ARC: THE INVASION OF RAGNAROK
[Opening] Absolute silence. Only a low hum vibrates through the air, like an old radio struggling to tune into the past. In the darkness, words begin to manifest slowly, one by one:
December 26, 1991. SOVIET UNION. ISLAND RAGNAROK.
The faint sound of a child's laughter cuts through the stillness.
Inside a weary apartment in Moscow, a young boy plays with toy soldiers on the floor. Behind him, the television flickers with a live news broadcast. His father, slumped in a worn armchair, cradles his head in his hands as if trying to hold together a world that is falling apart.
"Good evening," the news anchor begins, his voice steady and heavy with gravity. "Today, December 26, 1991, marks a day that will be etched in history forever. The Soviet Union… has fallen."
In the streets, Red Square is a sea of noise. Thousands of voices merge into a chaotic symphony of weeping and cheering. Banners wave amidst rising smoke, and snow melts against the cold fabric of grey military uniforms.
"LONG LIVE DEMOCRACY! LONG LIVE FREEDOM!" someone screams from the depths of the crowd. The soldiers stand motionless, frozen by the shock of a dying empire.
"The red flag with the hammer and sickle is being lowered from the Kremlin at this very moment," the anchor continues. "A century of ideology, wars, and hope… ends here. Russia, Ukraine, and the Republics now move forward alone. No one knows what the dawn will bring."
The audio cuts out abruptly. The image freezes on the flag descending slowly. Sunlight vanishes behind heavy, leaden clouds.
December 26, 1991—The Day the Union Fell.
The child leans down to pick up a coin from the floor. As he lifts his gaze, reality shatters.
Fire. Screams. Sirens. Bombs detonate in every direction, turning the horizon into an inferno. A-10 Warthogs and MiG-25s tear through the skies, obliterating the city beneath their wings. Missiles carve jagged red streaks across the sky like bleeding wounds.
The boy remains motionless, a small survivor standing amidst the falling ash. A single spark reflects in his eyes.
A metallic sound rings out—the screech of a blade dragging across concrete. Through the thickening smoke, the title rises:
THE INVASION OF RAGNAROK
A man's voice, deep and chillingly cold, resonates over the sounds of war: "Today, thirty-four nations unite. Not for peace… but for survival."
Massive columns of soldiers march forward. Aircraft carriers slice through the dark oceans, and main battle tanks plow through snow and desert sand alike. The names of nations flash like rhythmic drumbeats: Russia, America, Japan, France, Germany, Britain, Italy, South Korea, Brazil, Egypt… and twenty-four other powers.
"Against the most dangerous organization humanity has ever known," the voice continues, "the global terrorist alliance: SIN-1."
From high above, the world looks like a chessboard. Red arrows launch from every continent, converging with fury upon a single point on the map. The name flashes with an eerie, rhythmic pulse:
ISLAND RAGNAROK.
A deafening thud follows, leading into absolute darkness. Only a whisper remains, hovering in the void:
"And this… was only the beginning."
PRESENT DAY - 2005 LOCATION: IAN AIRCRAFT CARRIER "PROMETHEUS
The heavy, rhythmic hum of the aircraft carrier's engines vibrated through the metal floor. Deep within the belly of the steel giant, in a dimly lit office, the air smelled of stale tobacco and bitter coffee.
"My name is Nick Shad," a voice resonated, gravelly and tired. "I served in the U.S. Special Forces for more years than I care to remember. Now, I'm a major for IAN—Intelligence Agent National. But enough about me. Tell me about yourself."
Nick sat behind a cluttered desk, his bald head gleaming under the flickering fluorescent light. He had a rugged, weathered face and a sharp gaze that felt like it could see right through a man. He took a slow sip from his mug, steam rising to meet his eyes.
Opposite him sat a young man with a gaze as sharp as a predator's.
"I'm Gaku Eagle," the younger man replied firmly. "Ex-Delta Force."
Nick lowered his mug, a faint, impressed smirk appearing on his face. "Delta, huh? Impressive. Tell me, kid... how many deployments?"
"Iraq. Afghanistan," Gaku answered shortly.
"Wow... damn, man." Nick leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight. "You've seen some serious action. How old were you back then?"
"I was only twenty-two," Gaku said.
"Twenty-two... and now you're twenty-four," Nick murmured, his expression turning grim. "Listen to me, kid. Since 1991, we've been losing the fight on Ragnarok Island. Year after year, until 2005. The political relations between the nations are a mess, and the public pressure is suffocating. Some countries even decided to pull back their forces, weakening our grip on the island."
Nick stood up and walked toward a small porthole, looking out at the endless grey ocean.
"But today is the Big Day. Do you know why? Because ten thousand soldiers have just arrived. We are launching our 45th attempt at a full-scale invasion."
He turned back to Gaku, his eyes burning with a new intensity.
"Welcome to IAN, Gaku. You're an operator now. Get ready—we've got a long road ahead of us today." Nick gave him a sharp, knowing wink.
Gaku stood up but hesitated. "Sir, if I may... I have one more question."
"Go ahead. You've earned the right to ask," Nick nodded.
"Which unit will I be assigned to?"
Nick chuckled, a sound that started deep in his chest. "You're a lucky bastard. You've been assigned to ALPHA-0. It's the strongest unit in the entire organization. Do you know why?"
Gaku tilted his head. "Stronger because of the training?"
"No," Nick laughed. "Because of the diversity. IAN operates with every background imaginable. In ALPHA-0, you'll be fighting alongside Russians, Japanese, and soldiers from every corner of the globe. A true international strike force."
Nick pointed toward the heavy steel door.
"Now get moving. Your unit is waiting for you. Good luck, Operator."
Gaku gave a sharp nod and stepped out into the corridor, the sound of his boots echoing against the metal as he headed toward his new destiny.
Gaku walked down the long, narrow corridor, his boots clanking against the steel floor. He looked around, trying to soak in the environment. Two soldiers passed by him, laughing loudly at a private joke, their relaxed demeanor contrasting with the knot in Gaku's stomach.
"I'm here because my country wanted me here," Gaku thought, his jaw tightening. But why do I feel like this? I've seen combat before, yet I'm as anxious as a rookie on his first day.
As he continued, the atmosphere shifted. Two MPs (Military Police) marched past him, dragging a man whose head was covered by a black hood. One of the guards struck the prisoner hard on the back of the head.
"You're going to Shadow now, you piece of trash!" the guard barked. "He'll make you talk."
"No! Please! Wait!" the prisoner screamed, his voice muffled by the hood as they dragged him toward the interrogation rooms.
Gaku watched them disappear around a corner, but he didn't stop. He passed a group of nurses moving in the opposite direction. They weren't alone; they were leading small children—orphans, the young inhabitants of Ragnarok Island who had been caught in the crossfire. Their hollow eyes haunted him as he moved forward.
Finally, he reached the end of the hall. A massive, reinforced iron door stood before him. This was it.
Gaku took a breath and pushed the heavy door open.
The air inside was different—thick with the smell of gun oil and cold professionalism. He froze in his tracks. Twenty-three pairs of eyes turned toward him instantly. Twenty-three soldiers, each looking more dangerous than the last, stared at him with gazes as cold as ice.
Suddenly, a loud thud echoed through the room.
One of the men slammed a combat knife into the wooden table in the center of the room, the blade quivering from the force. He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Gaku's.
"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded, his voice dropping to a low, threatening growl.