The Tales of the Legendary Mimic : Momo

mercenary vs military; martial discipline

men good could been at a bar stand, it had a vehicle has host used old military tents as as a shed, mercenaries were chatting about this place as they joked and arm wrestled.

A young soldier came over frowning. He was to inform them to get ready to follow the leading vehicles as they were leaving for the abandoned lab.

He stormed to the bartender, who was blowing into a cup while wiping with a hankie.

The soldier sat, slamming his hand on the deck.

"Got a problem?" the bartender raised a brow, his busty and bear-haired chest puffed as his fist hit the counter threateningly.

"oh, i apologies but the captain hope you would adhere with the mission regulations"fixing his collar while acting unnerved the soldier blurted, the bar tender growled"leave my forte, i hate to do what i ought to to do so buzz off" with a glare the bartender said before heading to place his glass on the shelf of his car madeshift bar insides.

The soldier couldn't be borthered instead, he called for backup and asked them to make the men cooperate and dispose of their liqour only for the soldiers to get booed, and some were even injured.

The broad‑shouldered, scar‑cheeked, and wearing a dull metal patch over his left eye. They say his left was a side effect of his Geno operation he did when he was still a F ranked and didnt wait till his body adapted to become a E rank. was pretty prominent using the blue wolf arm geno to head the rebelling as he even punched one of the soldiers so hard his skull nearly cracked, pressing the female soldiers roughly almost ripping their clothings the scared privates ran, off tails between their legs. its understanable, the soldiers were normal people, unlike these mercenaries that are from the Merc Association, which sponsors gene power pathways. So they had access to the technology once they rose to the E rank level, which is both a battle rank power level.

<the military is working on theirs aswell but it's an unfinished project. This is why Garfild requested him to start an experiment and the retrieval of samples to create suitable power pathways that worked with military ranks.>

The report of the incident at the merc space reached Captain Jane, making an appearance with unbound anger, if not that military really needed supernatural men, they wouldn't be dealing with undisciplined fit in a false army pile of ads on trash,' she thought.

"Who is one eyed joe?" Apart from acting formal in a posture fit for a general, who still had to wrestle with the drunken laughter and rowdy bustle of the mercenaries who had never really taken her authority seriously.

The laughter continued,

'Captain, the convoy is ready to move. We await your order, "one cadet reported into the captain's ears.

"Tell them to hold, I need to deal with this first, "she swatted the cadet gently, passing the dont bother me message.

 The captain, seeing no one answering her, turned to face an auspicious man with an eye patch.

“Oi, One‑Eye, you sure that’s your last one?” someone called.

Empty mugs and dented canisters clattered against his chest armor as the others tossed them at him one by one. Each throw came with another burst of laughter, another crude comment. One‑Eye just grinned, lifting his bottle in a mocking salute while foam dribbled down his chin.

“Look at ‘im, he’ll be dead before the zombies even get close,” a soldier snorted.

They all laughed and jested, and the mocking turned louder than the clank of weapons and gear. Discipline frayed around the edges like a worn flag.

Jane’s jaw tightened, but instead of storming over, she just exhaled slowly and turned a blind eye. She knew exactly what those disgusting mercenaries were like—troublesome, volatile, and, worst of all, protected by contracts she couldn’t tear up. The last time she had tried to discipline them, she’d ended up with three formal complaints and an inquiry from Command. She only appeared this time in the hope that they would at least find the one person leading the mission, but she was mistaken.

“Fine,” she muttered under her breath. “If they want to drink themselves stupid, they can do it on their own time. Not my problem… let's get on with the mission.”

Reluctant to step into the hornet’s nest herself, she called over someone who did influence that side of the she called for Marc, who watched the scenes play but saw no need to get involved, still leaning against the hood of an armored rover, arms folded, helmet dangling from one hand. He wore the same mercenary badge as the others, but his armor was cleaner, his posture lazier, and his smirk more permanent; his previous uniform nowhere to be found.

“Marc,” Jane said, heading toward him. “i will hope you understand, like the rest, be even nicer with the report, do me a favor and put them in order, we are leaving.”

Marc arched an eyebrow, his lips quirking into an amused half‑smile. “The code doesn’t permit me to interfere with a man’s… ‘pre‑battle routine,’” he replied, deliberately mocking the formal phrase. His tone dripped with disdain, the look in his eyes saying he enjoyed watching her lose control.

He didn’t like this so‑called captain at all. To him, Jane was just a uniform placed above him by people who didn’t understand what real power looked like. He wished he had her role instead—wished it every time he saw her give an order and people actually listened, but then he had preferred that sort of role in the merc association.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Jane asked, narrowing her eyes.

Marc only shrugged, the smirk not leaving his face. “If you’ve got a problem, take it up with Command. I’m just following the rules, Captain.”

She stared at him for a long, simmering second, then turned away before she said something she’d regret in front of the troops.

By the time Max arrived at the edge of the rowdy circle, the mercenaries were at their loudest. Max wasn’t as heavily armed as they were, but there was something about the way he walked—steady, eyes sharp—that cut through the noise. The soldiers parted just a little, curiosity stirring.

He stepped between two laughing mercs and came to a stop in front of One‑Eye. The stench of cheap alcohol and unbrushed teeth hit him like a physical blow.

“That’s enough,” Max said, voice low but clear. “We move out in five. You want to die today, do it on the battlefield, not because you were too drunk to stand.”

"What did you say?" a growl tested

 

"I said,y y'allshould your ass up or else we might end up whooping then cause some of us sort trouble...cutely."

A few men snickered. Someone muttered, “Listen to the kid.” Another added, “Captain’s little pet thinks he’s in charge now.”