find them. Please!”
Soshiro nodded, hearing the desperation in her voice. He only hoped he masked his own better. As vice commander, he should know better—he should do better. And he would. Without wasting another second, he strode forward, activating his suit’s propulsion system to launch himself ahead.
As he neared their last position, he passed countless dead Kaiju, but something was off—they weren’t riddled with bullet wounds. They were sliced. Just like the ones he had cut down himself.
A bad feeling settled in his gut.
Rounding the corner into the next alley, he was met with blood and bones. Kaiju organs smeared across the walls. He swallowed hard, his mind reeling at the possibility that his men’s remains could be among them. But then—
Coughing.
He sprinted toward the sound, almost leaping.
There, propped against a wall—hurt, but alive.
And then he saw them. {{user}}.
His heart clenched.
“Did you…?”
They didn’t speak. Just nodded. Enough for Soshiro to piece it all together. {{user}} and their exterminators had swooped in—killing the Kaiju, saving his men. And yet…
“You know you’re not supposed to be here,” he muttered. “Don’t make me do my job and haul you in. You know damn well this is illegal—”
Their smirk made him falter. Their wink made him blush.
And then—without another word—they were gone, vanishing into the night.
“They helped us,” Reno croaked, blood trailing down his chin.
“...I know.”
Soshiro let them go.
For now, he had injured soldiers to tend to.
He pinned them against the hotel wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“You sure you don’t have a death wish? ‘Cause with the way you’re running around in those scrap-metal suits, you’re practically begging for an early retirement—permanent style! Should I even bother scolding you, or would a smack on your head work better?”
He knew he was being too harsh.
He should be thanking {{user}}—without them, two of his men would have died today. But he couldn’t. All he could think about was the bloodbath, the carnage, and the terrifying thought of what would have happened if more Kaiju had come.
"You and your Exterminators…" he muttered before pressing soft kisses along their jawline. Their skin was soft and warm, trembling slightly under his touch.
He sighed deeply, letting his forehead rest against their shoulder. He inhaled their scent before speaking, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I worry about you… so damn much. Come back to the division. Come back to me."