NOVPUBNovember 15, 2025 — 2:18 PM
Japanese Self-Defense Forces Enclave – Command Bunker, Central Meeting Room
The meeting room wasn't designed for diplomacy. It was a bunker, plain and functional. Concrete walls. Sandbags in the corners. A pair of rusting fans turning slowly on the ceiling. A rectangular metal table bolted to the floor sat at the center, covered with maps, marked-up aerial photos, half-burnt notebooks, and a portable radio wired to a backup battery.
Thomas Estaris sat at one end of the table, his back straight, hands resting calmly. He wore no rank on his vest, no insignia on his shoulder, just the standard Overwatch black field gear. A visitor from across the sea. A stranger.
Across from him sat five uniformed members of the Japanese Self-Defense Forces, each with a sidearm holstered, each one bearing the hardened stare of someone who had survived long past their country's fall.
Standing off to the side was Lieutenant Takeda, the one who had made first contact.
"This is our leadership council," Takeda said, voice steady. "Captain Hiroshi—logistics. Sergeant Sato—defense and ground ops. Ensign Morita—communications and field recon. Chief Kobayashi—civilian coordination. Warrant Officer Nishimura—strategic planning."
Each gave a nod. No one smiled.
Thomas returned the nod. "I appreciate the time. I won't waste it."
The sound of the ventilation fans filled the silence that followed. There was no small talk. No ceremonial gestures. Just quiet observation.
Captain Hiroshi spoke first, voice calm and deliberate. "Lieutenant Takeda has briefed us on your arrival. You're with Overwatch?"
"That's right," Thomas replied. "We're based in the Philippines. Started small—military holdouts, local defense groups. We stabilized one city. Then another. Eventually formed a long-term network. We call it Overwatch because there's no more government to speak for us. We don't pretend to be the old world."
Ensign Morita leaned forward slightly. "You crossed the ocean in that Stratotanker?"
Thomas nodded. "Valkyrie One. Refitted with extended-range sensors, hardened avionics, and additional fuel bladders. It's not fast, but it gets us there."
"You came alone?"
"We needed to know if there was anything left," Thomas said simply.
The council exchanged glances. A moment passed.
Then Nishimura leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Well… you found us. But there's no government here. No more nation. Only this outpost. And maybe a few like it in the north."
Thomas's expression didn't shift. "That's what I came to ask. I need to know what's left of Japan. If there's still a chain of command. Civilian or military."
It was Hiroshi who answered.
"There isn't."
His voice was matter-of-fact. No anger. No sorrow. Just the truth.
"No Prime Minister?" Thomas asked.
Chief Kobayashi shook her head. "Reported killed during the evacuation of Sapporo. We don't know the full story. The government's last broadcasts came from a destroyer off the eastern coast. That signal went dead nearly nine months ago. There's been nothing since."
Thomas's jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't speak. He just listened.
Sergeant Sato picked up from there. "The JSDF tried to hold regional commands. That failed. Too many bases fell too fast. Coordinated strikes. Bloom infestations. Civilian panic. Once Tokyo fell, the rest followed like dominoes."
"Any remaining forces?"
"Fragmented," said Nishimura. "Some commanders tried to rally. Some went rogue. Others died in place. Most of us that survived did so by retreating into the mountains and cutting ourselves off."
"Anyone else still claiming command?" Thomas asked.
"No one credible," Hiroshi said. "There are militias in the north. Some coastal remnants in Hokkaido. But they're not governments. They're just… survivors with guns."
Thomas let that sit for a moment.
"So it's the same here," he muttered.
That got their attention.
"In the Philippines," he continued, "the government collapsed in weeks. Malacañang was overrun. Military high command fell apart. We had generals trying to declare martial law over provinces, but none of them lasted. The communications blackout sealed it. Chaos took everything else."
Nishimura folded his arms. "And what's left?"
"Pockets," Thomas said. "Strongholds. Civilian enclaves. Farming collectives. Some of them we're helping. Others we had to fight. The ones who adapted became Overwatch. We stopped waiting for orders and started building something that could last."
Of course, his story is fabricated, he doesn't want to lead them that all his forces are summoned. Though there is some truth where there are civilians living inside their bases.
He looked around the table.
"That's why I'm here. I'm not asking you to take orders. I'm not offering you a chain of command. I'm offering a connection. A line. Something better than silence."
Takeda spoke for the first time in several minutes. "We've tried to reach others. It's not easy. Equipment's failing. Weather's unstable. The last two relays we deployed got cooked in mountain storms."
"We've got drones," Thomas said.
"What's in it for you?" Hiroshi asked bluntly.
"Stability," Thomas replied. "We're not going to survive alone. I've seen too many enclaves go silent because they couldn't call for help. You've got intel on this region. We've got air support and resource logistics. You give us terrain maps and patrol data. We give you Bloom movement patterns, recon from the mainland, and tech upgrades."
Morita nodded slowly. "A trade."
"A start," Thomas corrected. "A way forward."
Another pause.
Finally, Nishimura nodded. "Fine. We'll give you access to our logs. Ensign Morita will provide your tech crew with coordinates for installation."
Kobayashi added, "And if this works… maybe we start mapping what's left of this country."
Thomas nodded once. "Good. That's all I wanted to hear."
Hiroshi exhaled and leaned back in his chair. "You asked if there were politicians left. The answer is no. The infected didn't care about parties or ideologies. They wiped the slate clean. There's no parliament. No flag. Just uniforms that don't mean anything anymore."
"That's how it is everywhere," Thomas said quietly. "The titles died first. What's left is who can adapt."
He stood slowly, dusting off his knees. The rest of the table didn't rise, but their expressions softened—just slightly.
"You're not Japan anymore," Thomas said. "And we're not the Philippines. We're not nations."
He met each of their eyes, one by one.
"We're what's left. And that means we have to be what comes next."
No one spoke.
But no one disagreed.
