During the events of Rise of an Emperor (Chapter 20)

The destruction caused by the P-1000 AI tank was vividly apparent. Fires raged everywhere as countless U.S. military personnel attempted to take down the behemoth. Lieutenant Colonel Doyal Houston and Major McKenzie's men were among those trying desperately to destroy the AI tank, but they suffered heavy casualties, barely making a dent in its defenses.

Watching the devastation unfold, Timothee—who had stolen funds from the League and the old Association Battle Reenactment America—smiled, relishing the chaos he and General Jimmy had unleashed.

"Cipher will rewrite the records of what I've done... And I will vanish from human memory. But the thirst for revenge I have planted will infest the system! No one can stop it now! My creation will unleash that thirst onto the future... Director... I'M BURNING UP!" Timothee shouted, just as the P-1000 AI tank took notice of him and fired, causing debris to fall and bury him.

Hours later, Don Houston, the legendary hero of the Dallas Incident and nephew of Lieutenant Colonel Doyal Houston, destroyed the P-1000 with nothing more than a grenade launcher and an AT4 rocket launcher.

As Don approached the wreckage, he saw Timothee—covered in blood, holding a canister in his hand. Alongside Don were Commander Muller from North High School and Commander Graham from Grand Lake High. Timothee, struggling for breath, attempted to reach for his short-handled lever-action shotgun.

But Don kicked the weapon away, grabbing the canister instead. Opening it, he found three vials of the vocal virus. Without hesitation, he tossed them into the fire, destroying the virus and ensuring it could never be used.

As Don stood, Timothee, now coughing up blood, raised a trembling hand toward Muller.

"Finish me... kill me..." Timothee pleaded.

Muller, with a disdainful sneer, pushed Timothee's arm away with his leg. Don then picked up the lever-action shotgun, loaded it, and aimed at Timothee. He pictured himself shooting Timothee over and over, flashbacks of the Dallas Incident flooding his mind—images of himself in his old Vermont Tankery Academy uniform, wearing his mask, as the cameras flashed.

But before Don could pull the trigger, both Graham and Muller grabbed his arm, preventing him from firing. The three then took aim at Timothee's body and began shooting, dismembering his left leg with each shot. As the leg was severed, a flashback played in their minds—three years ago, covered in blood, their injuries from the Dallas Incident fresh.

Now aiming at Timothee's arm, they fired again, dismembering it with precision. Another flashback followed, this time of Houston, Muller, and Graham, their faces stained with blood, glaring down at the horrors of their past, each wearing their old Vice Commander uniforms.

Finally, Don aimed at Timothee's head, ready to end it. But when he pulled the trigger, the gun only clicked. With a heavy sigh, Don tossed the shotgun to the ground. Timothee groaned in pain as Muller spotted two patches that had fallen from his pocket. Flipping them over, Muller saw one bore the insignia of Timothee's squad, the Vipers, while the other displayed the emblem of the old Vermont Tankery Academy—The Dogs of War.

"Do it yourself, Vermont scum," Muller spat in German, glaring at the emblem in disgust. Graham, similarly revolted, spat on the ground.

Don, however, showed no reaction. He understood that Timothee wanted revenge for the suffering Houston had caused him. Without another word, the three men left Timothee to his fate, allowing him to suffer alone.

As Houston, Commander Muller, and Commander Graham walked across the old battleground of the Dallas Incident Memorial, they found themselves in a place steeped in both sorrow and history. This was the very ground where so many had fallen, where they themselves had been scarred—physically and mentally. The memorial now stood as a testament to those who had fought and died, and yet, beneath this somber site, Timothee had secretly built his P-1000 AI tank in the shadows after the infamous Tankery match on Galveston Island.

The air was still heavy with the scent of lingering smoke from the recent battle. Despite the destruction they had just witnessed, there was a strange, uneasy quiet. As they walked, the only sounds were their boots crunching against the debris-laden ground and the occasional metallic clank from wreckage nearby.

Graham broke the silence first, his voice light, but with an edge of disbelief. "You know, Houston, what you did to destroy that P-1000... I gotta say, man, it was straight out of an action movie. You know what we should do?" Graham grinned as he caught Houston's side-eye. "We should make a movie out of this. You, the hero, taking down a gigantic AI tank with just a grenade launcher and an AT4? That's pure Hollywood gold right there."

Muller smirked, shaking his head slightly. "Oh great, here we go..." he muttered under his breath.

Graham was unfazed. He was already getting into the idea, motioning with his hands as if he could see the scene play out in front of them. "Picture it! I could be your agent. We'll get this thing produced—no, *I'll* produce it. I'm thinking explosions everywhere, epic slow-motion shots, dramatic music swelling in the background... It'll be a blockbuster!" Graham paused for a second before pointing at himself with a grin. "And of course, I'll have to play a part. You know, I'll be the wisecracking sidekick. Kinda like Johnny Cage. Hollywood star, martial artist, sunglasses—whole persona."

Don chuckled for the first time in what felt like days. "Johnny Cage, huh? You're serious?"

"Dead serious," Graham nodded, putting on an exaggerated swagger. "I mean, come on, man. I'm already halfway there! I got the looks, the charm, the moves. I'll even throw in some killer one-liners. Like when you took out the tank? I could've popped in with something like—" Graham straightened up, put on an over-the-top Hollywood action star pose, and in a deep, gravelly voice said, "That's one way to... blow off some steam."

Muller rolled his eyes and let out a tired sigh. "Graham, if anyone's walking away from this with movie rights, it's Houston, not you. And besides, no one would take a movie seriously with you running around pretending to be some kind of action star."

Graham feigned offense, gasping dramatically. "Oh, come on, Muller! You don't think I could pull it off? I've got range! I'm telling you, man, this could be my big break."

Houston shook his head, still amused. "Honestly, Graham, if anyone's making a movie, it's not going to be about me or this tank. But if it keeps you entertained, sure, you can be Johnny Cage."

"You see? Even Houston agrees!" Graham said with a triumphant grin, crossing his arms smugly. "Besides, who wouldn't want to watch a movie about a giant AI tank and a bunch of renegade commanders taking it down? That's peak cinema right there. And we'd definitely win some awards, too. Best stunts, best explosions..."

Muller smirked. "Best actor?"

"Of course!" Graham winked. "I mean, you'd be up for Best Supporting, obviously. But I'll take the lead."

As they continued walking through the remnants of their shared battlefield, Don couldn't help but appreciate the levity, even if only briefly. The weight of everything they had just been through hung over them, but Graham's banter was always a strange comfort. He knew it was just Graham's way of coping, a shield made of humor to push away the darkness of the battlefield.

Houston glanced back at the P-1000 wreckage one last time. "You really think they'd make a movie about us?"

"Without a doubt," Graham replied confidently, tossing his arm over Don's shoulder. "And when they do, don't worry—I'll make sure they cast you as the heroic lead. But don't be surprised if I steal the spotlight now and then."

"Yeah, we'll see," Don said, his smirk returning. "But you'd better start practicing your Cage impression now."

Meanwhile, somewhere deep in the jungles of South America, a young man made his way through the dense foliage, driven by an intense and burning hatred. He had traveled far, having escaped from the island where everything had gone wrong. Those filthy high schoolers—they were responsible. They had gotten his sister, Akira, arrested, and the thought of it made his blood boil. His fists clenched at his sides as he remembered her face, cold and expressionless as she was taken away. He swore to himself that he would get revenge, no matter how long it took or what it would cost him.

Rumors had brought him here, whispers of a hidden underground base somewhere in the jungle of Peru. A place left behind, supposedly filled with secrets that could change everything. He didn't know how much of it was true, but he didn't care. He needed a place to regroup, a place where he could plan, and this base—if it existed—could be the key.

Pushing past thick branches and brushing aside large bushes, he finally stumbled upon it. An old building, weathered and overgrown, stood before him. The structure was cracked and decayed, vines creeping up its sides. It was clear that it had been abandoned, yet there was something recent about it, as if it hadn't stood here for more than three years.

He approached cautiously, finding the rusted door and forcing it open with a groan. The hinges squealed loudly, sending a few birds scattering from nearby trees. Inside, everything was dark and musty. The air was thick with dust, and cobwebs stretched across the ceiling and corners of the room. The faint smell of mold clung to the walls as he ventured deeper, the only sounds being his footsteps echoing through the empty space.

Old electronic equipment lay scattered about, covered in a thick layer of dust. Most of it looked beyond repair, likely abandoned when whoever built this place left it behind. He walked further in, his fingers brushing the surfaces of long-unused consoles and terminals, wiping away years of grime.

Finally, after what felt like hours of searching, he found another door. It looked more solid than the others, and as he pushed it open, it let out a loud squeal of protest. Beyond it was a larger room, possibly a training area or a common room. The walls were cracked, and more debris littered the floor, but something caught his eye immediately.

There, hanging on the far wall, was an American flag. It was torn and faded, but unmistakable. Next to it, in even worse condition, was the decaying symbol of Vermont Tankery Academy. The sight of it made his stomach churn. Memories flooded back—memories of the academy, of the elite tank teams that had once commanded respect. But here, in the middle of the Peruvian jungle? It didn't make sense.

He took a step closer, his lip curling in disgust. "Tch... The Americans built this here? Why the hell would the Yankees set up a base in this place?" he muttered to himself, fists tightening once more.

The presence of the Vermont Tankery Academy's symbol raised more questions than answers. What had the academy been doing here? And what else might they have left behind? The boy's anger flared even hotter now, knowing that the very people he despised had been here before him. But perhaps that meant there were still resources he could use—something to help him in his quest for vengeance.

His thoughts drifted back to his sister, Akira. He would make those high schoolers pay

 As the young man continued deeper into the abandoned base, his curiosity and frustration mixed with a growing sense of unease. Each step felt heavier, and the air became colder. He wasn't sure if it was the atmosphere or the weight of his mission pressing down on him, but something about this place felt wrong. It was as if it had been left behind in a hurry, yet it remained oddly preserved.

Finally, he came upon another door—larger and more imposing than the others. With a deep breath, he gripped the rusted handle and pulled it open. The creak of metal echoed through the empty hallways as he stepped inside, squinting as the dim light from outside barely reached into the vast chamber beyond.

His eyes widened as he took in the sight before him.

It was a hangar—massive and cavernous, easily large enough to house something much bigger than the tanks he'd been used to seeing in the Tankery leagues. But this... this was different. Sitting in the middle of the hangar, covered in dust but unmistakably intact, was something far more advanced. It looked like a tank, but it had an eerie, mechanical quality to it that made his skin crawl.

He slowly walked closer, his heart pounding in his chest. The design was sleek, brutal even, like something pulled straight out of a nightmare. It was a massive machine, towering over him with a menacing presence. The armor was thick, reinforced, and bristling with weaponry. Missiles, cannons, and even more unfamiliar technology were mounted on it. The shape, the build—it reminded him of something out of a video game.

It looked like a Metal Gear.

His mind raced as he stared at it in disbelief. The legends of Metal Gear from the games were just that—legends. But now, standing in front of this machine, he realized those legends were real. This wasn't just a tank. It was something much worse, something designed for more than just battlefield dominance. It was a weapon of war, a machine built to change the course of history.

Before he could even process what he was looking at, he heard it.

*Click.*

The unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

He froze, his heart leaping into his throat as a cold sweat formed on his brow. His eyes darted around, trying to locate the source of the sound, but all he could hear was the echo of his own breathing in the vast hangar.

Then, a voice.

Low, sinister, and filled with a mocking tone. Laughter followed, chilling him to his core.

"Hahaha... You've found it, haven't you?"

The voice sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't see the person speaking, but the way the words echoed around the hangar made it feel as though the walls themselves were laughing at him.

"The American's greatest weapon... and now, it's mine." The voice continued, still unseen. "Did you really think you'd walk in here unnoticed? You've stumbled onto something far beyond your understanding, boy."

The young man turned slowly, his hand inching toward his side, ready to defend himself. But before he could react, the voice came closer, accompanied by the faintest sound of footsteps behind him.

"But don't worry..." The voice whispered near his ear, sending a wave of dread washing over him. "You won't be leaving this place alive."

As he spun around to face his assailant, a figure stepped out from the shadows, gun aimed directly at him. The smile on their face was cruel, the eyes gleaming with malevolent delight.

"Welcome to your end."

The young man, heart racing and adrenaline pumping, barely had time to react as the figure lunged at him. Their gun fired, but the bullet missed, ricocheting off the metal walls of the hangar. He quickly ducked and rolled to the side, grabbing a rusted pipe from the floor to defend himself. His assailant was fast—too fast—and with another low, mocking laugh, the masked figure closed the distance between them.

The two clashed, the pipe swinging wildly as it collided with the assailant's arm, knocking the gun loose. But the masked figure didn't flinch; instead, they laughed again, clearly enjoying the fight. The sound of it echoed in the vast hangar, sending chills down the young man's spine. The light flickered from a broken overhead bulb, briefly illuminating the room as they fought.

And that's when he saw it.

As the light shone on the face of his opponent, he caught a glimpse of a strange mask—a grotesque, twisted jester's face, grinning maniacally. The mask was cracked and old, but the design was unmistakably sinister, the kind of thing you'd see in a nightmare. His opponent was wearing an old, torn uniform as well—the faded colors and worn-out patches revealed it to be a Vermont Tankery Academy uniform.

What the hell? The young man's mind raced, confusion filling him as they continued their brawl. The masked boy was relentless, throwing punches and kicks with expert precision, clearly trained in hand-to-hand combat. But the more they fought, the more the young man realized there was something more than just malice behind the mask—there was pain.

Grunting with the effort, the young man managed to deflect a punch, spinning around and catching the masked figure in a headlock. The two struggled, locked together as they fought for control. Muscles tensed, breaths quickened, and sweat dripped down their faces. For a moment, it seemed like neither of them would give in.

"Why are you here?!" the masked figure suddenly growled, his voice losing the sinister tone, now replaced with a sharp demand. The laughter had disappeared, and for the first time, there was real anger in his voice.

The young man's brow furrowed, sweat dripping down his face. He had no choice but to speak, hoping his answer would buy him a moment of understanding—or perhaps even his life.

"I came here... because of my sister," he said, his breath ragged as they remained locked in a stalemate. "She was arrested—by those damn high schoolers, the ones from Tomodachi Island. Japanese and American officials took her away. I've been hunting down the bastards who did it, especially that Commander... Commander Edwards from Uncle Sam High School."

At the mention of the name, the Jester paused, confusion briefly flickering behind the mask. They disengaged from their struggle, stepping back but keeping their guard up, circling one another cautiously.

"Edwards?" the Jester echoed, tilting his head. The name didn't seem to resonate with him, but something else in the boy's story caught his attention. "You're hunting high schoolers?"

The young man nodded, frustration burning in his eyes. "Yes. They ruined everything. My sister... she was the only family I had left, and they took her from me. I swore I'd make them pay for it."

The Jester's mask reflected the cold light, his voice now darker and more measured. "You're not the only one whose life was torn apart by them." His words hung in the air like a threat. He continued to circle the boy, the tension between them palpable, though it was no longer pure hostility. "Why are you here, though? What do you expect to find in this place?"

The young man hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should trust the figure in front of him. But something in the Jester's voice told him they shared a common pain, a desire for vengeance. He decided to speak.

"I heard rumors about this place. A hidden base, something powerful left behind by the Americans. I thought... maybe I could find something here. Something to help me fight back."

The Jester chuckled, the sound hollow and bitter. "You're in the right place for revenge, boy. But you have no idea what you're dealing with." His tone shifted as he stepped closer. "Three years ago, this academy—Vermont Tankery Academy—was the strongest Tankery school in America. We were unbeatable, a force to be reckoned with."

The young man listened intently, though he remained tense, ready for the fight to resume at any moment.

"But then... the Dallas Incident happened." The Jester's voice grew colder, more bitter with each word. "Our Vice Commander betrayed us. Destroyed everything. He tore apart our squad—the Dogs of War—and left nothing but death in his wake. The academy crumbled, and I... I'm the only one left."

The young man's eyes narrowed as he processed what the Jester was saying. "Who was this Vice Commander?"

The room seemed to grow colder as the Jester spoke the name. "Don Houston."

They stopped circling. For a long moment, there was only silence between them as the weight of the name settled in the air. 

"Well, it seems that we both hate different people but have one common goal," the boy said.

"And that is?" the Laughing Jester asked.

"Revenge. We both want to make them pay for what they did to us," the boy replied.

"Exactly... I like your idea, boy. How about we work together to accomplish our goal?" the Laughing Jester asked.

"Hm... I never thought you'd ask..." the boy said as the two shook hands. As they did so, the Laughing Jester looked at the boy.

"So, if we're going to be working together, you must have a name?" the Laughing Jester asked.

"I do. Name's Kai Adachi. And you, partner?" Kai asked.

"You can call me by my codename, the 'Laughing Jester,' but if you want to know my real name, it's Robert," the Laughing Jester said as they shook hands.

...

https://youtu.be/roqkaqOuNZE

Knight Tom Present

The screen flashes with the headlines of various newspapers:

"4,500 DEAD IN DALLAS MATCH!"

The next headline reads:

"AMERICAN TANKERY ASSOCIATION VS. SENSHA-DO FEDERATION CLASH ON ISLAND!"

The images shift between the devastation of the Dallas Incident and the ongoing battles of the American Tankery Association boys, locked in combat.

What a thrill

With darkness and silence through the night

What a thrill

As the newspaper headlines fade away, the scene cuts to a swamp. Houston, his face stern, moves stealthily through the murky waters, clutching an airsoft M16A1. He's deep behind enemy lines.

I'm searching and I'll melt into you

What a fear in my heart

But you're so supreme!

Mark and Austin are seen patrolling the area, unaware of the danger lurking nearby. Houston, his face camouflaged with green and brown paint, emerges from the tall grass. In a flash, he grabs Mark in a chokehold.

I give my life, not for honor, but for you (Snake Eater)

In my time, there'll be no one else

Houston raises his MK.22 tranquilizer, scanning his surroundings, ready for action.

Crime, it's the way I fly to you (Snake Eater)

I'm still in a dream, Snake Eater

Uncle Sam's tanks fire at Houston as he sprints through the thick underbrush.

Someday you go through the rain

And someday you feed on a tree frog

Rain begins to fall as Houston stands alone in a dense forest, looking up at the sky, feeling the cool drops run down his face.

This ordeal, the trial to survive

For the day we see new light

Now, the emblems of various high schools flash across the screen in rapid succession: Davy Crockett High, Grand Lake High, North High, Washington Boys and Girls, Kansas Chief High, Uncle Sam High School, Edison High School, Montana Tankery Academy, Virginia Academy of Arts, Kuromorimine Girls' Academy, Pravda Girls' High, Saunders Girls' High, University High School, St. Gloriana Girls' College, and Oarai Girls' Academy. Each emblem slowly fades into the distance.

I give my life, not for honor, but for you (Snake Eater)

In my time, there'll be no one else

Edward, Davis, Rivers, and Jonathan stand side by side with their Japanese allies, facing off against Houston, Graham, Muller, Elijah, and Wesley.

Crime, it's the way I fly to you (Snake Eater)

Houston is seen biting into a tree frog, trying to survive in the wilderness.

Bridge and Chorus repeat again

Edward's M18 Hellcat fires at Houston's position. Houston rolls to cover, evading the strike at the last second.

I'm still in a dream, Snake Eater

Kai and the Laughing Jester exchange sinister smiles, their eyes gleaming with wicked plans.

I'm still in a dream, Snake Eater

Houston mans the airsoft machine gun from the back of a jeep, firing at their pursuers. Graham is behind the wheel, driving furiously through the terrain, with Muller seated next to him, scanning the area for enemies. The sound of gunfire and revving engines fills the air as they speed away, Houston keeping the enemy at bay.

Girls Und Panzer: Yankee's End

(Snake Eater...)

A/N: it fucking here Ladies and Gentlemen I know I got some comment's and made joke's between KingDiscord character's which I got to say the Civil War Between Yankee's in Tank and Tankery End has begun which side will stand or fall choose your team's now and uncover this new plot between both our heroes adventure....

Also for the timeline for this story will be Tankery end so the first book of mine Yankee's in Tank's didn't happen the only stories that happened which is Rise of An Emperor and The Dallas Incident book so keep that in mind and also KingDiscord did approve of this story and buddy I got say this....

#Team Yankee's! Woah Yeah! I'm going for my support with my boy's That what I'm going to do WOAH!