《THE CROWS- START OF A LEGACY》 The drop The AC-130 rumbled through the pitch-black sky, deep behind enemy lines. Inside, the Crows sat in silence, waiting for the call. No nervous chatter. No last-minute checks. Just the steady hum of the engines and the occasional creak of their gear shifting with the turbulence. A voice crackled through Captain Crow¡¯s earpiece. "Crow ready to finally fly?" The captain let out a grim chuckle, adjusting his mask. "Ready as always." The jump light turned green. One by one, the Crows threw themselves into the night. The air roared past them as they cut through the sky, freefalling toward their target¡ªa heavily fortified military base. As they broke through the cloud cover, the sky below turned even darker. The Crows¡¯ parachutes deployed in unison, their black canopies blotting out the moon. From the ground, it looked like the night itself was swallowing the base whole. The enemy didn¡¯t notice. Not until hellfire rained down. Mid-air, the Crows fired rockets downward, their trails cutting through the sky like falling stars. The first explosions ripped through armored vehicles and ammo reserves, setting off chain reactions that engulfed entire sections of the base. By the time the first alarms blared, it was already too late. The Crows hit the ground fast and hard, landing in formation. They moved like ghosts, their black gear blending into the shadows, sweeping through the base with lethal precision. No wasted movements. No mercy. Vega watched it all from HQ, her eyes locked on the live body cam feeds. Soldiers screamed. Skulls split open. The so-called "impenetrable" base crumbled in a matter of hours. Hours filled with nothing but fear. The last few survivors managed to send out a distress call before their throats were slit. Moments later, headlights appeared on the horizon¡ªreinforcements. A full convoy of tanks and armored vehicles. A normal squad would have retreated. Fallen back. Waited for air support. The Crows? They grinned. "Bitch, this is all because of you! You just had to attack the radio tower!" one Crow yelled over the gunfire, taking cover behind a wrecked truck. Another ducked behind cover, scoffing. "Because of me? You piece of shit¡ª" Instead of staying down, he sprinted across open ground¡ªstraight through enemy fire¡ªjust to throw a punch at the first guy. The two started brawling, fists flying, while explosions shook the battlefield around them. One of the Crows lining up a shot groaned, "These fucking idiots can¡¯t stop fighting for a single moment. I swear, one day, I¡¯m painting their clothes neon green so they¡¯re the first targets upon landing." The squad burst into laughter while still dealing with the convoy. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. The enemy soldiers, watching from inside their tanks, weren¡¯t scared because the Crows were retreating. They were terrified because these maniacs were smiling. Even under heavy fire. Even as the sky turned red from the flames. They were grinning. Inside one of the tanks, a gunner locked onto a Crow reloading his rocket launcher. The Crow didn¡¯t see him. His back was turned. He was exposed¡ªan easy kill. The gunner gripped the trigger. This was it. Just as he was about to fire¡ª The Crow turned his head slightly. Just enough for the gunner to see his face. A wide, unshaken, entertained grin. The Crow winked. Then fired first. A second later, the tank erupted in flames. Missiles streaked through the sky as the Crows flanked the convoy, raining hell down on the enemy. The battlefield burned, turning armored vehicles into twisted wreckage, bodies into ash. The fight was over before the enemy even understood what happened. As the convoy was reduced to nothing but burning scrap, the rest of the squad turned to the two Crows still throwing punches like rabid dogs. One of them, speaking in a heavy British accent, snarled, "You fucking idiots. I hope you two die one day, you piece-of-shit, worthless garbage. Now you cun¡ª ''takes a deep breath'' clean up the bodies. Stack them into a pile. And until then, we''re not leaving, even if the enemy sends their entire fucking army." The two Crows, still mid-swing, suddenly burst into laughter. Without a word, they let go of each other''s collars, dusted themselves off, and got to work. Night turned into day. Day turned into night. Vega¡¯s voice screamed through the Captain¡¯s earpiece, ordering them to retreat to the border. He didn¡¯t listen. The Crows weren¡¯t done yet. As the sun rose, a small convoy of enemy vehicles rolled into the ruined base. The soldiers inside expected the battlefield to be abandoned. A graveyard of their fallen. Instead, as they stepped out of their cars¡ª One of them pissed his pants. Because before them, the Crows were still there. Drinking. Laughing. Goofing around on a mountain of enemy corpses. One was balancing on a body, pretending to surf. Another was using a severed hand to slap his friend in the face. Someone had set up a small fire and was casually roasting meat on a bayonet. And at the center of it all, a Crow lifted a hollowed-out enemy skull, casually sipping beer from it like a chalice. It wasn¡¯t just disrespect. It was mockery. Before the enemy convoy could even blink, sniper rounds tore through them. A second later, the last two Crows casually dragged in the final bodies, tossing them onto the twisted, blood-soaked monument they had built overnight. The message was clear. They weren¡¯t just winning. They were enjoying it. ------ As the Crows left the base behind, they didn''t even glance back at the mountain of bodies they''d stacked. Well, except for one¡ªwho was still carrying a severed arm for God knows what reason. They knew a simple walk to the border was out of the question. Ten kilometers, multiple enemy outposts, and heavy patrols stood in their way. So, they did the most logical¡ªno, the most Crow thing possible. They spent three hours reinforcing a truck. Not just any truck¡ªone big enough to fit the entire squad and strong enough to ram through anything in their path. And when it was ready? The Crows whooped and screamed like it was some joyride, firing at outposts as they plowed straight through them. To anyone watching, it didn¡¯t even look like an escape¡ªit looked like they were just having fun. At one point, the Crow still holding the severed arm decided it would be hilarious to steer the truck with the hand. It was hilarious¡ªuntil he crashed the truck. Pinned down by three Crows, he got his ass beaten into the dirt. A few minutes later, swollen eye and all, he just dusted himself off, strapped the arm to his backpack, and kept moving like nothing happened. With the truck gone, they continued on foot. Five kilometers left. Almost home free. Until a scouting party blocked their path. Not just any scouting party. This one was custom-built to stop the Crows. Armored ranks. APCs. Jeeps surrounding them on all sides. The Crows? They glanced at each other¡ªthen started giggling. The Captain? Already rubbing his forehead, because he knew what was about to happen. One Crow disappeared into the shadows, sneaking up to the convoy. A few minutes later, a tank turret rotated in the wrong direction. Then a maniacal laugh erupted from inside. BOOM. The stolen tank blasted the surrounding vehicles apart. The remaining enemy tanks spun their turrets toward it. But before they could fire, the Crow inside used his own turret to shove their aim off-course like some twisted playground game. The rest of the Crows? Dying of laughter in the distance. The Captain? Already walking away. He knew they¡¯d handle it. No point sticking around. From far ahead, a massive explosion rocked the battlefield. The Captain sighed into his radio. "You fucking group of brain-dead children. If you¡¯re not at my position in 30 minutes, I swear¡ª" The laughter? Dead silent. Every Crow who had been joking around immediately turned serious. They ripped through the convoy like rabid animals and started sprinting to the Captain¡¯s location. Exactly 29 minutes later, they arrived¡ªbegging for forgiveness. One was literally kissing the Captain¡¯s boots. The Captain sighed. No energy to deal with this. As they reached the border and crossed into safety, Vega was already waiting with a chopper behind her. Arms crossed. Not mad about the mission. Just disappointed in the absolute circus of idiots she had to work with. As the Captain walked past her into the chopper, the others followed¡ªexcept for one. The idiot with the arm. He handed it to Vega like it was a gift. "Didn¡¯t know what to do with it, so¡­ figured I¡¯d give it to you. Anyway, what¡¯s for lunch? I¡¯m fucking starving." Vega stared at him. Then she slapped him with the same arm he gave her and shoved him into the chopper. Just as they all settled in, one Crow¡¯s eyes suddenly went wide. "WAIT. THE CURSE. THE CROW CURSE¡ª" Silence. Then? Panic. Every Crow immediately jumped out of the chopper, cursing and swearing. The Captain, still inside, just leaned back, waved them off, and smirked. "Enjoy the 30km walk home, then." The chopper lifted off, leaving them behind. They stood there in betrayl "That bastard....." A long-standing superstition among the Crows¡ªwhenever they use a chopper, it ALWAYS crashes. Nobody knows why. Ch-2 the bits of fun As the Crows finally dragged themselves back to base after that cursed 30km walk, they did what any self-respecting lunatic militia would do¡ªthey stole a ride. Some poor border guard barely had time to blink before one of the Crows casually said, "We''re taking this," and the whole squad climbed in, leaving the guy standing there questioning his life choices. The moment they arrived, there was no mission debrief, no strategy meeting, nothing. They sprinted straight to the cafeteria like starving wolves. Vega, sitting there chatting with the lunch lady, barely had time to react before she felt the atmosphere shift. The Crows and the lunch lady locked eyes. A silent understanding passed between them. She sighed, grabbed her ladle, and started shoveling food onto their plates like a seasoned warrior who had fought this battle a thousand times before. They ate like they hadn''t seen food in years¡ªdevouring everything with a terrifying level of focus, like a pack of wild animals that had just discovered civilization. Vega sat with them, eating like a normal human being instead of inhaling food like a vacuum cleaner. After a few minutes, she finally spoke up. "Why do you all act like a bunch of lunatics?" Silence. The whole squad froze mid-bite. They turned to each other, whispering like schoolkids caught doing something stupid. Then, after a few moments, one of them cleared his throat dramatically and said, "The Council has accepted your request to be trauma-dumped on." And just like that, the floodgates opened. One Crow said he was thrown out of his house at 14. Another admitted his father murdered his mother, and he escaped from an orphanage. Someone else talked about growing up in a warzone where playing in the street meant dodging sniper fire. One by one, they spilled everything¡ªabuse, abandonment, war, loss, all of it. But the worst part? They laughed through it. They told their horror stories like they were recounting dumb childhood memories. Vega sat there, frozen, as the realization hit her. "Y-you know..." she started, her voice shaking slightly. "I actually... kinda get it." The table went silent. For the first time, the Crows weren¡¯t laughing. "I ran away from home because my family treated me like a worthless piece of shit. My only goal was to prove them wrong. I tried everything, failed at multiple colleges, couldn¡¯t even get an internship. Then I saw a military recruitment poster. Signed up, passed the physical fitness test, and became... this." She gestured at herself. "A nameless officer running top-secret missions. No recognition. No proof that I ever achieved anything. I¡¯m still a failure in their eyes." Her fingers tightened around her fork. "I thought my life was sad¡­ until I met you lunatics." She took a shaky breath. "And you know what? You''re all actually just like me... just way crazier." You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. The Crows blinked at her. Then, out of nowhere, one of them clapped a hand on her shoulder and grinned. "Welcome to the club, newbie." The tension broke instantly. They went back to eating like nothing happened. Vega wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and asked, "So¡­ what¡¯s the Crow Curse?" THE CROW CURSE: A long-standing superstition among the Crows¡ªwhenever they use a chopper, it ALWAYS crashes. Nobody knows why. Maybe it¡¯s bad luck. Maybe they¡¯re just insane and push pilots too hard. Maybe they were cursed by the gods of aviation. But history has proven it. First crash? The pilot had a panic attack mid-air because the Crows were betting on who could survive jumping out without a parachute. Second crash? They were messing with the controls mid-flight. Third crash? A Crow accidentally threw a grenade inside. Fourth crash? They just forgot how to land. After that, they stopped counting. Now, the rule is simple: "Never get in a chopper. Ever." If one HAS to be used, jump the hell out before it¡¯s too late. Right after the trauma dump, the Crows just go back to eating like nothing happened, like "Welp, that was some good therapy, now back to business." Vega, still wiping her eyes, watches them in disbelief. Then suddenly, one Crow slams his fist on the table like, "OI, WE FORGOT SOMETHING IMPORTANT!" Vega flinches, thinking it''s something serious, but then he turns to the others, grinning like a maniac¡ª"THE GREEN PAINT." Immediate chaos. Crows are bolting out of the cafeteria, shoving each other, grabbing paint cans from God knows where. Vega just stares, confused as hell, until she hears screaming outside. The two guys who were fist-fighting earlier? Yeah, they''re getting absolutely violated with neon green paint. The Crows are chasing them around the base, laughing like maniacs, tackling them to the ground, and dumping entire buckets on them. One Crow¡ªlet¡¯s call him Chaos Coordinator¡ªis directing the madness like a general with a heavy irish accent: "GET HIS FACE! NO, NO, PAINT THE HAIR TOO! IF HE AIN¡¯T GLOWING, WE AIN¡¯T DONE!" Vega is just standing there, watching in absolute disbelief, and mutters, "What the hell is wrong with you people?" Captain walks past her, sipping coffee, doesn¡¯t even glance at the chaos, and deadpans, "I stopped asking years ago. Just then, the captain walked in front of them. Every Crow froze mid-action. One guy was holding a spray can, halfway through turning Idiot #1¡¯s uniform neon green. Idiot #2, already fully coated, stood there looking like a glowstick that had accepted its fate. The paint fumes still hung in the air. The silence was deafening. One of them¡ªclearly panicking¡ªwhispered, "P-please, sir! We were just having fun!" He immediately turned to Idiot #1. Who kissed his boots in the desert "Kiss his boots like you did earlier!" Idiot #1, still half-green, considered his options. A moment later, he dropped to his knees and pressed his lips to the captain¡¯s boot like it was a holy relic. "Oh great and merciful captain, have mercy upon our souls." The captain said nothing. Just stared. Then, in the coldest, most deadpan voice ever, he said, "Ten laps around the compound. Sprinting. No water for thirty minutes afterward." The entire squad groaned. "Sir, please, we just walked thirty kilometers¡ª" "Then your legs are warmed up. Go." A synchronized sigh of disappointment filled the air before they dragged themselves up and started running. Even the two freshly-painted idiots, their neon-green shame glowing under the base lights, joined the pack without a word. Vega, watching the whole thing unfold, just turned to the lunch lady, who was casually wiping down the counter like this was just another Tuesday. "...Do they ever actually rest?" The lunch lady chuckled, shaking her head. "Only when they pass out." As the Crows begrudgingly started their punishment laps, Vega sat back down with her food, watching the chaos unfold with mild amusement. She expected this kind of insanity from them at this point, but something about it was starting to feel... normal. She glanced at the captain, who was leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, silently watching his squad suffer. Unlike her own commanding officers, who only ever called her in for debriefs and official reports, he was always around, in the thick of it, keeping his men in line¡ªeven if his definition of ¡®in line¡¯ was just making sure they survived their own stupidity. It was weirdly refreshing. Her old unit? Higher-ups only showed up when something went wrong. No casual check-ins, no shared meals, no nonsense. Just orders barked down the chain. But here? The captain wasn¡¯t some distant figure. He walked into a room, and the entire squad reacted¡ªsometimes in terror, sometimes in laughter, but always with familiarity. She exhaled, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Maybe this wasn¡¯t so bad." "Deep down, a lingering doubt still gnawed at her¡ªwere the Crows really just a pack of mercenaries, loyal only to cash, with no real morals to speak of?" > Vega watched as the Crows sprinted laps around the compound, still half-covered in neon paint. Their captain stood watching, arms crossed, expression unreadable. It was chaos, just like always. And yet¡­ for a private militia, they followed orders without hesitation. No questions. No complaints. No bargaining. Vega frowned. She had worked with plenty of mercenaries before. Every single one cared about their paycheck first. But the Crows? They acted like something else entirely. And that was starting to bother her. Ch-3 The night erased from history The briefing room was a mess of chatter and laughter, the Crows barely paying attention as the captain spoke. They joked, placed bets, and passed the time like it was just another day. That was until Vega stormed in, breathless like she had sprinted through the whole building. "You bastards," she huffed, hands on her knees. "I want in on one of your missions too." The squad barely acknowledged her, their banter continuing while the captain droned on, almost like the briefing was just a formality. Finally, he snapped, telling them to focus. One of the Crows just smirked. "It''s gonna be easy as always¡ªno need for a briefing." The room broke into laughter. The captain chucked a stick at him, smacking him on the shoulder. The idiot just laughed harder, rubbing the spot before casually turning to the others. "Alright, bets are open. How bad is Vega gonna screw up? And who¡¯s taking a bullet this time?" More laughter. More jokes. Just another mission. For them, at least. Vega leaned back against the steel wall of the AC-Crow, the same aircraft she had seen them jump from before. This time, she was in it with them. She had only half-jokingly asked to join a mission. Now, here she was, staring at the others as they sat dead silent, checking their gear. No jokes, no taunts, no reckless grins¡ªjust quiet, methodical preparation. She expected someone to break the tension, but no one did. For thirty long minutes, the silence sat heavy in the air. Then, the light above the exit turned green. "Drop." One by one, the Crows vanished into the night. Vega hesitated for half a second before taking the leap. The desert stretched out in every direction, endless sand dunes swallowing the horizon. Vega groaned, wiping sweat off her forehead. "How much farther?" One of the Crows turned his head slightly, voice flat. "Shut up and walk." After what felt like an eternity, they crested a dune¡ªand there it was. A heavily fortified mansion sat in the middle of nowhere, guarded like a fortress. The scout returned, dropping into a crouch beside them. "Three tanks, armored jeeps, and APCs doing scout rounds. If we fuck up, we¡¯re dead. And we don¡¯t have heavy weaponry." His eyes flicked to the two idiots still slightly tinted neon green. "You two stay extra careful, or I¡¯m leaving you behind enemy lines." The two of them chuckled like it was a joke. "Got it, boss." "I''m not joking." Silence. The fence was cut, the floodlights dodged, the patrols slipped past. They moved like ghosts through the halls of the mansion, scanning files, hacking terminals, and taking every scrap of information they could find. As they swept through the mansion, the Crows moved like shadows, rifling through every file and folder they could get their hands on. Base locations, troop movements, classified intel¡ªanything of value was fair game. "Hey, check this out," one of the Crows muttered, holding up a document. "This guy''s got offshore accounts in half a dozen countries. Think he¡¯d mind if we made a withdrawal?" "Shut up and focus," another hissed, stuffing files into a pack. Vega, flipping through a folder, furrowed her brows. "Why does he have schematics for missile silos? I thought this guy was just logistics." "Probably has his fingers in a lot of pies," a Crow muttered, barely looking up. "Not our problem, though¡ªjust grab everything." Then, the silence was broken. A soft creak. A rustle. The door to their room slowly swung open. In less than a second, every Crow had their weapon raised, eyes locked on the entrance. Fingers hovered over triggers, breaths held. Then¡ªa cat. A sleek black cat strolled into the room, tail flicking. One of the Crows instinctively reached out to pet it. "Hey, little guy¡ª" The cat hissed and knocked over a flower pot. Crash. "Shit." From downstairs, a voice called up. "Who¡¯s up there?" The squad froze. "Find a spot, now," someone whispered. Papers were shoved back into drawers, bodies scrambled behind furniture, under desks, into the shadows. The heavy thud of boots on the stairs grew louder. A second later, the door swung fully open. A soldier stood there, eyes scanning the room. His gaze locked onto them¡ª He inhaled, mouth opening¡ª Swish. A blade buried itself between his eyes before a single sound could escape his throat. The body hit the floor. Vega barely breathed, staring at the Crow who had thrown the knife. He walked over, yanked it free with a wet schlck wiped the blade Then it happened. A sharp crack echoed through the night. A sniper shot. One of the neon-green idiots went down hard. Vega instinctively lunged forward, but before she could even reach him, the other idiot yanked her back. "You have zero field experience, really? Running in front of the same window a sniper just fired from?" He was already bandaging his friend, pressing down hard to stop the bleeding. Then, the alarms went off. But not normal alarms. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Crow alarms. Instantly, the Crows stiffened. "Fuck." These alarms weren¡¯t for intruders. They were specifically designed to warn the world that the Crows were on-site. Outside, every tank, jeep, and patrol unit was closing in, surrounding the mansion. They weren¡¯t opening fire. Not yet. Because the Crows had something valuable. The captain stayed calm. He knew they couldn¡¯t take this many head-on. "Retreat. Now." The Crows didn¡¯t hesitate. The back wall of the mansion came down in an explosion, and one by one, they escaped into the dunes. Only then did the captain make his move, slipping through the opening last¡ª BANG. The retreat stopped. Every single Crow turned. Their grins, their recklessness¡ªall of it vanished. "Shit, shit¡ªget him up!" Two Crows grabbed him, hauling him away as fast as possible. "Stay with us, Captain!" The radio exploded with voices. "We need extraction! NOW!" Vega ran with them, her mind spinning. They weren¡¯t just running. They were running for the first time. And not from death. From the thought of their captain dying. They made it to higher ground¡ªsomewhere the enemy vehicles couldn¡¯t climb. Vega ran, her boots pounding against the sand, the weight of her gear slowing her down. But the others weren¡¯t slowing. They couldn¡¯t. Two Crows dragged the captain, his blood leaving a dark trail in the sand. His breaths were shallow, but his voice was still there, gritted, steady. "Keep moving. Don¡¯t stop." "Shut up," one of them muttered, voice tight. "We¡¯re getting you out." Behind them, the enemy advanced. APCs rolling over dunes, tanks positioning their turrets. The Crows had no heavy weapons. Yet. At the top of the sand dune, one of the Crows pressed down on the captain¡¯s wound, his hands slick with blood. ¡°Damn it, damn it¡ªhold on, Captain. We¡¯re getting you out of here. Just stay with us, alright? Don¡¯t you dare die on us.¡± Another Crow paced nearby, his fingers clenched around his rifle, his breathing ragged. His rage burned so hot it looked like he could punch through steel. ¡°Where the hell is that extraction? They said five minutes¡ª" He checked his watch. "Two minutes. Feels like twenty." His voice cracked. Then the blame started. ¡°If you hadn¡¯t gotten shot,¡± one of them snarled, shoving the neon idiot back, ¡°none of this would¡¯ve happened. The Captain would still be fine! But no, you just had to glow like a damn beacon¡ª¡± He swung, landing a hard punch to the idiot¡¯s gut. The Captain coughed, spitting blood onto the sand. ¡°Calm down,¡± he muttered, his voice weaker than they¡¯d ever heard it. ¡°It¡¯s just a goddamn bullet wound¡ª¡± The Crow holding him down flinched as his hands shook against the wound. ¡°N-no¡ªdon¡¯t say that, don¡¯t¡ª¡± His voice broke. Another Crow ripped his radio from his vest, screaming into the comms. ¡°Where the fuck is our extraction?! We need it now! Now!¡± And for the first time, Vega saw it. Not the unshakable warriors. Just a group of soldiers, clinging desperately to the one thing keeping them from falling apart. A Crow who had been scouting ahead stumbled back over the dune, his face pale. His rifle hung loose in his grip. His voice was hollow when he spoke. ¡°We¡¯re dead.¡± The others turned to him, their blood running cold. ¡°We let the Captain down.¡± He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. ¡°Tanks aren¡¯t marching straight to us¡­ they¡¯re circling. Closing in. Locking us in¡ª¡± His throat bobbed. ¡°They¡¯re going to kill us here.¡± He turned to the Captain, his voice breaking. ¡°W-we let you down, sir¡­ This is on us.¡± His fingers clenched around his vest. ¡°We messed around. We got careless. We got you shot.¡± His knees nearly buckled. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir. We¡¯re so sorry.¡± Vega sat in the corner, motionless. Her face was blank, but inside, her mind was drowning in the crushing weight of reality. They were going to die here. She should have been afraid of the enemy closing in, of the tanks encircling them like vultures, of the sheer firepower waiting to rip them apart. But she wasn¡¯t. No¡ªher fear came from something else entirely. She was afraid of them. Afraid of seeing fear in the faces of the Crows. They had always been untouchable¡ªlaughing in the face of death, treating war like a twisted game. Yet now, as their captain bled out in the sand, their hands shook. Their voices cracked. Their eyes darted to the horizon, desperate for the sound of rotors that hadn''t yet come. For the first time, she saw something she never thought possible. The Crows were afraid. And that terrified her more than anything. Then¡ª Rotor blades. The chopper cut through the night sky, its searchlight locking onto them. The second it hovered low, the Crows didn¡¯t hesitate. They didn¡¯t board immediately. They threw vega in "your not ready for this part" said one to her Then they threw the captain in. The medic grabbed him, pressing down on his wound. "We¡¯re stabilizing him. You need to go¡ª" But the Crows weren¡¯t leaving. They weren¡¯t running anymore. Instead, they turned to the chopper¡¯s weapons rack. Vega watched as they pulled out launchers, LMGs, and explosives. The extraction team¡¯s pilot cursed. "What the fuck are you doing? Get in!" One of the Crows loaded a rocket launcher, resting it on his shoulder. "We¡¯re going back." The pilot stared. "Are you insane?" No response. They were already moving. The enemy patrols barely had time to react. By the time the first APC exploded, Vega could hear them panicking. "They were retreating¡ªwhat the hell happened¡ª" The APC commander¡¯s voice trembled, the words barely escaping his lips. He knew the Crows¡¯ reputation. He knew their capabilities. Every soldier in this war had heard the stories. But now, he was living one. And he just realized¡ªshooting their captain hadn¡¯t secured them a victory. It had sealed their fate. This wasn¡¯t just a death sentence. No, this was something far worse. Something beyond imagination. Beyond words. The kind of punishment no one had ever lived long enough to describe. The commander whispered to himself, voice trembling, "No... no, this isn''t supposed to be happening. We were winning. We could have lived..." His breath came in short, panicked gasps as he fumbled for his radio, desperate. "HQ, requesting reinforcement! We¡ª" The reply cut through the static, cold and final. "Negative, commander. We can''t waste troops fighting those demons. May God be with you. May your death be painless. You''ve served your country well." Silence. His hands went limp. His chest tightened. And for the first time, he understood¡ªHQ had already buried him. A Crow sniper took his man''s head off mid-sentence. No mercy. No hesitation. This wasn¡¯t a fight. This was punishment. Tanks burned under a second. Patrols were cut down before they could even radio for backup. Their body immideatly burned in revenge. Nothing was stopping them.... Nothing could. The commander sat frozen inside his tank, his breath shallow as the sounds of LMGs and rocket launchers echoed all around him. Explosions lit up the battlefield, and through the radio, he heard only screams¡ªhis men being torn apart like they were nothing. Nothing could stop the Crows. Not his forces. Not his tanks. Not even God himself. His fate was sealed. Vega watched everything through their body cams. She saw the absolute precision. No laughter. No cocky remarks. Just death. By the time they reached the mansion again, they weren¡¯t shooting anymore. They didn¡¯t kill them. Not right away. One by one, they shot out legs and arms¡ªcrippling them, but keeping them alive. Screams echoed through the halls, but the Crows moved with chilling efficiency. Room after room, the mansion fell without a fight. Nothing here could challenge them. Nothing here deserved mercy. Then came the real punishment. They dragged every surviving soldier into the grand hall. Eyes were punctured. Tongues cut out. One man¡ªperhaps an officer, perhaps just unlucky¡ªwas hoisted by the neck at the mansion¡¯s entrance, his lifeless body swaying under the carved words on his chest: "Shot our captain." And the rest? They were left inside the mansion. They sealed the gates. Then¡ª Fire. The mansion, the soldiers, the blueprints they had come for¡ªall of it burned. That night became a story whispered in fear. A legend passed through enemy ranks. They called it ¡°The Echos of Death.¡± Why? Because those trapped inside weren¡¯t just burned. They were covered in a special accelerant¡ªone that made the fire slow to touch, slow to consume. At first, it only scorched, heating their flesh like a furnace before the flames truly took hold. The mansion became an inferno of agony, their screams carrying through the night, long before the fire turned them to ash. No bodies. No remains. Just a ruined mansion and the ghostly echoes of their final cries. And even then, as the flames consumed everything behind them, some of the Crows were still crying. Not because of what they had done. Because their captain had been shot. For the first time, Vega understood. The Crows weren¡¯t just brutal killers. They were something worse. They were a pack. And when you wound the alpha¡ª The whole pack bites back. This time, Vega didn''t feel respect for the Crows¡ªshe felt fear. Not the fear of death, but the fear of what they could become. She had seen them reckless, brutal, and efficient, but this was something else. What happens when their captain is wounded? What if one of them is killed? What if they had the right weapons to match their rage? The thought alone sent a chill down her spine. Then there was that alarm¡ªnot a warning, but a declaration. A sound designed solely to tell the world: The Crows are here. She had watched enemy soldiers stiffen at its wail, fear gripping them before the first shot was even fired. She had heard of the Crows before she joined them, but she never truly understood why they were feared. Not until she saw it herself. Not until the night whispered its truth to her. Not until she witnessed revenge itself take form in their eyes. Her spine shivered as a chilling realization settled in¡ªthe Crows weren¡¯t just a squad, they were a force. A worldwide militia with hundreds, maybe thousands, of squads just as brutal, just as efficient. If a single team could reduce an entire battlefield to ruin in their captain¡¯s name, what could an army of them do? They weren¡¯t just mercenaries. They were something far worse. She whispered under her breath, barely audible over the distant echoes of fire and death. "Demons¡­ they¡¯re demons in human skin." She didn¡¯t see them as humans anymore¡ªonly walking nightmares draped in human skin, thriving in war, protecting only one thing: their captain. Her hands trembled, not from fear, but from disgust. Disgust at them. Disgust at herself. Just minutes ago, she had been one of them. She no longer admired the Crows. Now, all she felt was horror. If a single squad could unleash such devastation, what could their entire militia do? They had the power to bring nations to their knees, yet they hadn¡¯t. Why? Why weren¡¯t they ruling the world? Her voice wavered in a hushed whisper. ¡°They weren¡¯t human¡­ They never were¡­ They weren¡¯t even pretending to be¡­ Demons. They were always demons. And they always will be.¡± --- Scene ¨C The UN Meeting The UN chambers are suffocatingly tense. World leaders, military officials, and diplomats sit in silence as the broadcast goes live. The screen flickers on, revealing a Crow high commander seated at a long, dimly lit table. Two Crow guards stand behind him, unmoving. The UN representative clears his throat before speaking. UN Representative: "The events at the ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€ mansion were a blatant violation of international law. The Crows have committed war crimes¡ªacts of inhuman brutality that cannot go unpunished. We demand immediate action against this squad." The high commander doesn¡¯t react immediately. Instead, he lets the silence stretch. Then, with deliberate calm, he leans forward, lacing his fingers together. Crow High Commander: "A war crime? Let¡¯s not pretend this is about ¡®justice.¡¯ If another nation had done this, you¡¯d call it strategic warfare. But because it was us, suddenly, the rules apply?" A murmur ripples through the chamber. The UN official exhales sharply, but before he can retort, the commander continues. Crow High Commander: "Let me make one thing clear. The Crows do not answer to nations. We do not bend to treaties. You can threaten us, sanction us, or brand us as monsters. It changes nothing. We don¡¯t fight wars. We end them. And if you come for us¡­" His voice lowers, almost a whisper, yet it carries more weight than a thousand threats. Crow High Commander: "We will remind you why nations fear the dark." The silence that follows is suffocating. Not a single leader dares to respond. The commander exhales, glancing at the cameras broadcasting the meeting worldwide. Then, as if remembering something, he gives a small, humorless chuckle. Crow High Commander: "To the people watching this¡ªyes, we may seem ruthless. We may seem cold. But believe it or not¡­" He pauses, his expression unreadable. Then, with an almost mocking smirk, he delivers his final words. Crow High Commander: "We still have one last shred of morality." The air in the chamber shifts. Confusion. Suspicion. What did he mean? The world doesn¡¯t know. But the Crows do. With that, he stands, adjusting his uniform. His gaze sweeps across the silent room before he scoffs. Crow High Commander: "That¡¯s what I thought. Everyone has zero balls." He turns on his heel, exiting with his two Crow guards in tow. Outside, a military-grade chopper waits. As the camera lingers, the world catches a glimpse inside¡ªa flying arsenal. Every single illegal, war-crime-level weapon imaginable is strapped inside. Cluster munitions, napalm, biochemical warheads¡ªenough firepower to erase entire cities. The commander steps inside, takes a seat, and nods to the pilot. As the chopper ascends into the stormy skies, one question lingers in the minds of every world leader, every soldier, every citizen watching: If that was their "last shred of morality"¡­ then what happens when they lose it? --- Ch-4 one day buisness After that night, the Crows were back at their home base, shoveling down food as usual. The mess hall buzzed with casual banter¡ªuntil the doors swung open. A Crow stepped inside. He looked like any other, same uniform, same gear, but something about him carried the weight of years. A veteran. Silence fell instantly. One of the Crows, barely swallowing his last bite, muttered, ¡°Is it happening? Is it really happening? Who even tried that?¡± The veteran gave a slow, deliberate nod. That was all it took. Every Crow in the room shot up, chairs screeching against the floor as they scrambled for their weapons. Boots pounded against steel floors, grabbing gear, loading mags. A storm of motion. Vega, still seated, watched the chaos unfold. She turned to the Captain, who was already strapping on his vest. ¡°Where are you going?¡± she asked. The Captain didn¡¯t even look at her. ¡°Stay out of this. You don¡¯t want to know.¡± And just like that, they were gone. --- Scene Change The Crows arrived at one of their most secure facilities¡ªa heavily fortified stronghold buried in steel and concrete. Hundreds of Crows were already there, moving with deadly purpose. No jokes, no chatter. Just preparation. And then¡ªalarms. A deafening wail blared through the base. Every Crow dropped what they were doing and got into position. No offense. No counter-attack. This time, they were locking down. They were on defense. Then came the explosions. One after another, boom¡ªboom¡ªboom¡ªthe ground shook as breaches blew open along the perimeter. Dust and debris filled the air, and then they saw it¡ªan army. More than a battalion, more than they had ever faced in a single battle. The enemy flooded in like a tidal wave, guns blazing, outnumbering them ten to one. The Crows held the line. They had no choice. They weren¡¯t winning this fight. They were buying time. Reinforcements were 45 minutes out. The enemy knew that. And they were playing dirty¡ªthrowing men into the meat grinder, treating their soldiers like disposable clones. For every Crow standing, ten more enemy soldiers crashed into them. They fell back, step by step, deeper into the facility. Hallways turned into kill zones. Blood painted the walls. Their last stand was at the blast doors¡ªa massive missile bay behind them, housing the very thing they were sent to protect. Pinned down, gunfire hammering against their cover, it was only a matter of time before they broke. And then¡ª Their radios crackled to life. ¡°Reinforcements in 3¡­2¡­1¡ª¡± A thunderous explosion from outside. The enemy forces faltered. Confusion swept through their ranks. Their last desperate push became frantic, their movements erratic. The Crows inside could hear the gunfire shifting, the battle tilting in their favor. And as their reinforcements stormed the facility, the fifty Crows in the last stand finally allowed themselves a breath. For now. The Crows spread across multiple battlefields, reinforcing their other bases under attack. Some had already fallen, others were barely holding on, but by the end of the day, every single attacker was wiped out. As the Crows swept through the wreckage, they found enemy soldiers still breathing, struggling to crawl away. A few reached out, pleading in broken English. ¡°P-please¡­ no more¡­¡± A Crow cocked his rifle. Click. ¡°No stragglers.¡± Gunfire echoed. Even their own wounded weren¡¯t spared. The Crows never left anyone behind¡ªnot even the dying. But stopping the attack wasn''t enough. Now, it was time for the hunt. They weren¡¯t just predators¡ªthey were the predators even other predators feared. Scene Change ¨C Mafia Office A Crow sat in the bloodstained office of a mafia boss, boots resting on the desk, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The boss was tied to a chair, shaking, his face bruised and bloodied. Outside, his men were nothing but corpses. "Spill it," the Crow said, tapping ash onto the desk. "You know it, and we want it." The boss clenched his jaw, staring at the bodies outside. ¡°If I talk, I¡¯m dead anyway.¡± The Crow chuckled, leaning forward. "You¡¯re already dead. But how much it hurts? That¡¯s still up to you." A long silence. Then, the boss broke, spilling everything¡ªnames, locations, numbers. When he finished, he looked up, desperate. ¡°I told you everything! You said¡ª¡± Bang. The Crow exhaled, flicking the cigarette onto the body. ¡°I never said anything.¡± Scene Change ¨C AC-Crow Inbound Inside the AC-Crow, silence. Fifty Crows sat shoulder to shoulder, where only a squad would go, faces unreadable behind their gear. A single voice cut through the quiet. ¡°This is revenge, not war.¡± Another chuckled. ¡°Revenge is just war made personal.¡± The red light above flickered. The captain finally spoke. ¡°Remember¡ªno Russians.¡± The light turned green. They jumped. Scene Change ¨C Russian Militia Base Below them, a heavily armed compound, belonging to a militia that had stayed out of the war¡ªuntil they made the mistake of attacking the Crows. They landed undetected, shadows moving through the night. As they reached the electrical grid, one of them whispered, ¡°Cut it.¡± The power died. Inside the base, shouts erupted in Russian. Boots scrambled, weapons clicked. The soldiers had no idea where to shoot. But one word kept repeating in their panicked voices. "Crows." Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. A soldier turned a corner, flashlight shaking¡ªonly to be met with a blade to the throat. Another blindly fired into the darkness, his gun clicking empty¡ªbefore a silenced shot put him down. Room by room, hall by hall, the Crows cleared the base with silent efficiency. Every enemy fell. Not even screams were left behind. Once the compound was secure, they spread out, drenching the base in gasoline. The captain stepped over a fallen Russian soldier, noticing a faded photo clutched in his cold hands¡ªa wife and child smiling up at him. The Crow scoffed. ¡°A gun would¡¯ve been more useful.¡± He struck a match. The fire spread fast, consuming the base, thick smoke rising into the sky. One of the Crows adjusted his rifle, glancing back at the inferno. ¡°We should¡¯ve grabbed a car or two.¡± The others chuckled, then turned away, vanishing into the night. The moment they exited the base, something shifted. Without warning, every Crow turned, moving in perfect sync, pinning one of their own to the ground. The man thrashed, eyes darting in panic, but he knew¡ªhe had been caught. The Captain stepped forward, boots crunching against the dirt. He stared down at the traitor, his expression unreadable. Then, in a low, measured tone, he spoke. "You¡¯re not very good at hiding." The traitor¡¯s breath hitched. The Captain crouched beside him, pouring gasoline over his trembling body. The liquid soaked into his uniform, the stench of fuel mixing with sweat and fear. "The way you hesitated..." the Captain continued, almost conversationally. "Taking your time to follow orders. Trying to drag the fight out. Glancing at me¡ªnervous, just hoping I''d turn my back." The traitor whimpered. The Captain struck a match. The flame flickered, reflected in the terrified man¡¯s eyes. "You did this to yourself." He dropped it. Fire erupted. The traitor screamed, writhing as the flames consumed him, his voice cracking into raw, primal agony. "No! Noooo! Help me!" he begged. His squadmates didn¡¯t move. They just watched, silent, unfazed. One Crow exhaled, shaking his head. "Pathetic." Another muttered, "He was dead the moment he betrayed us." The flames roared higher. His screams turned to choking gasps. His skin blackened, his eyes boiled¡ªuntil there was nothing left. They walked away before the fire even died out. A few miles from the burning corpse, the Crows deployed a pick-up balloon. A small, high-pressure helium balloon carrying a reinforced tether shot into the sky. They locked their harnesses onto the line. Then they waited. Minutes passed. Then¡ªa roaring engine. The AC-Crow approached, its massive silhouette cutting through the night. The large hook at its nose latched onto the balloon, yanking the entire squad into the air in a single, fluid motion. Suspended hundreds of feet above the ground, they climbed¡ªone by one¡ªinto the aircraft. As soon as the last Crow entered, the hangar doors sealed shut. They were finally heading home. Or so they thought. A deafening explosion rocked the aircraft. The hangar doors blasted apart in a fireball, sending shockwaves through the cabin. "Missile impact!" someone shouted. The AC-Crow lurched, alarms blaring as smoke poured in. "More incoming¡ªfive, no, six SAMs!" Outside, the Russian militia wasn¡¯t finished. Anti-air missiles streaked through the night, locking onto them. The pilot fought to evade, launching flares, twisting through the sky, but the enemy had too many eyes in the air. "Brace! We''re not making it!" Without hesitation, the Crows jumped. Fourty figures dived into the abyss, vanishing into the darkness below. --- The Hunt Turns to Survival They hit the ground hard. Too hard. Some rolled, recovering instantly. Others groaned, limbs aching from the impact. No time to rest. A deep, guttural engine roar echoed through the trees. Armored vehicles. The Crows froze. They had landed too close to an enemy patrol. Worse, attack helicopters circled above, sweeping the ground with searchlights. They were trapped. For the first time in this entire operation¡ªthey were the prey. "We don''t engage," the Captain ordered, voice firm. "No noise. No movement. We walk." And so they did. They moved like ghosts, slipping through trees, weaving through r uins. Avoiding every patrol. They took detours. They crouched in rivers, waiting for searchlights to pass. They moved inch by inch, careful, methodical. Because they knew¡ªif they were spotted, the sky itself would burn them alive Scene: The Second U.N. Meeting The conference hall is suffocating with tension. Diplomats, military officials, and intelligence officers sit in grim silence. One question looms over them all: ¡°Who did it?¡± Who wiped out half of the Russian militia in a single night? The double doors swing open. A Crow officer strides in, flanked by two guards. Their black uniforms, emotionless faces, and calm, methodical steps make the room feel colder. The murmurs die instantly. A U.S. diplomat clears his throat. ¡°We suspect your forces entered Russian soil and carried out an unauthorized military operation.¡± The Russian diplomat slams his hand on the table. ¡°Don¡¯t suspect, we know! They butchered our men! These ruthless, bloodthirsty bastards must be arrested¡ªnow!¡± The Crow officer barely acknowledges him. Instead, he leans back in his chair, amused. Another diplomat raises a hand to calm the situation. ¡°Let¡¯s not escalate this further. We need to hear their side first.¡± All eyes lock onto the Crow officer. He stays silent for a moment. Then, with a cold smirk, he finally speaks. ¡°It¡¯s funny.¡± His voice is low, laced with mockery. ¡°When our bases were attacked, no one batted an eye. But now that we retaliated, suddenly we¡¯re the villains?¡± A European diplomat narrows his eyes. ¡°There were civilians inside. And you burned it to the ground.¡± The Crow officer chuckles. ¡°Civilians? Sir, you really need better intelligence. All we found were soldiers in civilian clothes.¡± The Russian diplomat snaps. He shoots up from his seat, rage distorting his face. ¡°Enough! You think you can just walk in here, mock us, and get away with it? You think you¡¯re untouchable?¡± He lunges at the Crow officer. Before he even reaches him¡ªa gunshot echoes through the room. One of the Crow guards moves faster than anyone can react. The Russian diplomat collapses back into his seat, gripping his leg, blood pooling beneath him. His screams of agony fill the silence. The Crow officer doesn¡¯t even flinch. He simply exhales, rubbing his temple. ¡°Jesus. I was hoping to get through this without unnecessary noise.¡± He glances at the wounded diplomat. ¡°Next time, use your words.¡± The room is frozen. No one dares to speak. His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. ¡°You can investigate us if you want. But be very, very careful. You might stumble upon something unrelated to this¡­ and we¡¯d be forced to take action.¡± He turns his gaze to the U.S. diplomat. ¡°Apologies for diverting our forces from your ongoing operations. We¡¯ll refund every dollar you paid us this month. Tomorrow, we resume service as usual.¡± Without another word, he stands. His guards follow, their boots echoing ominously. He strides out of the room, heading straight toward the waiting Crow chopper¡ªfully loaded with enough illegal firepower to wipe the U.N. building off the map. As the engines roar to life, the world realizes one thing. The Crows don¡¯t take orders. They give them. --- Scene: After the Crows Leave The moment the Crow officer disappears beyond the double doors, the silence is deafening. The Russian diplomat is still on the floor, clutching his bleeding leg, his breathing ragged. The security team rushes to his aid, but no one speaks. Then, slowly, every set of eyes turns toward the U.S. diplomat. A European official finally breaks the silence, his voice laced with disbelief. ¡°You hired monsters to end this war.¡± The U.S. diplomat exhales, adjusting his tie as if this was just another routine meeting. His face remains impassive. ¡°We pay for their loyalty,¡± he says. His tone is flat, unwavering. ¡°Not for the things they do. Even we won¡¯t take action against them.¡± A heavy weight settles over the room. They all realize something terrifying. The Crows don¡¯t follow laws. They don¡¯t fear consequences. And worst of all¡ªeven the most powerful nations in the world won¡¯t dare stop them. --- The meeting room was a battlefield of its own. Diplomats shouted over one another, debating whether they should unite and wipe out the Crows before it was too late. ¡°They¡¯re getting too strong! If we wait any longer¡ª¡± ¡°If we attack now, it would be suicidal!¡± Silence fell as all eyes turned to the U.S. diplomat. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his voice calm but firm. ¡°You all knew what would happen when we hired them,¡± he said, glancing around. ¡°And now that they¡¯re doing exactly what we paid them to do, you suddenly want them gone?¡± No one responded. The diplomat scoffed. ¡°Just remember¡ªthis is your war, not ours. If you want them gone, you do it yourselves. The U.S. won¡¯t lift a finger against them.¡± Vega watched it all unfold from the television in her quarters. The screen flickered as news anchors debated the Crows¡¯ actions. Some defended them. Others called them war criminals. But none dared suggest punishing them. She stared at the screen, her grip on the remote tightening. She no longer saw them as soldiers¡ªjust mercenaries with no regard for law or morality. They weren¡¯t protectors. They weren¡¯t heroes. They were killers. Killers who needed to be wiped out, erased from history. Just then, a commotion echoed from outside. Vega turned to the window. The old squad¡ªthe same Crows she had fought beside¡ªhad returned. A crowd of her soldiers surrounded the gates, cheering for their ¡°heroes.¡± The Crows marched through without a care, their usual arrogant swagger in full display. Straight to the cafeteria, as always. She followed them. Inside, the Crows lined up, dropping small tokens onto the lunch lady¡¯s counter¡ªdog tags, badges, spent bullets¡ªlittle offerings to their favorite cook. ¡°Extra rations for the war heroes?¡± one of them smirked. The lunch lady rolled her eyes but piled on the food anyway. The Crows cheered, laughing like kids in a school cafeteria. Vega clenched her jaw. They were celebrating. They had burned men alive, massacred an entire militia in a single night, and now they were joking over trays of food as if none of it mattered. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to step forward. A Crow soldier turned to her, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Something wrong, lieutenant?¡± She didn¡¯t answer immediately. She studied his expression, searching for even the slightest hint of remorse. There was none. ¡°How do you justify what you did?¡± she finally asked. The Crow smirked. ¡°Just another job, nothing personal.¡± Vega¡¯s stomach twisted. She wanted to say something¡ªwanted to scream at them, to tell them they were no better than the monsters they claimed to fight. But she couldn¡¯t. Not yet. Not until the time was right. As she turned to leave, a voice stopped her in her tracks. ¡°It¡¯s funny, isn¡¯t it?¡± She glanced back. A Crow leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring at her with an unreadable expression. ¡°We were never meant to survive this war.¡± Then he walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Inside her quarters, Vega sat in silence, the blue glow of the television flickering against the walls. The news droned on about the Crows, their latest massacre being analyzed from every angle. Some called them war heroes, others war criminals. The debate was endless. Then, from just outside her door, she heard voices. ¡°They burned people alive, man,¡± one of her soldiers muttered. His voice was hushed but filled with anger. ¡°They¡¯ve committed more war crimes than I can count, and no one bats an eye. If it were us, we¡¯d be locked up.¡± His companion scoffed. ¡°And yet, they¡¯ve saved our asses more times than we can count.¡± Vega leaned forward, listening. ¡°They¡¯re my heroes, okay?¡± the second soldier continued. ¡°I don¡¯t care what they do¡ªthey get the job done. While we¡¯re stuck following the Geneva Conventions because we have to, they do what¡¯s effective.¡± The first soldier let out a bitter laugh. ¡°So what, we just ignore the atrocities? Just let them play executioner because it¡¯s convenient?¡± ¡°You can whine about morals all you want,¡± the second soldier shot back, ¡°but at the end of the day, they do what we can¡¯t. And we¡¯re still alive because of it.¡± There was a pause, then a sigh. ¡°Whatever, man,¡± the first soldier mumbled. ¡°I just don¡¯t think we should be worshiping them.¡± ¡°Then don¡¯t. But I¡¯m going to get drunk with them anyway.¡± He chuckled. ¡°Come on, the ¡®heroes¡¯ are drinking till they pass out. Let¡¯s go have some fun.¡± Their voices faded as they walked away. Vega sat there, staring at the screen, the weight of their words pressing down on her. Outside, the Crows were being treated like legends. Inside, she felt the bitter taste of disgust rising in her throat. They weren¡¯t heroes. They were killers who had been allowed to thrive. Vega sat in her quarters, fingers tapping against the desk. The voices of her men still echoed in her head. Heroes¡­ criminals¡­ they do what we can¡¯t¡­ She didn¡¯t even flinch when a knock came at the door. The Crow Captain stepped in, casual as ever, a faint smell of gunpowder still clinging to his gear. He pulled a chair and sat across from her, resting his arms on the table. "You''ve been looking at us differently, Vega." His voice was calm. Not accusing. Just observing. Vega met his gaze but said nothing. The Captain leaned back slightly. ¡°You think we¡¯re monsters, don¡¯t you?¡± Her jaw tightened. ¡°You don¡¯t follow rules. You don¡¯t hold back. You burn people alive.¡± The Captain let out a short, dry chuckle. ¡°And yet, when the world needs something done, who do they call? Who do they pay?¡± He leaned forward, lowering his voice. ¡°You think they hate us? They love us. They love that we do the things they¡¯re too scared to admit they need.¡± Vega¡¯s hands curled into fists. The Captain stood up, adjusting his gear. ¡°Sleep on it, L ieutenant. We¡¯re not your problem.¡± He walked to the door, then paused. ¡°By the way,¡± he said "do you know what''s the most effective war crime?" He smirks and says "the one noone admits is one" With that he left The repairs The entire squad gathered in the hangar, staring at the battered AC-Crow. The once-mighty warbird stood with its hangar doors blown off, scorch marks running along its fuselage, and exposed wiring hanging like torn veins. Silence hung in the air until one of them sighed. ¡°He was a real one.¡± Another Crow nodded solemnly. ¡°Never left us behind. We won¡¯t leave him either.¡± A third Crow clapped his hands together. ¡°Alright, boys. We rebuild.¡± With that, the hangar erupted into movement. They ordered new cargo doors, paid triple their paychecks out of their own pockets, and gathered welding materials, spare parts, and enough flares to light up a battlefield for miles. As the supplies rolled in, half of them cried in bankruptcy. The other half cried in joy at getting to repair their beloved plane. Half the squad got to work¡ªwelding the new doors, rewiring controls, and running diagnostics. Others loaded flares, checked parachutes, and tested engines. The rest? They just sat back and watched, arms crossed, eyes filled with pride like fathers watching their daughter get ready for prom. Then, as sparks flew from the welders and tools clanked against metal, the captain leaned against the AC-Crow¡¯s hull and muttered, almost to himself¡ª "Drift, drift, little star, Sleep will take you near, not far¡­¡± The nearest Crow paused, turning to stare. Another one snickered. "No way you''re singing a lullaby right now." The captain smirked and kept going. "Close your eyes, the winds are kind, Rest your wings and rest your mind..." One by one, the rest of the squad joined in. Their deep voices hummed through the hangar, soft yet powerful, echoing against the metal walls. The whole runway filled with hardened killers¡ªmercenaries feared across the world¡ªsinging a lullaby as they repaired their fallen warbird. And in that moment, they weren¡¯t just soldiers. They were brothers. As the lullaby filled the hangar, the Crows couldn¡¯t help but let their chaotic energy seep through. One of them, grinning like a madman, reached for the intercom. With a quick flick, he blasted his voice at full volume, singing the lullaby like a drunken opera singer. The entire squad screamed in agony, clutching their ears like they¡¯d just been hit with a flashbang. ¡°TURN THAT OFF, YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE!¡± The offender barely had time to react before half the squad tackled him to the ground. A flurry of punches and kicks rained down as the intercom finally went silent. The captain, barely holding back a laugh, shook his head. ¡°Deserved.¡± Meanwhile, another Crow, clearly bored, decided it was the perfect time to test the engines. With a casual flip of a switch, the massive jet turbine roared to life¡ªexcept one of their guys was standing right in front of it. The poor soul barely had time to react. He threw himself to the side in a last-second dodge, but not before the sheer force of the turbine sliced off his index finger. Silence. Then, instead of screaming in pain, the guy shot to his feet, eyes wide with excitement. ¡°GUYS. I HAVE WAR LORE NOW!¡± The entire hangar froze. The squad exchanged looks, then burst into uncontrollable laughter. Even the captain had to take a knee, wheezing. The idiot who turned on the engine expected a beatdown¡ªbut it was just too funny. The AC-Crow wasn¡¯t just a plane. It was family. And the idiots fixing it? They were family, too. The captain stood up "well I''ve had enough fun clean up this mess whenever you leave" the captain leaves Crows'' Night of Chaos As the sun dipped below the horizon, the squad rolled their half-repaired AC-Crow back into the hangar, protecting their beloved warbird from whatever chaos the night might bring. And then? They did what any responsible, highly trained, elite mercenary unit would do. They cracked open a few crates of beer and sat in a circle, sharing stories. Crow 1: The Unexpected Offer One of them, already a few drinks in, wiped a tear from his eye. ¡°A¡¯ight, listen. Back in my old unit, we were tracking a suspect¡ªreal shady dude. Intel said he was up to no good.¡± He took a dramatic pause. ¡°So, we corner him in a dark alley, five guys in full gear. And you know what his first words were?¡± He put on his best sultry voice. ¡°I¡¯d charge five times for this.¡± The squad erupted. ¡°NO FUCKING WAY.¡± ¡°BRO, YOU RAIDED A GAY HOOKER?¡± He nodded, wiping his face. ¡°I swear on my life, the dude thought we were about to run a train.¡± Someone spat out their beer. ¡°Did he at least give a discount?¡± ¡°Nah, man, he had standards.¡± Crow 2: The "Hostile Chickens" Incident Another Crow, still wiping away tears, lifted his bottle. ¡°Alright, my turn. Remember that time we were ¡®de-escalating tensions¡¯ in that village?¡± A few of them groaned. ¡°Oh god, here we go¡­¡± He pointed at one of the younger Crows, who immediately hid his face in his hands. ¡°This dumbass decides to ¡®test¡¯ his brand-new grenade launcher. Where does he aim? AT A FUCKING CHICKEN COOP.¡± The squad was already wheezing. ¡°And then, as we¡¯re staring at the smoldering remains of the most well-cooked poultry in history, he has the audacity to look me in the eye and say¡ª¡± The guilty Crow, already half-drunk, groaned. ¡°Please don¡¯t.¡± ¡°¡ª¡®I thought it was an orphanage.¡¯¡± The squad collapsed. One of them was on the floor, kicking his feet like a toddler. Another Crow wiped his tears. ¡°Bro, we had to file a WHOLE MISSION REPORT about ¡®engaging hostile chickens.¡¯¡± The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The squad, in unison, raised their bottles. ¡°The most American thing ever.¡± Crow 3: The Tank Heist Another Crow, looking way too smug, leaned back against a crate. ¡°Alright, I got one. So there we were, pinned down, low on ammo, the usual deal.¡± He pointed at there commander for taht mission. ¡°And this dumbass keeps yelling, ¡®HOLD THE LINE, HOLD THE LINE!¡¯¡± The commander muttered, ¡°Because that was the ORDER, dipshit.¡± ¡°Anyway,¡± the Crow continued, grinning, ¡°I see something. A Russian tank. Just chilling there. No crew in sight. Keys in the ignition.¡± Someone gasped. ¡°No. Fucking. Way.¡± He grinned wider. ¡°Oh yeah. I jump in, fire it up, and start blasting.¡± The squad HOWLED. ¡°Bro, THE RUSSIANS STARTED SHOOTING AT EACH OTHER! THEY THOUGHT THEIR OWN TANK CREW WENT ROGUE.¡± One of them was literally in tears. ¡°What did command say after?¡± He shrugged, ¡°¡®Tactical advantage.¡¯¡± Another wave of uncontrollable laughter. Crows, Drunk and Happy The stories kept rolling, the beers kept flowing, and for a while¡ªjust a little while¡ªthe war didn¡¯t exist. The AC-Crow stood behind them, still half-repaired, but for now, it didn¡¯t matter. (Night ¨C The Drinking Games Begin) The squad is absolutely wasted at this point, empty beer bottles rolling across the hangar floor. Someone, for some reason, gets the genius idea to climb onto the Ac-Crow. Crow #1: ¡°Bet you can¡¯t climb to the top of the Ac-Crow.¡± Crow #2 (stumbling): ¡°Oh yeah? Watch me, you bastard.¡± As he drunkenly scales the side of the plane, the rest of the squad immediately turns on him, pelting him with empty bottles like a firing squad. Crow #3 (laughing hysterically): ¡°This is training for enemy snipers, my guy!¡± Crow #2 (dodging wildly): ¡°You motherfu¡ª¡± THUNK One bottle smacks him square in the forehead. He drops like a sack of potatoes, passed out cold on top of the plane. The squad cheers. Crow #4: ¡°Alright, game time. Last man standing wins.¡± They form a circle and start pounding drinks like their lives depend on it. Within an hour, half the squad is face-down on the floor. Crow #5 (barely conscious): ¡°Y¡¯all are weak¡­¡± faceplants into the ground Crow #6: ¡°Alright, new plan. Let¡¯s give our boy up there a real pp.¡± The remaining conscious idiots rush toward the Ac-Crow, grabbing spray paint. They start covering the plane in absolute nonsense¡ªbadly drawn dicks, military memes, and the phrase ¡°THIS MACHINE EATS RUSSIANS¡± in massive, crooked letters. One Crow, mid-spray, suddenly stops. Crow #7 (nodding seriously): ¡°We¡¯re artists.¡± Crow #8 (barely able to hold the can straight): ¡°This is our Sistine Chapel.¡± And just like that, one by one, they start passing out¡ªsome slumped over crates, some hanging halfway off the plane, and one guy literally curled up inside a spare jet engine. --- (Morning ¨C The Aftermath) Sunlight floods the hangar. The place looks like a war zone. - Beer bottles everywhere. - The Ac-Crow is an abomination. - Half the squad is sprawled across the floor like battlefield casualties. - One guy is still half-asleep, dangling off the wing. Their captain walks in, completely sober, surveying the destruction. He sighs. Captain: ¡°Alright, who the hell painted a giant dick on the cockpit?¡± Crow #9 (groaning, barely lifting his head): ¡°¡­Modern art.¡± The guy who climbed the plane last night wakes up, confused and hungover. Crow #2 (blinking, looking around): ¡°¡­Why am I up here?¡± Crow #3 (laughing weakly): ¡°You¡¯re the king of the idiots, my guy.¡± One Crow checks his phone and immediately panics. Crow #4 (sitting up fast): ¡°Oh shit! We were supposed to do a supply run at 0600!¡± They all freeze. Crow #5: ¡°¡­What time is it?¡± Crow #4 (looking at phone): ¡°¡­12:47.¡± A moment of silence. Then, chaos. They start scrambling to clean the hangar, shoving bottles under crates, rubbing off the spray paint (which does NOT come off easily), and trying to wake up the ones still passed out. One Crow gets the brilliant idea to turn on the hangar¡¯s alarm system. Crow #6 (grinning, pressing the button): ¡°Rise and shine, assholes.¡± A deafening siren blares through the han gar. Crow #7 (bolting awake, falling off the Ac-Crow): ¡°FUCK¡ª¡± THUD Crow #8 (half-conscious): ¡°¡­Am I dead?¡± The captain just watches, arms crossed, shaking his head. The Hangover Chronicles After the mad scramble to clean up their absolute disaster of a hangar, things somehow get worse. 1. The Supply Run Disaster With their brains barely functioning, they pile into an old cargo truck, still half-drunk, and floor it toward the supply depot. Crow #1 (driving, eyes bloodshot): ¡°I got this.¡± Crow #2: ¡°No, you don¡¯t. You ran over two cones just getting out of the hangar.¡± Crow #3 (from the back): ¡°Screw the cones, he almost ran over the captain.¡± Crow #4: ¡°Wait, where is the captain?¡± Crow #5 (checking mirror): ¡°¡­He¡¯s still in the hangar. Watching us. Arms crossed.¡± Silence. Then, someone in the back just bursts out laughing. Crow #6 (dying of laughter): ¡°He¡¯s 100% adding this to our discipline reports.¡± --- 2. The "Friendly" Chicken Incident On their way back, they make a quick stop at a village to grab food. One Crow, still very hungover, tries to steal a chicken. Crow #7 (grinning, holding a chicken): ¡°Look! Fresh dinner!¡± Crow #8: ¡°Bro, PUT IT BACK.¡± Crow #7: ¡°No, no, he¡¯s my emotional support chicken now.¡± Before they can stop him, the owner of the chicken¡ªa very angry old woman¡ªbursts out of her house and starts beating the absolute hell out of them with a broom. Crow #9 (running): ¡°WE¡¯RE SUPPOSED TO BE ELITE MERCENARIES, WHY ARE WE LOSING TO A GRANDMA?!¡± The chicken is eventually set free, but the squad barely escapes with their dignity. --- 3. The Intercom Incident (Part 2) That night, one Crow gets revenge for being pelted with bottles. He sneaks into the hangar, grabs the intercom, and starts BLASTING an old 90s boyband song at MAX VOLUME. Crow #10 (singing along): ¡°? Tell me why~ Ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ but a heaaaartache~ ?¡± Crow #11 (waking up in horror): ¡°WHO THE HELL GAVE HIM ACCESS TO THE INTERCOM AGAIN?!¡± The captain storms in, eyes dead inside. Captain: ¡°¡­I fucking hate all of you.¡± He yanks the plug, and the hangar goes completely silent. Then, after a long pause¡­ Crow #12 (weakly, from the back): ¡°¡­Tell me why¡­¡± The squad erupts into laughter. The captain walks out. He does not look back. Beer bottles rolled across the hangar floor, mixing with discarded spray cans, and someone was still hanging off the top of the AC-Crow, snoring like a chainsaw. Their ¡°artwork¡± from the previous night was now in full display¡ªbold, barely legible words sprawled across the aircraft¡¯s side: ¡°THIS THING EATS RUSSIANS.¡± No one knew who wrote it. No one cared. Then, like any group of responsible, highly trained mercenaries, they made the worst possible decision. ¡°Let¡¯s take him for a spin.¡± The pilot, still shaking off last night¡¯s alcohol, squinted at the controls, which were now covered in beer stains and greasy handprints. Someone had even drawn a very questionable-looking stick figure next to the missile countermeasure button. ¡°I don¡¯t think this is a good idea,¡± he muttered, rubbing his face. ¡°Which part?¡± his co-pilot asked. ¡°The fact that we¡¯re still legally drunk, or the part where half the squad is in the back, completely unstrapped?¡± Before either could voice a proper objection, the engines roared to life. --- The takeoff was less of a smooth ascent and more of a chaotic, barely-controlled lurch into the sky. One Crow in the cargo bay, still half-asleep, woke up just in time to vomit all over the floor. Another was immediately launched backward, colliding with two others who were still arguing about whether the AC-Crow could, in fact, eat Russians. Then came the real problem. The Russians noticed. Missile alarms screamed through the cockpit. ¡°WHO THE HELL DECIDED TO FLY OVER RUSSIAN AIRSPACE?!¡± the pilot yelled, sweat forming on his forehead. ¡°I dunno, man. You were the one flying.¡± ¡°THAT¡¯S NOT HOW DECISIONS WORK!¡± Back in the cargo bay, the squad had already embraced the insanity. ¡°Yo, bet twenty bucks we dodge it at the last second.¡± ¡°Double or nothing if we do it upside down.¡± The co-pilot, who absolutely should not have taken that bet, suddenly flipped the AC-Crow completely inverted. Inside, it was chaos. Crows tumbled like loose change in a dryer. One poor guy got stuck on the ceiling, hanging there like a bat, screaming in both terror and excitement. Another was laughing so hard he forgot to grab onto anything and was now doing full-body flips mid-air. The pilot, whose sanity was quickly evaporating, was on the verge of a breakdown. ¡°WHY ARE YOU ALL LIKE THIS?!¡± Through sheer luck, skill, or just dumb Crow magic, they dodged the missiles, barely making it back to base. As the landing gear touched down, the squad cheered like they just won a world championship. Then they saw the damage. Their precious AC-Crow now had a Russian missile lodged in its tail. The paint job was somehow even worse than before. They all stood there in silence for a moment, taking in their handiwork. Then, finally, someone muttered, ¡°¡­So whose fault is this?¡± Immediately, fingers were pointed, accusations were thrown, and before long, a full-on brawl broke out right there on the tarmac. --- Final Touch ¨C The Squad Photo At the end of it all, one of the Crows grabs an old polaroid camera and forces everyone into a group photo¡ªsome still hungover, some still laughing, one flipping off the camera. They tape it onto the Ac-Crow¡¯s cockpit with the words: "The Dumbest, Most Dangerous Bastards in the Sky." As the adrenaline faded and the hangovers returned with vengeance, the Crows slowly gathered around their very expensive, very broken AC-Crow, staring at the damage like it had personally wronged them. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s be real. How much is this gonna cost?¡± one of them finally asked. A mechanic, who had already been shaking his head since the moment they landed, whistled low and held up a number on his fingers. The silence was immediate. ¡°¡­That¡¯s more than our last five contracts combined.¡± Someone let out a pained wheeze. Another sat down on the tarmac, head in hands. The pilot, whose soul had officially left his body, just whispered, ¡°¡­We are so broke.¡± Then, as if on cue, someone pulled out their wallet, stared at the absolute emptiness inside, and dramatically threw it onto the ground. ¡°I¡¯M BANKRUPT, BRO.¡± ¡°SAME.¡± ¡°I¡¯M GONNA HAVE TO SELL MY BIKE.¡± ¡°¡­I think I just sold my soul.¡± One guy, who had somehow forgotten about the damage, walked up with a dumb grin and clapped his hands together. ¡°Alright, boys! What¡¯s next?¡± The squad turned to him in dead silence. And then, with zero hesitation, they jumped him. The next morning The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when they heard it¡ªa faint rustling from the supply crates. "Please tell me that''s not a rat," one of the Crows muttered, still groggy from the hangover. "Nah, it''s too big to be a rat," another said, reaching for his sidearm. And then¡ªout it came. A scrappy, mud-streaked mutt, tail wagging like he owned the damn place. Ears perked up, tongue hanging out, eyes filled with pure, unbothered confidence. The Crows froze. The dog froze. A long, silent stare. Then, one of them kneeled down and whistled. The dog didn''t hesitate¡ªbolted straight at him, tackled him onto his ass, and started licking his face like an excited missile. The whole squad lost it. "Where the hell did he come from?" "Doesn¡¯t matter, he''s ours now!" "Bet he¡¯s got a kill count higher than all of us combined." "Look at those scars, he¡¯s been through some shit." "We¡¯re keeping him." The captain sighed, rubbing his temples. "He¡¯s not a pet, he¡¯s a stray." "Correction, sir." One of them grinned, lifting the mutt up like a damn trophy. "He''s a Crow." And just like that, Commander Bork was enlisted. --- Morning Repairs: The Hangover Crew Struggles The next morning, heads throbbed, stomachs churned, and regrets were plentiful. But the Ac-Crow needed fixing again, so they sucked it up and got to work. One of them groaned, holding his head. "I swear to God, if I ever drink again¡ª" "Shut up. You said that last time." Tools clanked, welding sparks flew, and slowly, their beloved aircraft started looking like herself again. Commander Bork supervised, Wandering between their legs, stealing gloves, chewing on loose wires, barking at the dumbass who dropped a wrench on his own foot. And, of course, the graffiti stayed. "THIS THING EATS RUSSIANS" in crude, drunken handwriting. No one had the heart to remove it. Commander Bork: A Crow Among dogs Commander Bork settled into life with the squad like he had always belonged. No collar, no leash, just pure loyalty. Whenever they sat around for a smoke break, Bork would curl up next to the warmest body, tail thumping against the cold metal floor. Whenever food was served, someone would always "accidentally" drop a piece of meat under the table. And whenever the Ac-Crow was in the air, Bork would sit proudly by the hangar doors, watching it disappear into the sky like a soldier watching his brothers march to war. At night, when they weren¡¯t drinking themselves half to death, the squad took turns telling Bork war stories¡ªnot that he understood a damn thing, but he listened like he was taking mental notes. One night, someone grinned and patted his head. "You should¡¯ve been in our unit back then, Bork. We needed a real commander." Bork huffed, standing up tall and puffing out his little chest. The entire squad saluted him. And just like that, he was officially general Bork. The Night He Vanished It was late. Too late. The squad was sprawled out in the hangar, some dozing off, others still lazily fixing the final pieces of the Ac-Crow. Bork was curled up near the captain¡¯s boots, snoring softly, his ear twitching at every sound. Then, suddenly¡ªhe lifted his head. Something in the distan ce. Something calling him. No one noticed when he stood up, stretched, and started walking toward the exit. No one noticed when he slipped through the hangar doors, disappearing into the night. By the time they realised it was too late The Hangover of the Century The morning after Commander Bork vanished, the squad was in absolute ruins. Some were lying on the floor like roadkill, some were half-hanging off crates, and one poor bastard was still sprawled across the top of the Ac-Crow, looking like a sacrifice to the gods of stupidity. The hangover hit like a grenade blast. "I''m never drinking again," someone groaned, face buried in his hands. "Same. Swear on my paycheck." "Swear on my firstborn." "Swear on my¡ªoh god, someone turn off the sun." But the real tragedy? General Bork was gone. The squad dragged themselves around the base, calling his name, offering half-eaten sandwiches as bribes, even shaking bags of dog food they stole from supply crates. Nothing. The guilt? Unmatched. "We should¡¯ve watched him." "We let him down." "We¡¯re the worst squad in history." And just like that, beer was officially banned. Forever.