~ Third Person P.O.V ~

The tires from the military-grade Jeep cracked and ground the dirt road beneath it, loud crunch noises emitting from beneath the truck and its passengers. Sweltering heat from the sun flared down on them, soiling their bodies, hair, and clothing with glistening summer perspiration. Not that any of that mattered to the men on the truck, they had all become accustomed to it. It was conventional at this point . . . something the soldiers expected. Among said soldiers, were two relatively younger Master Sergeant's-- Katsuki Bakugo and Shoto Todoroki.

However, in all truthfulness, the two didn't appear to be as youthful as they actually were. This is how they were able to join the army a year or two ago in the first place; passing off as twenty-five-year-olds instead of seventeen, and nineteen.

It made sense when sparing an extensive, and scrutinizing look at the duo. Their broad, yet lean shoulders, defined, sharp facial features-- and towering heights; even at a young age when they first joined the army.

Ash blond, spiked, hair tousling in the suffocating, damp zephyr that Arizona had to offer. Gloved hand tightening its hold on the large rifle in his hand, ruby eyes scavenging the land around them-- in search of any threat he may have to ward off. Pink lips pressed into a taut, thin line as he continued to range the area. Katsuki was . . . well, let's just say he's a bit of a wildcard.

You never know what you're going to get out of him. It's either pure, undeniable, flaming rage-- or quiescent calmness.

Nothing in-between.

As for Shoto. His calloused hands gripped the leather of the steering wheel firmly, his knuckles blanching as his heterochromatic eyes focused on the road ahead. Face indistinguishable and impassive, not giving away any clues as to how he was feeling in the moment.

"Bakugo," Shoto called out softly, eyes never wavering concentration. "Come up here with me,"

The blond warded off his smirk as he stood up, maintaining his balance or else he would fall off the moving Jeep. Quickly stepping over the middle console, Katsuki takes a seat with a huff-- hands still gripping firmly to his gun.

"How long 'till we get there?" Katsuki asked gruffly, scarlet eyes flickering to the elder male beside him.

"A few more hours . . . Did you ever radio Captain Aizawa?" The other inquired, one frosted eyebrow raised as he spared Katsuki a quick glance. "Last I heard from him, everything was going to shit on base."

"I did Sarge," Kaminari cut in from behind them, "He said he wants us there ASAP."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Shoto exhales a controlled breath. "And you're just now waiting to tell me this?" He barked, piercing eyes boring into the blond soldier in the rearview mirror.

Kaminari flooded a light pink, either from the heat or embarrassment-- it was a toss-up at the moment.

"You never asked until now, sir," He squeaked, grimacing at the end.

Katsuki heaved a low chuckle, finding amusement in Shoto's seething consternation; a complete one-eighty from his usual cool demeanor. With flared nostrils, the heterochromatic teen punches the gas-- per usual, giving no warning to the soldiers in the vehicle with him.

"Jesus Christ, you're gonna fucking kill us!" Katsuki scoffed, holding on tightly to the edge of his seat.

"I'm not trying to kill any of you-" Shoto retorted, eyes flickering up to look at Kaminari in the mirror. "- just him."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In short, Kaminari did not die, however, he now suffers from a fear of vehicles if it's Shoto that's operating them.

The army base was reasonably prodigious in regards to size, barbed, wired, fences providing protection to its residents and contents from all sides. Raucous clanking, chattering, as well as whirring pandemonium disgorging from the inside. Two, prominent check-in points residing at the front entrance-- allowing other vehicles filled to the brim with soldiers as well as a few civilians to go through.

Pulling up to the first point, Shoto rummages in the plethora of pockets, and hidden zippers in his army fatigue. Only to successfully pull out his ID card.

"Have a good day Sergeants," The officer hummed, after careful inspection of the card.

"'Have a good day Sergeants,'" Katsuki mocked under his breath, "I hate that guy."

"Bakugo he just started working at this base last week." Kirishima piped up from behind the blond. "And all he did was wish you two a good day!"

Narrowing his eyes into slits, Katsuki cranes his neck to look at the black-haired boy. "Fuck off shitty hair,"

"His hair isn't so different from yours," Shoto chuckled lowly, "If anything his might be better looking."

"I will shoot your ass right here if you don't shut the fuck up." The red-eyed teen growled, however, no real malice or candor lingered in his tone.

Behind those fences, was pure and utter chaos. They were at war, so it was to be expected, after a while the soldiers grew used to it all. Rasped, deafening shouting from Platoon Officers, the blades wishing from airplanes flying above. Rubber from tires burning as they screech with urgency, driving outside the base in a rush.

After a while, you grow numb to it all.

You don't have time to grieve when a comrade, someone you viewed as a brother-- a best friend dies. The army doesn't allow you to do that, they don't pay you to do that . . . you're there to fight for your country. Nothing more nothing less. And for people like Shoto and Katsuki, all of the cons of being a soldier didn't matter.

But getting justice? Fighting against those who've wronged their country?

That mattered. More than life itself.

"The hell are you staring at?" Shoto snickered, for he had just caught the blond gazing at him.

"I don't know . . . something ugly," The younger shot back, red patches flaring up, on his face. Narrowing his ruby eyes as he sported a stern scowl.

"But I'm not a mirror," Shoto countered, only prompting the blond to release a string of loud curses out of anger.

Quietly laughing at his blond friend's antics, Kirishima watches the two with amused-- yet curious eyes. There was no denying how close Shoto and Katsuki were, they're best friends . . . almost brothers. But of course, there were a few soldiers who pondered otherwise; only to shake the thought off. Because that couldn't be right, there was no way in hell the two were . . . gay.

Right?

"Hey what did the Captain want that was so urgent for us to come quickly?" Shoto asked, his inquisitiveness beginning to eat away at him.

"You haven't heard?" Kaminari hummed, "There was some Japanese boy in the camp nearby-- he can speak English and Japanese."

Duel colored eyes went wide as Shoto put a halt to the movements of the vehicle, parking it directly outside of one of the tents. Pivoting in his seat to gaze at the yellow-eyed soldier. "You're shitting me, right?" He scoffed, chewing the inside of his lips.

Just then, weighted footsteps padded down against the dirt of the floor; stopping on the side of the driver's door. Raking his hands through his unruly ebony hair, the Captain-- Aizawa-- turned his dark, piercing eyes onto the boys.

"No, he isn't. Now haul ass, I've got a task for you and Bakugo,"