Ninja walked through the bustling corridors of MIRA Headquarters, the noise around him a distant hum. His boots struck the floor in steady rhythm, but his mind was anything but calm. Campaign banners adorned the walls, the words "Re-elect Commander Dietrich for Unity and Strength" glowing in bright, confident lettering. Faces of passersby were animated, filled with chatter about the Commander's chances, the latest polling data, and whispers of looming change.
It all felt suffocating.
To most, he was Ninja—the battle-hardened warrior, the man who had once led MIRA's most elite forces. But beneath the reputation, beneath the stoic exterior, he was David. And David was tired.
He entered a quieter wing of the building, where a wide window overlooked the endless expanse of space. The stars stretched infinitely, tiny pinpricks of light scattered across the void. They were a comforting sight—unchanging and indifferent to the chaos of human affairs.
His hand instinctively moved to his eye-patch, fingers brushing against the worn leather. A souvenir from the fall of the Skeld II, it served as a constant reminder of what he'd lost—not just his sight, but the people who'd trusted him, who'd fought and bled under his command.
The hum of approaching footsteps drew him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Eva, her sharp features softened by a small, knowing smile. Unlike the others, she wasn't in uniform. She rarely bothered with the formalities of rank or attire when off duty, and for some reason, that always made her presence feel less burdensome.
"David," she said simply, the sound of his real name pulling him back to the present.
"Eva," he replied, his voice steady but lacking warmth. "Didn't expect to see you here."
She stopped beside him, folding her arms as she looked out at the stars. "I could say the same about you. Figured you'd be holed up somewhere avoiding all this." She nodded toward the campaign posters visible through the glass reflection.
"Not exactly my scene," he admitted.
"No kidding." Her tone was light, teasing, but there was an edge of sincerity beneath it.
"But you're still here. Why?"
Ninja didn't answer immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch between them, his gaze fixed on the stars. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. "Dietrich asked me to make an appearance. Said it'd boost morale."
Eva smirked. "And you said yes?"
He turned to her, his expression unreadable. "I said I'd think about it."
"Uh-huh," she said, leaning casually against the window frame. "So, what's the holdup? Afraid of public speaking?"
Ninja snorted, a rare flicker of amusement crossing his face. "Hardly. I just don't see the point. A bunch of handshakes and fake smiles isn't going to fix anything."
Eva's smile faded slightly. "It's not about fixing things. It's about showing people you still care."
"Do I?" The question came out sharper than he intended, and Eva raised an eyebrow.
"You tell me," she said quietly.
Ninja looked away, his jaw tightening. Caring. It felt like a luxury he couldn't afford. He cared once—cared too much, maybe. And look where that had gotten him. The Skeld II was gone. His team was gone. All he had left were scars, both visible and invisible.
"I don't belong here," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
Eva didn't reply immediately, letting his words settle in the air. When she did speak, her tone was gentle but firm. "Maybe not. But that doesn't mean you don't have a place. You're just too stubborn to see it."
He glanced at her, surprised by the bluntness, but she didn't flinch under his gaze. If anything, she seemed more resolute, her eyes boring into his with a mixture of frustration and understanding.
"You're a pain in the ass, you know that?" he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah," she replied, grinning. "But you need someone to call you out on your bullshit."
Later that evening, Ninja found himself in the corner of a crowded hall, nursing a drink that he barely touched. The campaign gala was in full swing, the room filled with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. Government officials, military officers, and high-ranking MIRA personnel mingled, their polished appearances masking the undercurrent of tension that seemed to permeate every corner of the event.
Ninja stayed on the fringes, his presence acknowledged with occasional nods and polite smiles, but no one dared approach him. It was just as well. He wasn't in the mood for small talk or forced pleasantries.
Across the room, Commander Dietrich was the center of attention, his voice carrying over the crowd as he exchanged handshakes and assurances. The man looked every bit the seasoned leader, but Ninja could see the strain in his eyes. The Commander knew his re-election was far from guaranteed, and this mission—the one they'd just been briefed on—was his final bid to cement his legacy.
"Ninja," a voice called, snapping him out of his thoughts.
He turned to see General Cheese approaching, a glass of something amber-colored in his hand. The older man looked as serious as ever, though there was a faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he took in Ninja's obvious discomfort.
"You look like you'd rather be anywhere else," Cheese said, his tone gruff but not unkind.
"You're not wrong," Ninja replied.
Cheese chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "You and me both, kid. Politics was never my thing."
"Then why are you here?" Ninja asked, genuinely curious.
"Same reason you are," Cheese said with a shrug. "Because sometimes, even when it feels pointless, you show up. For the people who need to see you."
Ninja didn't respond, his gaze drifting back to the crowd. People milled about, laughing and chatting, oblivious to the weight of the mission ahead.
"It's not about you," Cheese added after a moment. "It's about them."
Ninja glanced at the General, his brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Cheese set his glass down on a nearby table, his expression softening. "You think all this—these speeches, these handshakes—means nothing. And maybe it does, in the grand scheme of things. But to these people? To the ones who've spent their lives following orders, fighting battles they barely understand? Seeing you here gives them hope. Even if it's just for a little while."
The words hit harder than Ninja expected, and he looked away, unsure how to respond. Cheese didn't press him, simply clapping a hand on his shoulder before walking off, leaving Ninja alone with his thoughts.
By the time the event wound down, Ninja felt like a ghost, drifting through the remnants of the crowd. Most of the attendees had left, but a few lingered, including Dietrich, who was speaking quietly with an aide near the stage. The Commander caught Ninja's eye and gave a small nod, a silent acknowledgment.
Ninja returned the nod but didn't approach. He wasn't ready for that conversation—not yet.
Instead, he slipped out of the hall and into the cool, quiet night. The stars above seemed brighter here, away from the artificial lights of the campaign gala. He took a deep breath, the crisp air filling his lungs, and for the first time that day, he felt a small measure of peace.
As he stood there, staring up at the endless expanse of space, Eva's words echoed in his mind. "You still care. You're just too stubborn to see it."
Maybe she was right. But figuring that out was a battle he wasn't sure he was ready to face. Not yet.
--
The morning air was cool as Ninja stepped out into the public plaza, his hood pulled up and his hands shoved deep into his pockets. It was one of the rare moments when he ventured into the heart of the city, a place teeming with life and noise. People moved in waves, rushing to their destinations or stopping to browse the countless stalls lining the square. Holographic screens floated above the crowd, cycling through campaign ads and government announcements.
One particular screen caught his eye—a live broadcast of Commander Dietrich giving a press conference. The Commander's face was stern yet reassuring as he addressed the press.
"…Our mission is to ensure the continued safety and unity of all people under the World Government," Dietrich was saying. His voice, calm and authoritative, echoed through the plaza. "The challenges we face are great, but together, we will overcome them."
Ninja grimaced and turned away, weaving through the crowd. He could already feel the familiar weight of frustration settling in his chest. Words like unity and safety felt hollow to him, especially after everything he'd seen. The world wasn't unified—it was fractured, held together by little more than fear and necessity.
As he passed a small café, the scent of fresh tea leaves and pastries drew his attention. Without thinking, he pushed the door open, the warm aroma of brewing tea wrapping around him like a blanket. The café was quaint, with wooden tables and a display case filled with colorful macarons and muffins.
The cashier, a young man with a cheerful demeanor, greeted him with a practiced smile. "Good morning! What can I get for you?"
"Black tea. Large," Ninja replied, his voice gruff.
The cashier nodded and rang up the order. When Ninja reached for his credits, the cashier's eyes widened slightly, recognizing the insignia subtly stitched into Ninja's jacket.
"Do you serve?"
"Special Forces.. but, not anymore… after what I've witnessed," Ninja said, his tone dismissive.
The cashier hesitated, then smiled. "We offer a veteran's discount. That'll be on the house."
Ninja blinked, caught off guard. He didn't particularly like being singled out for his service, but arguing felt pointless. "Thanks," he muttered, taking the cup of tea when it was handed to him.
He found a quiet corner to sit, letting the steam from the tea warm his face. Around him, conversations buzzed, people discussing the election, the state of the world, and even the Commander's latest speech. It all blurred into background noise as Ninja stared into his cup, his thoughts wandering.
Eva's words from the night before came rushing back. "You still care. You're just too stubborn to see it."
He scowled, shaking his head as if to dispel the memory. Caring hadn't gotten him anywhere. It hadn't saved the Skeld II. It hadn't saved Aiden What good was caring if it only led to more loss?
Finishing his tea, he stood and left the café, stepping back into the bustling streets.
The gym was quieter than he expected, the usual morning crowd noticeably thinner. Ninja appreciated the solitude as he made his way to the free weights. He slid his hood off and shrugged out of his jacket, revealing a black tank top that clung to his lean but powerful frame.
The clink of weights and the occasional grunt from a few other patrons filled the air. Ninja grabbed a barbell and began his routine, focusing on the steady rhythm of lifting and lowering. The repetitive motion was meditative, each rep grounding him and keeping his mind from spiraling.
Sweat dripped down his brow, and his muscles burned, but he pushed through, adding more weight with each set. Physical exertion had always been his way of coping, a way to channel the frustration and pain that lingered just beneath the surface.
After an hour, he set the barbell down and grabbed a towel from his bag. His breathing was heavy, his body sore but alive. As he wiped the sweat from his face, his eyes caught on something tucked into the side pocket of his bag—a photograph.
He pulled it out, his hands stilling as he stared at the image. It was a group photo of his Special Forces team, taken years ago. They were all there—Eva, with her confident smirk; Lieutenant Sara, her arms crossed and a rare smile on her lips; Engineer Bob, holding up some strange contraption he'd probably built that day; Medic Lucas, standing slightly apart but with a look of quiet pride; and Demolitionist Nick, throwing up peace signs and grinning like an idiot.
And there he was, standing in the center, his arm slung around Eva's shoulders. He looked…different. Younger, lighter, like he hadn't yet been crushed by the weight of his choices.
Eva's words echoed in his mind again. "You still care. You're just too stubborn to see it."
He clenched his jaw and shoved the photo back into his bag. Caring was a luxury he couldn't afford. Not anymore.
He grabbed his things and left the gym, stepping back into the city streets. The sun was higher now, casting long shadows across the plaza. The noise of the crowd was louder, the campaign chatter more persistent. But Ninja ignored it all, his focus sharp as he moved forward.