Red Alert 2 Mental Omega: Wargirls Reincarnation

2000 - Kitakyushu , Japan

GI's POV

"AUGH!!" I grunt, straining as I push against the massive concrete block. It shifts—just barely—allowing another GI to drag the trapped civilian out from underneath.

I let the slab drop with a loud crack, my arms trembling from the effort.

Boom!

An explosion rips through the air, sending me sprawling onto my back. My ears ring as dust rains down from the crumbling buildings around us.

"Tank!!" I shout, scrambling to my feet. I grab the dazed civilian and half-drag them toward the nearest ruined building, ducking inside to avoid the tank's line of fire. We slip through the wreckage and out the other side, through the hole in the wall.

We push through a series of ruined structures until we reach a fortified single-story house—barely holding together but good enough for cover. I shove the civilian inside and collapse against the wall, my chest heaving.

I glance around at what's left of my squad. Four of us. That's all that remains from our original group of thirty-two.

The others… they might still be alive, scattered somewhere, forming makeshift teams just like us. But without heavy weapons, we're barely hanging on.

The squad leader looks at us, his face streaked with dirt and dried blood. Same as the rest of us. It's been a long day.

"Any sign of Guardian GIs? Or maybe an abandoned Seeker missile launcher?" he asks, gripping his battered rifle tightly.

"Nothing so far, Chief," one of my teammates replies grimly.

I shake my head. "Not even another friendly unit in sight."

The ground begins to tremble. The tank rolls past the front of the building, its engine growling like some metallic beast hunting for prey.

Good thing this is a residential building—not one with glass windows facing the street like those westerner store.

"Anything new on comms?" the squad leader asks our radio guy, whose left arm is gone—bandaged as best we could, but still soaked in blood.

He looks worse than any of us.

"The static's cleared up," the radio operator croaks, his voice weak. "Orders are to hold the city. Reinforcements are inbound."

He pauses, his eyes darkening.

"But… we can't report back. We're down to one-way transmission." He lowers his good hand onto the radio pack as if to shield it.

Shouting echoes from outside—Russian voices.

I grab my machine pistol from its holster. God, I miss my assault rifle—but no point dwelling on it now.

I crouch behind a makeshift barricade—a flipped-over table and an old refrigerator. It's not much, but it'll have to do.

Crack!

The door bursts open. Heavy boots stomp into the room—four pairs, maybe more.

I hear them moving quickly, some heading upstairs while others linger near the intersection just outside.

My teammate acts fast, tossing what looks like a grenade down the stairs.

Clink, clink—

It bounces off the wall, sending the Russians into a panic.

"граната!" (read 'granata' , mean grenade!)

I smirk. It's just a replica—a tin can painted to look real—but the enemy doesn't know that.

I pop out from cover and open fire.

Tat-tat-tat!

Two go down immediately. The sharp cries of the wounded echo through the house. Another burst of gunfire silences a third, and the last one collapses with a thud in the next room.

"Check outside!" the leader orders from the other room.

I move to the window, carefully peeking out.

"Clear, sir!" I report.

The squad leader steps into the room, leaning against the wall as he reloads his weapon.

"They never learn," he mutters, wiping sweat from his brow. "Not in this war—or the last."

I nod. The Soviets always struggled with urban combat. Their coordination breaks down the moment the battlefield narrows to tight alleyways and ruined buildings.

Thud… Thud…

The ground trembles again.

The growl of heavy treads draws closer—too close.

"Tank!" someone shouts.

The house shakes violently as the tank crashes through the wall, tearing through concrete and wood like paper.

I don't have time to move.

Pain explodes through my body as debris rains down. My chest heaves, coughing up blood. The building groans, then collapses completely.

Darkness.

I open my eyes—barely.

I'm pinned, crushed between the tank's massive treads and chunks of concrete. My legs… I can't feel them.

Blood pools around me. My machine pistol is still in my hand, my grip tightening out of instinct.

The taste of iron fills my mouth. My breaths grow shallow.

I fight the urge to close my eyes, but the world is fading.

Fury's POV - Entering Kitakyushu airspace, Japan

I glance over the 3D hologram map of Kitakyushu as it projects across my visor. The city looms ahead—burning, broken, and crawling with Soviet forces.

We just finished clearing Hiroshima—surprisingly light resistance there. But Kitakyushu? Different story. It's a major transit hub connecting Japan's main islands to the southern peninsula. Strategically vital—and fiercely contested.

Through the haze of smoke and flames, I can already spot Soviet concentration camps dotting the outskirts. Same nightmare as Osaka

"All Tactical Dolls, prepare for drop!" I command, feeling the hum of my engines as I descend.

The T-Dolls—twelve of them, two squads of six—are packed tightly inside. These girls… they're more than capable of wiping out battalions.

"Aye!" the girls respond in unison, their voices brimming with excitement. Though, to be honest, most of them are just stretching—preparing their synthetic muscles for action. They'd pestered me about stretching routines after their first deployment. I let it slide.

Reaching 1,500 meters, I level out and open the drop bays.

"Go!"

One by one, the T-Dolls leap out, dispersing in perfect formations. Within seconds, the night sky lights up.

Graviton lasers.

Even from this altitude, the beams stand out—bright lances of energy cutting through the darkness.

Two clusters of light dominate the northern and southern zones where the squads are already tearing through Soviet lines.

"Well, the east side is mine, then."

I tilt into a dive, zeroing in on the Soviet landing crafts and warships clustered along the shore.

Summoning my laser gatling cannons, I let them spin up to full speed—an upgraded variant compared to the Raptor sisters' weapons. Not that it matters. Against this low-grade armor, the results are the same.

Carnage. Smile

The first volley rips through the landing crafts, tearing hulls apart and igniting munitions. Flak cannons swivel skyward, spewing fire.

I roll right, narrowly avoiding the barrage. Sure I can tank it but where the fun in that? My cannons whir and let loose another storm of energy bolts, reducing the flak emplacements to molten slag.

More ships try to retreat, engines reversing as they scramble to escape the slaughter.

"Oh no, you don't!" I growl, shifting my aim and opening fire again.

Explosions ripple across the water as ships crumble.

Combat T-Doll's POV

"Looks like Drop Captain is having fun," I quip, watching the fireworks over the shoreline. Beams of light streak across the sky, illuminating the smoldering cityscape.

I finish clearing the last Soviet stragglers from my sector—a street block littered with debris and corpses.

("Hey, Amma, we're moving to the next zone. Yuu is patching up survivors as she goes,") my squad leader pings through comms.

I summon my bike, hopping on and revving the engine. Time to move.

Riding through the ruined streets, I fire quick bursts at anything wearing red uniforms—easy targets, honestly.

Who thought bright red was a good combat color? They might as well paint 'Shoot Me' on their helmets.

Gunfire echoes nearby—not lasers. Ballistics.

I lean into a turn, tires skidding across cracked pavement as I veer toward the source.

The scene ahead is chaos.

A Soviet tank—its tracks wedged into the ruins of a collapsed building—sits exposed. Must've bottomed out trying to ram through.

Two quick laser shots to the hatch, and the tank erupts in flames.

I dismount, stepping over debris as GIs rush past me toward the pavement. One of them stuck between the tank—badly injured, how did you not death yet from that explosive?

My sensors sweep his vitals:

Lung rupture, Fractured ribs, Internal bleeding, Heart rate dangerously low, 3rd degree burn.

Still alive, but barely.

I kneel beside him, activating my nanoswarm. The microscopic drones surge into his bloodstream, knitting tissue, sealing ruptures, and reconstructing damaged organs.

Another GI approaches, shouting something incomprehensible while pointing his machine pistol at me.

He's panicked—probably thinks I'm some kind of Soviet experiment.

Bullets bounce harmlessly off my titanium-alloy frame, leaving faint sparks but no damage.

Really?

I sigh. Command should've installed language packs on us by now. This isn't the first time I've had to deal with clueless allies who only speak Japanese.

The wounded GI suddenly gasps and jolts upright, my nanoswarm finishing its work with a controlled electric shock to jumpstart his heart.

The other soldier stares, wide-eyed.

I don't stick around to explain.

Mounting my bike, I rev the engine and peel out, heading for the next battle zone.

Southern Pacific Front remnant's POV

Southern Pacific Front Remnant's POV – Approaching Kitakyushu

I grip the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles white as we approach land. Out of thirty ships, only two remain.

I am Captain Takashi Mori of the Horizon-class destroyer—what's left of it, anyway. The ship is barely holding together, listing slightly despite our best efforts to stabilize her. The admiral ordered us to break away and deliver the news while the rest of the fleet fought to buy time.

We barely managed to evade the Chinese fleet, zigzagging north, cutting through fog and shadows. But even now, the scars of battle cling to us—hull breaches, melted armor, and shattered radar arrays.

Our comms are down—knocked out during the skirmish. That means no updates, no calls for reinforcements, and no guarantees we'll even be welcomed when we make landfall.

The second Horizon-class running parallel to us is no better. Their electrical grid took a worse beating than ours—dead lights and scorched antennae.

We're limping into Kitakyushu like wounded animals, hoping not to be put down.

As we near the coastline, the sky comes alive.

Beams of light arc down like lances from the heavens, leaving trails of fire and ash. Explosions ripple across the shore and the water's edge, the spectacle painting the night in hues of orange and red.

Beautiful?

Is that the right word for this carnage? I'm not sure.

Then I see something move—fast—through the smoke and burning debris. The lasers stop mid-volley, and more ships erupt into flames.

What the hell is that?

tap tap

The faint sound jolts me.

Someone's knocking on the bridge window.

What?

I turn and freeze.

"Hello there."

A girl's voice.

The bridge lights illuminate her hovering form. She's flying, particles faintly glowing from what appear to be her thrusters leg? as she holds two massive machine guns—no, gatling guns—the kind the Americans favor.

What is this? A hallucination?

Her lips move again, but this time I catch a word—English.

I only know the basics, so I manage a shaky, "Hi... English?"

The girl groans and facepalms for a few seconds before Comm officer interrupt me.

"Sir! Comms are back online!"

The comms officer yells, snapping me out of my daze.

"She... she repaired the comms tower!"

Before I can respond, another voice crackles through the line.

"Boiler room reporting, sir! Hull breaches sealed, systems stabilized! Whatever just happened, it stopped us from sinking further!"

I spin around, but she's already gone.

"Contact the general!" I bark.

A chime follows as the second destroyer pings us.

("Captain Mori! Did you see that girl? Over!")

I glance at their hull—once riddled with holes, it now gleams like it just left drydock. My own ship is the same.

Before I can process it all, my comms officer calls out again.

"Sir! The general is waiting for your report!"

I snatch the headset and jam it over my ears.

"This is Captain Takashi Mori, reporting! The Chinese fleet has breached our southern defenses and is currently engaging our forces! Over!"

("Understood. What's your operational status?")

"Fully functional, sir! An unknown girl—flew to the ship and repaired everything! Over!"

("Acknowledged. Clear Kitakyushu waters of Soviet threats and establish a defensive position. Be advised—mercenary forces are operating in the area. The girl you encountered is one of them.")

"Yes, sir!"

I can't help but glance at the horizon one last time. Whoever she was, she just bought us a fighting chance.

Aqua's POV - Niigata , Japan

The roar of engines fills the air as I ride into Niigata alongside Amy and Helena, their bikes kicking up dust and debris. Behind us, Rupture's team follows in formation, their silhouettes casting long shadows across the ruined roads.

If anyone saw us rolling in, they'd probably think we were a biker gang—and honestly, they wouldn't be wrong.

"Rupture, clear the coastline of hostiles," I order, glancing over my shoulder.

"Amy, do what you do best."

"On it Aqua-chan!" she replies, grinning as she pulls ahead.

"Helena, focus on civilians. Get them out of danger and stabilized."

"Aye master~"

I rev my bike, scanning the skyline as we approach the city. Smoke rises in thick black columns, and distant gunfire rattles through the air.

"I'll set up a few sensor towers first," I mutter, "then join the rescue efforts."

Amy salutes and grappling hook down a side street. Helena takes a sharp turn toward a crumbling apartment complex. Meanwhile, I dismount and let my nanoswarms spread out, marking key positions for the towers.