The park was a picturesque scene of serenity, with lush green grass swaying gently in the soothing breeze. The afternoon sun bathed the public space in a warm, golden glow, inviting relaxation and camaraderie.
A group of young boys added life and vigour to the idyllic setting as they dashed across the open field, engaged in a spirited game of football. Laughter and shouts filled the air as they weaved their way through imaginary opponents, their faces adorned with infectious smiles.
Among them, a skilful young player sprinted, deftly manoeuvring the ball at his feet as he skipped past two opposing players with nimble footwork. With a burst of speed, he found himself through on goal, ready to take a powerful shot. However, his attempt went awry, sending the ball soaring over the makeshift goalposts, landing with an unceremonious thud in nearby bushes. His teammates voiced their frustration with grumbles and playful jeers.
"Why didn't you pass the ball? I was wide open!" one teammate complained.
"Yeah, yeah," the boy replied dismissively.
Determined to retrieve the ball, he jogged toward the bushes where it had disappeared. As he approached the foliage, he spotted his ball nestled between the branches. It was within his line of sight, but not close enough for a straightforward retrieval. He sighed in mild annoyance.
Without hesitation, he knelt down and stretched his arm into the bush, reaching for the ball. In that moment, an unexpected, chilling sound shattered the tranquility of the park—a loud crunch emanated from the depths of the bushes.
The boy froze, his eyes widened in shock and disbelief. Slowly, he withdrew his arm from the bush, only to discover that half of it had been severed, the raw wound dripping blood.
His gaze shifted from his mutilated arm to the sight that lay ahead—a pair of menacing Iras, their sharp teeth clamped onto his severed limb, locked in a brutal tug of war.
Fear surged through him, and he staggered to his feet with a primal scream of terror. Ignoring the excruciating pain, he bolted away from the gruesome scene, blood gushing from his maimed arm.
His deafening scream resonated across the entire park, drawing the horrified attention of everyone present. Heads turned in unison to witness the grotesque spectacle, and gasps of shock filled the air.
As the boy sprinted, his vision blurred, and he stumbled to the ground, his strength waning. His teammate, who had been running ahead of him, halted abruptly and rushed back to help.
"Come on! Get up!" he urged desperately, extending a trembling hand.
However, their hopes were crushed as they found themselves encircled by a formidable group of five ravenous Iras. Fear clung to their hearts, and the intense, unrelenting gazes of the creatures bore into their souls, rendering them paralyzed with dread.
The hellhound beasts all surged forward in unison, their menacing forms closing in on the terrified boys, ready to pounce. Panic and despair welled up within them, their escape cut off, and their fate appearing bleak.
But then, as if descending from the heavens themselves, bullets rained down upon the approaching beasts. The projectiles pierced through their skulls with brutal efficiency, causing their monstrous bodies to collapse to the ground, lifeless. The boys could hardly believe their eyes, staring in shock and confusion as the hounds were vanquished one after another.
A woman, clad in an air of authority and armed with a smoking revolver, landed gracefully before them. Her presence exuded both strength and resolve, contrasting starkly with the chaos and terror that had engulfed the park moments ago.
...Meanwhile, earlier on national broadcast, Sir Holland, seated in his dignified office, addressed the entire Britannus Kingdom through the medium of television. He spoke with an air of gravitas, his words carrying weight and consequence.
"Dear citizens of the Britannus Kingdom," he began, capturing the attention of a nation. "As reported last week, Squad Barclay was completely wiped out by the runaway Fiend host, Udo Iche. As a result, our kingdom has been left without a main squad. But after careful consideration, we have finally been able to come to a decision as to who we think would be a great fit to fill the vacancy. As the head squad, the members must demonstrate strength, courage, and a great sense of responsibility."
Back at the park, amid the chaos and danger, two more Ira suddenly lunged at the gunwoman from behind, their intentions clear. The boys, their voices filled with concern, cried out to warn her.
"Miss! Look out!" one of them shouted.
But just as the two beasts were about to reach their target, two men with boxing gloves appeared seemingly out of nowhere. With lightning speed, they blitzed past the boys and leapt to the woman's side, their movements so precise and swift that it was almost as if they defied the laws of physics. In an instant, they delivered thunderous punches, each strike hitting its mark with bone-shattering force, reducing the Ira to nothing more than shattered remnants.
The boys watched in awe as the two men, having dispatched the threats, landed gracefully beside the woman, their martial prowess and heroic actions etching an indelible mark on their minds.
On the televised broadcast, Sir Holland continued, "And despite the many fitting squads to fill this role, we believe one of them particularly has all of the above traits and then some. Ladies and gentlemen, your new squad..."
Back at the park, standing before the boys, was the new head captain of the Britannus Kingdom, CHARLOTTE HOLLAND. Her flowing brunette hair framed her black and royal blue service uniform, and her presence radiated authority and capability, leaving an indomitable impression on all who beheld the 17-year-old.
Flanking her left-hand side was TROY LEWIS, a young man of 19 with a confident demeanour. His caramel skin was complemented by neatly braided cornrows on his head. With a smirk across his face, he blew the blood off his gloves, having just dispatched the Ira beasts with ruthless efficiency.
Standing to Charlotte's right was Troy's older brother, TREVOR LEWIS, 21 years old. Trevor sported a buzz cut that was neatly faded, and his facial expression displayed gravitas and unwavering determination.
Charlotte, the newly appointed head captain of the Britannus Kingdom, turned her attention to the awe-struck boys. Her presence exuded confidence and strength, and she appeared unfazed by the chaos and danger that surrounded them.
"Are you two okay?" she inquired with a calm and reassuring tone, her concern genuine.
The boys, their initial shock gradually giving way to a sense of security in her presence, looked up at her with a mixture of amazement and gratitude. Even the one with his arm grievously injured momentarily forgot the pain in the presence of these formidable protectors.
MASON HAWKE, 20, sat in the control room with an air of cool confidence, his long hair framing his face as he surveyed the chaos through monitors. "There are approximately 33 Ira in the vicinity," his voice crackled through Charlotte's earbuds. "No sign of adult Ira. You're clear to engage."
Charlotte nodded imperceptibly, her focus unyielding.
"Are-are you Squad Ho-" one of the boys began to ask but was interrupted by Charlotte.
"Charlotte,"
She swiftly reloaded her revolver as the remaining Ira beasts closed in, surrounding the trio in a menacing formation.
"Squad Charlotte," she corrected him, her voice firm and resolute, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.