Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

2099 A.D. – 23:45 PM
Location: Laplace

The voice of the broadcast echoed across the vast colony of Laplace, carried through countless speakers and beamed across the Earth Sphere.

“The time is now 23:45 Greenwich Mean Time, and we stand on the threshold of history. Tonight, we witness the end of one world, and the birth of another!”

“Here at the Prime Minister’s residence on Laplace, the Earth Federation Government is moments away from inaugurating a new age. The ingenuity of mankind has brought us beyond the boundaries of Earth... and now, we set our gaze to the stars!”

“This is more than a celebration, it is a transformation. The Anno Domini calendar, with all its triumphs and tragedies, will soon pass into memory. In its place, a new era will rise. A unified time for a unified humanity: the Universal Century!”

“So as the final seconds of the 21st century count down, let us bid farewell to the age that birthed us… and step together into the unknown. Let us face the future not with fear, but with hope. Farewell, Anno Domini,”

“And welcome… Universal Century!”

The camera cut to a sweeping panorama of the Laplace Palace, its pristine white architecture framed by the glow of Earth far below. Draped in the flag of the newly-formed Earth Federation, the Palace stood tall as a monument to peace, unity, and the promise of a new era.

A slow pan down revealed the ceremonial platform. Gathered dignitaries, scientists, pioneers, and leaders sat solemnly under the artificial starlight, watching as a tall, distinguished man stepped up to the podium. He carried himself with quiet authority. This was Ricardo Marcenas, the first Prime Minister of the Earth Federation.

Behind him, the Charter of the Universal Century was displayed, still covered by the Earth Federation banner, waiting to be revealed.

Marcenas took a moment to gaze up through the colony’s dome, toward the stars that would now be humanity’s home.

“To all citizens on Earth and in space; greetings. I am Ricardo Marcenas, the first Prime Minister of the Earth Federation.”

“In just a few moments, the Anno Domini era will draw to a close. As it does, we will take our first steps into the unknown, a new century, and with it, a new hope for all humankind.”

“It is during this historic moment that I have been granted the great honor of standing before you, not as a representative of any one person or place, but as a voice for all humanity. On the final day of a troubled age, I speak to you with humility, gratitude… and hope.”

“When I was a young man, prime ministers and presidents spoke only to the citizens of their own nations.”

“Back then, humanity was divided, by race, class, culture, and creed. In the name of sovereignty, we carved up the world into nations, each acting in its own interest, fighting wars for dominance, waging conflicts fueled by fear.”

“And in their quest for power, these nations exploited not only people, but the Earth itself, until we reached the edge of ruin…”

The speech faded.

Outside the colony, beyond the cheers and ceremony, a lone shuttle drifted along the edge of the solar array that surrounded Laplace. Small and silent, its insignia obscured, it bore no Federation colors.

Inside the shuttle, a young man, barely older than a teenager, stared out the observation window. His eyes were fixed on the colony below, and on Earth. His face was stoic, his thoughts unreadable.

Then, his expression hardened. Without a word, he turned and stepped toward the cockpit. The shuttle’s thrusters activated.

As it passed along the outer edge of the solar mirrors, an artificial light shimmered and bent, refracting unnaturally.

Unseen by those celebrating below, the mirrors’ alignment had shifted, redirected by subtle mechanical tampering.

The focused beam of solar energy, a silent and invisible blade, sliced into the outer hull of Laplace. The initial rupture was deceptively small, a pinpoint of superheated material blooming outward. But the vacuum of space, an unforgiving force, rushed in to equalize the pressure.

The effect was immediate and catastrophic. A shockwave, though soundless in the void, rippled through the nearby structures. Within the pressurized sections, the air tore itself apart, carrying with it anything not bolted down – decorations, loose equipment, and the celebrating crowds.

On the ceremonial platform, the Prime Minister’s hopeful words were abruptly cut short. The artificial starlight flickered violently as power conduits severed. The polished plasteel of the podium buckled and cracked. Dignitaries, moments before beaming with anticipation, were now thrown into disarray, their formal attire whipping around them as the atmosphere was violently expelled.

The rupture widened with terrifying speed. Like a tear in fabric, it snaked across the colony's outer layers, exposing the interior to the cold, uncaring vacuum. The cheers of the inauguration turned into screams of terror, abruptly silenced as lungs emptied in the blink of an eye.

Fragments of the shattered dome rained down within the colony, glittering shards turning into deadly projectiles. The carefully orchestrated scene of unity dissolved into pandemonium. People scrambled, desperately trying to find purchase as the artificial gravity faltered in the compromised sections.

The implosion began. Areas closest to the breach crumpled inward, the immense pressure differential crushing walls and floors as if they were made of paper. Light and shadow danced wildly as internal structures gave way, sparks flying from severed power lines. The vibrant banners of the Earth Federation, symbols of hope just moments ago, were ripped to shreds and sucked out into the darkness.

Ricardo Marcenas, his hand still clutching his marker, was caught in the maelstrom. One moment he stood, a beacon of the new era; the next, he was engulfed by the expanding chaos, his form twisting and disappearing into the void as the vacuum claimed everything in its path. The Charter, meant to usher in an age of peace, was ripped from its hinges, becoming another piece of debris in the unfolding disaster.

The transmission, once a clear voice of unity, dissolved into static and then utter silence, mirroring the sudden silencing of countless lives. The hope of the Universal Century was not just delayed; it was seemingly annihilated in a brutal, instantaneous act.

The transmission cut.

And just as the shuttle that carried the perpetrators began its escape, it exploded. A burst of light, a twisted wreckage scattering across the stars.

But one figure remained.

Drifting alone in the darkness, the young man floated, unconscious, debris from the shuttle spiraling around him. His hand slowly twitched, his eyes fluttered.

He awoke.

His breathing shallow, he looked around, disoriented. Then, he saw it.

Something brushed against him.

The Charter of the Universal Century.

Floating, pristine, weightless. A document of peace now surrounded by death.

The young man’s reflection stared back at him in its glass frame.

And in that moment, beneath the wreckage of the new age, the true struggle of the Universal Century was born.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

UC0093

An old man awoke from his deep sleep. Dreams and memories from his youth were starting to surface with every blink. Using a neuro-chip placed in his temple, he watched footage of a miracle that had occurred for everyone in the Universal Century at that point.

A hologram of the recent battle between the Earth Federation unit, Londo Bell, and a new incarnation of Neo Zeon was displayed in front of him. The old man watched as the nearly defeated EF Forces' morale improved when a streak of light flew by, destroying the hordes of Geara Doga. The light stopped and took shape in the form of a black and white mobile suit with something attached to the left side of the unit. Its distinct features were a triple face vent and a double yellow V-fin, along with a stylized "A" symbol on its left shoulder and shield.

It was the RX-93 ν Gundam, piloted by a man feared by both Zeon and the Federation, the White Devil: Amuro Ray.

The old man watched intently as the ν Gundam engaged Char Aznable’s crimson Sazabi amidst the chaotic backdrop of the Axis separation. One massive chunk of the asteroid colony, a potential doomsday meteor, was spiraling relentlessly towards Earth. He saw the Gundam move with incredible speed and precision, its beam saber flashing as it deflected Sazabi's attacks. In what seemed like a blink, the Gundam, despite the Sazabi's formidable armor and weaponry, managed to outmaneuver its rival, delivering the decisive blow with minimal apparent damage to itself.

Then, without hesitation, the Nu Gundam turned its attention to the looming threat of the falling Axis fragment. It accelerated towards the colossal mass, a solitary white and black figure against the dark expanse. Other mobile suits, recognizing the gravity of the situation, descended from the remaining Londo Bell fleet and even a few remnants of Neo Zeon forces. They, too, attempted to add their thrust to the effort, a desperate coalition against a common enemy.

But just as they approached the Nu Gundam, a brilliant, almost ethereal wave of light erupted from the black and white machine. It washed over the assisting mobile suits, gently but firmly pushing them back, creating a safe distance. The Gundam, now bathed in this radiant aura, seemed to glow with an inner power. It continued its desperate push against the Axis fragment, and then, in a final surge of energy, both the Gundam and the immense asteroid section were enveloped in a breathtaking aurora of light, as if space itself was bending around their struggle. When the light subsided, the Axis fragment had been pushed off its collision course, and the Nu Gundam had vanished, leaving only the lingering shimmer of the aurora in its wake.

The old man turned off the recording as he noticed a middle-aged man walk towards his berth.

“Is it time?” the man asked, his voice calm.

The old man nodded, then commanded his berth to rotate so he could face the man. “Yes…”

With a nod, the man turned to leave, but as he reached the edge of the dim light, the old man called out, causing him to stop. “Cardeas…”

“Will you ever forgive me?” the old man asked, his voice tinged with regret.

Cardeas Vist turned back, meeting his grandfather, Syam Vist's gaze.

“What we are about to do will end the world as we know it, and our place on this planet, Grandfather,” he replied, his expression somber. “Forgiveness is all that’s left for us now.”

With that, he walked away.

Syam Vist closed his eyes, commanding his berth to initiate another deep cryo-sleep. But as he drifted into unconsciousness, he sent out one last silent plea to the stars.

“Please… let this bloodshed end with us.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

UC0097
Four Years after Char’s Rebellion.

In the far reaches of the Earthsphere, a lone cargo-class cruiser hurtled through space, its hull groaning under the strain of relentless pursuit. An Argama-class warship loomed behind it, a symbol of Federation justice giving chase. The cruiser had been flagged for its suspected connections to the Neo Zeon remnants; the Sleeves.

Inside the ship, nestled in a dim corridor, a stowaway girl quickly changed out of her civilian clothes, slipping into a normal suit. As she sealed the final latch, a beam scorched past the viewport. The resulting shockwave rocked the ship violently, sending her sprawling into the bulkhead.

On the bridge, crimson lights flared as the vessel shifted into combat mode. A grizzled man in his fifties floated into the command chair, anchoring himself as warning sirens blared around him.

"What’s taking so long with the bulkheads?" barked one of the operators.

"Multiple heat signatures inbound," his companion responded. "Two, no, three mobile suits, closing fast!"

The older man activated his personal monitor. With a cold, steady voice, he gave the order:

"Send Marida out."

In the ship’s cargo bay, a massive mobile suit was being lowered toward the launch hatch, its quad wing-binders spread like the wings of a predator. Inside the cockpit, a young woman calmly adjusted her helmet.

"Ignore the mothership. The Garencieres can handle itself," came Suberoa Zinnerman’s voice through the cockpit comms.

"Roger that," she replied, her voice focused and sharp as her panoramic display lit up. Across the HUD, the designation appeared:
NZ-666 Kshatriya; Pilot: Marida Cruz

"Target acquired," she reported. "High-speed Jegan. Likely special forces."

"Then this isn't a coincidence," Zinnerman replied grimly. "We’ll hit the debris cluster in ten minutes. Eliminate those suits and return."

"Affirmative, Master."

"And stop calling me ‘Master.’"

With that, the Kshatriya’s thrusters flared to life. The quad wings unfolded, releasing a burst of controlled energy as the suit launched from the Garencieres.
"Marida Cruz, Kshatriya, launch!"

Her display flared with red markers, two RGM-89 Jegans, and a third, unidentified mobile suit.

"You’re not getting anywhere near our ship," she muttered. "Funnels!"

Twenty-four remote weapons detached from the Kshatriya’s wing binders, forming a deadly formation around her. She closed her eyes briefly, focusing, her mind locking onto each funnel. In perfect synchronization, they surged forward.

The first Jegan was caught off guard. Beams from the funnels lanced through space, tearing the unit apart before it could react. The second Jegan opened fire with its Vulcans, trying to pick off the funnels, but its efforts were in vain. Within seconds, it too erupted in flame.

The third suit, a custom unit, veered away from the onslaught. Its pilot fired a clay bazooka, the shell streaking toward the Kshatriya. Reacting swiftly, Marida reversed her thrusters, using the wing binders as shields. The G-forces slammed into her as she braced. The shot missed by a hair.

Missile locks blared. The enemy fired all six missile pods in a desperate barrage. Marida expertly danced through the explosions, her suit weaving between the warheads.

"He's out of ammo," she muttered, watching the unknown suit jettison its empty pods and bazooka. Now lighter and faster, it rushed her.

Funnels darted to intercept, but the custom suit’s speed made it nearly impossible to track. Some blasts grazed its armor, but it pushed through. A beam saber ignited in its hand.
Marida answered in kind, her own saber flaring to life.

Their blades clashed, energy crackled as shockwaves rippled through space. Strike after strike, the mobile suits spun and weaved, trading blows like dueling knights. Sparks danced with each collision.

‘They’re good,’ Marida thought grimly, teeth clenched as their sabers locked again.

They spun, caught in a vicious clash. Sunlight burst over the horizon, blinding both pilots. Marida flinched, the enemy lunged, aiming straight for her cockpit.

"No you don’t!" she growled, firing her thrusters to throw the suit off balance. The sudden burst staggered the enemy.

Marida didn’t hesitate. With one clean slash, she cleaved the enemy unit in half.

A burst of static preceded a faint voice across comms.
"D-damn... S-Sleeve..."

Then, silence.

Her funnels returned, docking into her wing binders.

"Mission complete. Returning to the Garencieres," she transmitted.

Removing her helmet, Marida let her red hair float freely in the weightless cockpit. She gazed through the panoramic display, watching as the last remnants of the enemy unit faded into stardust.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the Earthsphere, at Side 4, Industrial 7, a colony stands as a testament to corporate power and technological prowess. Built and owned by the arms manufacturing giant Anaheim Electronics, the colony was designed exclusively for its workforce. Over two million residents call Industrial 7 home, the vast majority of them employees of Anaheim or their families.

Orbiting just outside the colony’s main cylinder is the Magallanica, a colossal colony builder slowly crawling through space. Locals have nicknamed it “The Snail” due to its sluggish, methodical movements.

Within Industrial 7 lies one of the most prestigious academic institutions in the Earthsphere: the Anaheim Institute of Technology and Engineering. A symbol of elite education and privilege, the Institute admits only the exceptionally gifted, or those born into wealth and influence.

In one of the sunlit classrooms of the Anaheim Institute of Technology and Engineering, a blond-haired boy sat near the window, his chin resting against his palm as he stared beyond the colony walls. Sunlight glinted off the glass as his gaze followed the faint curve of Industrial 7’s rotating horizon. His posture, slouched and disinterested, made it clear his mind was far from the lesson.

Beside him, a light green-haired girl lounged in her seat, pen tapping lazily against her desk as she sketched in her notebook. The lines formed a loose portrait, of the boy, half-lost in thought, staring at the stars. She smirked, glancing between her drawing and her subject. The instructor’s voice had faded into background noise.

At the front of the room, the history lecture droned on.

“Thus, it was the Battle of A Baoa Qu, culminating in the legendary duel between the RX-78-2 Gundam and The Zeong, that brought an end to the One Year War seventeen years ago. A year before any of you were born.”

At the mention of the Gundam, the boy's eyes flicked briefly toward the teacher. Just a glance, quick, almost reflexive, before he looked back to the window.

“When the hostilities ceased, half of humanity had already perished. Half. Gone.”

A holographic image flickered to life, A Baoa Qu drifting in shattered silence.

“The war began when the Zabi family seized control of Side 3. After Degwin Sodo Zabi orchestrated the assassination of Zeon Zum Deikun, the Republic of Munzo’s King and the son of its founder, the colony was reborn as the Principality of Zeon.”

Again, the boy glanced toward the front. His eyes narrowed slightly at the name: Zeon Zum Deikun. But he said nothing.

“Even after the war ended, conflict continued. Neo Zeon, the Sleeves, the Axis Shock… remnants of Zeon refused to disappear. Most infamous of all was Zeon Zum Deikun’s own son, Casval Rem Deikun. You know him better by the name he adopted: Char Aznable.”

This time, the boy didn't just glance, he turned his head ever so slightly, as if caught off-guard. But after a second, he shifted his gaze back out the window.

The green-haired girl paused her sketching. She caught the subtle movements. Watched him quietly for a moment. But said nothing.

The instructor continued.

“Char’s plan, to drop the asteroid Axis on Earth, was a radical attempt to force humanity into space. But even that, he claimed, was for Spacenoid liberation.”

His voice sharpened.

“But don’t let yourself be fooled by speeches about freedom. Beneath their words lies the same ideology, the same poison, that drove Gihren Zabi. A modern-day Hitler in all but name.”

“The concept of Zeonism proposed by Zeon Zum Deikun, the so-called Newtype ideology, was a dangerous belief,” the instructor declared, “and one that ultimately gave rise to the rebellious elements we now associate with Neo Zeon.”

At that, a hand shot up near the middle row.

The instructor’s eyes lit up. “Yes, Emily Amada,” he said with a touch of relief. “You have a question?”

Emily Amada, her light green hair catching the classroom lights as she stood, flashed a small, knowing smile. She spoke with confidence, almost too eager to make her point.

“But sir, do you believe that Newtypes actually exist?” she asked. “I mean... the Federation’s own ace pilot, Amuro Ray, is rumored to be a Newtype, isn’t he?”

At the mention of Amuro Ray, the blond-haired boy finally stirred. He cast a slow, sideways glance toward Emily, brief, unreadable, before returning his gaze to the colony sky beyond the glass. The movement was subtle, almost dismissive. Emily noticed. She pouted slightly, disappointed he didn’t take the bait.

The instructor smiled at the question, pausing for a breath.

“Well, the existence of Newtypes is still hotly debated,” he began. “Some argue it’s evolution, others think it's a myth. But personally, I believe humanity does have the potential to grow beyond our current limits. Whether that potential is what Zeon Deikum envisioned or something else entirely...”

He trailed off for a moment, then gave a half-shrug.

“As for Amuro Ray’s rumored status as a Newtype, officially, the Federation has never confirmed it. So we’re left with speculation... and war records.”

With that, Emily sat back down, her gaze drifting to Zachary, who remained fixed on the colony sky beyond the window, seemingly lost in thought.

“I’d also like to thank Ms. Emily Amada for at least trying to engage with this lesson,” the instructor said pointedly, slamming his teaching stick against the desk with a loud crack . The sound jolted the classroom into focus.

“I know history isn’t your favorite subject,” he went on, voice rising, “but I’ll remind you that history is important! And I won’t tolerate any of you dawdling while I lecture! Especially you, Zachary Mass! ”

At the sound of his name, Zachary turned his attention back to the instructor, ignoring the snickers from the row behind him.

“My apologies, Proffesor. It won’t happen again,” he said coolly, though his voice lacked conviction.

The instructor gave a sharp hum of disapproval. “And the rest of you! Just because you’re rich and come from prestigious families doesn’t mean you’ll coast through life. No degree, no diploma, no job. Even Anaheim doesn’t hand out careers to dropouts.”

Just then, the double doors creaked open. A teacher’s aide hurried in, approached the podium, and whispered something to the instructor. His expression darkened briefly before he gave a curt nod.

“That will be all for today,” he said. “I expect better behavior next class.”

The room erupted into motion as students eagerly began packing their belongings.

Zachary was gathering his things when Emily stepped up beside him, gently grabbing his arm.

“Well, Zach,” she said, trying to sound casual, “are you heading to the museum? The one that opened a few days ago?”

“I—” He barely got the word out before an arm flung itself around his shoulder.

“That’s exactly what we were thinking, Emily!” said Takuya Irei, grinning as he held Zachary in a mock-friendly headlock, completely ignoring his discomfort.

“I wa—” Emily tried to respond, but Takuya cut her off again.

“Perfect! Don’t you think so too, guys?” he said, looking at the rest of their friend group. A round of affirming nods and cheerful yeahs followed.

“Sweet! Let’s roll! Off to the museum we go!” Takuya cheered, dragging Zachary along as the group exited the lecture hall.

Emily sighed but followed after them. Zachary allowed himself to be pulled along, not bothering to resist. He already knew what was in the museum, anyway.

“This is going to be a long day,” he thought, casting a final glance back toward Emily, who had fallen into step beside Micott Bartsch.

—------------------------------------------------

As the group approached the museum, a few of them could barely contain their excitement, some bouncing on their feet like children let out for recess. Meanwhile, Zach sat relaxed on the hood of his car, arms crossed behind his head, watching them with a hint of amusement.

“They’re not excited about the museum,” he mused inwardly.“They’re just thrilled it’s the weekend. Well, perhaps not Takuya, he’s rather obsessed with Mobile Suits, truth be told.”

His thoughts were interrupted as a green, spherical robot the size of a basketball landed neatly in his lap, its flaps fluttering with energy.

“Hello, Zak! Hello, Zak!” it chirped cheerfully.

Zach chuckled and gently patted the dome of the familiar machine. “Hello there, Haro.”

As Zach and Haro continued their one-sided banter up front, in the backseat of the transport vehicle, Emily and Micott sat side by side, locked in a more personal conversation.

“Sooo…” Micott began, glancing sideways at Emily with a teasing grin.

“So what?” Emily replied, trying to sound casual.

“You think I didn’t catch what you were doing when you invited Zach?” Micott said knowingly as she tucked her compact mirror into her bag.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Emily replied smoothly, eyes shifting to the window to avoid further probing.

“Oh, come on , Emily Amada,” Micott said, nudging her playfully. “You think no one’s figured out you’ve got a crush on Za—mph!”

Micott’s words were cut off as Emily quickly slapped a hand over her mouth.

“ Shh! ” she whisper-yelled. “He might hear you!”

Micott pulled Emily’s hand away with a smirk. “Please. He’s totally distracted by that Haro of his.”

Sure enough, when they peeked toward the front, Zach was still fully absorbed, quietly responding to Haro’s chirps with a faint smile.

Micott leaned back and sighed. “Honestly, I don’t get what you see in him, Em. I mean, yeah, he’s cute— very cute—but he’s just so… cold. Distant, y’know?”

Emily didn’t reply right away. Her gaze stayed fixed on Zach, thoughtful.

Before she could form an answer, the vehicle rolled to a gentle stop.

“We’ve arrived,” the aide announced.

The doors slid open and the students filed out, one by one, onto the steps of the grand museum entrance.

As they entered the museum, the group was immediately struck by the grandeur of the building. Towering ceilings, glass-paneled walls, and strategically placed lighting showcased the legendary machines of war that shaped history. Mobile suits, both replicas and preserved originals, stood like titans frozen in time.

“Whoa…” someone whispered, capturing the awe felt by the entire group.

Takuya, unable to contain his excitement, bolted ahead. “No way! They actually have a replica of the Zeta Gundam here!?”

He stood before the towering red, white, blue, and black machine, pointing up as if introducing a childhood hero. “This is the MSZ-006 Zeta Gundam! The first fully realized transformable mobile suit! It changed everything during the Gryps Conflict!”

The rest of the group gathered around, soaking in Takuya’s enthusiastic tour as he rattled off trivia about GMs, the Ball, the Nemo, and other Federation suits.

Zach, however, kept to himself, strolling quietly past each display with only the occasional glance. His eyes lingered on the RX-78 series, each model a reminder of the war-torn history that still shaped the world.

Then he stopped.

Before him stood the RX-93 ν Gundam.

The sleek white and navy frame stood tall and noble. A quiet moment passed. The noise of his friends faded into the background.

Zach’s expression softened, barely perceptible to anyone watching. His gaze locked onto the ν Gundam’s silent faceplate, like he was trying to read the thoughts of the pilot who once sat inside.

Amuro Ray.

He didn’t say his name, but the image of him hovered at the edge of Zach’s thoughts like a shadow long cast by a fading star.

He stood there a while longer, the Nu Gundam’s imposing form reflected faintly in his eyes. 

Out of the corner of his vision, he noticed Emily Amada,

She had drifted away from the group, unnoticed, and now stood quietly in front of another display. A replica of the MS-06 Zaku II.

It wasn’t the flashiest mobile suit in the museum. It wasn’t the centerpiece. But there she was, gazing up at it with a kind of reverence. Not excitement. Not awe. Just... contemplation.

Zach tilted his head slightly, watching her. Her usual energy was gone, replaced with a quiet curiosity as her eyes traced the mono-eye, the faded green armor, the heat hawk slung across its side skirt.

Of all the suits to get lost in, she had picked that one.

A strange feeling welled up in his chest. He wasn’t sure what it was. Surprise? Interest? Maybe something deeper.

She slowly raised a hand, almost as if reaching out, but stopped short, fingers curling before they could touch the transparent barrier. Then she let out a small sigh and stepped back, folding her arms as her eyes lingered on the nameplate:

MS-06 Zaku II — Mass Production Mobile Suit of the Principality of Zeon. Icon of the One Year War. Infamous for its role during Operation British and the Battle of Loum.

Zach turned his eyes away before she could catch him staring. He stepped back from the ν Gundam and quietly walked toward her.

“You’re looking at a Zaku,” he said calmly, voice low but carrying enough weight to make her flinch slightly.

Emily blinked and turned toward him. “Yeah. I mean… It’s kind of strange, isn’t it?” she said, voice soft. “This was what the Federation fought against. But now it’s in a museum, like a relic from a myth.”

Zach’s eyes moved to the mono-eye of the Zaku. “It’s a symbol of a lot of things. War. Rebellion. Maybe even freedom, depending on who you ask.”

She glanced at him. “You sound like you’ve thought about this before.”

He gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe.”

They stood in silence for a beat. Then Emily smiled gently, arms still folded. “You’re full of surprises, Zachary Mass.”

He didn’t respond. Just looked back at the Zaku.

They were then interrupted by Haro bouncing across the floor.
“Zak! Emily! They are leaving us! They are leaving us!” the little robot chirped.

Sure enough, the rest of the group had already made their way to the section displaying mobile suits from Char’s Rebellion.

The three of them quickly caught up as Takuya enthusiastically gestured toward a row of suits.

“So this is the lineup of mobile suits used by Neo Zeon!” he said, pointing at the Geara Dogas lined up along the wall.

“I don’t even understand why they have these here,” Margo Brawn commented as she passed by the display. “I mean, Char’s Rebellion wasn’t that long ago.”

“Oh, come on, look at these mobile suits! They’re cool!” Takuya replied.

“Yeah, like ‘starting the next Ice Age’ cool,” Margo deadpanned, earning a wave of laughter from the group.

“Besides,” she added, smirking, “I bet you couldn’t even tell the full timeline of events from Char’s Rebellion, Takuya.”

“I absolutely can!” Takuya shot back. “I could probably cover the whole thing in under two minutes, right, Zach?”

Zach didn’t respond. 'Believe me, I could manage it far better than you, and not make a single mistake in the process.'

The thought echoed in his mind as he quietly walked past the others toward a large window overlooking the colony.

Takuya mumbled something about Zach being cold again before being distracted by the nearby Re-GZ display.

While he began explaining its development history to the others, Micott approached Zach and Haro, who were both quietly gazing out at the stars beyond the colony walls.

“You know, Zach,” she started, “you really do love staring off into the distance.”

He turned toward her, Haro tucked comfortably under his arm. “Hmm? I do?”

She nodded. “You were doing it just now. Again. We’re your friends, and friends are supposed to pay attention to each other equally, you know.”

“My apologies, Micott,” he said with a faint smile. “It’s not that I mean to ignore anyone… I simply drift off at times. It’s not as though anything specific is on my mind.”

He let out a quiet chuckle. “Perhaps it’s merely a habit I’ve picked up from a rather sheltered upbringing.”

“Oh right, I forgot, you didn’t grow up with many friends, huh?”

“Not that I was without friends,” Zach clarified. “It’s just that… we were all raised so far apart. My parents did their best to arrange visits whenever possible, but their duties often took precedence. In time, I simply drifted away from some of them.”

Micott’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry for opening old wounds, Zach.”

“There’s no need for that,” he said softly. “Perhaps that’s why I’m always looking out there, beyond it all… always wondering where we truly belong in this world.”

Micott smiled. “I can tell you where your place is, Zach. It’s with your friends. Your family. And one day, you’ll find someone who’ll help you see exactly where you belong.”

Her eyes briefly flicked toward Emily, who was watching the two of them from a distance.

“Maybe,” Zach replied. “I guess I’m just… too cold sometimes.”

“Well anyway, we better catch up. If we stay any longer, Takuya and the others will leave us behind,” she giggled.

“Lead the way, then,” he said, smiling back.

They began walking back toward the main hall, but Zach suddenly stopped.

A strange jolt, like a spike of instinct, rushed through his body. He turned back toward the window, eyes narrowing.

Through the translucent glass, far beyond the colony walls, he spotted it, a white mobile suit flying at high speed near the debris belt.

“…A mobile suit?” he muttered.

Before he could process it further, a pair of hands shook his shoulders.

“Zach, are you okay?” Emily asked, concern etched across her face. “You totally froze up there for a second.”

He blinked, then composed himself. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just… saw something, that’s all.”

When she pouted, clearly unconvinced, he smiled and took her hand gently in his.

Emily’s cheeks flared bright red, but she didn’t resist as he led her back toward the group.

‘What was that mobile suit?’ he wondered silently as they left the museum behind and made their way to the marketplace in search of food.

—--------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, outside the colony...

A white, single-horned mobile suit cut through the void at high speed, its frame leaving a trail of glowing thruster behind. Inside the cockpit, a test pilot in a bulkier-than-standard flight suit gritted his teeth. His breathing was ragged, sweat pouring down his face despite the climate control.

“Increase velocity,” came the calm but commanding voice of his superior through the comms. The man’s face appeared on the right-hand instrument cluster.

“Ri–right,” the pilot stammered. He pressed down harder on the foot pedals, and the mobile suit surged forward. The acceleration pinned him back into the seat, only the added foam layers in his reinforced flight suit keeping him conscious.

As he maneuvered through space, a new checkpoint flashed across his HUD.

“Fly straight through the highlighted debris field,” his superior ordered.

Grunting, the pilot obeyed, adjusting course toward the dense cloud of debris. His helmet began to fog up from his labored breathing, but he pressed forward, at least, he tried to.

“Please, sir! I can’t!” he cried out as the debris loomed closer.

Silence crackled through the comms, then finally, a response: “Break down 0-6-0.”

Obeying instinctively, he yanked the right control lever downward. The mobile suit dipped below the debris path, narrowly avoiding impact. The thruster flared briefly as he decelerated, drifting safely past the obstacle.

The test pilot let out a long sigh, finally able to breathe without trembling.

“I’m most impressed,” his superior said. The pilot glanced at the display, where the composed face of Cardeas Vist still lingered.

“Th-thank you, sir,” the pilot replied weakly.

Cardeas continued, “With the machine. Even without the Propulsor Pack equipped, it’s already achieving breakneck speeds with only a single main thruster. Frankly, I’m starting to question whether that mission pack is even viable. With its full estimated output, it could kill a normal pilot outright.”

The pilot tensed at the words, but Cardeas raised a hand in reassurance.
“At ease, Pilot Jordan. You did exceptionally well.”

“RX-0, return to base.”

With a silent nod, Jordan angled the mobile suit and engaged the thrusters. The RX-0 arced away from the debris field and toward Magallanica, eager to put distance between himself and the monstrous suit he'd just barely tamed.

—--------------------------------------------------------

As Cardeas Vist stepped away from his console, his aide and personal bodyguard, Gael Chan, approached with his usual composed demeanor.

“Sir, the assigned captain of the Haven-class ship is waiting in your office,” Gael informed him.

Cardeas nodded. “Understood. I’ll just finish up here.”

He turned back toward the operations floor, an expansive room filled with technicians and engineers. Picking up the mic from his console, his voice rang out through the room’s PA system.

“Attention, everyone.”

The room quieted instantly.

“All operational testing of the RX-0 Unit-1 is now complete. Begin the deletion of the testing OS. Seal off the NT-D system, and initiate the La+ Program.”

A round of applause erupted from the team, relief and pride visible on their faces. This milestone had been long in the making.

With the task complete, Cardeas and Gael exited the testing control center, making their way to the main tower of the Vist Foundation. Upon arriving at Cardeas’s office, they were greeted by a blond-haired man in his early-thirties, dressed in a sharp Londo Bell uniform. He stood from his seat, a magazine folded on the coffee table beside him, and gave a crisp salute.

“Mr. Vist,” the man began. “I’m the assigned captain of the new Haven-class ship, The Mori . Captain Job John, reporting.”

Cardeas returned the salute and extended a hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Captain Job. I understand you were personally recommended by Commander Noa.”

Job nodded. “Yes, sir. I served under Commander Bright during the One Year War in the White Base, piloting a Guncannon alongside two others. After the war, I transitioned into mobile suit engineering before joining Karaba, the AEUG’s Earthside division.”

He continued, “During Char’s Rebellion, I was given command of the SCVA-76 Nahel Argama and held that position up until my reassignment to The Mori, a request made directly by Commander Bright.”

“I see. Then I believe you’re more than qualified to handle The Mori , Captain John,” Cardeas replied as he settled into his chair. Gael, ever attentive, poured tea into the cups in front of both men.

“And how is The Mori coming along under your command, Captain?” Cardeas asked, accepting his cup with a nod of thanks.

Taking a small sip, Job answered, “So far, Mr. Vist, she’s holding up well. Currently, she's undergoing final renovations before the official unveiling and green light from Staff HQ.”

He set his cup down carefully. “The crew Commander Noa lent us is adapting quickly to the new ship. If they keep this up, I might even request that they become The Mori ’s permanent crew.”

Cardeas chuckled, clearly pleased. “That’s good to hear. The Mori was designed to be the flagship of the UC Project, after all, modeled after the Pegasus-class White Base , no less.”

At the mention of the UC Project, Job’s expression shifted, his earlier ease replaced by a subtle frown. “Right. The UC Project.”

Cardeas caught the change immediately. “This is strictly off the record, Captain John, but... what are your thoughts on the UC Project? Your tone suggests you’re not particularly fond of it.”

Job didn’t hesitate. “To be honest, sir, I’m not a fan. The Federation’s sudden rearmament, coupled with the introduction of advanced technologies behind closed doors, it all feels too secretive. Too dangerous.”

Cardeas nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “Exactly.”

Job raised an eyebrow, surprised by the agreement.

Cardeas continued, “While Anaheim Electronics agreed to assist in supplying the Federation with the mobile suits they requested, that doesn’t mean I support the direction my sister is taking.”

He stood and walked to the large window behind his desk, gazing out over the people bustling below. “We’re approaching the hundredth year of the Universal Century. And yet, humanity still clings to its old habits, its need to fight, to dominate, to build ever more powerful weapons.”

Job folded his arms. “Yet Anaheim still builds and supplies those weapons.”

Cardeas turned back to face him. “Unfortunately, Captain, I no longer have any real authority over Anaheim. My influence is... limited.”

He paused before continuing. “The only reason the Vist Foundation involved itself in the UC Project is because I saw something within those suits. Something... different.”

“So that’s why you modeled the mobile suits after the Vist Foundation’s symbol, the unicorn,” Job remarked.

Cardeas let out a quiet chuckle, taking a sip of his tea. “While the aesthetic choices were mostly suggestions from my end, I did believe that designing the RX-0 around the mythical unicorn was fitting. A creature of purity and mystery, a beast of possibility... In a way, I projected my hope for the future onto that mobile suit.”

“And what about its sibling units?”

“As I’m sure you’re aware,” Cardeas began, setting his cup down, “the Banshee was severely damaged after the Phenex lost control and went AWOL. It is currently undergoing repairs back on Earth, while the Phenex...” He paused briefly. “The Phenex is still unaccounted for.”

Noticing the time, Job stood and adjusted his uniform. “Well, Mr. Vist, it’s been a pleasure discussing all this, and thank you for the tea. I should return to The Mori and ensure she’s ready for deployment in three days.”

Cardeas rose and shook his hand once again. “Likewise, Captain John. May the light of the stars guide you well on your journey.”

Job gave a crisp salute before exiting the office, leaving Cardeas alone with his thoughts. Moments later, Gael entered the room.

“Sir, they’ll arrive at 0600,” Gael reported.

Cardeas nodded solemnly. “Make sure the Unicorn is ready. And have security make rounds near The Mori’s dock. We can’t risk any... incidents involving her crew.”

Gael gave a silent nod and left without another word.

Alone once more, Cardeas returned to his desk and sat down heavily. His eyes drifted to a framed photo resting near his files, a younger version of himself with his smiling wife and a small boy between them.

“Are we doing the right thing?” he murmured, his fingers gently brushing against the glass. “I only hope things don’t escalate more than they already have, Banagher.”

He lingered in silence, his hand still resting on the image of his lost family, haunted by memory, driven by hope.

—---------------------------------------------------------

The Garencieres cruised silently in space, its green frame blending with the massive solar panels of the colony. Its presence remained undetected, shielded by the very infrastructure it glided beneath. Scattered around the ship were several Geara Zulus and Dogas, each silently maneuvering away from the Garencieres , hiding in the blind spots of the colony’s surveillance network like shadows waiting for a signal.

“Roger that, entering gate number five,” Gilboa Sant acknowledged through the comms, steady and composed as always.

Flaste Schole, ever the inquisitive member of the crew, voiced the question that had been hanging in the air. “So… what exactly are we gonna do with this Laplace’s Box thing if it really exists?”

Captain Suberoa Zinnerman answered calmly, but firmly. “If they have it, we bring it home. If it’s a trap… we fight our way out.”

He glanced toward Marida. Their eyes met, a quiet understanding passing between them. She nodded in acknowledgment.

“Well,” Flaste muttered, leaning back in his seat, “I hope they do have it. Maybe then we can finally put an end to this damn war with the Feddies.”

As the Garencieres docked discreetly within Industrial 7, in a lesser-traveled section of the ship, a hidden compartment hissed open.

A stowaway emerged, greeted by a brief rush of air pressure and the disorienting tug of zero gravity. She tumbled forward, but managed to grab onto a safety railing before she could drift too far.

Moving quickly, she slipped through the maintenance corridors and made her way toward a restroom. Once inside, she shed her space suit and changed into civilian clothes, a modest gown. She fixed her hair in the mirror and tugged her sleeves down as she checked the time on her wrist device.

“I can still make it,” she whispered, determination in her eyes.

With her essentials in hand, she exited the restroom and weaved through the less-patrolled sections of the port. She kept her head low, avoiding any unwanted attention, until she reached a public transport shaft.

Gripping the lift handle beside her, she ascended. Below her, the sprawling colony landscape passed by in blur. The height stirred a wave of unease in her gut, but she shook it off. She had a mission to finish.

What she didn’t notice, however, was that the lift was headed straight into an unfinished section of the shaft.

With a sharp gasp, she collided with loose scaffolding and a sheet of protective cloth. She clung to a protruding lever to steady herself, but her momentum pulled it down.

A low rumble echoed around her as a water tank above was activated. The artificial rain system triggered, sending a cascade of water down into the colony's interior.

“Dammit!” she hissed, just as her grip slipped.

Before she could react, gravity took hold. She plummeted downward, falling through the rain and toward the world below.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

In another part of the colony…

Zachary Mass tightened the last loop of his tie and adjusted his blazer in front of the mirror in his dorm room. Nearby, Haro rolled around the floor, using its stubby arms to pick up scattered trash.

“Zak’s a mess! Zak’s a mess!”

“Yes, yes, my apologies, Haro,” Zach mumbled, running a hand through his tousled blond hair. “Got a bit buried in project work.”

As he reached for the handle of his mini-fridge, a sudden jolt struck his mind like lightning, one word echoing in the depths of his consciousness.

Help!

Eyes wide, Zach ran out onto the balcony and looked up toward the artificial sky of Industrial 7. He gasped.

Without a second thought, he grabbed Haro, eliciting a startled squeak, and dashed out of the room. In his rush, he nearly bowled over Emily and Micott in the hallway.

“Sorry!” he called without slowing down, leaving the two girls stunned.

“Where is he off to?” Emily asked as she and Micott watched Zach disappear from the corridor.

Barreling out of the dormitory building, he sprinted across the plaza toward Tem Ray Hall , the mobile worker training facility named after the legendary engineer. Ignoring confused janitors, he leapt into the cockpit of a half-fuel'd Zuck unit.

“Twenty-three percent… that will suffice,” he muttered, powering it on.

Technicians shouted in protest as he activated the thrusters, but he gave only a quick wave.

“My apologies, gentlemen! Emergency. I’ll bring it back in one piece!”

With practiced ease, Zach flew the Zuck into the maintenance shaft, seamlessly adjusting to the shifting gravity. His hands moved with confidence over the controls as he pushed the unit toward the colony’s upper levels.

—--------------------------

Meanwhile, high above the artificial horizon, the girl was still falling through the shaft.

“I can’t die… not now.”

She clenched her teeth, tears stinging her eyes as she struggled to control her panic. Her gown flapped wildly in the air. The simulated sunrise was beginning, soon the environmental systems would increase the temperature inside the shaft.

Then, through her blurred vision, she saw it: a mobile worker speeding toward her.

Inside the cockpit, she caught a glimpse of a blond-haired teen. His eyes were focused. Determined.

“A rescue?”

—----------------------------------

Zachary narrowed his eyes as he spotted her tumbling below.

“There you are… but time’s slipping away. The heat from the artificial sun is about to scorch the entire shaft.”

He opened the cockpit as he approached. Haro gripped the edge with its arms, bracing against the wind.

Zach reached out.

The girl saw his outstretched hand, and reached back.

Their hands met.

With a sharp tug, he pulled her into the cockpit. Haro squealed but helped steady her.

As the hatch sealed shut, Zach turned the Zuck downward.

“Hang on,” he said calmly, as she clung to him.

He deactivated the main thrusters, letting gravity do the work. Periodically, he fired short bursts to slow their descent, conserving what little fuel remained.

They fell into an unpopulated park nestled on the edge of the colony.

“Brace yourself!”

Zach activated the Zuck’s manipulators, using them to dig into the soil. The mobile worker skidded across the ground, kicking up dirt before finally grinding to a halt. Smoke rose from its thruster vents.

He exhaled deeply.

“We made it.”

He glanced at the girl; her eyes were closed, feigning unconsciousness. Zach played along. He opened the hatch and climbed out...

Only to be tackled from behind. She had grabbed his leg, causing him to stumble and fall onto the grass. In a flash, she straddled his back and twisted his arms behind him.

“Zak is in danger! In danger! Activating security mode!” Haro chirped as it hopped out of the cockpit.

“Wait! Haro, stand down!” Zach shouted, but it was too late.

The girl caught Haro mid-air, muffling the bot with her arm. “Eekk!!”

Tightening her grip, she demanded, “Who are you? What were you doing?!”

With his face pressed into the grass, Zach replied coolly, without a trace of panic, “You’d get your answers a lot faster if you asked before tackling.”

She blinked, surprised by how calm he was.

“Zak, are you okay? Zak, are you okay?” Haro whined from under her arm.

She finally let go, freeing both Zach and the distressed Haro. As Zach stood and dusted himself off, she took note of his uniform.

“Are you from this colony?” She asked.

Anaheim Institute of Technology and Engineering? she thought, recognizing the crest on his blazer.

“Yes, I am,” Zach answered, as if reading her mind.

“I’m in a hurry,” she said. “Can you help me reach the colony builder entrance?”

Zach raised an eyebrow. “You mean The so called Snail ?”

She nodded and approached the now-smoking Zuck.

“Can we get there with this?”

Zach glanced inside at the blinking low-fuel light. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. She’s out of fuel, and the thrusters are all but ruined after that little stunt we pulled.”

The girl turned sharply, desperation etched deep into her face. Her voice cracked, trembling with urgency.

“I don’t have much time! Please, will you help me? There's someone I must speak with, and if I don’t reach them in time, something terrible might happen.”

Zachary, hearing the raw fear in her voice, felt something stir deep inside. His gaze narrowed, and he asked softly, almost to himself:

“Something terrible? What?”

Her answer dropped like a weight in the air.

“This war,” she said grimly, eyes heavy with burden beyond her years.

In that moment, Zach’s world seemed to shatter into shards of memory.

“Kamille!”
“Katz! Please don’t go!”

“Hathaway! Look out!”
“She would’ve turned on us! She could’ve been saved!”
“Don’t be a fool, Hathaway! She was aiming at Ms. Chan!”

“Don’t be stupid!”
“I’ll just have to try! Unlike you, I can wait for humanity to learn!”

A chorus of voices, echoes from generations past, swept through his mind. Faces of the young, the lost, and the broken flashed across his thoughts. Each one burdened by ideals, hope, and grief.

He blinked, and the present snapped back into place.

She was running.

“Hey, wait!” he called out instinctively.

The girl stopped, turning back with guarded eyes. “What?”

Zach walked toward her, the grass crunching beneath his shoes. Haro bounced beside him, arms waving slightly as if in shared concern.

“I’ll help you,” Zach said, his tone steady but firm. “Sometimes… you can’t do this stuff alone.”

—-----------------------------------------------

After all the commotion from the landing, Zachary called for his private automatic transport. Now seated in the driver’s seat, he occasionally glanced at the girl sitting silently in the front passenger seat. Haro rested in the back, rocking gently with each turn of the vehicle.

Zach tried to break the ice, which is a first for him to do.

“So then… who exactly is this person you need to speak with?”

The girl didn’t answer. Her gaze stayed fixed outside the window, watching the towering buildings of Industrial 7 pass by in a blur. Her silence was more than refusal, it was distance.

Zach let out a quiet sigh, choosing not to press further. “The Snail; that’s what they call the colony builder,” he said, shifting tact. “There’s a rumor circulating around campus that at its very end, there’s a mansion. Supposedly owned by the Vist Foundation.”

At that, her head turned. Her eyes met his, curious, alert.

“Have you been there?” she asked. “Seen it?”

Zach shook his head. “No. But one of their higher-ups is the head of the academy. He’s also an ally of my mom’s in business.” He paused for a beat. “That’s as close as I’ve gotten.”

They stopped at a red light. Zach noticed an increase in police vehicles up ahead: patrol cars, bike units, and even a few Federation security drones circling overhead.

“Hmm. Far too much heat,” he muttered, his grip tightening on the wheel. “They’ll be inspecting vehicles soon enough. My car was seen going near the crash site, I won’t risk us getting flagged.”

She nodded once in agreement, tension creeping back into her shoulders.

Without another word, Zach swerved the vehicle off the main road and into a nearby parking complex. He manually disabled the autopilot and tucked the car into a shadowed corner space, shielded from surveillance.

“We’ll have to proceed on foot from here,” he said, retrieving a small bag from the backseat and slinging it over his shoulder. “The mansion at the end of the Snail, it is your destination, isn’t it?”

She hesitated. Then she nodded.

“Then let’s go,” Zach said as he stepped out of the car, offering a hand to help her down.

Haro bounced out right after them. “Zak and girl, on the move! On the move!”

—-------------------------------------------

At the crash site, a crowd had already begun to gather around the damaged Zuck. Yellow police tape was stretched across the perimeter, while officers directed civilians away from the scene. Anaheim security personnel stood by, their eyes scanning every inch of the wreckage.

On the edge of the cordon, a sleek black sedan remained parked, its tinted windows masking the occupants within. Inside, Marida Cruz sat silently, earpiece in place, speaking with her captain.

“You really think she was inside that petite mobile suit?” Captain Suberoa Zinnerman’s voice came through the line, low and grim.

Marida kept her eyes on the chaos outside. “It makes sense. She’s missing, and no signs of forced entry into the colony builder. The timing adds up.”

Zinnerman let out a breath. “If the Federation gets a visual on her, we’re in deep trouble. But we need to see how the Vist Foundation reacts first.”

As she listened, Marida’s mind drifted back to their earlier conversation, just after docking at Industrial 7.

“My apologies, sir,” she had said with a bow of her head. “I should’ve noticed she stowed away on the Garencieres.”

“No,” Zinnerman had replied firmly. “I’m the captain. If anyone’s at fault, it’s me.”

Back in the present, Zinnerman’s voice brought her back. “We know where she’s going. Your job is to get to her before she reaches Cardeas Vist.”

A brief pause.

“And try to stay under the radar.”

Marida gave a small nod, even if he couldn’t see her. “Understood.”

She ended the call, glanced once more at the flashing lights around the Zuck, then shifted the sedan into gear and drove off, heading straight toward Magallanica.

—--------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, the girl and Zach stopped by a local food stand. While she picked up her food, Zach stayed behind to pay, overpaying the vendor by more than 50 dollars and telling him to keep the 45-dollar change.

The girl looked up, her eyes fixed on a massive structure towering within the colony. “So, that’s a construction unit?”

“Yeah,” Zach replied, finally slipping free from the vendor’s grateful grip. “There’s a factory inside that builds the foundation blocks for the colony.”

“This whole place is still under construction, after all.” He carefully unwrapped a corndog he had just bought, giving it a cautious inspection.

Noticing her puzzled stare, he added, “My apologies, I don’t usually eat street food.”

He then took a tentative bite, his eyes widening with surprise. “Sweet and a bit salty at the same time... the ketchup gives it a tangy kick, and the mustard balances it out, even though I still hate mustard.”

As he broke down the flavors, the girl took a bite of her own, despite being taught it was improper to eat while walking. But as the taste hit her tongue, those teachings quickly faded from memory.

As they walked, a poster outside a mall caught her eye. It advertised a new film titled Runaway Princess . How amusing , she thought.

Then her gaze shifted to the poster beside it, Fourth Tragedy, and her expression subtly changed.

Before she could dwell on it, Zach called out, “Hey, looks like there’s a tour starting at the factory. We can blend in with the group.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

As the two teenagers approached the lift that would take them into the factory, it suddenly halted in front of three figures. Two were men there, one large and wearing sunglasses, the other of Indian descent. But what truly caught their eye was a 19-year-old girl wearing a jacket, a long skirt, and a hat that partially hid her red hair.

“Marida?” the girl exclaimed in surprise.

Marida Cruz gave her a quick once-over before her gaze locked onto the boy in the pristine academy uniform, holding a Haro. She glared at him, trying to unsettle him, but Zach returned her stare with cool indifference.

Then, Marida turned her attention back to the girl. “Let’s go back. You have your position to consider.”

The girl snapped, “If you understood my position, then you’d know I can’t do that!”

Her sharp retort made Marida and the two men inhale slightly in surprise.

Regaining her composure, Marida replied, “What you’re trying to do is futile. The steps already taken can’t be undone.”

“We can’t handle Laplace’s Box right now. Whatever it is, it’ll just be used by Full Frontal to fuel this meaningless war,” the girl responded.

Unnoticed by Marida and her men, Zach began tapping on Haro’s shell, communicating in Morse code.

“If he gets his hands on the Box,” the girl continued, “he’ll only bring more suffering. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I don’t,” Marida replied flatly. “What I understand is that I have orders to follow.”

“That’s a lie!” the girl shot back. “You weren’t given your abilities for this—”

She didn’t get to finish. Marida gestured to the men. “I’m sorry,” she said curtly and stepped into the lift.

Zach took this as his cue. He discreetly hit the down button on the panel and rolled Haro toward the trio.

“Activating security mode! Activating security mode!” Haro blared.

The two men instinctively backed away. In the same moment, Zach stepped beside the girl and whispered, “Hold on,” before suddenly throwing her up to the deck above, shocking everyone with his strength.

As the men rushed at him, Haro released a loud screech followed by smoke pouring from its vents. Using the distraction, Zach scooped Haro up and tossed him up after the girl, then vaulted up himself.

The man of Indian descent recovered first, lunging up to follow, but Zach met him with a solid kick to the chest, sending him crashing back down. The larger man tried next, only to get decked in the face by Zach and meet the same fate.

Catching Haro mid-air, Zach grabbed the girl’s hand. “Come on!” he urged, running toward the scaffolding.

Marida, meanwhile, caught both her falling teammates, snatching the large man’s sunglasses midair and calmly placing them back on his face. Then, using his back as a launchpad, she rocketed upward, her hat flying off to reveal her long red hair.

“Hurry!” the girl called as she and Zach scrambled onto the scaffolding.

Zach scanned the area and spotted another lift. “Take Haro and hold tight!” he said, shoving the robot into her arms. He then grabbed a nearby wrench and hurled it at the lift’s control panel, shorting the system and causing the lift to ascend.

Without hesitation, he seized the girl by the arms and threw her onto the rising platform.

Marida, stunned again by the boy’s raw strength, composed herself quickly. She had a mission to complete.

Zach scaled the pipes and beams, expertly vaulting upward. Marida mirrored his movements, equally agile.

As she reached their level, she launched a high kick at Zach, but he reacted faster than expected. Ducking low, he swept his leg in a spinning kick. Marida dodged it midair, but Zach used the moment of imbalance to grab her coat and skirt, using her own momentum to toss her down to the level below.

She landed gracefully on the scaffolding, watching the two ascend out of reach.

The girl, still in a mild state of shock, couldn’t shake the memory of the sheer strength Zachary had just displayed. To outmaneuver and overpower Marida, Alec, and Bonson, none of whom were slouches, was no small feat.

Zach adjusted his uniform with a quick pat-down, then held out a hand to her. “Come on. It’s probably smooth sailing from here on out.”

Down below, Marida remained where she was, silently watching the two disappear upward before turning her attention to the unconscious workers nearby. With a sigh, she went to wake up the people she, Alec, and Bonson had knocked out during the scuffle.

Meanwhile, Zach and the girl sat atop a massive foundation block being carried through the structure, taking them toward their destination. The girl was about to speak, but Zach beat her to it.

“My name,” he began, holding Haro in his lap.

She blinked, confused by the sudden statement.

“I never did tell you my name,” Zach said with a quiet chuckle. “Crowley would have a fit if she learned I met a young lady and failed to introduce myself.”

“Your name is Zak, right?” she asked. “Your pet robot shouted it during the fight.”

Sure enough, Haro’s flaps were flapping as it chattered excitedly. “The girl is nice, Zak! Haro likes the girl!”

Zach offered a small smile. “Well, that’s only part of it. My full name is Zachary. Zachary Mass.”

The girl hesitated, then responded, “And I’m Audrey. Audrey Brune.”

Zach repeated the name thoughtfully. “Audrey…”

Something about it didn’t sit right with him, it felt her being doesn’t fit with the name, like she was hiding something. But he didn’t press. Who was he to question someone else’s secrets when he is a living secret?

“Anyway,” he went on, lifting Haro slightly, “this is Haro. A gift from my father, we’ve been together for as long as I can remember. And when it was finally mass-produced, every child thought it was the most marvelous thing.”

“I wouldn’t know what most kids liked,” she said in a somber tone. “When I was growing up, we were always on the move. I was raised like a nomad… never had kids my age around.”

Zach grew quiet for a moment, then replied, “Well, I daresay my upbringing wasn’t all that different. We didn’t move about, but I was raised in a rather secluded household; maids, attendants, all quite proper. I rarely had visitors my age. The few friends I did have, we only met on occasion, when our parents' duties permitted it. Even the local children near our family’s villa hardly ever spoke to me.”

Audrey turned her gaze to Zach, noticing how tightly he held his Haro, the little green robot cradled like a piece of his past.

—---------------------------------------------

On the other side of the colony builder, Zachary’s friend group was attending a factory tour. At the moment, they were observing the massive foundation blocks as they moved along the rails.

“Oh wow, look at these rails!” Ernst exclaimed, peering through a pair of binoculars. “They go up so high!”

“Whoa, check out those frameworks!” He handed the binoculars to Margo.

Meanwhile, at the back of the group, Emily, Micott, and Takuya were deep in conversation, more specifically, about someone.

“So, Zach didn’t show up?” Takuya asked, glancing around the crowd.

Emily raised her own binoculars. “That Zuck that crash-landed in the residential park earlier… I hope that wasn’t him,” she said, voice laced with concern.

“Come on, Emily, lighten up. I’m sure he has a good explanation for why he ran off this morning,” Micott said, trying to reassure her.

“Besides, it’s not like he’d get kicked out of school,” Takuya added. “His mom’s one of the most influential people in the Earthsphere. Even my parents are scared of her.”

Emily tuned them out as she scanned the foundation blocks again, until something caught her eye. A figure moving atop the structure. She adjusted her focus and gasped. “Zach?!”

Hearing his name, Ernst and Margo rushed over to join Micott and Takuya. “Where?” Ernst asked urgently.

Emily pointed toward a section of the moving block. The others raised their binoculars, and sure enough, there was Zach, walking along the massive structure with someone beside him.

Margo was the only one brave, or curious, enough to ask what they were all thinking.

“Who’s that girl he’s with?”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

“As for those individuals who were after you,” Zach began, glancing at Audrey as they walked along the factory catwalk, “what exactly is their business with you?”

There was a brief silence before Audrey answered, “I ran away. They were supposed to bring me back. They’re not trying to hurt us.”

Zach cast her a sideways glance. “Are they some sort of activists, then? The kind who advocate for Spacenoid independence?”

“Kinda,” she replied. “Only… much scarier.”

They came to a stop at the edge of a foundation block just as it began to move forward on the rail system.

Audrey looked around, eyes wide with wonder. Watching the massive blocks slide into place, seeing the raw scale of construction, it was a sight she had never experienced before. “Amazing…”

“Yeah,” Zach said, stepping up beside her. “The colony’s walls grow wider and wider as each foundation block is added.”

“It’s like the world is growing,” Audrey murmured, still in awe.

Zach gave a faint smile at her words. “Yeah… I guess it is.”

—--------------------------------

Inside Magallanica, in a secured section of the colony builder, Cardeas Vist stood watching over the final maintenance work on the RX-0 Unit 1. Floating beside him was Gael, reviewing the last preparations for the La+ Program.

“Sir, we picked up something unusual on Lift Two’s surveillance feed,” Gael said, handing over a tablet.

Cardeas glanced at the screen. Upon seeing the footage, his eyes widened in shock.

“What is she doing there?”

“We’re not sure, sir,” Gael replied. “We received reports of unauthorized movement through the service route near the artificial sun, but we didn’t expect… her.”

Cardeas paused the footage and frowned. “Have we heard anything from the Sleeves?”

“No, sir. Nothing.”

“Then she’s acting on her own,” Cardeas muttered.

Gael turned his gaze toward the RX-0. “This could complicate the delivery of the Box.”

He hesitated before adding, “I still maintain the opinion that your meeting with the Sleeves is ill-advised, especially now.”

Gael swiped the screen to show a second face, this time, a blond-haired boy.
“He’s with her?”

“Yes. Zachary Mass, a student at the academy. Earlier this morning, he hijacked a Zuck from Tem Ray Hall and flew it into the maintenance shaft. Too young to be a bodyguard… but clearly not ordinary.”

Cardeas closed his eyes, piecing together the implications.

So the rightful Prince lends his hand to the usurper Princess…

He allowed himself a quiet, wry chuckle. “Oh, the irony.”

—-------------------------------

As the blast doors creaked open with a deep metallic groan, a blinding light poured through the widening gap. Zachary shielded his eyes, then stepped forward, and what lay beyond took both their breaths away.

Spread out before them was a breathtaking stretch of greenery, impossibly vivid for something hidden within a colony. The ground curved upward in the distance, following the cylindrical shape of the builder, and in the very heart of it stood a mansion, towering, silent, and regal. Its Victorian architecture, untouched by time, rose like a phantom from a forgotten world.

Audrey’s voice was barely a whisper. “So… that’s it. The Vist Mansion.”

Zachary stood in stunned silence for a moment before speaking, his voice low with a bit of surprise. “It’s real.”

He reached for her hand, and together, without another word, they began walking toward the looming estate, the air around them thick with mystery and the weight of what was to come.

As they approached the mansion, something caught Zach’s eye: a section of the grand structure bore blackened scorch marks, the windows hastily barricaded with metal sheets and rusted bars.

Why would a family as powerful as the Vists allow part of their estate to fall into such disrepair? he wondered, the question gnawing quietly at the edges of his mind. It didn’t make sense. Families of great wealth took pride in appearances, especially one like the Vists.

At the towering front doors, Zach gripped one of the ornate brass knockers and let it fall with a deep clang. The echo reverberated through the hollow silence inside. They waited.

“Maybe no one’s home,” Audrey said, her voice hushed by the weight of the place.

“I’m not so sure,” Zach murmured, pushing against the door.

To their surprise, it creaked open without resistance.

Haro rolled in first with a curious whirr , and Zach stepped across the threshold. Audrey hesitated, something about this place unsettled her, but she followed close behind.

Inside, the air was thick with stillness and the scent of old wood and dust. The grand staircase loomed before them, its red carpet worn at the edges. Audrey called out as they ascended, “Excuse us! Is anyone here?”

No reply. Only the distant groan of the mansion settling.

They passed a scorched hallway but didn’t linger. There was something uneasy about its darkness, something that begged not to be disturbed.

Then they opened a tall, double door, and froze.

The room before them was majestic: vaulted ceilings with a glimmering chandelier, velvet curtains framing tall windows, and in one corner, a grand piano draped in a pale dust cover. But the true centerpiece was the massive tapestry that lined the walls, woven with incredible detail.

At the center, a solemn lady stood, flanked by two mythical beasts, a white unicorn on her left, a black lion on her right. Her expression was unreadable, almost haunting. Above her, in elegant lettering, was a phrase.

“À mon seul désir,” Zach read aloud. “To my only desire.”

Audrey blinked, surprised. “You can read that?”

“My mother insisted I learn every major European language,” he replied softly. “She said French was the most beautiful of them all.”

He stepped closer, drawn to the tapestry’s strange allure. The room felt like a shrine, not just to history, but to something sacred and secret.

“Indeed,” came a calm voice from the doorway behind them.

They both turned sharply.

Standing there was a tall, middle-aged man in the crisp formal uniform of the Vist Foundation. His presence was commanding, as though he’d been watching for some time.

“Interested in that?” the man asked as he stepped into the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. His voice was calm, but there was a note of quiet pride woven into it.

“That’s The Lady and the Unicorn . A tapestry believed to have originated in France before the middle era,” he continued, his eyes tracing the ancient woven figures with familiarity.

He paused for a moment, allowing the gravity of his next words to settle in. “And it’s no replica, might I add. My predecessors went to extraordinary lengths to acquire the original, long before the One Year War broke the world apart.”

Zach and Audrey turned to face him fully as he came to a stop just in front of them. The man stood tall, composed, as if the mansion itself recognized his authority. The flickering chandelier light cast soft shadows over the tapestry behind him, the lady, the unicorn, the lion, all watching in silence, just like him.

“You two have come a long way to stand before this.” He looked at them not with suspicion, but with measured interest, as though they had just stepped onto the edge of something far larger than they could yet understand.

Cardeas turned toward Audrey with a calm yet deliberate gesture. “I am the head of the Vist Foundation, Cardeas Vist. And this,” he said, sweeping an arm lightly around the elegant hall, “is my home.” He offered her a courteous bow.

Audrey inclined her head respectfully. “I must apologize for entering uninvited, Mr. Vist. My name is—”

“I’m aware of who you are, my dear,” Cardeas interrupted gently. His gaze briefly flicked toward Zach. “And I think, for everyone's sake, it’s best you don’t speak that name aloud. Not in his presence.”

Zach, still gripping Haro in his arms, narrowed his eyes slightly but remained silent, observing every shift in tone, every careful word exchanged between the two.

“Then let’s dispense with formalities,” Audrey said coolly. “If you understand why I’m here, then you understand what’s at stake.”

She took a breath, steady but heavy. “I’ve come to ask you to reconsider. I’m speaking of Laplace’s Box, and your intention to hand it over to us.”

Cardeas was quiet for a long moment, the weight of her request lingering in the silence between them. Then, without addressing her directly, he turned his gaze to Zach.

“You should leave now, Zachary Mass.”

Zach didn’t flinch at the use of his full name. He simply met Cardeas’s eyes, his expression unreadable.

“I’m sure your mother wouldn’t appreciate your involvement in what we’re about to discuss,” Cardeas added evenly. “If you go now, I’ll see to it that your unauthorized use of the Zuck, and the damage to the colony, are quietly overlooked.”

Still, Zach didn’t move. Haro clicked softly in his arms, sensing the tension.

Audrey stepped forward. “Zinnerman is a rational man, Mr. Vist. He wouldn’t escalate this unless he believed he had no choice.”

Cardeas turned his eyes back to her. “And would you call your protection… unnecessary?”

Before Cardeas could answer, he turned his gaze sharply to Zach, who still stood by the tapestry, Haro cradled in his arms like a silent sentinel.

“Excuse me,” Cardeas said coldly. “You’ve been asked to leave.”

Zach remained rooted where he stood, unflinching. “There are people after her, Cardeas Vist. Until I know for certain she’s safe, I won’t leave her side.”

Cardeas’s brow furrowed, his voice now carrying a sharper edge. “Do you even understand what you’re involving yourself in, boy? Do you know who they are, and what they’re after?”

Zach’s reply froze the room.

“They’re with the Sleeves,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Two of them were with her. I could sense it, their emotions were distant, cold. That red haired girl…” He glanced at Audrey briefly. “She carries a shadow. There’s a heaviness around her. And the men with her, sloppy. Poorly concealed weapons, like they’ve grown too confident in fear.”

Audrey looked at Zach, startled at his perception.

Cardeas’s expression shifted into something unreadable… then he chuckled quietly. “Spoken like a true Newtype.”

Zach gave no reply, just a cold, unreadable stare.

Cardeas sighed and stepped closer, eyeing the boy with a mixture of respect and caution. “Do you even know who it is you’re protecting, Zachary Mass?”

“I have my suspicions,” Zach answered, steady as ever.

“And still, knowing who she might be, and who you are, you choose to stand by her side?” Cardeas asked, astonished. “Your mother and I… we’ve worked together before. I know her vision. And I know this isn’t the path she intended for you.”

Zach’s gaze didn’t waver. It wasn’t until he started walking that he placed a hand on Audrey’s shoulder and said, “Stay safe, Audrey Burne.”

He then turned to Cardeas Vist, and what the older man saw sent a slight shiver down his spine.

“I trust you to keep her safe, Cardeas Vist. Because if I learn that something is amiss… you’ll know.”

Are his eyes… glowing? Cardeas wondered, maintaining an indifferent expression even as his nerves tensed.

With that, Zach walked out of the room, Haro bouncing alongside him. The little robot waved back at Audrey one final time before continuing to follow him.

Later, Audrey stood by the window of the room Cardeas had given her, watching Zach walk away from the mansion. He was now accompanied by a bodyguard assigned to ensure his return.

“You’ve made the right decision,” Cardeas said as he stepped into her room. “I’ve changed the meeting and exchange point with your comrades. Once the time is right, you’ll be reunited with them.”

Audrey turned to face him. “I urge you to reconsider the consequences of what you’re about to do.”

“I understand your concern,” he replied solemnly. “And you’re not wrong. I’m well aware that Full Frontal is hailed as the second coming of Char Aznable, and he’s not someone to be taken lightly.”

“Then why are you—”

“Because it’s not that simple, my dear,” Cardeas interrupted gently. “Even if they’re given the key… it would still require someone worthy to open the Box.”

“The key to the box?”

“We’ve taken extreme steps to ensure that this is no easy horse to tame or break.”

As Cardeas was about to leave the room, Audrey asked a question she needed to know, “Zachary Mass. Who really is he?”

Cardeas stopped for a bit, then replied, “He is someone that would disrupt the Earthsphere if they ever learn about who he is.” With that, he closed the door, leaving Audrey alone with her thoughts.

“Who are you really, Zachary Mass?” She wondered as she watched the colony turn to night.

—-------------------------------------------------

As the transport touched down near The Factory’s visitor platform, Zach stepped out, the warm artificial sunlight of the colony spilling over him. Before he could even adjust to his surroundings, a familiar chorus of voices greeted him.

“Yo, man, where’ve you been?” Takuya called out, half in relief, half in disbelief.

“Seriously, do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Ernst added, practically bouncing with excitement. “I mean, sure, it’s totally insane that you stole a Zuck, but also, kinda badass.”

“Yeah! I was worried, but that move? Kinda legendary,” Margo chimed in.

Micott just stared with wide eyes, binoculars still dangling from her neck.

Their voices overlapped, tumbling over one another, questions rising and falling like waves. But Zach barely heard any of it. Their words were like background noise, distant, filtered through a wall of thoughts and exhaustion. His body stood there, but his mind was still back at the mansion, still lingering in that room with the tapestry, with Audrey.

Then he saw her; Emily.

She stood at the edge of the group, a little further back, quiet. Her usual brightness dimmed. Her eyes met his, but she didn’t say anything. Her expression held a mixture of worry, relief, and something else… hurt. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even confused. She was just… sad.

That hit harder than any of the questions the others were throwing at him.

Contrary to the rumors that circled around school, Zach had always known about Emily’s feelings toward him. The subtle glances. The way she’d go out of her way to be there. The way her face lit up when he simply acknowledged her. He wasn’t clueless, just... unwilling.

Not because he didn’t care. He did. But only as a friend. And he never found the courage, or maybe the right moment, to say it. So he let the silence fester between them, hoping the truth would somehow fade on its own. But it never did. And now, standing here, freshly returned from something he couldn’t even begin to explain, he saw just how much that silence had cost.

Still, he gave her a small, fleeting smile. One that said more than words ever could: I’m sorry. I know. I wish things were different.

Emily looked away.

And in that moment, surrounded by his friends, Zach had never felt more alone.

—----------------------------------------------------

Inside the car, the atmosphere was tense. Alec sat slouched in the passenger seat, nursing a bruised nose, while Bonson sat in the back, pressing an ice pack to his temple. The only one who looked physically unharmed was Marida, though her sharp eyes and furrowed brow revealed just how displeased she was.

A call came through, and Zinnerman’s voice filled the cabin.

“Return to the ship,” he ordered. “We just received a message from the Vist Foundation. They’re moving the meeting from the central dock to the colony builder.”

Marida narrowed her eyes. “And what did they say about her?” she asked, clearly referring to the stowaway they failed to recover.

“They’re playing dumb,” Zinnerman replied. “Claiming they don’t know anything. I can’t tell what they’re really planning. That’s why I need you back here, the top might be onto something.”

Marida’s grip on the wheel tightened. “You think he’s going to pull something?”

“I know he will,” Zinnerman said grimly. “Our stragglers are growing restless, and that ghost is always two steps ahead. Be ready for anything.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, in one of the docks on the far side of the colony, the newly commissioned Haven-Class ship Mori, the Earth Federation’s flagship for the UC Project, built by Anaheim Electronics, was undergoing final checks and resupply.

Standing at the center of the bridge, Captain Job John took a deep breath, as if savoring the scent of fresh steel and plastic.

“Ah,” he sighed with a satisfied grin. “Still got that new ship smell.”

His executive officer, Commander Liam Borrinea, stood just behind him. The seasoned officer, now in her forties, gave a small nod.

“It does have its charm,” she replied with a faint smile.

Job turned to her with a more curious expression. “Speaking of new things… mind if I ask why you requested a reassignment, Commander? If it’s because of Otto Midas, you might be giving up too soon. He’s not that bad.”

Liam shook her head gently. “It’s not just about Captain Midas,” she said. “I don’t doubt his skills. I just needed a change of pace. The Nahel Argama’s seen more than its fair share of action, and drama.”

Job chuckled at that. “Fair point. After what that ship’s been through, I can’t blame you.” He looked back out through the wide viewport. “Still gives me goosebumps, though. You ever noticed how this ship’s silhouette echoes the White Base?”

Liam gave a thoughtful nod. “It’s hard not to. Some designs never go out of style.”

“Or the ghosts never leave,” Job said quietly, half to himself.

Liam glanced at him. “You planning to make history with this one too, sir?”

He smirked. “Let’s just try to avoid becoming history ourselves first.”

Their conversation was interrupted as the doors to the bridge hissed open. Nine figures stepped inside, each clad in the sleek, utilitarian flight suits of the Earth Federation Forces. The air shifted with the presence of pilots, calm, focused, and carrying the quiet weight of responsibility.

Leading them was a man in his early forties, sharp-eyed, clean-cut, and carrying himself with practiced discipline. He stepped forward and offered a crisp salute to Captain Job John and Commander Liam Borrinea. The rest of his squad mirrored the motion in flawless unison.

“Captain John,” the officer spoke clearly. “Lieutenant Commander Norm Basilicock, reporting in as CO of the ReZEL squadron assigned to the Mori. Callsign: Romeo-1.”

Job returned the salute with equal precision. “Welcome aboard, Commander Basilicock. I trust your team’s combat-ready for whatever launch day throws at us?”

Basilicock nodded firmly. “Affirmative, sir. Sim trials were completed en route. All ReZEL units are fully tuned, and my pilots are briefed on protocols. We’re prepped for immediate deployment, should it come to that.”

“Good to hear,” Job replied. “Your unit will be quartered on Deck 3. MS hangar is directly below. Familiarize yourselves with the ship’s layout and run pre-checks on your suits. Full readiness briefing at 2000.”

“Aye, sir.” Basilicock gave a final nod and turned to lead his team out.

Just as the pilots began to move, the Mori ’s comms station crackled to life.

“Captain!” called Ensign Mihiro Oiwakken from her console, her voice sharp with urgency. The 23-year-old communications officer adjusted her headset. “We’re intercepting an open-band transmission outside the colony; unknown origin!”

Job’s expression hardened. He turned quickly toward the communications pit. “Details, Ensign. Put it on speakers, now.”

Mihiro’s fingers flew across the console as she isolated the signal. “It’s faint, sir; non-encrypted, but bouncing off multiple relays. Could be a diversion… or a distress call.”

The bridge fell silent as the static crackled through the speakers, then gave way to a distorted voice, filtered and fragmented, but unmistakably human.

“…Laplace… is not what they say… the key mustn’t fall into their hands… they’ll rewrite everything…”

Another burst of static followed, then more fragmented words:

“…Foundation... betraying the charter… Frontal... already in motion…”

“Source?” Job demanded.

“Signal triangulation puts it just outside the colony’s eastern comm barrier. Could be from a shuttle or a relay buoy,” Mihiro answered. “But whoever it is, they're not far.”

Commander Liam narrowed her eyes. “Sounds like someone’s trying to send a warning.”

Job didn’t hesitate. “Get a heading and launch a recon team. Romeo-1, I want one of your birds in the air within five minutes.”

“Aye, Captain,” Basilicock replied immediately, already turning to his squad. “Romeo Team, scramble for priority intercept. Tight formation. We’ll get eyes on the source.”

As the bridge crew jumped into motion, Job stared out the viewport, his hands folded behind his back.

“Whatever this is…” he muttered, “…it just bumped us off script.”

—-------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, just outside the colony perimeter, a lone Geara Zulu floated listlessly in space. Its pilot, reclined in his cockpit, had his helmet tilted back slightly, eyes half-lidded as music blared through his headset, clearly more interested in his playlist than his surroundings.

A warning ping lit up on his console, but he barely glanced at it.

“Debris drift,” he muttered lazily, waving it off. “Probably nothing.”

Unbeknownst to him, the two “pieces of debris” were no ordinary space junk. As they drifted closer to the colony’s exterior, faint plumes of gas hissed from micro-thrusters embedded in their frames. Then, without warning, the false debris containers burst open .

From within emerged two blocky, compact mobile suits, just over 12.2 meters tall, painted in dark, non-reflective coatings. Their designs were angular and predatory, built for close-quarters infiltration and rapid deployment.

The two intruding suits didn’t break formation. With a synchronized nod between them, they activated their vernier thrusters and darted toward the colony’s access ports, silent shadows on a deadly mission.

—---------------------------------------------------------

The elevator opened with a soft ping , revealing Suberoa Zinnerman flanked by his most trusted men, Flaste, and two others. As they stepped out, they came face to face with none other than the head of the Vist Foundation himself.

“The head of the Vist Foundation in person,” Zinnerman said, eyeing Cardeas with measured respect. “I’m honored.”

Cardeas gave a nod. “We’re entrusting you with the future of the Foundation. I couldn’t leave this in anyone else’s hands.”

With that, he gestured for The Sleeves to follow him down the hallway.

—------------------------------------------------

Outside the colony, a Geara Zulu pilot slammed his console in frustration, cursing the poor sensors and persistent static interference.

“Come on, you piece of crap!” he growled, punching the control panel again. He might’ve stayed stuck like that if not for the sudden blaring of his proximity alarm.

“Huh?” he muttered, snapping his head up. The cockpit display zoomed in, focusing on a blue mobile suit floating ahead. The image clarified, highlighting the model: RGZ-95 ReZEL . A secondary label appeared; Unit Affiliation: Londo Bell.

“Londo Bell?!” the pilot exclaimed in alarm.

Just as he reached for the comms to warn his allies, a laser transmission cut into his channel.

“Industrial 7 contains the Federation’s new warship. Destroy it once the Box is secured. Eliminate any obstacles.”

The pilot grinned. “Hell yes.”

Slamming his foot down on the pedal, the Geara Zulu blasted forward and straight toward the unsuspecting ReZEL.

—----------------------------------------------

Meanwhile...

In a private lounge aboard the Foundation’s estate, Suberoa Zinnerman took a slow sip of tea, poured by Gael. Sitting across from him was Cardeas Vist.

“A key?” Zinnerman asked, raising an eyebrow. “So it’s not the Box itself you’re giving us, but rather its key?”

“Does that disappoint you?” Cardeas replied, watching the older man closely.

“Not disappointed, just confused,” Zinnerman admitted. “We don’t even know what the Box is, or what it does. Hell, nobody does.”

“But we do know this,” he continued, leaning forward. “Opening Laplace’s Box would mean toppling the Earth Federation. And the Vist Foundation has enjoyed power and prestige precisely because you’ve kept it hidden.”

“We also know your organization’s reputation as an art-transporting charity is little more than a convenient front.”

Cardeas cut in before he could continue. “Your leaders understand the value of what we offer, Captain Zinnerman. That’s why they sent a man of your caliber to retrieve it.”

Zinnerman crossed his arms, his tone growing colder. “Given the situation we're in, we can't afford to ignore any carrot dangled in front of us. But if that carrot turns out to be poisoned…” He shrugged. “Then my superiors will be disappointed.”

Cardeas stood slowly. “Tell me something, do you believe in the existence of Newtypes?”

Zinnerman leaned back in his seat. “Spend enough time on the battlefield, and you’ll see things no one can explain.”

“You’re referring to the Axis Shock, yes?” Cardeas asked. “It was extraordinary, a single pilot, channeling the will of humanity, stopped a rock the size of a country. If that didn’t cement Amuro Ray and the Gundam as legends, I don’t know what would.”

“But the Federation would rather erase that from history,” Zinnerman said pointedly. “So that’s why you’re giving us the Box, isn’t it?”

Cardeas hummed thoughtfully. “As humanity expands into space, all of our latent potential will blossom. To survive in that vast, empty void, we’ll need to understand one another, not through words, but through deeper connection.”

Zinnerman recognized the quote. “Zeon Zum Deikun. His speech in 0067. The foundation of the Newtype theory… The belief that humanity's next evolution lies in space.”

Cardeas nodded, eyes distant. “He spoke of infinite possibilities; of power itself.”

—---------------------------------------------

The lone ReZEL floated silently outside the colony, its pilot scanning the sector for the reported anomaly.

As he drifted past a cluster of solar panels, a sudden barrage caught him off guard, a Geara Zulu emerged from behind the array, weapons blazing. Its pilot wore a vicious grin as he fired round after round at the ReZEL. The Federation mobile suit dodged skillfully, but a burst clipped one of its thruster legs, throwing it off balance.

The ReZEL pilot reached for his beam saber, but before he could activate it, the Geara Zulu closed in and delivered a brutal kick that sent the weapon spiraling away. Without hesitation, the Zeon suit drew its beam tomahawk with its left manipulator and slashed clean through the ReZEL’s right arm.

The enemy pilot didn’t stop there, he quickly leveled his weapon at the ReZEL’s cockpit and fired. A brilliant explosion consumed the unit, its remains scattering across space.

Surveying the battlefield, the Geara Zulu pilot saw his comrades engaging in similar assaults. Satisfied, he turned and flew toward the colony, where the Federation’s suspected new warship was docked.

“All units, infiltrate the colony! We have to destroy that new ship! Now! Londo Bell is here!”

—------------------------------------------------------------

“Since its victory in the One Year War, the Earth Federation has lived in fear with this unseen power, the power that screams ‘jacuz’ on the privileged class that lives on Earth.” Cardeas said as he looked out into the window.

“The power that calls to all abandoned Spacenoids to awaken.”

—------------------------------------------------

As the Geara Zulu pilot approached an entry bay, he suddenly caught sight of a ReZEL in its flight form barreling toward him.

The ReZEL opened fire, loosing five precision beam shots. One struck the Zulu’s left leg, sending the mobile suit into a violent spin. The pilot was thrown forward, his chest slamming into the cockpit’s emergency airbag as the suit shuddered from the impact.

The airbag retracted just in time for the pilot to see the ReZEL closing in, fast.



“Damn you to hell! Space belongs to the Spacenoid!” The pilot screamed.

Panicked, he opened fire with his beam rifle, screaming as he squeezed the trigger. But the ReZEL weaved through the barrage with ease. As it neared, it shifted out of flight mode mid-charge, transforming into its MS form in one smooth motion. Its rifle-mounted beam blade activated with a snap of light.

In a single, clean swing, the ReZEL slashed through the Gaera Zulu’s cockpit, silencing the pilot instantly. But not before he let out his last words.

“A-all, hail, Neo Zeo-”

Deactivating his blade, the pilot opened his channel.

"Romeo-8 to Mori Command. One hostile eliminated." the ReZEL pilot reported over comms.

"Romeo-8, this is Ensign Mihiro aboard The Mori. Sensors confirm five enemy units; Geara Zulus and Geara Dogas, have breached the colony via a disposable chute. Orders are to intercept and neutralize. Priority is defense of the warship."

"Copy that, Command. Romeo-8 is en route to intercept. Over."

With that, the ReZEL transformed back into flight mode, afterburners igniting as it sped toward the colony interior.

—------------------------------------------

Inside the Garencieres, Marida sat silently in her cockpit, eyes closed, sensing the battlefield beyond the ship’s hull. Through the haze of her Newtype awareness, she felt the presence of her comrades, some flickering, others fading. One by one, she felt their presences vanish.

Her eyes snapped open just as a sudden jolt shook the ship. The rumble reverberated through the hull, and moments later, Gilboa’s face appeared on her monitor.

“Marida, what the hell was that?” he asked, tension in his voice.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she asked, “Gilboa, have you heard from the Captain?”

Gilboa shook his head. “Negative. We lost comms. Minovsky particle density’s spiking, signal interference is getting worse by the minute.”

He added grimly, “We’ve just received new orders. Objective is to eliminate the Federation’s new warship.”

Marida’s brow furrowed. “Inside the colony? That’s reckless! Why not wait until it launches?”

Gilboa clicked his tongue in frustration. “Try telling that to the others. Some of them already breached the colony and are actively searching for it. Right now, we don’t have the luxury of waiting. Our priorities are clear, engage the enemy and locate the Captain.”

Marida took a deep breath, her hands tightening around the controls.

“Understood. Moving out.”

With a simple psychic command, Marida launched six of her funnels as the blast doors of the dock began to open. Outside, a lone Jegan stood guard, only to be struck down in an instant by the precision fire of her funnels. The mobile suit erupted in flames, the explosion sending shockwaves across the area.

The blast immediately alerted nearby Federation forces. Within moments, multiple Jegans closed in on the source of the explosion, weapons drawn and engines flaring.

Marida, unfazed, accelerated forward. She blasted through the now-open docking bay and shot into the colony’s interior, with the pursuing Jegans hot on her trail.

—------------------------------------------------------------

“The power capable of toppling the Earth Federation Government, a regime that has stood for nearly a century,” Cardeas continued, his voice steady. “Now finds itself locked in a struggle against an invisible force.”

“While the government has indeed funded Newtype research, most of those initiatives devolved into reckless experiments by rogue scientists. They deviated from Zeon Zum Deikun’s original vision, reducing Newtypes to mere weapons.”

“Then came the Gryps Conflict… followed by the first and second Neo Zeon Wars,” he said grimly. “Each wave of violence gave birth to more oppression, and from that, more radical factions. The Federation suffered immensely for it.”

He paused to take a sip of his tea before continuing. “But they had one powerful ally, one that ultimately helped them maintain control.”

Cardeas met Zinnerman’s gaze. “Tell me, Captain. Do you know what I’m referring to?”

Zinnerman leaned back, eyes narrowed. “Time.”

Cardeas gave a slight nod. “Exactly. Time. The public lost patience. They demanded results, tangible proof of the so-called Newtypes. But the concept remains undefined. Not a classification, but a possibility.”

“In the end, ‘Newtype’ became synonymous with ace pilots; Amuro Ray, Char Aznable, Kamille Bidan, and others. The fear of them grew so great that the Federation fabricated their own ace: Tenneth A. Jung. According to their propaganda, he downed 198 mobile suits, just enough to outshine Amuro Ray’s 195 kills in the One Year War.”

He set the cup down gently.

“As you can see, the term has been so distorted that it now bears little resemblance to Deikun’s true ideology, Newtypes as evolved humans capable of understanding one another without misconceptions.”

“Laplace’s Box has the power to alter the course of our future,” Cardeas said, fixing his eyes on Zinnerman. “Or, more precisely, to restore the future that was originally meant to be.”

“However,” he continued after a pause, “not all men are capable of bearing that power. And if misused… it could very well bring about the world’s destruction.”

“So this key… you're giving it to us as a test?” Zinnerman asked, his tone sharp.

“If your vision is too narrow, if you pursue only one objective, then the Box will never reveal its contents to you,” Cardeas replied calmly.

Zinnerman’s eyes narrowed. “And what would that one objective be?”

Cardeas answered, his voice resolute. “The revival of Zeon.”

As Zinnerman is about to reply, the room suddenly shook

—------------------------------------------------------

In the factory tower, Zach and the rest of his group were enjoying their snack, when one of them pointed at something in the distance.

“What’s that?” Emily asked as she finished her burger.

Zach meanwhile narrowed his eyes, his senses telling him that things won’t be so good.

—-----------------------------------------------------

In her room, Audrey was writing on one of her notes and wondering if what she has done is futile.

Her focus was interrupted by a rumble that went across the mansion. She stood up and looked outside the window.

“I was too late.” She said solemnly.

—--------------------------------------------------------

The Kshatriya weaved through the colony's artificial skyline, green verniers flaring as Marida expertly evaded a barrage of fire from a pursuing Jegan. With a swift command, her remote funnels detached, circling back and unleashing a concentrated volley.

The Jegan was struck mid-flight. Its reactor detonated, scattering flaming debris downward. The wreckage plummeted into a residential district below, erupting in a devastating explosion that consumed several city blocks.

Amid the chaos, panicked civilians scrambled to escape. But another explosion rocked the area, tossing people aside as two mobile suits, a Geara Zulu and a Geara Doga, emerged from the smoke and rubble, rising like specters from hell.

“Maintain formation,” barked the Geara Zulu pilot over the encrypted channel. “Priority is the Federation vessel. Destroy anything that gets in your way.”

Several acknowledgments crackled in over the comms:
“Copy that.”
“Affirmative.”

The Zulu pilot immediately spotted an enemy unit. “Hostile at three o'clock. Engaging.”

He opened fire, peppering a Jegan with beam rifle rounds. The Jegan attempted evasive maneuvers, retreating toward the colony's outer sector, only for Marida’s funnels to strike from above. Its limbs were severed, and its thrusters failed.

The pilot wrestled with the controls, steering the crippled mobile suit away from residential areas. It crashed into a deserted park with a muted explosion.

Marida clenched her teeth. Her HUD was filled with warning signs and collateral data. She opened a channel to all Sleeves units.

“All units, this is Kshatriya. Exercise caution, watch your fire. Minimize civilian casualties. I repeat, avoid engagements that could endanger the colony’s populace.”

A curt, defiant voice replied. “With all due respect, ma’am, our orders are clear, locate and neutralize the Federation warship. Any resistance is expendable.”

The Gaera Doga pilot’s voice was cold as he gunned down another Jegan, sending its flaming carcass crashing into a commercial building.

Marida’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t what the Captain would’ve wanted…” she muttered as she pushed her thrusters forward, racing deeper into the colony.

—---------------------------------

Gael slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned toward Cardeas. “Sir, that was The Mori . They picked up an unusual broadcast, shortly after, they encountered a Geara Zulu. Combat has already broken out inside the colony.”

Cardeas’s expression tightened. “A breach? Were we compromised? Are there more of them coming?”

Gael shook his head. “From what they’ve reported, the Geara Zulus and Geara Dogas appear to be searching for The Mori . They’re advancing rapidly and causing extensive damage to the colony infrastructure.”

Cardeas turned sharply toward Zinnerman, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Did you order this?”

Zinnerman’s face hardened, but he shook his head.

“Believe me, I’d never authorize my crew to open fire inside a colony. There’s only one man I know who would’ve overridden my orders of no engagement.”

Cardeas clenched his fists. “Full Frontal…”

Zinnerman gave a grim nod before pulling his sidearm and leveling it at Cardeas. Gael immediately stepped in front of his employer, shielding him.

“We’ll be taking her back now,” Zinnerman said coldly.

“It was always my intention to return her, when the time was right,” Cardeas replied calmly. “She’s safe. She’s inside my estate.”

A violent tremor shook the room, rattling furniture and sending tableware clattering to the floor.

“It’s hard to place trust in another man these days,” Zinnerman said, his weapon unwavering. “A tragic state of affairs.”

Cardeas met his gaze evenly. “I couldn’t agree more, Captain Zinnerman.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

A ReZEL crash-landed in the heart of the Anaheim Institute of Technology and Engineering’s main campus. What was once a symbol of academic prestige now stood as a smoldering ruin, engulfed in flames and chaos.

Inside the wrecked mobile suit, the pilot, battered but determined, continued to fire desperately at the incoming Kshatriya. Despite its bulky design, the green mobile suit moved with unnerving agility, gracefully weaving through the crumbling structures.

One of the professors, horrified by the destruction of the campus, stood frozen for a moment before snapping into action.

“Evacuate the students! Get them to the bunker, now!” he shouted, rallying the staff as they rushed to lead the students away from the battlefield.

Above, Marida launched her funnels toward the downed ReZEL, preparing to deliver the finishing blow. Suddenly, a warning flashed across her sensors, another unit was approaching fast from behind.

She quickly redirected a portion of her funnels toward the new threat, but the second ReZEL dodged the incoming fire with expert precision. It raised its shield and countered with a beam cannon shot, which Marida narrowly avoided. She activated her beam saber just in time to intercept the ReZEL’s charge.

“Get off my back!” Marida growled, deploying her sub-arms from the Kshatriya’s binders. One stabbed into the ReZEL’s right shoulder while another crushed its head unit. Before she could finish it off, an explosion erupted behind her, wreckage from a Geara Zulu and another ReZEL burst through the blast cloud.

“This is Romeo-8,” the new ReZEL pilot transmitted calmly, “engaging the quad-wing.”

He transformed his unit back into mobile suit form and activated his beam blade just as Marida seized the beam saber from the damaged ReZEL and charged at him.

Their blades clashed in an X-shaped impact, locking the two suits in a brief but intense deadlock. Marida began deploying her sub-arms again, but Romeo-8 acted first. He fired a burst from his vulcans at the Kshatriya’s head, forcing Marida to raise her binders in defense. With a swift follow-up, he sliced off two of her sub-arms and broke off, retreating to regain distance.

Marida steadied her suit, her eyes narrowing as she tracked Romeo-8. He was pulling back, carrying the disabled ReZEL with him.

Before she could pursue, another barrage of beam fire erupted from below, she’d forgotten the original downed ReZEL was still operational.

“I’ll hunt you down!” she shouted, launching her remaining funnels toward it. The weapons arced through the air and aligned in formation, then fired directly at the cockpit.

Unbeknownst to her, the shots penetrated not just the cockpit, but also struck the protective casing of the mobile suit’s reactor.

“NO!” Romeo-8 shouted, horrified. He knew what was about to happen.

Marida’s alarms flared violently, warning of imminent reactor detonation. She gasped and immediately pulled her suit back.

Then came the blinding flash.

The compromised ReZEL erupted in a catastrophic nuclear explosion. The shockwave consumed the entire campus and decimated the surrounding blocks in seconds.

Back at the civilian evacuation point, Zach’s history professor was among the last guiding people into the bunker. He looked back, his eyes widened in horror at the incoming wall of flame. With one final push, he shoved the last civilian through the door and slammed it shut behind them.

The blast hit a moment later. He was vaporized instantly.

Meanwhile, in another part of the colony, Zachary and his group are still at the Factory observation deck, they were in a state of shock as they watched an explosion go off.

“There are holes in the colony.” Ernst said as he held onto Margo.

“Guys, isn’t that around where the school is?” Jackson asked shakily.

“This is war.” Takuya said grimly as he watched the explosion with his binoculars. “The war came here.”

When Zach heard that, he clenched his fists, “A war.”

Around the colony, destruction ensues. The Geara Doga’s kept blasting around, the Jegans doing the same. Houses were destroyed, cars crashed against one another, people running away from the beams shot by mobile suits.

Zach grunted as he grabbed his Haro then ran away.

“H-Hey!” Emily yelled as she followed Zach, the others looked around then did the same.

—----------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile in another part of the colony where the Vist Foundation is, the small mobile suit transformed into a tank and rolled out before stopping. Its back opened up and men carrying bazookas and assault rifles came out.

Seeing this, Audrey closed her window then grabbed her things before running away.

“Sir.” Gael Chan said as he checked over his master after the rumble.

“It’s a shame.” Cardeas said, “that the Federation would break a century of alliance to take everything away from us.”

“But then again, we were the once that sought to jeopardise it first.” He added.

He then turned to his aid, “Gael, do not let the Federation have it!”

—-------------------------------------------------

“What’s the status of the ReZEL teams?” Captain Job barked as he dropped into the command chair on The Mori’s bridge, eyes flicking across the tactical displays.

“Sir, Romeo-1, 3, 5, and 8 are the only units accounted for,” Ensign Mihiro reported from her comms station, her voice strained. “Remaining units have either lost comms or are presumed KIA. Still awaiting final telemetry.”

Job clenched his jaw. “Confirm visual ID on the missing suits. Don’t rely on signals alone, Minovsky interference is getting worse by the minute.”

“Aye, sir.”

He turned sharply. “And the Jegans?”

Commander Liam stepped up beside him, tablet in hand. “Sir, latest combat readout shows less than three operational units remaining. The rest have either been destroyed or are no longer responding. Mobile suit losses are approaching critical.”

“Damn it.” Job slammed a fist on the armrest before steadying himself. “All remaining crew, prepare to embark immediately. All engineering and logistics teams, begin rapid prep for launch. Anything that can’t be secured or finalized in the next twenty minutes, leave it, we’ll deal with it in transit.”

“But Captain!” Liam protested, concern etched across her face. “We still have crew deployed outside the docking perimeter. We risk abandoning our own!”

“I’m aware of the situation, Commander,” Job said grimly. “But we are out of time and exposed. Every second we stay here is a gamble. We launch with what we’ve got. Understood?”

Liam hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. “Understood, sir.”

Job pivoted to the helm crew. “Lieutenant Danvers, Lieutenant Parker, begin main engine startup sequence. Bring fusion core to full burn and activate the Minovsky Craft system and prepare for vertical lift-off. I want full confirmation of mobility within five minutes.”

“Yes, sir!” the two helmsmen responded in unison, fingers flying across the consoles.

“Lieutenant Mitakule,” Job continued, “arm the dorsal beam cannon. Target any hostile signature within a twenty-kilometer radius. If anything gets in our way, we’re punching a hole straight through.”

“Aye, sir. Beam cannon charging. Firing protocols set to auto-authorize with your command.”

Job turned back to Mihiro. “Ensign, relay an immediate fallback directive to all surviving ReZEL and Jegan units still within operational range. Priority is defense of The Mori, tighten our perimeter. Any unit that can’t make it back in time is to assist with civilian evacuations and reroute them to the auxiliary bunkers or safe zones. If there are no available safe zones left, bring them to The Mori.”

“Yes, Captain. Broadcasting now.” Mihiro’s hands worked fast, switching frequencies and encrypting outgoing orders. “Signal's weak but transmitting. A few mobile suits are responding.”

“Good. At least someone’s still out there.”

Job stood tall, voice rising over the bridge chatter. “Attention all decks, this is the Captain. The Mori will launch at 2300 hours, with or without full recovery. This is not a drill. I repeat, launch at 2300. All crew to stations, secure all hatches, and prepare for rapid combat ascent. May whatever gods you believe in be with us.”

The bridge echoed with affirmations.

Job leaned forward on the railing, eyes narrowed at the main screen showing the battle-scarred colony exterior.

“We’re getting out of this,” he muttered. “Even if we have to drag this ship through hell.”

—------------------------------------------------------------

Zachary's hands were focused as he tried to reroute power to the console, his breathing calm despite the situation they were in. Sparks hissed from the half-melted terminal, and beside him, Haro was directly jacked in, lights flickering erratically.

“Circuits are fried. Circuits are fried.” Haro droned, voice in a somber tone.

Takuya pounded his fists against the massive blast doors, each thud echoing through the reinforced corridor like a scream in a tomb. “Open the doors! Someone has to be in there!”

From the corner, Ernst slammed his fist into the wall with a raw, feral sound. “They locked us out. They fried the circuits to save themselves,” he muttered, barely holding back tears. “They left us out here to die.”

Zach opened his mouth to respond, but stopped.

Something in the air changed.

A chill raced down his spine. His stomach dropped. His instincts screamed.

“GET DOWN!” he roared.

Without thinking, he grabbed Emily and Margo and threw them to the ground. Ernst and Takuya tackled Micott behind a support pillar. The moment they hit the deck...

...The corridor lit up in strobes of crimson..

Beams seared overhead, slicing through bulkheads. A sudden whoomph of displaced air and molten metal. Then...silence.

A low mechanical whine filled the space. Slowly, Zach peeked over his shoulder.

Through the smoke and dust, a massive shape descended, green armor, four massive binders, glowing mono-eye. The monster moved with haunting elegance as it slashed a battered Jegan clean in half, debris scattering like paper.

No one screamed. They couldn’t. Terror had robbed them of breath.

The quad-wing turned its attention to the main doors. A flurry of beam shots erupted from its funnels, carving through steel and concrete like wet paper, until a jagged, smoking hole yawned open.

It was going to enter.

But before it could, another explosion.

A ReZEL screamed in from above, unleashing a barrage of micro-missiles. The Kshatriya dodged mid-flight, the two giants dancing through death above their heads before vanishing deeper into the colony.

Only now did anyone move.

The thunder was gone, but what remained was worse.

Micott stood in a daze. She staggered forward, eyes locked on the hole the Kshatriya had opened. Where once was the entrance to the colony builder… now there was only fire and rising smoke. Metal torn and melted like wax. The hallway where their classmates had fled, obliterated.

She pointed, arm shaking. “Wh…where are they…?” Her voice cracked.

Then she screamed.

“WHERE ARE THEY?!!”

Emily and Takuya grabbed her, trying to pull her back, but she thrashed violently. Margo collapsed in Ernst’s arms, sobbing.

The silence after her scream was louder than the war outside.

Zach stared at the ruins, something inside him tearing open. His hands balled into fists. He walked forward and handed Haro to Takuya.

“Takuya… take care of them.”

“What? Zach, what the hell are you talking about?!”

He peeled off his blazer and gently wrapped it around Micott’s shaking shoulders. “There’s someone I need to find.”

“Wait, Zach!” Takuya grabbed his arm. “You can’t go out there! That thing’s still flying around! We don’t even know what’s left of the city!”

Zach turned, eyes burning with a fire unlike anything they’d seen in him before.

“The suit that engaged the quad-wing, it was a Zeta-type, Federation-issued. If it’s here, then a ship can’t be far off,” he said, pointing behind them. “That vessel is your only chance. Make for it. It’s the only thing that can shield you now.”

Without waiting for a response, he kicked off the ground and launched himself into the dark, smoke-filled opening.

“ZACH!” Emily screamed, clawing forward as Takuya and Ernst held her back.

“ZACH, DON’T LEAVE US! PLEASE!”

The last they saw of him was the faint silhouette swallowed by the blackened hallway, the same one that had consumed all their friends moments ago.

—-----------------------------------------------

Captain Zinnerman sprinted through the corridors of the colony, flanked by his most trusted men. The sharp echo of gunfire rang out ahead, then a cry. One of their comrades crumpled mid-stride, a burst of blood painting the wall behind him.

“Get to cover!” Zinnerman shouted.

They dove into a side hallway just as another barrage of rounds tore through the air. Flaste leaned out and fired a tight burst in response, then yanked a smoke grenade from his vest and hurled it forward. It clattered across the floor before erupting into a thick cloud of grey smoke, obscuring the enemy’s line of sight.

“Go now! While they can’t see!” he called out, keeping up the covering fire.

Elsewhere in the colony’s sub-levels, Gael Chan ran with his rifle at the ready, guiding Cardeas Vist through the chaotic maze of service tunnels. Lights flickered above them, emergency strobes casting shadows across their path.

“They’re special forces,” Gael said tightly. “Well-trained, well-armed. Their command module must be nearby—”

Cardeas cut him off, voice heavy with resolve. “Then we erase the program ourselves. And the Unicorn… if it comes to that.”

Gunfire erupted behind them. Gael turned and fired with precision, dropping one enemy operative and forcing the others to scatter. He looked back at Cardeas.

“You need to go on ahead, sir. I’ll hold them off.”

Cardeas met his eyes, then gave a grim nod before disappearing down the corridor toward the heart of the mansion.

Not far from them, Audrey crept along the perimeter wall, keeping low. The chaos had drawn most of the attackers away, and she used the distraction to slip beneath the scaffolding that framed the emergency shaft. With a glance back at the smoke rising from the estate, she entered the tunnel leading to the central block.

Back in the main corridor, Flaste crouched beside one of their downed men at the base of a freight elevator. The man’s blood pooled around him, too much. Flaste checked for a pulse, but there was nothing.

He looked up and shook his head.

Zinnerman saw it and exhaled through clenched teeth. He gave a quiet nod, then turned back to the elevator doors.

“Mount up. We keep moving. No one else dies today.”

—-----------------------------------------------

Within the central block of the colony, the battle between the Kshatriya and the same relentless ReZEL from earlier raged on.

Marida grunted as the ReZEL closed in, its vulcans peppering her position. She commanded a trio of funnels to intercept, but the pilot skillfully weaved through the incoming fire.

“He’s good,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

Romeo-8 adjusted his trajectory, unleashing another short burst of vulcan fire. One of the Kshatriya’s funnels jerked violently mid-air as its thruster was shredded. Before it could tumble out of reach, the ReZEL surged forward and caught it.

With practiced precision, Romeo-8 thrust the disabled funnel into one of the Kshatriya’s wing binders, then immediately broke off and spun around. Without hesitation, he raised his beam rifle and pulled the trigger.

The funnel exploded in a controlled blast, ripping through the wing binder and disabling the mega-particle cannon housed within. A cascade of alarms screamed through Marida’s cockpit, she had just lost 27% of her thrust capability.

“Damn it!” she cursed, her eyes narrowing.

Ignoring the damage, she reignited her beam saber and launched herself at the ReZEL with all remaining speed.

Romeo-8 met her charge, activating his own saber as he pushed his mobile suit into a high-speed intercept course. Every move he made was deliberate, drawing her attention away from the docks and guiding the battle closer to the colony’s outer access corridor.

Their blades clashed once more in a storm of sparks and plasma, as the colony trembled under the weight of war.

—--------------------------------------------------

Cardeas slammed his hand against the elevator wall, his usually cold and composed demeanor cracking beneath the weight of senseless war.

“But why…?” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “Why all of this?”

The elevator came to a halt. As the doors slid open, he found three men waiting. Two carried assault rifles at the ready. The third stood calmly between them, unarmed.

Cardeas’s breath caught in his throat as the unarmed figure reached up and tapped the side of his helmet. A concealed visor pulled away, revealing a face Cardeas never expected to see in this place.

“…Alberto,” he breathed, stunned. “You did this?”

Elsewhere in the colony builder, Zachary drifted through a dim corridor and stopped at another elevator shaft. As the doors opened, two men emerged. One immediately raised his weapon at the boy, but the older man beside him held out a hand.

“Don’t shoot the kid,” he ordered coolly.

Zach didn’t flinch as the two passed by him. His eyes stayed locked on the older man, who calmly turned and emptied his entire magazine into the elevator’s control panel.

The older man dropped the weapon with a clatter, then glanced at his partner. “Any word from Marida?”

Zach, not wasting time, turned and pushed forward again, leaving the ruined elevator behind.

In yet another shaft, tension thickened.

Alberto Vist caught the pistol recovered from his father’s jacket. Cardeas, held in place as he was searched, locked eyes with him.

“So Martha sent you?” he asked quietly.

“And what if she did?” Alberto replied flatly.

“You think you’re pulling the strings here,” Cardeas said bitterly. “But you’re just another piece she’s moving.”

Without warning, Cardeas seized the head of the nearest Special Forces operator and snapped his neck with ruthless precision. Gunfire erupted, but he dragged the body into the line of fire, using it as a shield.

Bullets tore into the corpse. Cardeas shoved it into the second attacker, grabbed the fallen man’s rifle, and shot the remaining soldier clean through the skull.

He turned back to face Alberto, but was cut short by a sudden gunshot.

The pistol in Alberto’s hand trembled as smoke drifted from the barrel.

Cardeas staggered, eyes wide, staring at his son in disbelief. “Alberto…”

But his son was already backing away, face pale, eyes wild, turning and running, his father’s voice echoing faintly behind him.

—-------------------------------------------

Outside in the thick of battle, the Kshatriya and the ReZEL clashed again, locked in a brutal blade lock that screeched with metal fatigue. Both mobile suits were covered in dents, scorches, and torn plating, it's a miracle either was still operational.

Marida saw an opening. She thrust a kick into the ReZEL, breaking the deadlock and hurling herself backward. While gaining distance, she released a swarm of dummy bits to mask her retreat, then accelerated deeper into the colony builder.

As she flew down the shaft, her sensors picked up a lone figure ahead. Her eyes widened behind her visor.

"Princess?" Marida whispered in disbelief, slowing her approach.

Audrey's eyes widened as well, stunned by the battered state of the Kshatriya. “Marida?” she muttered.

But before the two could reunite, missiles screamed across the shaft. The same smaller mobile suit she saw had opened fire, and Marida had no choice but to pull away, shielding Audrey from the blasts with her binders as she fled from the crossfire.

Audrey watched the Kshatriya retreat under fire, then a familiar green sphere bounced into her arms.

“Hello, Audrey! Hello, Audrey!” chirped Haro.

“Haro!” a boy’s voice called out.

Audrey turned to see a teenager in a school uniform, Zach’s uniform, running toward her. Four others followed: another boy and three girls.

“Zach?” she called out instinctively.

“A civilian?” the other boy muttered, eyes scanning her. “Hey, it’s not safe here! You need to turn back!”

One of the girls, with light green hair, stared at Audrey with growing recognition. “Wait… it’s you.”

“You know her, Emily?” asked the girl with the ponytail.

“Uh...no. I mean...maybe?”

Audrey opened her mouth to answer, but her attention was pulled away. From the wreckage of the smaller mobile suit, a man in pilot gear emerged, carrying a bazooka. He steadied his aim, pointing directly at the Kshatriya.

The rocket flew and struck near Marida’s mobile suit, detonating with a pulse of jamming interference. Static filled her cockpit as her sensors blinked and her funnels flared up. The man detached from his tether, leaping free just before Marida’s funnels obliterated the mobile suit.

The Kshatriya reeled from the blast and crashed hard into the colony builder wall, her main camera sparking and limbs briefly unresponsive.

But the danger wasn’t over.

Chunks of burning debris from the destroyed mobile suit hurtled straight toward Audrey and the others in the shaft.

“LOOK OUT!” Takuya shouted, grabbing Audrey and pulling her into the group as everyone braced for impact...

...but the strike never came.

The ReZEL, battered and scorched, shot into the shaft like a blue comet. It raised its shield and slammed into the largest chunk of debris, shattering it. Its right arm came down to shield the group from the smaller burning fragments.

The teenagers stared up in awe and disbelief.

Takuya was the first to speak. “Hey… isn’t that the Zeta-type that was fighting the Quad-wing earlier?”

“Yeah,” Emily said softly, her eyes wide as she looked up at the blue mobile suit. “That’s the same one.”

“Are you guys alright?” the pilot’s voice crackled from the ReZEL’s external speakers, deep but calm.

“Y-yeah…” Ernst managed between breaths. “We’re students, from the Anaheim Institute of Technology and Engineering. They blew a hole in the colony, and we barely got out. Can you help us?”

There was a pause. Then the pilot replied, “Understood. Our mothership’s already broadcasting a return signal for all remaining mobile suits. I was keeping the Quad-Wing busy so the others could evacuate. I’ll take you to the ship, then we’ll figure things out from there.”

With a hiss of decompression, the cockpit hatch of the ReZEL opened.

“It might get a little cramped, but it’s safer than leaving you all out here,” the pilot added. “If another enemy unit shows up, you won’t stand a chance in the open.”

The students and the unknown girl exchanged brief glances and nodded. One by one, they floated into the cockpit. It was tight, barely enough space for them all, but they managed. The pilot opened the visor of his helmet, revealing a youthful face, blonde hair tousled from sweat and heat, sharp blue eyes flicking across the group.

“Wait,” Takuya said, eyeing him. “You’re just as old as us!”

The pilot let out a short laugh. “Not quite. I’m nineteen. Turning twenty this June. Ensign Riddhe Marcenas; Earth Federation Forces. Call sign; Romeo-8”

“Takuya Irei,” Takuya introduced, raising a hand.

“Margo Brawn.”

“Ernst Badriguel.”

“Micott Bartsch.”

“Emily Amada.”

“...Audrey Burne,” Audrey added softly, eyes still fixed on the burning wreckage outside.

Riddhe gave each of them a nod of acknowledgment before glancing toward the colony interior, where the damaged Kshatriya was beginning to stir.

“We need to move,” he said. “It’s starting to get its systems back online.”

Margo frowned. “Why don’t you just shoot it down now? End it before it comes after us again.”

Riddhe didn’t look at her when he answered. “Because I don’t shoot disabled enemies, Ms. Brawn. Even if that thing wiped out most of my squad and nearly breached the colony core… I won’t become like them. That’s how a soldier should act.”

The ReZEL’s systems whirred as it shifted into flight mode. Riddhe gripped the controls, the quiet resolve on his face never wavering.

“Hold on,” he said. “Let’s get you all out of here.”

As the Kshatriya moved, it unknowingly caused a spark to ignite in the fuselage of the colony builder, and once the mobile suit fired up its thrusters and flew off, the fuselage exploded, causing a chain reaction to erupt.

—-----------------------------------

Zach floated quietly through the service shaft, eyes shut, steadying his breath. He was using a technique his parents had taught him when he was little, one rooted in discipline and intuition. If he focused hard enough, if he stilled everything else, he could feel where someone was. Not by sight or sound, but something deeper.

“Audrey…” he whispered. "Where are you?"

His eyes snapped open.

Below him, smoke curled upward like ghostly fingers. He watched it climb, twisting in the artificial gravity.

“The fighting must’ve ruptured a fuselage,” he murmured as he floated at the shaft like he was flying.

Then, clang .

A sudden metallic echo vibrated through the shaft, faint but distinct. His instincts flared. Whatever it was, it wasn’t random. It felt important .

Without hesitation, Zach changed direction, gliding toward the source of the sound. As he floated through the dim maintenance corridor, guided only by that gut feeling, he reached a large open chamber.

And what he saw made him freeze.

“…A mobile suit,” he breathed, awe-struck.

Suspended on its MS cage, resting in eerie silence, laid a massive white machine, towering twenty meters tall. Its armor gleamed, untouched by the chaos outside. A single, sharp horn adorned its forehead, catching the light and reflecting it like a blade. It didn’t look like any suit he’d ever seen before.

For a moment, Zach could only stare, the tension in his chest forgotten, replaced by a strange, quiet reverence.

It was beautiful.

As Zach stared in awe at the white mobile suit, a sharp beep echoed from within it. The sound pulled him from his trance.

He floated toward the cockpit hatch, which had opened just at the chest of the towering machine. Peering inside, he saw an older man hunched over the console, fingers weakly tapping at the controls.

Cardeas Vist.

Even from here, Zach could see the blood, soaking the man’s jacket, staining the cosole behind him.

“G-Gael… you made it,” Cardeas rasped, without looking. But as he turned his head, his eyes widened in surprise. “...you,” he breathed.

Zach’s glare could’ve cut through steel.

“Where is she, Cardeas Vist?” he demanded, voice low and sharp. “You gave me your word. You said she would be protected.”

Cardeas stared at him for a moment, unreadable. Then, quietly, he answered, “You don’t need to worry about her. As I’m sure you’re aware… this isn’t the first time she’s cheated death. And it won’t be the last.”

Zach’s fists clenched around the cockpit frame. “Do not tell me, do not dare tell me you meant to leave her behind. Were you going to flee in this suit while she, while everyone else, remained out there in danger?”

Cardeas let out a breathless, almost amused chuckle, which quickly turned into a painful cough. Blood spattered his lips.

“Even if I wanted to… I wouldn’t survive long enough to make it out,” he admitted, the weight of mortality finally catching up to his voice.

Zach was silent.

Then his voice broke, rage and grief pouring out in equal measure.

His voice broke, the fury and sorrow spilling over. “What in heaven’s name is wrong with you? She placed her trust in you, believed in you. She wanted to put an end to all of this, to stop this madness. And you could have done it, could you not? You held the power to bring it all to an end, did you not, old man?”

Cardeas turned his face away.

Zach didn’t stop even if behind him, explosions erupted across the hangar.

“How about those outside? My friends, my classmates?” His voice was trembling. “They had hopes, they had dreams. And now, because of your pride and your negligence, they shall never see them fulfilled.”

He pressed a trembling hand to the cold edge of the cockpit.

“They weren’t supposed to die like this.”

As Zach continued on, Cardeas noticed the mobile suit started to glow. “I lost my father, as I am certain you know, and with him, I lost my name. But the way all those people perished, it is not right.”

Cardeas was silent for a while before he stood up, “Death should be treated with dignity, we were supposed to respect each other's lives! But once we grow out of childhood that we know better, we still cause meaningless bloodshed and conflict.”

“We’ve done it to the Earth as well, we’ve devoured her resources and sought out new frontiers to exploit in space.” He added as he turned towards Zach, “Humanity grew out of control and must endeavour to regain its dignity.”

“We must revive the hope that was born one hundred years ago. Through the potential that lies within, you can demonstrate the true power and compassion of humanity.”  He grabbed Zach’s hand as he added “To transcend what is immediate, and realize our godlike potential, the greatness within us that is possible.”

Cardeas then pulled Zach in and asked, “You’ve come this far, but are you confident that your conviction will not waver? The weight of the burden you’ll have to bear will be immense, you’ll need the resolve to carry the weight off your shoulders if you agree, do you understand, your highness?”

Zach stared at Cardeas, at the blood staining his shirt, at the fire in his eyes that still hadn’t dimmed despite his wounds, despite his failings.

He looked at the hand grasping his. The words still rang in his ears.

“Are you confident your conviction will not waver?”

Zach took a breath.

He said softly. “I am not here because of lineage, nor because of fate. I am here because someone must be.”

He stepped closer, matching Cardeas’s gaze, not flinching.

His voice hardened.

“I do not know if I am prepared. I do not know if I possess the strength. But I do know this; I refuse to turn away. Not from her, not from them, not from this.”

Zach looked past Cardeas, to the glowing mobile suit.

“If there’s even a chance I can make things right… Then I’ll bear that weight. I'll carry them all.”

He returned Cardeas’s grip, firm and unshaking.

Cardeas nodded his head, “Very well.” He pushed Zach’s hand to the central console, “Then you’ll need this, your highness.” A laser was shot from the linear chair in the cockpit, scanning Zach up and down, the console registering his biometrics.

The console pulled away as Cardeas pushed Zach into the pilot seat, its size adjusting to be perfect for Zach’s frame.

“This mobile suit will only respond to you and you alone.” Cardeas groaned out as explosions erupted behind him, “I have no doubt that you would be a suitable pilot, the Unicorn would grant you powers, adding to your own, and then show you the path to Laplace’s Box.”

“What is it?” Zach asked as he scanned all the data flowing through the cockpit.

“It’s a curse that has been plaguing the Vist Foundation for over a century, but if used properly, it can bring light to this universal century.” He replied before looking at Zach, “My second son, Banagher, also fell to this same curse that plagued our family. He would’ve been your age if he still lived.”

Cardeas then pushed himself off the cockpit, “Fret not, Zakar Zom Ray, if you trust the possibility that lies within, and try with all your might, the path would show itself to you.”

Cardeas watched the cockpit close with a smile, before turning his gaze to the light. “B-Banagher….Anna, I’ve done enough. I’ve done my part, the rest is up to them…”

He smiled, allowing the sweet embrace of death to embrace him. His body burned and was destroyed by the fiery explosion of the hangar.

Zach watched from the cockpit as Cardeas Vist was engulfed by the fire and explosion. He then leaned back, allowing small tears to go out of his eyes. “Can I still do this, after all the hurt I’ve done, after all the family I’ve lost to these things?” He cried out. His mind went back 4 years prior.

—--------------------------------------------

UC0093:

“Hathaway, you can’t be serious!” a younger Zach shouted aboard the Ra Cailum. “She made her position clear!”

“She can still be saved, Zak!” Hathaway replied as he jumped into a Jegan. “Watch, I’ll bring her back myself!”

“HATHAWAY!” Zach screamed, but his voice couldn’t stop his friend as the hatch sealed shut and the Jegan launched into the battlefield.

Zach was frozen until a familiar voice snapped him back to reality.

“Zak, where’s Hathaway?” asked Chan Agi, her eyes searching frantically.

“Ms. Chan!” he gasped. “He took a Jegan, he’s trying to reach Quess!”

“He did what?!” Chan shouted, her face twisting in disbelief.

“I have to stop him!” Zach declared, pushing off toward a Re-GZ.

“No!” Chan grabbed him and slammed him into the wall. “Your parents would never forgive me if I let you throw yourself into battle.”

“But I can do it! I’ve piloted before!”

“This isn’t the Gryps Conflict, Zak!” she snapped. “Your father is out there risking everything to stop your uncle from dropping an asteroid to Earth. He doesn’t need to worry about you too!”

Zach clenched his fists. Chan hesitated.

“I’ll bring him back,” she said, turning toward the Re-GZ.

But before she could climb in, strong arms wrapped around her midsection and hurled her aside. As she righted herself in zero-G, she saw Zach climbing into the cockpit.

“ZAK!” she screamed, but the Re-GZ’s visor lit up and the mobile suit launched into space.

Astonaige popped in from a nearby corridor. “What the hell just happened?”

“Two teenagers with death wishes,” Chan growled, climbing into a Jegan. “I’m bringing them both back.”

Once he was in open space, Zach caught up to Hathaway, who was already exchanging fire with enemy units. Quess’ mobile armor loomed ahead, her beams cutting down Federation GMs like paper.

“Quess, that’s enough!” Zach called through the comms.

“Zach?!” Quess cried. “You came for me!”

“Quess, stop this! There’s still time to turn back!”

“Stay out of it, Zak!” Hathaway snapped. “She’s not beyond saving!”

Zach’s HUD flared red, Quess’ beams had clipped Hathaway’s Jegan. Zach dove, intercepting the next shot with his shield.

“ZAK, HATHAWAY!” Chan’s voice crackled through the comms as she closed in.

Hearing her voice, Quess lost control. “You… you’re the tramp who stole Zach from me!”

“What?!” Chan gasped.

“You took him from me!” Quess screamed, unleashing a wild barrage. One beam sheared off Chan’s shoulder armor. Another streaked toward her cockpit.

Chan braced for the end, but it never came. The Re-GZ grabbed her unit and yanked it away just in time.

“I’ve had enough!” Zach roared, raising his beam rifle and targeting the mobile armor’s weapon systems. He fired relentlessly, severing its guns one by one.

Chan joined in, targeting the armor’s chest and neck. Their synchronized volleys slammed into the machine. The mobile armor exploded in a violent burst of flame and debris.

“No… QUESS!!” Hathaway’s anguished cry echoed through all frequencies.

Blinded by grief, he turned on Chan. “You killed her!”

He raised his rifle and fired.

“Don’t be a fool, Hathaway!” Zach shouted, blocking the shots with his shield. “She was going to kill Ms. Chan!”

“She could’ve been saved!” Hathaway screamed.

“She made her choice!” Zach charged forward. Hathaway’s blast severed the Re-GZ’s left arm and right leg, but Zach activated his beam saber and sliced Hathaway’s rifle in half. Then he carefully disarmed the Jegan, removing all its limbs without breaching the cockpit.

“I’m sorry, Hathaway…” Zach said, his voice low and pained. “But she was already too far gone.”

Chan floated beside them, watching the smoldering wreckage of Quess’ mobile armor and the trembling form of Hathaway’s disarmed suit. Her heart ached, knowing full well she had just witnessed something sacred be torn apart: a friendship consumed by the fire of war.

—------------------------------------------------------------

Zach was torn from the memory by a tremor, a deep, rumbling explosion that shook the entire hangar. Flames licked higher from the shattered walls, and debris rained down around the dormant mobile suit. The Unicorn, laid over the wreckage, stood silent… almost as if it were waiting.

Inside the cockpit, Zach trembled.

“I promised…” he whispered through clenched teeth, his voice cracking as fresh tears fell. “I made a promise to my mom…”

His grip on the controls tightened.

“She already lost my dad… her brother… I promised her to never touch these things again.” He bit down on a sob. “I gave her my word that I wouldn’t. I promisedI wouldn’t, because I saw what they did. What they took.”

The pain of that night four years ago surged back, his mother holding him after the battle, her hands shaking as she wiped the blood and oil from his face, her eyes filled with terror and love all at once. “No more, Zak. I need you to live. I need you to choose peace.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he choked out. The events of the battle, and the loss it followed reaching to him.

Suddenly, the cockpit screen flickered. The charred hangar view vanished, replaced by blackness. A low hum filled the space.

Then light.

Radiant and warm, it bathed the panoramic screen as an image formed, woven cloth, elegant figures, and in the center, a creature both wild and serene. The Lady and the Unicorn , the ancient tapestry, gently rotating through space.

Zach blinked. It wasn’t a hallucination.

He stared, spellbound, as the final panel glowed with a caption: “À mon seul désir.”
To my only desire.

His breath caught. He whispered the words aloud. “To my only desire…”

The Unicorn in the tapestry stood before a woman, its horn lowered, not in violence, but in offering. The beast of myth, tamed not by chains, but by hope.

Zach’s fingers slowly closed around the twin control sticks.

“The beast of possibility…” he said softly. “The symbol of hope.”

The center console activated, with a designation appearing in it.

RX-0 Unicorn Unit-1
Pilot: Zachary Mass

His eyes hardened.

“That’s what you are, aren’t you? Unicorn.”

The screen shifted again, returning to the grim, smoking hangar bay. Sparks arced in the ruined lighting above. Fires roared below. And in the silence of the cockpit, Zach made his choice.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” His voice was stronger now, resolute. “I have to break my promise… this one time.”

“Because if I don’t… no one else will.”

He shoved the control levers forward.

The cockpit lit up, an electric surge pulsing through the Unicorn’s systems as the pilot’s biometrics synchronized. The panoramic HUD glowed to life with new overlays, new readings. The suit stirred.

Its optic sensors flashed to blazing green.

Metal screamed and groaned as the MS cage broke under the strain of the rising mobile suit. The Unicorn's arms moved first, lifting slowly, deliberately, before planting firmly on the rails beside it.

With an echoing stomp, the mobile suit rose from its cradle, shaking dust from its pristine white armor.

Zach grunted as he guided it forward, its movements syncing with his breath, his will. Despite the ruin around it, the Unicorn shone; unscathed, untouched, a specter of purity standing in a field of ashes.

Each step echoed with a metallic finality.

Boom.

Boom.

The gleaming frame moved like something alive, like a divine beast rising after centuries of slumber. Light reflected off its surface, turning the smoke around it into a silver haze.

Zach adjusted the controls, the suit responding with uncanny precision. Every inch of its movement was made for him, and him alone.

“I must go,” he whispered again.

The Unicorn tilted its head forward, acknowledging the burden it was now shouldering.

Together, they stood in the heart of the inferno, two beings bound not by fate, but by a choice.

—--------------------------------------------------------

Inside the colony block, tension thickened like fog. The 2 remaining Geara Zulu and 1 Geara Doga pilots patrolled the shattered docks, their mono-eyes scanning every corridor and corridor ceiling. The space around them was quiet, too quiet.

With the civilian population fully evacuated, the mobile suits tore through structures with impunity. Warehouses, support girders, control towers, nothing was spared.

“How the hell does one giant warship disappear in a sealed colony?” The Doga pilot grumbled, slamming his suit’s foot through a cargo container.

“Maybe the intel was bad,” another snapped, glancing toward the scorched skyline. “Maybe we’re just a damn distraction.”

“If that’s true,” a Gaera Zulu pilot muttered, “then I’m gonna be seriously pissed.”

His sentence was cut short by a sudden, violent explosion.

BOOM.

A massive burst of smoke and flame erupted from the groundl 40 meters behind them, the sheer force rattling the reinforced hulls of their mobile suits. The pilots instinctively turned.

From within the smoke and rising dust a mobile suit emerged.

A single, pristine white mobile suit, gleaming amid the embers and ruin, launched into the air with an angelic, yet alien, grace. Its single horn glinted in the dim light of the wreckage, and its smooth, unblemished armor seemed untouched by war. The thruster on its back hissed and powered down as it landed with a resounding thud just 15 meters from the confused and now-nervous Sleeves squad.

Its head turned slowly.

Its green optics flared.

“What the hell is that? ” one Gaera Zulu pilot shouted, lifting his rifle.

“I don’t know, just shoot it! ” another barked, triggering his weapon.

The others followed, opening fire in a panic. Dozens of beams and bullets streaked toward the white demon.

Inside the Unicorn, Zach flinched as the screens flared red. But he didn’t falter. He growled through clenched teeth, gripping the controls tightly.

With a flick of both thumb triggers the Unicorn’s twin head vulcans roared to life. A stream of 80mm rounds poured out, sweeping across the enemy fire line. The machine barely moved its feet, anchored like a wall between destruction and something unseen behind it.

The Geara Doga pilot raised his shield and charged through the lead storm, growling in fury. “Get close! Overwhelm it!”

The moment he closed the gap, the Unicorn moved.

Fast.

Almost too fast to follow.

In one fluid motion, the Unicorn batted the Doga’s rifle aside with the back of its forearm, sending it clattering into the rubble. Before the pilot could react, the Unicorn grabbed the front of the Doga’s head unit, fingers piercing into the metal seams like it was paper.

The Doga pilot screamed.

Inside his cockpit, his monitors flared green, his entire display drowned in the glow of the Unicorn’s optics.

“What the hell is that thing—?!”

The Unicorn pulled.

The scream cut out as the mobile suit ripped the Doga’s faceplate clean off and hurled the now-maskless suit back, slamming it into a destroyed warehouse wall. The limbs flailed once, then fell still.

The battlefield froze.

The Sleeves pilots stared.

One of the pilots whimpered in horror but quickly composed himself. Gritting his teeth, he armed his bazooka and fired it directly at the Unicorn.

Zach immediately boosted away, the explosion rocking the ground beneath. He maneuvered through the rising smoke and took a sharp breath. “Come on,” he muttered, scanning the console, “please don’t tell me the vulcans are your only weapon.”

A second later, a readout flashed on the screen. “Beam stingers?”

With a mechanical hiss, two twin-mounted beam rifles unfolded from the Unicorn’s forearms. Zach pushed the levers forward slightly, bringing the weapons to bear just as a Geara Zulu emerged through the smoke.

Gritting his teeth, Zach pressed both of his index fingers against the levers.

The beam stingers fired a rapid volley of searing energy bolts. The Geara Zulu raised its shield in desperation, but the onslaught was too overwhelming. Beam after beam tore into the mobile suit until one finally pierced the cockpit.

The pilot let out a scream, cut off in an instant as his body was vaporized in a flash of light.

The Geara Zulu fell lifeless to the ground, smoke billowing from its shattered frame.

The remaining Geara Zulu pilot called out to his fallen comrade in anguish before charging at the unknown mobile suit in a fury, activating his beam axe.

Zach narrowed his eyes as the enemy unit bore down on him. Calmly, he input a specific sequence on his control levers. The right-side skirt armor of the Unicorn slid open, revealing a beam saber. In one swift motion, the Unicorn grabbed it with its right hand.

As the Geara Zulu swung its axe, Zach parried the blow cleanly, the two energy weapons clashing in a bright spark of violet and green. Without hesitation, he pushed down on the pedals and forced the right lever forward, sending the Unicorn surging ahead.

With overwhelming strength, the Unicorn overpowered the Zulu, slicing through the axe and grazing its chest armor. Sparks and metal burst from the mobile suit as the blow exposed its cockpit. In one fluid motion, Zach drove the beam saber into the opening.

The enemy pilot had no time to react, his life ended in an instant.

From the wreckage nearby, the damaged Geara Doga slowly stood, its mono-eye glaring. Watching its allies fall so quickly, the pilot roared in rage. He raised his bazooka and fired.

Zach reacted instantly. The Unicorn darted into the air, dodging the first blast, then another, and another, each explosion lighting up the battlefield below him. As he landed, he surged forward like a white blur.

Closing the distance, Zach swung his saber downward, slicing off the barrel of the Doga's bazooka in a clean arc. Without pause, he activated his second beam saber and crossed both weapons in a swift, decisive motion, cleaving the Geara Doga in two at the waist.

The wreckage of the Sleeves’ mobile suits collapsed around him, the Unicorn standing tall amidst the flames, its armor unmarred.

Deactivating the beam sabers and returning them to the Unicorn’s side skirts, Zach let out a long, steady breath. It had been four years since he last piloted a mobile suit, yet the rush, the pulse of adrenaline surging through his veins, had come flooding back like it never left.

He wasn’t sure if it was something he welcomed… or feared.

Closing his eyes, he steadied his breathing and reached out, not with sensors, but with something deeper. He let his awareness expand, pushing his pressure outward like a ripple through space.

And then, softly, he spoke the name that had anchored his heart through all the chaos.

“Audrey…”

—----------------------------------------------------

The ReZEL touched down inside The Mori ’s hangar with a sharp thud. Its cockpit hissed open, allowing its occupants to disembark into the zero-gravity bay. Within moments, a team of deck crew and mechanics drifted toward the mobile suit, already beginning resupply and maintenance protocols.

One of the techs, a woman in a standard-issue coverall, floated toward the group. She offered a curt nod. “Ensign Riddhe, good to see you made it. Several other units have already returned to the ship.”

“Copy that,” Riddhe replied, taking a quick swig from his water bottle before handing it off to a passing crewman. “These civilians were inside the colony builder. I picked them up during my engagement with the quad-wing.”

The technician gave the teens and the Haro unit a once-over. “Understood. I’ll escort them to the mess hall. Heads up, the ship’s scheduled to launch in T-minus three minutes. Captain’s preparing to breach the bay doors if needed.”

“Got it. I’ll be on standby for launch. Notify me once the ReZEL is fully resupplied.”

Riddhe then turned to face the group of teenagers and gave them a good natured smile. “This is where we part ways. Stay in the mess hall until further notice. I’ll be on alert for the duration of the launch window.”

“Thank you for everything, Ensign Riddhe,” Emily said with a small smile. The others nodded or voiced similar gratitude.

“No need for thanks,” Riddhe replied with a light grin. “Just doing my duty.” With that, he kicked off the catwalk and returned to the floating ReZEL as the service crew cleared away from its frame.

The technician gestured toward the interior corridor. “Alright, follow me. The mess is forward port-side, and trust me, it's the nicest part of this entire ship. If it weren’t for regs, I’d hole up in there myself.”

The group complied, drifting behind her single-file. Audrey, still holding Haro, slowed her pace as a strange sensation surged through her, an overwhelming wave of pressure .

Her eyes widened. “Zach…?”

She spoke the name aloud, halting mid-drift.

The others turned toward her, confused. Before anyone could speak, the ship-wide klaxons flared to life, blaring a steady, urgent tone. Then, the intercom crackled.

“All hands, this is the Captain,” came the firm, commanding voice. “Final countdown to launch has commenced. Secure all equipment, seal all hatches, and brace for possible forced exit. This is not a drill. Repeat: this is not a drill .”

Red strobe lights flashed across the hangar bay as The Mori 's engines roared to life beneath the deck. The low rumble of pre-ignition vibrated through the walls and support struts.

“Let’s get going!” the technician barked as she signaled the group forward. “You don’t want to be caught floating loose during main engine burn!”

The teens hurried, their movements clumsy but improving as they grabbed onto the levers. Audrey lagged behind, still shaken by what she felt. Haro clutched tighter to her shoulder, its mechanical voice low.

“Warning, launch imminent. Pressure spike. Pressure spike,” it repeated.

From the hangar’s central gantry, a voice called out through the deck intercom. “Deck Control to Launch Officer, hangar is clear. Mobile suit resupply is complete. ReZEL units green for launch.”

“Copy,” Mihiro replied. “Romeo team, prepare for catapult ejection on my mark. Main doors unlocking. Standby.”

With a heavy metallic groan, the external bay doors of The Mori began to separate, its launch catapult unfolding from the bow of the bay doors. A blinding wash of emergency lights cast deep shadows across the hangar walls.

Inside the cockpit of his ReZEL, Riddhe ran final checks as he tightened his necklace containing his lucky charm on his wrist. “This is Ensign Riddhe Marcenas, all systems nominal. Weapon systems calibrated, sensors at full range. Ready for launch.”

“Launch authorized,” the voice returned. “Mori Control to ReZEL: Good hunting. ”

“Roger that.” He replied, “This is Riddhe Marcenas, Romeo-8, launching!”

With a sudden jolt, the catapult mechanism activated. Riddhe’s ReZEL was flung forward from the ship’s launch rail like a spear through darkness then transformed to its flight form. His displays immediately lit up with telemetry and threat signals. The remaining ReZEL’s doing the same.

The bridge of The Mori buzzed with activity. Lights flashed across control consoles, displays updated in real time, and the distant rumble of engine cycling echoed through the bulkheads. All eyes were locked on their panels, ears tuned to the rhythm of orders and confirmations.

Captain Job John stood at the command platform, one gloved hand gripping the back of his chair as the other adjusted the volume of the comm receiver. His gaze swept over the main display; a tactical overview of the colony, showing structural weakness zones and the projected vector for launch.

“Status check. Liam?” Job barked.

First Officer Liam didn’t hesitate. “All stations report green across the board. Hangar confirms ReZEL launch complete. Civilians secured in Mess Section Three. Final umbilicals retracted. Ship integrity at 98 percent.”

“Confirmed,” Job nodded. “Mitakule, weapons status.”

Chief Weapons Officer Mitakule leaned forward, fingers dancing over the panel. “Point-defense grid on standby. Missile hatches one through four sealed. Railguns primed for emergency fire. Combat readiness at seventy-five percent and rising.”

“Parker, Danvers,” Liam continued sharply, “final nav trajectory, now!”

At the dual helm console, Parker flicked a switch, green light flaring on his console.

“Nav plotted: Delta-Five-Two, ninety-second burn at full thrust, projected escape vector leads us clear of the colony mass in four minutes.”

Danvers finished the input beside him. “Maneuvering thrusters primed. Main drive ignition locked. All hands in brace position. Ready for main burn.”

“Comm!” Job snapped.

Communications Officer Mihiro Oiwakken adjusted her headset. “Line to all decks is clear, sir. ReZEL pilots confirm successful launch. Open channel with Earth Sphere Command standing by.”

“Patch it through after we clear the colony,” Job said, eyes still locked on the primary viewer. “We’re not sending any signals until we’re in the black.”

A beat passed. The bridge lights dimmed automatically as the launch sequence hit its final stage.

“All stations,” Liam called out, voice echoing across the bridge. “This is the Executive Officer. Prepare for full main engine burn. Secure all systems and brace for thrust. ”

“Engineering confirms ready,” Mihiro said, one hand to her earpiece. “Drive core at full charge.”

Job John nodded his head.

“Then let’s get out of here, everyone!”

A massive clunk rang through the ship as the inertial dampeners locked in. Outside the armored hull, The Mori’s main engines ignited in a thunderous flare. The entire vessel shuddered, bulkheads groaning from the surge of power as it tore loose from the battered colony dock.

“Velocity increasing,” Parker called out. “Passing escape threshold.”

“Debris field ahead,” Danvers added. “Minimal density; adjusting course two degrees starboard.”

“Steady as she goes,” Job muttered. “Liam?”

“Structural stress holding. Systems nominal. No hull breach.”

Mitakule suddenly leaned forward. “Unidentified object ping, rear vector. Could be a debris fragment or... something active.”

Job narrowed his eyes. “Tag it, but don’t open fire unless it changes trajectory. If it’s watching us, we’re watching it harder.”

“Copy that.”

Parker called again. “Thirty seconds to clear zone.”

Job rose slightly from his seat. “All stations, hold firm. We’re almost clear.”

Outside the bridge, The Mori pushed through the last veil of smoke and broken colony panels. Open space, star-streaked and cold, opened up before them.

Danvers tapped her controls. “We are clear.”

Mihiro grinned faintly from her console. “Captain, we’ve made it. We’re in open space.”

Job nodded his head, “Then let’s hope that we didn’t make enough of a ruckus for us to be found.”

(UCPF-01 Haven-Class; Mori)


—-----------------------------------------------------

Inside the burning colony builder, Marida Cruz piloted her Kshatriya toward the exit. The mission had failed. She had failed to recover the Princess. And though she knew the Captain would shoulder all the blame, she couldn’t allow the man she saw as a father to take it alone.

“It’s not all his fault…” she muttered, her grip tightening around the controls.

As she continued her flight, a sudden wave of pressure washed over her, a Newtype sensation so strong that it brought her mobile suit to a stop. Eyes widening, she turned Kshatriya around.

“Who’s precense is this?” she asked aloud, startled. “Their pressure is too strong!”

From the dense smoke, her sensors picked up a silhouette; roughly 20 meters tall, gleaming white armor, a single horn crowning its head.

Marida’s instincts flared. This unit radiated danger.

“Funnels!” she commanded.

The funnels launched, targeting the unknown unit and opening fire. But the suit moved, fast. Faster than she had expected. Before she could react, the white mobile suit closed the distance. It grabbed Kshatriya’s right hand, crushing the active beam saber.

“Get out,” a voice rang over an open frequency, young, forceful, and angry. “Get the hell out of my way!”

The Unicorn pushed forward, dragging the Kshatriya with it. Marida grunted as the two mobile suits smashed through a support pillar, then through a blast door. Her airbags deployed as G-forces slammed into her.

She quickly commanded her funnels to cover their retreat path, blasting anything in their way.

Finally, with a roar of metal, both suits broke through the last bulkhead, into open space.

Marida didn’t hesitate. She fired her thrusters and veered away from the Unicorn, taking up a defensive position. Her funnels orbited around her like a defensive perimeter, seeking a lock.

Zach shifted the Unicorn to face her, eyes narrowed at the quad-winged unit. He fired his vulcans at the incoming funnels, but they danced around the beams, too fast and erratic to pin down.

“He’s wide open…” Marida murmured.

Seeing the Unicorn’s attention on her funnels, she sent the remaining ones to strike from behind. A deadly pincer maneuver.

Inside the cockpit, Zach glared at the approaching funnels and prepared to activate his beam saber, until a sudden chime echoed from the center console. He glanced down.

NT-D flashed across the screen.

His eyes widened.

Panels across the cockpit began to shift, the consoles pulled away. His control levers retracted, replaced by a new psychoframe interface. His seat reclined slightly as restraints locked into place across his shoulders, waist, arms, and legs. A glowing, red-hued holographic interface emerged, and the cockpit bathed in light.

Outside, the transformation began.

The funnels fired, but the beams bent unnaturally, warping around the Unicorn as though space itself rejected the attack.

Marida’s breath caught in her throat.

The white mobile suit began to glow red. Its frame shifted and separated, armor unfolding. The legs extended, panels sliding apart to reveal the psychoframe’s inner red light. The arms followed, then the chest. The head rotated, its sides pulling away as the faceplate retracted into the helmet, revealing a dual-eye camera and a sharp, angular Gundam face.

The Unicorn’s horn split into a V-fin as its head camera moved forward.

The transformation completed with a burst of energy.

A beam saber launched from the right side skirt armor. The Gundam’s right hand snatched it midair, igniting the glowing pink blade in one smooth motion.



—---------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, The Mori managed to catch sight of the new unit and the quad-wing flying out of the colony, the ships cameras and sensors magnified to take a better look at the new unit.

“Isn’t that the RX-0?” Job called out as he gazed upon the white mobile suit.

“The RX-0?” Liam asked her captain as she watched the mobile suit fire its vulcans at the funnels.

“Yeah, it was supposed to be one of the main units of the UC Project.” He informed, “That’s the reason why The Mori was built in the first place, it was supposed to be the carrier for the units.”

The fight was also broadcasted to the mess hall, with the teenagers watching the white mobile suit fire its vulcans at the funnels.

Things turned for the worse when the quad-wing launched its funnels at the white mobile suit and fired blasts at it. Emily, Micott, and Margo gasped, expecting the mobile suit to be destroyed. But the white mobile suit glowed red before its frame expanded and face retracting and v-fin splitting.

Audrey watched as the white mobile suit activated one of its beam sabers, she only let out one word while embracing Haro tightly. “Gundam.”

The PA system of the ship suddenly went off, “This is Lieutenant Commander Basilicock, I have confirmation! The single horned suit transformer, or morphed.”

“It’s a GUNDAM! ” He exclaimed, his voice reverberated across the ship.

Job John chuckled as he leaned back in his command chair, “I should’ve expected it would’ve been a Gundam.”

“No way,” Liam said in awe as she gazed at the Gundam on the monitor.

Back in the mess hall, Erst watched in awe. “So that’s a Gundam in disguise?”

“I don’t know if I should be pissing myself right now or fainting in awe.” Takuya responded as he watched the broadcast.

Emily meanwhile was silent but then uttered one word, “...Gundam.”

Riddhe flew close to The Mori, acting as its patrol unit. He was shocked beyond belief as he saw the white mobile suit transformed into a Gundam.

—---------------------------------------------

Back in the battle…

The Gundam Unicorn blasted forward, beam saber in hand, slicing down Marida’s funnels one by one in rapid succession.

Marida pulled back, retreating with skill, but the Unicorn was relentless. It closed the gap and severed the connector of one of Kshatriya’s damaged wing binders with a precise slash. As the glowing white unit neared, a strange light filled the Kshatriya’s cockpit, an oppressive presence.

“That thing…” Marida gasped, eyes wide. “It’s built with psychoframe throughout its entire body?”

The Unicorn deployed its beam stingers, the small emitters unfolding from the forearms. In an instant, they fired in a rapid barrage, cutting down the remaining funnels and forcing Marida to defend with her three remaining binders, using their I-fields to disperse the beams.

Noting the shielded defense, the Unicorn retracted its saber into the side skirt and folded back its beam stingers in its forearms. Then it extended its right arm, revealing a physical blade, forged of solid psychoframe, glowing red like molten steel.

Marida’s eyes trembled.

“Gundam…” she whispered, voice choked with old trauma and fresh fear, “…Gundam is…”

The blade slashed down, cleanly severing another wing binder.

“GUNDAM IS...THE ENEMY!” she screamed, unleashing a full barrage from her chest and remaining binders’ mega particle cannons.

But the Unicorn was already moving, weaving between the blasts, even batting some away with its psycho-blade. It charged again, this time severing another binder and cleaving through Kshatriya’s left shoulder, cutting off the entire arm.

Marida cried out as her suit reeled, now barely held together, one wing binder, a damaged right arm, and her will to fight all that remained.

Just as she braced for another attack, two Geara Zulus descended, firing their beam rifles in covering fire. The Unicorn disengaged, dodging the incoming blasts.

“Marida!” one of the pilots called over comms. “Fall back! We’ll handle this one!”

She turned and caught sight of Zinnerman, seated on the hand of a retreating Geara Doga, waving for her to return to the Garencieres.

Her eyes lingered for a moment longer on the Unicorn. It had already stowed its psycho-blade and now ignited two beam blades from the stingers, charging the Zulus without hesitation.

Marida turned away.

She ignited her remaining thrusters and fled toward the Garencieres, biting back the guilt of abandoning her comrades to their deaths.

Behind her, the Unicorn made short work of the two Zulus. It impaled one through the cockpit, disabling it instantly, then turned and fired the beam stingers, destroying the second with a direct hit that sent it exploding into fragments.

The battlefield fell silent.

The Unicorn hovered in space, motionless, as it watched the Kshatriya dock inside the Garencieres. But it didn’t pursue.

As the red glow faded, the mobile suit began to fold in on itself, the armor contracting, the V-fin snapping shut to become a single horn. The psychoframe dimmed, and the Gundam’s face was sealed once more behind its mask.

Inside the cockpit, Zach let out a slow breath as sleep overtook him, his body finally succumbing to exhaustion of the day’s events.

Moments later, two ReZEL units approached the now-dormant Unicorn cautiously, beam rifles raised.

“RX-0, this is Lieutenant Commander Basilicock,” came the voice over the open frequency. “Identify yourself, your affiliation, and your combat objective. RX-0, respond!”

Nothing.

“No reaction, sir,” Riddhe reported. “His optics are down, no reactor activity. He might be unconscious.”

Basilicock frowned, then tapped into his long-range comms. “This is Romeo-1 to Mori Command, do you read?”

The response came swiftly.

“Romeo-1, this is Captain Job John. What’s the status of the RX-0?”

“The pilot appears to be out cold, sir. No signs of active systems.”

Job leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “Understood. Retrieve the RX-0 and return to The Mori . Prep the medbay, we’ll open the cockpit ourselves if we have to.”

“Roger that. Romeo-1 out.”

The channel closed.

Job sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders.

“A prototype Gundam deployed in a colony attack… A new-class ship forced to launch with a skeleton crew… taking on refugees along the way.” He exhaled deeply, staring at the ceiling. “This is White Base all over again.”

Liam glanced at her captain. The weight of command, and of something much heavier, weighing visibly on his shoulders. She was about to speak, to offer something, anything, when Mihiro's voice suddenly broke through from the communications station.

“Captain!” she called urgently. “Approaching mobile suits on our starboard side!”

Job straightened in his seat. “What’s their objective?”

There was a pause as Mihiro analyzed the data. “They’re sending a direct comm line to us.”

“Patch it through to the main monitor.”

A moment later, the main screen blinked to life. The feed displayed a stern-looking man in his mid-thirties, his face hard, serious, and humorless. Standing beside him was a pompous man clad in an ostentatiously expensive flight suit, his posture stiff with entitlement.

“This is Commander Daguza Mackle, ECOAS Unit 920, Special Forces,” the first man announced, his voice clipped and efficient. “Beside me is Alberto Vist of Anaheim Electronics. We, along with our team, are requesting permission to board the Haven-class vessel The Mori .”

Job stood, his expression neutral. “Commander Daguza, this is Captain Job John. You and your mobile suits may dock at hangar bay three. Further instructions will follow.”

“Understood. Over and—”

But before Daguza could cut the line, the other man stepped forward, his voice sharp and impatient.

“The Unicorn, what of it!?” Alberto Vist demanded, sweat already forming on his brow.

Job remained calm. “Mr. Vist, the RX-0 is currently being retrieved by two of my ReZEL units. According to initial scans, the unit itself appears undamaged, but the pilot is unresponsive, likely unconscious.”

Alberto’s expression turned pale. “A-Are you sure he’s only unconscious?”

Job narrowed his eyes. “My pilots seem to think so. Why? Is there something we should know?”

Alberto hesitated, visibly struggling with the weight of what he was about to say. “What you witnessed was the activation of the NT-D system. When engaged, all of the unit’s limiters are disabled.”

He swallowed hard before continuing. “But… doing so comes at a cost. A severe one. Most test pilots didn’t survive the activation. The few who did… couldn’t control the Unicorn for more than fifteen seconds.”

The bridge fell silent.

Liam’s breath caught. Mihiro looked away from her station, her eyes wide with concern. A quiet dread settled over the room.

Only Job remained composed, though a muscle twitched in his temple. “Understood. We’ll receive the RX-0 within the next thirty seconds. We’ll confirm the pilot’s status then. Over and out.”

He cut the line before Alberto could respond.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then the tension broke, several crew members letting out held breaths, one audibly cursing under theirs. The revelation hung in the air like a shadow.

“A mobile suit that kills its pilot…” Liam muttered, shaken. “What the hell was the UC Project trying to accomplish?”

Job snorted bitterly, rubbing his temple again. “Question of the fucking century.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------

“Your performance is a disgrace, Suberoa Zinnerman,” a young man with stylish white hair sneered from the monitor, his voice laced with contempt. He wore the uniform of the Sleeves, tailored immaculately to fit his lean frame. “You failed to retrieve Laplace’s Box and failed to rescue the princess.”

Zinnerman stood firm on the Garancieres ’ bridge, his expression a mix of frustration and restraint. Marida floated beside him silently, her eyes locked on the young officer with clear disdain.

“None of these developments could’ve been predicted,” Zinnerman replied, voice taut with restrained anger. “We would’ve achieved all our objectives, perfectly, if someone hadn’t authorized an attack inside the colony!”

The white-haired officer bristled. “Are you suggesting that we’re at fault for this failure?!”

“It’s not a suggestion when it’s a fact,” Zinnerman snapped back, his tone like steel.

Before the argument could escalate further, a calm voice cut into the transmission.

“Lieutenant Angelo,”

A new figure appeared on the screen, calm, composed, and commanding. He wore a red variant of the Sleeves’ uniform, and though his golden-blond hair flowed like a lion’s mane, his eyes remained hidden behind a stylized mask.

Full Frontal.

“I’ve reviewed the data,” he said smoothly. “The enemy Marida encountered… was no ordinary unit.”

Zinnerman didn’t speak, but his gaze narrowed.

“A full psycho-frame mobile suit, added to the fact that it is a Gundam no less.” Frontal continued. “How intriguing. Perhaps I’ll have to come out there myself.”

His words weren’t a boast; they were a warning. A declaration.

Then, turning his masked gaze fully on Zinnerman, he added, “For now, have the Garancieres determine the next move of this Mock Trojan Horse. I want to know where they’re headed.”

Zinnerman gave a curt nod, “Understood.”

But before the transmission ended, Full Frontal’s tone shifted, calmer, more personal.

“Captain Zinnerman,” he said, “Do not let your failures consume you. Acknowledge them. Learn from them. And move forward.”

With that, the screen went black.

The bridge fell into silence. Zinnerman’s hand slowly curled into a fist at his side, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Marida glanced at him, no words, just a soft expression that tempered the storm building inside him. Zinnerman exhaled and sank into his chair, quietly composing himself.

Marida floated out of the bridge.

Once she was out of the bridge, the hard expression that had frozen on Marida's face finally cracked. She floated quietly down the dim hallway of the Garancieres , the sound of her own breathing and the faint humming of the ship the only things accompanying her. No words had been exchanged between her and Zinnerman, but they didn’t need to be. She saw the frustration in his eyes, the guilt, the weight of failure. She had felt it too.

And yet, as she turned the corner toward her quarters, her hand slowly curled over her chest. Not the flesh, but something deeper. Something buried. Her face tightened into a grimace.

“It would seem that my conditioning is not yet gone… not as I had hoped.”

That white Gundam, the Unicorn. It hadn’t just destroyed her funnels, or her unit’s capabilities. It had shaken something inside her. Something she had thought she had long since silenced.

She gritted her teeth at the memory.

The glowing psycho-frame. The pulsing light that pierced through the Kshatriya’s sensors. The raw will of the pilot, crashing into her like a wave. It had felt like being stripped naked, exposed to something she couldn’t fight with armor or weapons. And what frightened her most wasn’t the enemy’s power, it was how it reached inside her, how it called to her. As if it recognized something in her that even she had long forgotten.

“I am not a tool,” she told herself quietly. “Not anymore.”

She had said those words to herself so many times. In front of the mirror. In battle. In her dreams. Each time, trying to erase the cold commands and mechanical obedience that had been beaten into her since the days she was just a number.

But today… today she had hesitated. In the middle of that battle, right before she screamed "The enemy!", there had been a moment. A flicker of something.

Doubt?

Recognition?

Or a memory she had no name for?

She clenched her fists harder.

“I won’t be defeated like that again. Not by that Gundam. Not by what it brings out of me.”

She floated into her quarters and sealed the door behind her. The room was quiet, almost too quiet. She let herself breathe. Not just to calm down, but to anchor herself. To feel the now.

“If I am to be free… truly free…” she thought, looking down at her trembling hands, “then I must confront what remains of them… inside me.”

Them. The ones who turned her into what she was. The ones who stripped away her humanity and replaced it with silence and numbers. The ones who conditioned her to obey, to kill, to never question.

But she was questioning now. She had been for some time. And the Unicorn, the pilot inside it, it had brought all of it surging to the surface again.

She didn’t know who he was. But she had felt something in him. Not power. Not malice.

Resolve.

And it had resonated with a part of her she thought had died a long time ago.

She closed her eyes and sat on the edge of her bed. The sensation in her chest faded slowly, replaced with a heavy stillness. Then, a breath. Long. Steady.

“Next time, I’ll be ready.”

And in that stillness, for the first time in a long time, Marida Cruz felt not like a weapon... but like a person on the edge of reclaiming her soul.

Chapter Text

Riddhe Marcenas flew his ReZEL in formation alongside the remaining ReZEL Squadron. They were serving as escorts for the Haven-class ship The Mori , en route to Luna II. It had been a few hours since the battle at Industrial 7, and to say he wasn't tired would be an understatement.

I really want to rest, he moaned in his thoughts as he rolled his shoulder. So far, there's nothing in our flight path.

But as he bemoaned his exhaustion, his superior opened a direct line with him, causing the young pilot to focus. “Riddhe.”

Fixing his posture, he replied, “Yes, sir?”

“Remember, kid,” Norm Basilicock said, “you got lucky. Don’t overthink it.”

“Surviving doesn’t mean you’re a coward, any more than dying means you’re brave,” he added. “The only thing that separates life and death is luck.”

Glancing at the necklace wrapped around his left wrist—a charm shaped like a 20th-century plane—Riddhe contemplated his superior’s words. Contrary to what others thought of him, he knew what joining the military meant. He understood the death and destruction that came with every battle, and he knew civilian casualties were inevitable. He just… still wasn’t used to it—whether it was the death of a comrade or a civilian.

No human should ever get used to it anyway, he added thoughtfully.

Sighing, he replied, “Sir, I understand.”

Basilicock hummed, then issued his orders. “Then head back to The Mori , Ensign. You deserve some rest after taking on that quad-wing alone. We’ll maintain patrol for now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Riddhe pulled back on his throttles and transformed his ReZEL back into mobile suit form. Using the guiding lights provided by The Mori , he landed on the ship via Launch Catapult Two.

Once his mobile suit was secured in its berth, he noticed from his cockpit that the Gundam they had recovered was still locked. Mechanics and technicians were gathered around it, still working to open the cockpit.

“Damn, that’s one secure mobile suit,” he chuckled as he exited his cockpit.

—------------------------------------------------------------

“Are they still trying to open the RX-0?” Job John asked, watching the main monitor on the bridge, which displayed a live feed from the MS hangar.

Job still hadn’t decided how to feel about this strange case of déjà vu. It had been nearly two decades since he found himself in a similar situation with the White Base crew. Back then, he was just a Guncannon pilot alongside Kai Shiden and Hayato Kobayashi (“God bless his soul,” Job muttered), and all command decisions were under Bright Noa.

Oh, how the situation has changed, he thought, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

“No, sir,” his XO, Liam Borrinea, replied, her eyes focused on the technicians gathered around the Unicorn.

“Be that as it may, we need to get this mobile suit open immediately,” said Daguza Mackle, the ECOAS team leader, as he landed in front of the mobile suit’s cockpit. “With the enemy out there, we need to stay on high alert and figure out what they want with Laplace’s Box.”

“Agreed,” Job nodded. “They’ve likely deduced by now that we’ve recovered this so-called Laplace’s Box. I don’t expect they’ll give up so easily if they really want it.”

“So now is not the time to sit back and relax,” Daguza replied before turning his attention to the captured Anaheim engineer, Aaron Terzieff. “Have you unlocked it yet?”

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Aaron replied, “No, sir. Honestly, I didn’t expect the system to be this resilient.”

“How so?” Job asked over the intercom.

“To be honest, sir, I believe this unit is actively rejecting any unauthorized data—unless it comes from itself or the pilot.”

“From itself... You mean the mobile suit is sentient?” Daguza asked, glancing up at the machine.

“I don’t mean sentient, exactly,” Aaron said, still focused on his task. “But it seems to have an AI that only obeys its pilot. That’s as much as I can tell so far.”

“Why do you ask?” he added absentmindedly.

“Because either the pilot is awake...” Daguza said, drawing his sidearm, “or the mobile suit is looking down at us.”

Sure enough, as everyone turned their eyes toward the Gundam, they saw its head lowered, staring directly at them. A wave of panic swept through the hangar. Most of the personnel scrambled away from the unit, while stationed soldiers raised their weapons and took aim at the mobile suit.

“T-That’s impossible!” Aaron said, trying to back away. “We’re not detecting any reactor activity or life signs from the pilot!”

“That’s precisely the point!” Alberto Vist shouted as he clumsily floated into the bridge, prompting several officers to rub their temples in irritation. “The longest anyone has ever maintained the RX-0’s NT-D mode is approximately fifteen seconds! That pilot managed to sustain it for a whole minute—they’re already dead!”

There was silence on the other end of the line until Mitakule called out, “Comms closed!”

Alberto grunted and floated out of the bridge. Job watched the peculiar man leave before turning to Liam.

“I swear, that man is a headache,” he muttered, massaging his temple.

Liam chuckled. “Well, he certainly has his… merits, I suppose?”

“Yeah—being a fucking headache to all of us,” Job grumbled, drawing a round of chuckles from the bridge crew.

He smiled briefly, seeing his crew relax for a fleeting moment, before his expression turned grim.
“Be that as it may, his warnings about the so-called NT-D mode are concerning.”

Turning to her superior, Liam asked, “Sir… what do you actually know about the UC Project?”

“That’s the thing—basically nothing,” he replied. “All I was told is that The Mori is meant to serve as the flagship of the project, and that several units were developed for it.”

Suffice to say, Liam was deeply concerned—especially when even her own captain didn’t know the true nature of their mission.

Just what in the hell did they want to do with this? she wondered.

Meanwhile, in the hangar, Daguza had managed to stop Aaron from fleeing after the unsettling scare with the Gundam.

“So, you have no idea what’s going on outside your own department?” Daguza asked sharply, gripping Aaron’s shoulder.

Aaron coughed nervously before replying, “Once the development of this unit was handed over to the Vist Foundation, we were kept even more in the dark.”

“What exactly is the UC Project?” Daguza pressed.

Sighing, Aaron relented. “The UC Project… It’s a top-secret initiative, part of the Earth Sphere Federation’s reorganization plan to prepare for the aftermath of Char’s Rebellion.”

He pulled up a schematic on his terminal and displayed it for Daguza.
“This vessel—the Haven-class UCPF-01 Mori —is meant to be the prototype for a new line of ships. It was also designed to carry the flagship mobile suits of the project, with this Unicorn unit being one of them.”

“The RX-0 Unicorn was developed as a symbolic fresh start for all mobile suits entering the 100th year of the Universal Century. That’s why its designation resets to zero instead of following the usual numbering. It’s also built entirely with psycho-frame material throughout its body, which enhances the psycommu system and transmits the pilot’s psychowaves directly into the drive system.”

“So you're saying the pilot can control it with their thoughts alone?” Daguza asked, glancing back at the Unicorn. “That kind of system would put enormous strain on the body. Is that why Vist is convinced the pilot’s dead?”

“Exactly,” Aaron said solemnly. “The longest anyone has ever operated this unit in NT-D mode was fifteen seconds.”

“What happened to that test pilot?” Daguza asked, though he already suspected the answer.

“He died.”

But just as Daguza was about to continue questioning Aaron, a voice echoed across the hangar.

“COMMANDER DAGUZA!”

Alberto Vist came tumbling through the air, floating ungracefully toward them. “I thought I made it very clear that I must be present when you decide to interrogate my staff!”

Daguza ignored the irritating man and calmly tapped his earpiece. “Daguza to bridge. How much longer until we reach Luna II?”

“Based on our current speed, we’ll reach Luna II in…” Job’s voice trailed off.

“Eight hours,” Parker and Danvers replied in unison.

“Eight hours,” Job confirmed. “Until then, I suggest we maintain our current speed and remain alert. I have a feeling something’s going to happen.”

“I concur,” Daguza replied.

“That may be!” Alberto cut in, managing to right himself in zero-g. “ But why are we going to Luna II when we should be heading to Anaheim Electronics HQ—at Von Braun, on the Moon?”

—------------------------------------------

Riddhe casually munched on a snack bar as he wandered through the corridors of the new ship, admiring its sleek design and modern lighting. As he approached his quarters, he spotted Ensign Mihiro standing outside one of the rooms, speaking with that orange-haired girl.

“What was her name again?” Riddhe mumbled to himself. “Audrey something… ah, Burne.”

As he got closer, he overheard Audrey asking Mihiro about the pilot of the white Gundam.

Clearing his throat, Riddhe landed lightly in front of the door, catching their attention with a friendly smile. “Hey. You guys doing all right?”

Audrey nodded, and the rest of the room's occupants followed suit.

“Soo… seeing as you’re probably bored out of your minds in here,” Riddhe said, “how about a little tour?”

“A tour of what, Ensign Riddhe?” Emily asked while gently comforting Micott.

“The Gundam, of course,” he replied with a grin. “I know a good spot where we can get a nice look at it.”

At the mere mention of the Gundam, Takuya nearly crashed into Riddhe in excitement.
“I want to come! This is just like Side 7 during the One Year War, when a new mobile suit changed the battlefield! This feels like destiny!”

“Uhh… yeah?” Riddhe responded awkwardly, glancing at the others—who were all silently mouthing at him to just roll with it .

As the group started preparing to follow him, Mihiro turned to Riddhe with a firm look.

“And I’m coming too, Ensign Riddhe.”

“Wha—?” He barely managed to ask before she cut him off.

“If you think I’m letting a bunch of kids roam around unsupervised, think again,” she said sternly.

Damn, she’s just as scary as Cynthia, Riddhe thought with a sigh, recalling his older sister.

—---------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, on the bridge, things were no longer as amusing as they had been earlier. The constant bickering between Alberto Vist and Daguza Mackle was starting to wear thin on everyone’s nerves—even those who usually kept their composure.

“—Unlike Luna II—”
“—That’s exactly what the ene—”
“—If you’re inquiring about our limited resour—”

“Shut that off,” Job commanded flatly.

Mihiro’s stand-in nodded and quickly muted the comms, allowing the crew a moment of much-needed relief.

“I’m well aware that ECOAS can act independently during operations,” Norm Basilicock’s voice came through the comms as he maneuvered his ReZEL near the bridge, “but I really wish they’d get off our backs for once. And don’t even get me started on that prima donna from Anaheim.”

“There’s no use complaining about it now. It certainly won’t improve our situation,” Job muttered as he rose from his command chair and walked to the observation deck, peering out into the vast field of stars.

Suddenly, a piercing alarm blared through the bridge.

“This is Romeo-1 to command—we’ve encountered a Salamis-class wreck in your flight path, Mori ,” Norm reported.

“Romeo-1, this is the captain,” Job replied, already returning to his seat. “You are authorized to fire and clear the debris.”

“Roger that.”

—------------------------------------------------

The Garancieres watched from a distance as the ReZELs and Jegans blasted the wreckage of the Salamis-class ship to clear a path for the mock Trojan Horse.

“Hook, line, and received,” Gilboa said with a satisfied grin. “We now have confirmation of the enemy’s position.”

“Transmit the coordinates to the Rewloola , Gil,” Zinnerman ordered. “Let’s see what they can do with that.”

He then turned to his surrogate daughter and gave her a subtle nod—one she returned without hesitation.

—----------------------------------------

“So that’s a Gundam?” Margo asked, her brow furrowing as she stared at the pristine white mobile suit, its single horn jutting from its forehead like a knight’s lance. “I thought it had… I don’t know, a face or something?”

“The Gundam muzzle must be hidden beneath that mask,” Ernst answered, adjusting himself as he peered through the observation window.

“Specifically speaking, this unit is designated RX-0 Unicorn,” Riddhe explained, leaning back lazily in his seat with a casual smirk. “And that’s just about everything I know about it.”

“Ensign Riddhe, that’s classified information!” Mihiro snapped sharply, glaring at the pilot with professional disapproval.

Riddhe rolled his eyes and pointed toward the massive shoulder of the mobile suit. “C’mon, Mihiro. The model number’s literally painted on its left shoulder. It’s not like I gave them the blueprint.”

A few in the group chuckled, and Mihiro muttered something under her breath about pilots and their egos. Even Micott, who had been quiet since entering the observation lounge, let out a small laugh.

Riddhe’s grin faded slightly as his eyes were drawn back to the imposing form of the Unicorn. He noticed Audrey standing a little apart from the group, her gaze locked on the Gundam with quiet intensity.

“Hey, Audrey,” Riddhe called gently, floating closer toward her. “You okay? If you’re not feeling well, you can head back to your quarters, y’know?”

Audrey turned to him, her smile polite but distant. “I appreciate the sentiment, Ensign Riddhe. But I’m fine. I… I just want to see it for myself.”

He gave her a small shrug and returned his attention to the Gundam. “Well, if you say so.”

Suddenly—

“ HEY! ITS EYES GLOWED FOR A SEC! ” Takuya shouted, pressing his face against the observation window. “I swear I saw it!”

The group turned just in time to see a hiss of steam escaping from the Gundam’s head vents. The mono-eye slit flickered with green light—and then stayed lit.

“Th-the hatch is opening!” Aaron’s voice cracked over the intercom from the hangar floor. He scrambled to grab his tools as mechanical sounds echoed across the bay.

“Good work,” Daguza acknowledged tersely.

“I didn’t do this, sir!” Aaron exclaimed. “It’s opening on its own! ”

Everyone in the observation lounge—and on the hangar floor—held their breath as the Unicorn’s chest split apart. The various panels hissed and folded outward with practiced precision, and the cockpit hatch slowly rose open. A cloud of cold air hissed outward, revealing a boy—barely older than seventeen—slumped unconscious in the pilot seat. Blond hair framed his pale face, and his chest slowly rose and fell.

A heavy silence blanketed the hangar.

“A kid?” Aaron whispered, as if saying it louder would break the spell.

“I swear these things have a habit of finding teenagers,” muttered Conroy Haagensen darkly, shaking his head.

“H-he’s still alive?” Alberto stammered, unable to believe his eyes.

Margo gasped, hands flying to her mouth. Takuya and Ernst both gaped in stunned silence. Micott turned a shade paler and staggered backward, but Mihiro quickly caught her before she could fall.

“…Zach?” Emily breathed, eyes wide as she clutched the doorframe.

Riddhe blinked and muttered under his breath, “Another one? These Gundams really do have a type.”

Audrey said nothing. Her hands clenched at her sides as a storm of emotions flickered behind her eyes. Zachary Mass . There was no mistaking him. Her heart twisted—relief, confusion, dread—all at once.

Daguza climbed into the cockpit and checked the boy’s vitals. After a moment, he looked up and called out, “He’s alive. Get the med bay prepped—immediately.”

Medics rushed in as Daguza unfastened the pilot’s harness and lifted the unconscious boy into his arms. The surrounding crew quickly cleared a path as he brought Zachary down to the deck.

Turning to Aaron and Alberto, Daguza issued his next orders. “You two, get inside that mobile suit. I want everything it’s got. Access the system, extract the data—we need to know what the hell we’re dealing with.”

Still shaken, Alberto nodded without his usual snark, and the two men clambered toward the open cockpit.

But just as they reached the inner rim, a sudden sharp beep emitted from deep within the mobile suit.

Before either of them could react, a violent hiss of pressurized air burst outwards from the cockpit. The shockwave flung both men several meters back, sending their tools scattering across the hangar floor.

“Gah!” Aaron yelped as he tumbled into a mechanic’s scaffold.

“Damn it—!” Alberto cursed, rubbing his back as he floated midair.

Then, with mechanical precision, the Unicorn sealed itself shut. The cockpit hatch hissed and locked into place with a final clank .

Silence returned to the hangar.

“It… it just locked itself?” one of the mechanics whispered.

“Like it knew,” another muttered.

Daguza stared at the sealed cockpit. His jaw clenched. “It won’t allow anyone else in.”

Everyone stared at the RX-0, now silent again. Watching. Waiting.

Inside her heart, Audrey’s conflict only grew.

‘Zach… what have you gotten yourself into?’

—---------------------------------------------

Zach groaned quietly, his fingers twitching against the cool sheets beneath him. His body felt heavy, like he had been asleep for days. His mind, foggy and sluggish, tried to process the jumbled fragments that floated through it—images of battle, that green quad-winged machine, the blinding glow inside the cockpit of the white mobile suit…

Then, nothing.

‘Where… am I?’ Zachary Mass thought, forcing his eyes to crack open. The faint rhythm of beeping machines pulsed around him, and he could feel the presence of people nearby—warm bodies shifting and breathing in close proximity.

The light above was too harsh. Reflexively, he shut his eyes again, turning his head away with a wince. He waited a moment before trying once more, slower this time. His vision came into focus, revealing a familiar if not entirely comforting sight.

“Zak! Zak!” chirped a small, spherical Haro unit as it hovered eagerly beside the bed, flapping its ear-like flaps.

“He’s awake! Doctor!” Takuya’s voice rang out, full of relief and excitement.

Zach’s gaze slowly moved around the room. He recognized Takuya first—his wild enthusiasm was hard to miss. Then came Emily, her usual worried expression mixed with visible relief. Micott stood beside her, clutching a pillow to her chest. Margo and Ernst flanked the opposite side, both stunned into silence.

A woman in an ESF uniform stood near the intercom, her eyes fixed on him with a professional's wariness. But the one who truly held his attention was the girl at the foot of the bed.

Audrey.

She stood still, arms crossed tightly, her eyes trained on him as if searching for something buried deep. A storm of emotion rippled just beneath the surface of her calm expression.

Before Zach could speak, a middle-aged man in scrubs stepped into view, blocking his line of sight.

“Zach, can you hear me?” the doctor asked, taking one of Zach’s hands in both of his own. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

Zach, still dazed, complied with a faint squeeze.

“Good,” the man nodded, checking his vitals. “Your pulse is steady, but you’re lucky to be alive. Most people don’t walk away from what you just went through.”

As Dr. Hasan continued his examination, Mihiro turned to the wall intercom and pressed the call button. “Mihiro to the bridge. The boy has just regained consciousness.”

Just as she said that, the infirmary doors hissed open. Commander Daguza Mackle and his second, Conroy Haagensen, entered with the heavy gait of military presence.

“Commander Daguza!” Mihiro acknowledged with alarm.

“I’d like to speak with the boy,” Daguza stated firmly as he stopped at the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes locked onto Zach with military precision. “The rest of you, clear the room.”

His gaze flicked briefly toward Audrey, who hadn’t moved an inch. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she turned away without a word, lips pressed in a tight line.

“O-of course, sir,” Mihiro said, hesitating slightly.

But before anyone could move, Dr. Hasan stepped forward, arms spread slightly in protest. “Commander, with all due respect, the boy just woke up. He hasn’t even regained full awareness yet. You can’t interrogate him when he may not fully understand where—or who —he is.”

Zach blinked at that, still silent, still watching.

Emily moved quickly to Zach’s bedside, placing herself between him and the imposing ECOAS officer. “He’s hurt, Commander. At least give him a moment to breathe before you start treating him like a criminal. Do you understand that?”

“What I understand,” Daguza said coldly, “is that this minor hijacked a prototype military mobile suit and interfered in an ongoing combat operation—one under federal jurisdiction. That’s a direct violation of military law and wartime statutes. In peacetime? That would qualify for capital punishment .”

The room fell into shocked silence.

Micott gasped audibly. Margo stiffened. Takuya stepped forward as if to argue, but thought better of it. Even Haro whirred quietly, its chirps subdued.

“But he saved all of us,” Ernst said, his voice shaking. “Doesn’t that mean something?”

Daguza didn’t blink. “Not when it’s done in a stolen combat machine.”

Zach continued to lie still, watching as the room shifted from comfort to confrontation. He made no sound, offered no emotion—no anger, no fear, no confusion. He simply stared at the man in front of him.

And then Daguza noticed. Their eyes met—two unreadable forces trying to size each other up.

“Conscious. But not talking,” Conroy said quietly, arms folded.

Daguza gave a curt nod, studying the boy. “That’s fine. I don’t need him to talk just yet.”

Zachary didn’t flinch. He held Daguza’s gaze with quiet defiance, even as the commander loomed like a judge ready to cast a verdict.

—---------------------------------------------

“We’re all set to launch, Captain Dawson,” Lieutenant Angelo Sauper announced as he floated through the dimly lit bridge of the Rewloola . His silver hair drifted freely in the weightless environment, the soft lighting catching strands and making them shimmer like metal threads. “All you need to do is sit back and observe. Leave the rest to us.”

Captain Dawson didn’t turn from the viewport, his arms crossed as he stared out into the darkness of space beyond Lagrange 4, where Earth’s light barely touched the stars. “All of this has to be related to Laplace’s Box, am I right, Lieutenant?” he asked. “The secret important enough to warrant the deployment of ECOAS, and now the Sleeves...”

Angelo let out a low chuckle, an edge of cruelty hidden beneath the sound. “There is a limit to how much the Federation can mobilize in secrecy, Captain. They’re like children trying to play chess while hiding their hands.”

He turned and slowly drifted toward the hatch at the far end of the bridge.

“Even now,” he continued, “I’m sure their higher-ups are locked in boardrooms, whispering over classified briefings, trying to distance themselves from the inevitable fallout. Every responsible party looking for someone else to blame. Those responsible trying to avoid responsibility.”

“I hope you’re right,” Dawson murmured, finally glancing over his shoulder. “They’re out here without backup—just the Mock Trojan Horse and ECOAS. Some might say it’s because of your barricade around Lagrange 4. But I suspect they’re here because they can’t tell anyone. They don’t want anyone to know about this mission.”

“Exactly,” Angelo said with a smirk. “Because if word got out, the very foundation of the Earth Federation would begin to crack.”

With that, he pushed off and exited the bridge.

He drifted silently down the narrow corridors until he reached the locker room, where a soft hiss echoed as the airlock sealed behind him. There, in the stark white lighting, he pulled on his red pilot suit with practiced precision. The soft hum of the suit’s pressure systems activated as it sealed around his frame.

Once ready, he made his way to the hangar, magnetic boots clanking lightly as he landed before three other pilots already assembled. Two men, one woman, all in matching maroon uniforms—the elite cadre of Zeon remnants, sworn to protect Full Frontal’s cause.

He raised his hand in salute. “The Captain will be taking the lead today,” he said with a casual tone. “Which means, for us, there won’t be anything left to do.”

There was no sarcasm in his voice—just certainty.

He turned around to face the centerpiece of the hangar. Towering above them all, bathed in red floodlights, stood a massive 23-meter mobile suit—its crimson armor glinting, trimmed with elegant gold filigree and deep black engraving. The Sinanju .

Angelo stared up at it, his violet eyes gleaming with admiration and fanatic reverence.

“Yes,” he whispered with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “There won’t be anything for them to do.”

The grin twisted, revealing the flicker of a sadist just beneath the surface. In the cold silence of space, nothing echoed the cruelty of war more than the confidence of men like Angelo Sauper.

—---------------------------------------

Zach leaned back in the infirmary bed, exhaustion already creeping back into his limbs as he rubbed his temples. His voice was beginning to crack from overuse, yet Daguza Mackle’s questioning hadn’t let up.

“And you stand by this story?” Daguza asked with a skeptical tone, narrowing his sharp eyes. “You expect us to believe Cardeas Vist just handed you a state-of-the-art mobile suit... like a gift?”

Zach clicked his tongue in frustration, meeting the older man's gaze. “As I've already said—his instructions were clear, he told me to use the mobile suit to protect everyone. That’s all.”

Conroy Haagensen, silent until now, shifted beside his commanding officer. “And your performance in this mobile suit?” he asked. “It was… exceptional.”

Zach scoffed. “You’ve reviewed my data, have you not? Then I suggest you spare us both the theatrics and draw your own conclusions.”

Without a word, Daguza snatched the datapad from Conroy's hands and began scrolling. He raised an eyebrow. “We did.”

He read aloud: “Zachary Mass. Age: 17. Born September 8th, 0080. Your mother is Sayla Mass—businesswoman, investor, medical doctor, philanthropist, a veteran pilot of the One Year War, and head of the Mass Conglomerate. One of the most powerful women in the Earthsphere.”

He paused, then looked up. “Your father is listed as ‘unknown’ or redacted . I imagine your mother had a hand in that .”

Zach’s expression didn’t change, though a twitch in his jaw betrayed the tension.

“You’ve got documented combat merit,” Daguza continued. “Last known engagement was during the final battle of Char’s Rebellion. Took out a rampaging mobile armor and 13 enemy suits. You even saved Warrant Officer Chan Agi from friendly fire.”

He scrolled further, eyes widening slightly. “And here’s the kicker: at seven years old, during the Gryps Conflict, you allegedly piloted a Rick Dias and took down eighteen Hizacks.”

Daguza lowered the pad, his gaze hard. “So tell me—are you a prodigy? Or have you just been someone’s puppet since birth?”

Zach met his stare with dead silence. Not defensive. Not defiant. Just calm, watchful silence. It was unsettling.

Seeing the boy wouldn’t give him anything else, Daguza handed the pad back to Conroy. “We’re done for now,” he said curtly, turning to leave.

But just as they reached the door, Zach looked up, eyes narrowing as he noticed something. A low rumble began to build—faint at first, then growing louder. The lights flickered. The entire Mori vibrated violently as a nearby explosion rattled the ship.

“What the hell—?!” Conroy shouted.

Outside, chaos erupted.

Streams of missiles and plasma beams lanced through the black of space, tearing into a squad of Jegans that had been patrolling around the Mori . Explosions bloomed in all directions as debris from destroyed suits bounced off the cruiser’s hull. The surviving ReZELs quickly regrouped, forming a protective perimeter.

On the bridge, Job John gritted his teeth and barked orders as he slammed his hand on the console arm. “All units, scramble! Turn us around, full speed!”

Mitakule’s hands flew over the console, fulfilling two roles at once. “The attack is coming from ninety degrees below our starboard side, Captain!”

“Maintain our current course!” Job roared. “Level One Battlestations!”

Klaxons blared. Red lights filled the bridge. Crewmembers scrambled to their posts.

“Warm up our beam cannons, arm the tube missiles, power the anti-air defenses, and prep all turrets!” he shouted across the bridge.

The team moved with coordinated urgency, executing their commands with the speed of veterans. But then—

“Captain!” Mitakule called out. “New heat signatures inbound—five of them—approaching fast on our port side !”

“Are they missiles?” Lieutenant Liam asked, already bracing in the XO’s seat.

Mitakule shook his head, disbelief lacing his voice. “No, ma’am. Judging by their speed and movement—they’re mobile suits. And the way they’re navigating the debris field…”

He stared at his readings in silence for a second too long.

“It’s impossible .”

Job turned sharply in his chair. “Speak plainly, Ensign.”

Mitakule looked up, pale. “The lead suit... it’s moving three times faster than the others.”

Silence overtook the bridge. For one breathless moment, every veteran of Zeon conflicts shared the same unspoken thought:

Red Comet.

—-------------------------------------------

Full Frontal maneuvered through the debris field with calculated precision, his crimson mobile suit weaving between shattered hulls and drifting wreckage. At times, he used broken chunks of battleships as springboards, ricocheting forward with terrifying momentum.

“Let’s see what your brand new warship and Gundam are really capable of,” he muttered coldly, eyes gleaming beneath his mask. “This should be... entertaining.”

—---------------------------------

The Mori shuddered violently as another blast rocked its hull. Inside the mess hall, chaos reigned. Micott clutched her head, shaking it desperately, whispering to herself, This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

“I can’t take this anymore!” Margo snarled, her voice cracking as she wrapped herself around a support pole. “Why won’t they just leave us alone?!”

A deep tremor rattled the room again. “Are these the same bastards that attacked the colony?” Ernst shouted, his voice rising over the groaning metal.

“We need normal suits—now!” Takuya barked, pushing off a wall and gliding toward Micott. “One more hit and we’re space dust!”

Just then, Emily floated into the room, already zipped into a normal suit. Her face was pale but determined. “Here,” she said, thrusting a bundle of suits toward them. “Ensign Mihiro gave me these.”

She began distributing the suits quickly, but then stopped cold. Her eyes scanned the room, a sudden chill cutting through the panic.

“Wait…” Her voice dropped. “Where’s Audrey?”

—------------------------------

Daguza and Conroy gripped the handrails as they made their way toward the bridge. Just as they were about to take a turn, Audrey floated past them, using the walls as launch pads to propel herself forward.

“You!” Daguza called out. “Where do you think you’re going? Put on a normal suit and get to shelter!”

The girl merely nodded and continued on her way.

Daguza was about to move on when a sudden thought struck him. He turned to look at the retreating figure, suspicion and shock creeping into his expression.

It can’t be her… can it? he wondered.

He abruptly changed course.

“Change of plans, Conroy,” he said. “We need to take care of something first. The ship can manage without us for now.”

“Roger that,” Conroy replied.

—---------------------------

Outside the ship, chaos reigned. The lone red mobile suit tore through space like a demon unleashed, its movements swift and brutal. Jegans were being cut down one after another, their armor crumpling under the sheer force of its attacks. Beam rifle blasts lanced through the void, striking down anything in its path. Explosions erupted in rapid succession, illuminating the blackness of space in violent flashes. Turrets mounted on The Mori opened fire in desperation, but the red suit evaded them with terrifying ease, returning fire with surgical precision.

“Deploy anti-beam charges immediately!” Job barked, strapping on his helmet with practiced urgency. His voice rang with command, cutting through the tense atmosphere of the bridge. “We can’t let those beams hit the ship!”

Sparks flew from a nearby console as a stray shot grazed the outer hull, sending tremors through the ship’s interior. Panic flickered in the eyes of the crew, but they held fast.

“Signal the remaining mobile suits! I want them to form a perimeter and push that bastard away from The Mori! ” Job continued, already moving to his command station.

“We can’t acquire a lock, sir!” Mitakule shouted over the alarms, his hands flying across his console in a blur of motion. “The targeting systems are being jammed!”

Job cursed under his breath. “Then do it manually!”

From across the bridge, Liam stood from her chair, her expression hard as steel. “Forget the system—just shoot!” she snapped. “If you see it, take the shot!”

The gunners didn’t hesitate. All along The Mori’s broadside, hatches opened and auto-cannons and beam turrets roared to life, launching a storm of fire toward the red mobile suit. The enemy responded with deadly accuracy, ducking and weaving between bursts, retaliating with a beam shot that ripped a turret clean off its housing.

The bridge shook violently again. Warning klaxons blared louder, bathing the room in red.

“Sir, hull integrity is dropping on the port side!” another crewman reported. “We need to divert power to the I-Fields!”

“Do it! And get me visual tracking on that thing—now!” Job ordered. He glanced at the tactical screen and gritted his teeth as the red suit continued its rampage, seemingly unstoppable.

—-------------------------------

Zach floated out of the med bay, his movements light and practiced. As he passed a fellow pilot, a necklace drifted from the man’s pocket. With quick reflexes, Zach snatched it out of the air.

“Pardon me!” he called out. “You've dropped this.”

The pilot turned, revealing himself to be Riddhe Marcenas. He blinked in surprise before smiling. “Oh, thanks!”

He pushed off a wall and coasted toward Zach, taking the necklace and wrapping it loosely around his left wrist.

“I’m glad you found it. This might save my life someday.”

“So it’s your good luck charm,” Zach noted, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the older blond pilot.

“Yep!” Riddhe grinned and patted Zach on the shoulder. “Now go get some rest. I’m sure Dr. Hasan isn’t thrilled about you sneaking out of the med bay. For now, leave the protection of this ship to us.”

"Very well." Zach said awkwardly as he patted the older teen's soulder, "Then I pray you are successful in defending this ship."

Riddhe grinned as he saluted Zach with his two fingers, "You betcha!"

With that, he grabbed a nearby handrail and launched himself toward the hangar bay. But even as he floated away, he couldn’t shake the strange feeling gnawing at the back of his mind.

That stare… unsettling.

‘He’s the one piloting a Gundam?’ Riddhe mused as he moved down the corridor. ‘What is it with Gundams and teenagers always being the ones inside them?’

Back in the hallway, Zach watched Riddhe disappear around a corner. He turned, sensing that someone is getting near him, only to see Audrey Burne floating toward him with purpose in her eyes.

“Audrey Burne,” Zach greeted.

Before he could say anything else, she grabbed his wrist and propelled them both into an empty observation room, sealing the door behind them.

“Zach, listen to me,” she said, gripping his shoulders tightly. Her voice was urgent, serious.

“That machine’s system it’s registered to your biometrics. It responds to you , and only you.”

“I’m aware,” Zach replied calmly.

“Then there’s no need to go over the details,” she said, breath short. “We need to escape. If we go now, we can get to Industrial 7. You find us a transport, and I’ll find a way to get rid of that mobile suit for good.”

Meanwhile, in the server room...

Daguza and Conroy were surrounded by a dozen flickering screens, each showing surveillance feeds from across the Earth Sphere. The room vibrated as another beam shot struck the ship’s outer hull—another warning shot from the red mobile suit outside.

“Focus,” Daguza ordered coolly. “As long as they believe we have the Box, they won’t destroy the engines. They’ll aim to disable, not obliterate.”

Before Conroy could reply, one of the consoles emitted a sharp beep . They turned—and what appeared on-screen made both men stiffen.

Daguza narrowed his eyes. “So... this ship is carrying something almost as valuable to them as the Box.”

He turned to his subordinate with renewed resolve.

“Let’s move. We have to find that girl.”

Back in the observation room, Zach was still processing what Audrey had said.

“Audrey…”

“If we don’t act now…” she said, voice trembling, “that thing is just too dangerous. I won’t let anyone get their hands on it!”

Zach met her gaze, calm but firm. “I don’t deny the danger the Unicorn poses. But we don’t fully understand what would happen if we act rashly. The consequences could be... massive.”

“Nobody should have that machine, Zach!” she snapped. “I can’t explain it all right now, but I have to destroy that Gundam!”

He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Is this what Audrey Burne wants? Or is this what the Princess of Zeon feels she must do?”

Her eyes widened in shock.

How does he know...? she thought. How could he possibly know who I really am?

Before either could speak further, the door hissed open. Daguza and Conroy stepped inside, clad in their dark blue normal suits, visors up. Conroy moved quickly, restraining Zach without force but with clear readiness, while Daguza approached Audrey.

“You know why I’m here,” Daguza said.

Audrey nodded silently, resigned.

She floated toward him without resistance.

Conroy kept a hand on Zach’s shoulder, making sure the boy wouldn’t try anything reckless. But Zach remained still, quiet, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Satisfied, Conroy followed the others out, leaving Zach alone in the dim room, the faint hum of the ship's systems the only sound remaining.

—-----------------------------

“Trajectory set; Catapult Hatches 2 and 4 open,” Mihiro’s voice rang clearly over the launch deck, strained with urgency but controlled. “Mobile suit corps, get into launch positions!”

The front legs of The Mori extended and folded open, revealing the long catapult deck. Guiding lights flared to life, bathing the metallic surface in blinking reds and greens. Crew members shouted final checks, their voices lost beneath the hum of power and machinery spinning up.

Inside his ReZEL cockpit, Riddhe fastened his gloves and flicked through his pre-launch diagnostics with practiced precision. A bead of sweat trailed down his temple as pressure mounted.

“What’s this?” a teasing voice crackled through the intercom. “The rich kid getting cold feet?”

Riddhe smirked, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied smoothly. “But I am pretty sure I just heard your voice crack there, Lieutenant Homare.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just wait ‘til we get back—”

Before Homare could finish, Mihiro’s voice cut in sharply over the comms. “Romeo-8, you are go for launch.”

“Roger that.” Riddhe gripped the controls tightly, shoulders squared. “This is Riddhe Marcenas, Romeo-8—taking off!”

The ReZEL lurched forward, the catapult hurling it into the void. G-forces pushed Riddhe back into his seat, but he held steady. As the launch completed, he began banking into position to form up.

But then—

A flash. A piercing beam. And a detonation.

“ No! ” Riddhe gasped, eyes widening.

Homare’s ReZEL exploded just after launch, vaporized by a beam that tore straight through its chest. Wreckage and fire scattered in all directions.

“Lieutenant Homare!” Mihiro cried out, horror in her voice.

The Mori trembled violently as pieces of Homare’s suit slammed into the outer hull. Sirens blared across the ship, and chaos erupted on the bridge.

“What’s the damage report?!” Captain Job shouted, rising from his seat.

“Port-side catapult deck has sustained minor damage!” Mitakule reported, struggling to stay focused amid the confusion.

As if on cue, the doors to the bridge opened with a clank . Alberto Vist floated in, grabbing a rail to steady himself.

“You need to get out of here now and head for the Moon!” he barked, his face pale, breath short.

Job didn’t even glance at him. Liam turned in her seat, keeping calm despite the weight of the moment.

“Mr. Alberto, it’s not safe for you to be here,” she said.

But Alberto pointed outside, to the crimson figure blazing across the stars. “That’s the Sinanju! You don’t understand, it’s the Red Comet! You can’t defeat it!”

The bridge crew fell into stunned silence. The phrase hung in the air like an electric charge.

Alberto’s voice dropped, almost reverent. “Two years ago, our prototype, RX-[N] Sinanju Stein, was stolen during a transfer from Granada to Von Braun. The Federation task force assigned to recover it was completely annihilated.”

He swallowed hard.

“The pilot who took it... is Full Frontal. The man they call the second coming of Char Aznable.”

The bridge shook again—another direct hit.

“Starboard-side has been struck by a missile! Minimal damage, bulkhead still holding!” someone shouted over the rumbling.

Liam turned to Job, her voice quiet but grim. “Captain… I’ve heard this story too. The ghost of Char. They say he destroyed two Clop-class ships with just that mobile suit.”

“That’s impossible,” Job snapped. “Char Aznable was confirmed KIA alongside Amuro during the Second Neo Zeon War. I fought with and against him. If he were piloting that thing—we’d be dead ten times over.”

“Be that as it may,” Alberto said, voice rising, “your pilots don’t stand a chance out there!”

He pulled a data card from his pocket and handed it to Mihiro. She inserted it into her console, and schematics flickered to life on the main display: RX-[N] Sinanju Stein and the theorized revised Sinanju, done by Neo Zeon.

“The RX-0 series was developed using data harvested from the Stein,” Alberto said. “We’re up against the apex of mobile suit technology. You must evacuate now!”

“If we max burn away from this fight,” Job countered, “we abandon our pilots and leave ourselves open to pursuit. That suit isn’t just strong—it’s fast.”

He turned to Mihiro. “Send that data to all ship sections and distribute it to every pilot out there. Our opponent is not a ghost. He bleeds like the rest of us.”

Alberto’s face twisted with frustration. “IDIOT, YOU—”

“SILENCE!” Job roared.

His voice echoed like a shockwave through the bridge. He stepped toward Alberto, eyes blazing.

“If you ever speak to me like that again, Alberto Vist, I’ll personally throw you out the nearest airlock and watch you drift into the vacuum. I don’t give a damn about your influence. On my ship, I am the highest authority!”

The crew froze. Even Mihiro looked up from her console.

Before the tension could snap, the door to the bridge slid open again.

Daguza and Conroy entered, both in their dark normal suits. Between them floated a girl with orange hair—Audrey Burne.

Her face was calm, but her eyes told a different story. Worry. Resolve. And something deeper.

Job’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s going on here?”

Daguza stepped forward. “We found her just as she was trying to slip away with the pilot.”

Job raised an eyebrow. “The pilot of the Unicorn?”

Daguza nodded.

Alberto’s expression darkened as he locked eyes with Audrey.

“You…” he whispered. “What are you doing here?”

Audrey met his gaze, unflinching.

“Something you’d never understand.”

—---------------------------------------

The battle outside The Mori had devolved into chaos.

Riddhe grunted, sweat trickling down his brow as he pulled his ReZEL into a high-G maneuver. The suit groaned in response, but the evasive flight gave him a brief, precious angle on the red mobile suit. He fired.

But the crimson blur dodged effortlessly, leaping off debris with an almost mocking grace before blasting a Jegan clean through the legs, sending it spiraling into the void.

“Damn it…” Riddhe hissed, throttling his suit into a hard stop to line up another shot. He steadied his breath—exhale, hold, focus. The reticle hovered over the Sinanju’s silhouette. Fire.

But once again, the red mobile suit vaulted away using a massive hunk of destroyed armor as a springboard, evading the beam entirely.

Clicking his tongue in frustration, Riddhe accelerated toward it, flanked by Romeo-1 and a surviving Jegan. Then, a ping echoed in his console—new data. He looked.

Sinanju.

The name alone made his blood run cold.

He snapped his visor forward, rechecking the data. “So that’s what we’re dealing with…”

He took another shot, but the Sinanju swerved nimbly, retaliating with a sudden beam blast before ducking into debris and vanishing.

“What the hell?” Riddhe narrowed his eyes, switching to infrared. His monitors buzzed as they scanned the battlefield. “Anyone have a visual?”

“Negative,” Norm’s voice crackled through the comms. “Maintain formation, Ensign Riddhe.”

“Roger that." But as he was about to transform, a sudden jolt went over his mind. "Wait, no, BELOW US!”

The warning came too late for the Jegan pilot. As Riddhe and Norm yanked their ReZELs up and away, a beam sliced through the Jegan’s torso, its core detonating in a searing flash of light.

“That can’t be the real Char…” Norm muttered, drifting to cover Riddhe’s flank, his voice etched with disbelief.

Elsewhere in the black of space, Angelo Sauper floated calmly inside his Geara Zulu. Around him, three more Zulu suits hovered in formation, their mono-eyes glowing softly. He watched the Sinanju dance through the battlefield with rapt admiration.

A female pilot’s voice crackled into his headset.

“Lieutenant Angelo, we’re detecting multiple Federation units. Shouldn’t we move to support the Captain?”

Angelo chuckled. “Your concern is admirable, Ensign Emilia—but misplaced. We are to remain on standby. To interfere would be to insult the Captain’s prowess. He’s only just begun his performance.”

His voice softened as he added, “Watch closely. You won’t see beauty like this again in your lifetime.”

Back near The Mori , Riddhe and Norm tried to hold the line, dodging and trading shots with the Sinanju. But it was like trying to catch lightning. The enemy mobile suit weaved through their formation with unnatural ease.

Then, without warning, a beam lanced through the void, striking Riddhe’s ReZEL. He managed to veer away just in time, but not before losing his right leg unit in the blast.

“Damn it all!” he spat.

Then—static.

A new voice cut across every open channel, calm and firm.

“Attention all mobile suits engaged in battle. Cease fire immediately.”

Daguza’s voice rang clear. A moment later, a live video feed blinked onto the comm screens. Audrey Burne’s face appeared, her expression cool, almost regal, her voice unshaken.

“Mineva Lao Zabi is now in custody aboard The Mori . If hostilities do not cease at once, we cannot ensure her safety. We are open to terms of negotiation.”

Riddhe froze, his mind reeling. “She’s what?”

On the bridge, the crew stared at the screen, stunned. Down in the mess hall, Takuya sat with his mouth agape, eyes fixed on the transmission.

“No way…” he muttered. “She’s the Princess of Zeon?”

“No wonder Zach was so protective,” Emily added, her voice low with dawning comprehension. “He must have known. He must’ve known all along .”

Margo crossed her arms, lips pressed together. “He didn’t just know. He was guarding her. Like a knight.”

Meanwhile, in a corridor lit only by red emergency strips, Zach stood silent.

His fists clenched at his sides.

His jaw was tight.

The moment Audrey’s face appeared on that broadcast, everything changed.

“She allowed herself to be taken…” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “To stop the killing…”

Then, without another word, he pushed off the wall and shot down the corridor, fast and purposeful.

His destination was clear.

He was going to fix this.

—--------------------------------

Everyone on the bridge waited with bated breath. The silence was suffocating—thick with anticipation, fear, and the echo of distant alarms. Fingers hovered uncertainly over consoles, and even seasoned officers like Job John felt the weight of the moment pressing on their chests.

Then it came.

A smooth, sonorous voice, deep and commanding—almost too perfect, like it was rehearsed. The voice of a legend.

“I have received the image,” it said, reverberating across every open comm channel and freezing every soul on board. “I am Captain Full Frontal of Neo Zeon.”

Job stiffened in his seat, his jaw twitching slightly. A faint flick of motion from him, barely perceptible, but telling. A tic born of battle trauma.

“Tell me… what are your demands?”

“That’s Char’s voice,” Danvers whispered from her station, not daring to speak louder, as if the man might hear her.

Job's eyes narrowed, fingers tapping a staccato rhythm on the armrest of his seat. 'How many times must this man rise from the grave?' he thought bitterly. ‘Can’t he just stay dead?’

Daguza, resolute and grounded despite the anxiety in the room, took a step forward. “This is Commander Daguza Mackle of the Earth Federation Space Force Special Operations Group—ECOAS. We are requesting that you cease all attacks and withdraw from this engagement.”

He squared his stance, looking straight into the camera. “If you do so, we guarantee the safety of Mineva Zabi.”

Silence.

The kind that stretches seconds into eternities.

Then, Full Frontal’s voice returned—soft, almost mocking in its civility. “Can we just have her back?”

Daguza did not flinch. “Let’s take one thing at a time. If you allow us safe passage, we will begin discussions once we reach a secure location.”

“A hostage, then.” The words fell like silk over steel. “However, we have no proof that this woman is truly the Princess of Zeon.”

Job leaned forward with a scoff, unmuting his mic. “That’s rather cautious of you, for a man who calls himself the second coming of Char.”

A pause.

“And whom am I speaking to?” Full Frontal asked, still polite, still smooth.

“Job John. Captain of the UCPF-01 Mori. If you were really Char Aznable, you’d already know that just by the sound of my voice. You were meticulous in learning the names of every White Base crew member after the war.”

Another silence.

Then Full Frontal replied, his tone thoughtful, yet laced with amusement. “Ah… my apologies, Captain John. When I donned this form, I chose to discard all baggage tied to the past.”

“What a load of bull,” Job muttered, though he knew Frontal would hear.

The masked captain pressed on, now addressing the broader room. “To you, we are terrorists, extremists, and soldiers who refuse to let the war be done with. Rebels clinging to fading ideals. But ask yourselves: when international law fails to recognize a people’s suffering, what recourse do they have but resistance?”

Daguza answered coldly, “We uphold human rights. This action was taken under threat of conflict.”

Frontal let out a short, mirthless laugh. “A fine sentiment, from a man sending special forces into civilian colonies, and now… using a child as a bargaining chip.”

He dropped the pretense. “Now it is our turn to make demands. Hand over the materials you collected on Industrial 7… and all data pertaining to Laplace’s Box.”

Gasps rippled across the bridge.

Liam immediately gestured to silence the murmurs. Job’s fingers stopped tapping.

“And in return?” Job asked evenly.

“Your safe passage,” Full Frontal answered. “And your ship, intact. Unless you object.”

Daguza did not blink. “We do not object to the terms, but we cannot comply. We have not obtained Laplace’s Box.”

“But you have retrieved a Gundam-type mobile suit,” Frontal pushed.

“That mobile suit is Federation property,” Daguza replied, a steel edge in his voice. “It has nothing to do with Laplace’s Box.”

“If you do not accept our terms,” Full Frontal said calmly, “then we will destroy your vessel.”

“You would do that with the princess aboard?”

There was a pause. And then, the voice returned—calm, cruel, inevitable. “Her identity is unverified. Therefore, she is irrelevant.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“You have three minutes. Nothing more. Nothing less.” The channel cut.

The bridge was stunned.

“He’s bluffing,” Daguza growled, pacing. “He wouldn’t throw away the guiding star of Zeon.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain,” Mineva Lao Zabi said coolly, her voice calm and aristocratic, as if she were reciting history instead of possibly facing death.

All heads turned to her.

“If Full Frontal is Char Aznable, no, Casval Rem Deikun, the son of Zeon Zum Deikun, then he has every reason to hate my family. You all know what became of my Uncle Garma and Aunt Kycilia. Char saw to it himself.”

She turned to Job, her expression unreadable. “You remember, don’t you, Captain John? You were there.”

Job winced. The names pulled memories out of the grave.

“In his eyes, I am not a symbol of hope. I am a stain to be scrubbed away.”

Daguza stared at her, then flicked the safety off his pistol. He raised it.

Mineva didn’t flinch.

She noticed the mic light still blinking—open channel. She met Daguza’s eyes, her own gaze clear and unshakable.

“You want to end this charade?” she said aloud. “Do it now. Pull the trigger. Eliminate the key to their morale.”

Audrey exhaled softly. “Or… keep watching as the Sleeves take this ship apart to reclaim what they believe is theirs.”

"That's a good idea!" Alberto suddenly burst into the frame, panic-stricken. “We should destroy the Unicorn’s electronic systems! Even if we can’t open the cockpit, frying the core would disable it!”

“That thing is just the key, not the bo—” He was cut off as Conroy clamped a hand over his mouth, dragging him back, eyes wide with alarm.

Daguza’s brow twitched. The comm line was still open.

They heard everything.

Mineva slowly turned to face the pistol again. “So then. If you’re truly committed… pull the trigger. End it.”

A chilling pause followed, every second a coin flipped between diplomacy and destruction.

And then, over the comm…

“Time’s up,” Full Frontal said. “What is your decision, Mock Trojan Horse ?”

His only answer was the silence on the other side of the comms. "Very well then, I would be destroying your ship now."

Sirens erupted across the bridge. Lights shifted from amber to red.

Job slammed his fist against the armrest. “All hands to your battle stations!”

Outside the ship, the Sinanju emerged once more, its beam rifle raised like a divine judgment.

Then—

Three brilliant pink streaks of energy blazed past it.

The Sinanju twisted violently to evade.

“Stand down!” Riddhe shouted across the radio, his ReZEL charging toward the red devil.

The Sinanju came out of its hiding place and surged forward, a streak of crimson fire aimed directly at the Mori’s engines.

Riddhe didn’t hesitate. Three beam shots screamed toward the red mobile suit. “Stand down!” he shouted, igniting his thrusters as he closed the gap.

Full Frontal evaded with graceful precision, the Sinanju twisting through space like a phantom. Their weapons sang as they exchanged fire—deadly bolts of light carving across the stars.

Riddhe threw himself into the fray, matching the Sinanju’s tempo. The ReZEL’s thrusters flared, burning harder than ever before. But the Sinanju was faster. Smoother. Its movements flowed like water, and every time Riddhe drew close, the enemy slid just out of reach.

Then came the counterattack.

Vulcan fire slammed into Riddhe’s ReZEL, peppering the right leg. A flash. An explosion. His HUD screamed in red as stabilizers buckled.

“Dammit—!”

He fought for control, flipping his machine upright just as the Sinanju leveled its rifle at his cockpit.

But before the shot could land, a beam tore across the Sinanju’s line of fire; Norm’s ReZEL.

“Get out of here, Ensign Riddhe!” Norm barked, charging at full speed with his beam blade raised.

The Sinanju responded in kind. Its beam saber ignited, caught mid-air with inhuman swiftness, and met Norm’s blade in a searing clash. Sparks flared. Metal melted. For a moment, the two suits locked together like warriors in a dance.

Then the Sinanju angled its saber and sliced through Norm’s beam rifle. A single elegant swing followed, cleaving the ReZEL in two.

“COMMANDER!” Riddhe screamed, his voice breaking as Norm’s unit detonated in a burst of fire and debris.

The Sinanju turned. A red shadow against the burning wreckage.

It was coming for him now.

Riddhe’s hands clenched around his controls. The beam saber reignited. No more running. No more hesitation.

He launched himself forward, toward the Sinanju.

But just as they closed again, a shudder ran through his body, not physical. A pressure. A wave.

Both suits jerked to a halt mid-space.

Riddhe looked up.

The central catapult of the Mori was opening. Slowly. Deliberately.

Steam hissed into the void. White light poured outward, backlighting the silhouette of a new machine.

Tall. Imposing. Pure white.

There, standing alone on the launch deck, motionless yet impossible to ignore, was the Unicorn.

Riddhe’s breath caught.

“…What?”

—-------------------------------------------------------

3 Minutes Ago

Zach floated through the corridor toward the pilot locker room, unbothered by the klaxons blaring in the distance. He opened a locker, rifling through the suits until he found one in his size. It fit a little snugly, but it would do.

As he pushed off toward the hangar bay, his eyes narrowed. The cavernous room was nearly empty—just one mobile suit stood in the center of its berth.

“They truly are woefully understaffed,” Zach remarked under his breath, eyes fixed on the pristine white machine before him. The RX-0 Unicorn stood immaculate, untouched by the scars of war. Its frame gleamed beneath the hangar lights, as though it had only just emerged from the assembly line.

He moved toward it, but a sharp voice stopped him cold.

“HEY!”

Zach spun around. An unusually tall woman floated toward him, wearing the uniform of a ship mechanic. Her nameplate read: Lt. Mora Boscht-Keith.

‘That name sounds familiar,’ he thought, but she was already closing the gap.

“You’re the one who piloted that thing, aren’t you?” she demanded, pointing at the Unicorn. “You are not authorized—”

“I must apologize,” Zach said, cutting her off with gentle precision. His voice remained calm and measured, but there was an unmistakable authority behind each word. He held her gaze, unwavering. His irises, once warm brown, shifted to an icy blue. The air around them pulsed with a faint, unnatural hum.

“You did not see me here. You were occupied, verifying the supply manifest.”

Mora froze, caught mid-motion. Her pupils dilated slightly as a chill passed over her.

Then, without protest, she gave a crisp nod.

“I did not see you. I was verifying the manifest.”

She turned and glided away without another word, her footsteps silent in the low gravity as she made her way toward the depot.

Zach watched her vanish into the corridor. A quiet breath escaped his lips.

“I am sorry,” he said again, this time to the silence that remained.

There was no time left.

He launched himself into the cockpit of the Unicorn as it opened to greet him, surprising the few mechanics who hadn’t realized what was happening until it was too late. The seat locked him in. A soft hum enveloped him as the biometric scanner activated.

RX-0 Unicorn Unit 1
Pilot: Zachary Mass

The panoramic cockpit lit up, surrounding him in the familiar warm glow of activated systems. Outside, mechanics were already scrambling for comms.

Zach moved quickly—he walked the Unicorn toward the weapon racks, grabbing a spare Jegan shield, a ReZEL beam rifle, and several E-Packs, locking them into the rear skirt armor.

Then came a ping.

A bright green line drew itself across his HUD, leading toward the central catapult deck.

“So you’re guiding me now, Unicorn?” Zach muttered, angling the Gundam’s head in the direction of the launch ramp. He followed the path.

—--------------

“What do you mean the kid took the Gundam?!” Liam shouted over the intercom. “Where’s Lieutenant Mora?!”

“She’s in storage!” a panicked mechanic replied. “The boy, he just got in and activated it!”

“The Gundam is on the central catapult!” Mihiro called out, her voice strained as the bridge monitor flickered to the live feed of the Unicorn locking into place.

“Don’t open the damn launch deck!” Job barked.

“I’m trying!” Mihiro furiously typed at her console. “The Mori isn’t obeying manual input!”

Daguza’s eyes narrowed. “Is the mobile suit overriding us?”

“It makes sense!” Alberto shouted, almost giddy. “The Unicorn and this ship are both part of the UC Project. They were designed to work in tandem. The suit’s probably synced with the Mori’s systems.”

“Then this might be the best outcome,” Alberto added quickly. “Let him launch. That Gundam can hold its own, and it’ll give us time to escape!”

“You’re sacrificing him,” Liam snapped, her voice trembling with rage. “He’s a kid!”

"If we do that, the Unicorn can compensate by its sheer power, even if the kid is a novice pilot!" He replied, "Besides, if the Sinanju managed to overpower the Unicorn, it might break it thus giving them nothing since the key is gone!"

Liam growled, "I think you missed the part where I said that the pilot is nothing more than a kid!"

“He’s more than that,” Daguza said calmly. “I’ve read his file.”

Job clenched his fists. “Yeah, I’ve read it too.”

He didn’t like this. Putting a kid in a mobile suit was something Bright Noa would’ve done. That thought alone made his stomach turn.

On the screen, the Unicorn stood proud on the catapult. Mineva floated closer to the display, her expression tightening.

‘Zach… don’t…’

Zach moved swiftly across the console, checking systems.

“Vulcans: limited bursts remaining. Beam stingers: fully loaded. E-Packs charged. Reactor stable. Reactor connection to thrusters are green.”

Everything was green.

“Launch prep complete. Gundam Unicorn is green.”

He paused.

A soft voice echoed in his mind, Mineva’s.

‘Please… don’t do this.’

He closed his eyes. Then, silently and steadily, he answered her in his thoughts:

‘I have to.’

His eyes opened, clear, resolute, focused.

He gripped the controls.

“This is Zachary Mass, Gundam Unicorn... launching!”

With a thunderous roar, the catapult system fired.

He pushed the levers forward and slammed down on the pedals. The moment the catapult ignited, a wall of force threw Zach back into his seat as the Unicorn blasted into the void in a white-hot blur. The G-forces pressed into his chest, but he held his breath and focused.

“Let’s go!”

He pressed harder on the pedals. The Unicorn’s singular thruster flared, kicking up sparks as it tore across space like a meteor.

Full Frontal narrowed his eyes as he spotted the Gundam’s flash on his radar.

“So there you are.” He calmly raised the Sinanju’s beam rifle and fired.

A bright blast streaked toward the Unicorn...but it missed. The white Gundam had already veered sharply to the right, twisting through the void in an erratic, almost instinctive path.

Frontal’s brow furrowed. The Unicorn weaved through chunks of ruined mobile suits, using the wreckage as cover and springboards, its movements sharp and aggressive.

“…That pattern,” he muttered, watching the Gundam flicker in and out of view. “So you wish to imitate me, Gundam?”

With a sudden burst of speed, the Sinanju broke forward, closing the gap. He fired again, once, twice, each blast grazing too late.

The Unicorn’s thrusters rotated mid-flight. It corkscrewed around a broken ship frame and spun backward to fire. Zach squeezed the trigger, and a searing beam shot from the ReZEL's rifle.

Frontal blocked it with his shield, then launched a return volley. The two mobile suits exchanged fire while circling around debris, the battlefield turning into a deadly dance of light and metal.

Frontal kept pressing. The Unicorn was nimble, but he was relentless. He chased it down across a field of broken machines, his shots hammering closer and closer.

“Impressive,” Frontal admitted, then fired a snap-shot toward the Unicorn’s flank.

But the Gundam had vanished.

“What?”

He activated thermal imaging. The panoramic monitor flickered into infrared. Readouts flooded in.

Suddenly—

Frontal snapped the controls left—too late.

A blazing beam lanced through the air and scorched across the Sinanju’s left shoulder, detonating the thruster in a burst of fire and metal.

He winced as the impact rocked the cockpit.

“Cheeky little—”

Before he could finish, the Unicorn was already charging him, its beam saber igniting in its hand.

Frontal blocked with his shield, the blades clashing in a burst of plasma. Sparks flew as the Sinanju was pushed back from the force of the blow.

Zach didn't let up. He pressed forward, swinging again. The two mobile suits collided, saber against saber, locked in close-quarters combat. Each strike sent tremors through the wreckage around them, drifting metal breaking apart as the energy fields clashed.

Frontal grunted, flipping backward and kicking off a destroyed Gaza unit. He switched to his beam axe, twirling it once and diving straight toward the Unicorn.

“You’re fast—but you’re not me!”

They clashed again.

Blade met blade, and the two suits spiraled through space, locked together in a clash of willpower. Every movement from Zach was sharp and reactive, guided by both instinct and experience. His hands moved faster than he could think, each motion precise yet raw.

The Sinanju flipped over the Unicorn, slashing downward. Zach pulled his shield up just in time. The impact blew both units apart in opposite directions, tumbling backward, but Zach recovered fast. He rolled in midair and boosted straight up, switching his rifle to full burst mode and unleashing suppressive fire.

Frontal dodged left, then right, his shield taking a few shots. But the Unicorn wasn’t letting up. It pursued like a hawk, closing in with another saber strike, this time narrowly grazing the Sinanju’s side.

Frontal’s systems blared warnings. Another shot like that and—

Nothing.

Frontal looked around, scanning every angle of the panoramic screen. The Unicorn had vanished into the wreckage of the debris field, leaving only the trailing glow of its thrusters.

"Tch. Hiding in the rubble, are we?" he muttered, narrowing his eyes.

A new alarm sounded—missiles. Four heat signatures, moving fast. Frontal spun the Sinanju, brought the vulcans online, and squeezed the trigger. Two missiles were shredded by the rounds. One spiraled away before detonating. But the last one was too close. It exploded near his right hip.

The Sinanju spun violently from the blast. Frontal gritted his teeth, pulling the controls hard to stabilize the suit. Smoke trailed from the damaged thruster, internal damage readings flashing crimson.

"There you are," he hissed as he spotted a flash of white between two wrecked gear modules.

Frontal fired his beam rifle and accelerated toward the Unicorn. Zach dodged, weaving through the debris. With every evasive maneuver, he danced like a ghost, never staying still for more than a second. He didn’t return fire; he let the Sinanju chase him.

'You’re not him, are you?' Zach thought, eyes calm but locked on his monitors. 'You move like him. You talk like him. But you’re hollow.'

The Sinanju gave chase, but the Unicorn twisted and flipped, its movements erratic and unpredictable. Zach fired three carefully placed shots. In the normal eye, it would seem that the Unicorn fired three beam shots randomly. But each beam lance streaked out into space and detonated three Gaera Zulus that were just beside Angelo.

"What?" Angelo asked in shock as he watched the three Gaera Zulu's explode from this distance.

“CAPTAIN!” Angelo's scream echoed through the comms, as he noticed the Unicorn flank the Sinanju.

His monitors showed the detonation of his team, his men, torn apart in seconds by precision shooting from an impossible range.

"W-What have I done?" Angelo muttered, frozen, panicking. "I’ve fired... in the Captain’s battlefield... I’VE DESECRATED IT!"

He slammed his controls forward, locking onto the Unicorn.

"I WILL MAKE YOU PAY!"

Angelo fired beam after beam at the white Gundam, but Zach was faster. The Unicorn juked left, spun under a shattered solar panel, and returned fire—one well-timed shot.

BOOM.

Angelo screamed again as his Gaera Zulu's right arm and beam rifle were obliterated.

The Sinanju fired again, drawing Zach's attention. The two suits locked into another exchange of shots. Beam after beam lit up the black of space. One struck the Unicorn's shield, knocking it off-kilter.

'He’s catching on to my rhythm,' Zach thought, watching his monitor blink warnings.

He tapped the buttons on his control sticks and the console's screen. Internal systems diverted power. His thrusters flared. Instead of dodging, Zach braced behind his shield.

Frontal frowned. 'Why isn’t he moving anymore?'

Another shot hit the shield, then another. Then a violent explosion tore through the space between them.

Frontal narrowed his eyes. "Have I done it? No... this doesn’t feel right."

But then a sudden jolt went over his mind.

To his right.

The Unicorn.

It blasted out of the smoke and debris. Eyes glowing green in the darkness of space.

Before Frontal could react, the Unicorn kicked the Sinanju hard, launching it into an asteroid. Frontal grunted as the sudden stop pressed him into his seat. Blood trickled from his nose.

Zach discarded the smoking shield and what remained of his E-Packs. It was all a feint.

"Now!" he shouted.

A ReZEL streaked across the battlefield; Riddhe.

Riddhe called out, "Zach!"

"We can flank him! Climb!" He shouted, firing a shot that struck the Sinanju’s leg, shredding its auxiliary thrusters.

Zach ascended, circling for another attack vector.

"Take the left!" Riddhe barked.

"On it!"

Their sabers lit up, brilliant pink against the black void.

The Sinanju activated its own blade, blocking Riddhe’s strike. Zach came in from the side. Frontal spun his shield up in time to catch the Unicorn’s blade.

"Impressive," he muttered. Then he fired his full thrusters, pushing the two mobile suits back.

He jettisoned the Sinanju's external tanks. Debris exploded around him. He was preparing to flee.

"Don’t let up!" Riddhe called out. "We can still beat this guy!"

But then—

A wave of pressure hit them.

Like gravity had increased. Like something ancient had awoken.

Zach grunted. Riddhe gasped.

Out of the wreckage, the Kshatriya arrived.

Calling it a quad-wing is generous since only one wing binder remained. The left arm had been replaced. But it was still deadly.

With it came two Gaera Zulus. One grabbed Riddhe, pulling the ReZEL back.

"What?!" Zach shouted.

The Kshatriya surged forward. The Sinanju joined it.

Zach tried to fight back, firing his remaining weapons. The beam rifle was shot from his hands by the Sinanju.

He hurled the sparking rifle like a missile. Vulcans lit it up mid-flight, causing it to explode in front of the Sinanju.

Then Frontal attacked, wielding his beam naginata.

Zach activated his saber. Sparks flared as they clashed.

He managed to shear through the naginata, cutting it in half.

But he never saw the Kshatriya coming.

Marida appeared from behind. One arm swung. The punch rocked the Unicorn. Zach was slammed into the control frame.

Another punch. Then the Kshatriya grabbed the Unicorn’s wrist.

Marida froze.

A pressure. A presence. The same one she felt on Industrial 7.

"That boy? What is he doing in this Gundam?"

"My thanks, Lt. Cruz," Frontal said calmly, arriving beside her. "We best be off."

"I thought you wanted to destroy that ship, Sir?"

"We’ve already taken the key," he replied. "The ship can wait."

The two suits turned. Together, they retreated, towing the inert Unicorn with them.

Zach’s eyes fluttered shut, but before sleep claimed him, the monitor changed.

Not to space.

To code.

La+ Program.

Riddhe hovered in the wreckage. His ReZEL was low on fuel. Smoke curled off its armor. He had nothing left.

He watched them leave. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t follow.

He punched the console.

"We failed."

The bridge of the Mori was silent. The indicator for the Unicorn flickered out.

Alberto sat down heavily. "They took the key."

Mineva floated away, silent. Conroy followed her.

In the darkness of space, they knew one thing. The Key was lost. Along with its pilot.

Chapter Text

In Side 6 at Lagrange Point 5 lies the mining asteroid known as Palau. Home to around 30,000 people, it’s mostly populated by miners and their families. But Palau isn't just a working colony—its government is quietly sympathetic to Zeonism, which has allowed the Sleeves to operate openly within its borders.

Inside one of Palau’s many hangars, the metallic groan of maintenance echoed as Sleeves personnel swarmed their mobile suits. Among them, standing apart like a monument, was the RX-0 Unicorn Gundam. Technicians floated around the pristine machine, probing it for weaknesses, trying to unlock its secrets.

Marida Cruz hovered quietly near a catwalk, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the white Gundam. Her expression was unreadable.

“That kid…” she murmured, eyes narrowing slightly. “Why is he the one piloting that thing?”

His presence lingered in her mind—like a light that burned far too brightly. It had cut through the dark like a blade of warmth and intensity, something she hadn’t felt in years. He had moved like someone who understood the burden of war, but she sensed kindness under the cold exterior.

"So that’s the new iteration of a Gundam-type, huh?" a familiar voice broke through her thoughts.

Marida turned. Floating beside her was a thin woman with shoulder-length red hair with the bangs draped over her right eye, dressed in a standard Zeon pilot uniform. Her brown eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Lieutenant Mellic Hugo," Marida greeted formally.

Mellic gave her a casual salute with a smirk. "I was supposed to be heading back to the homeland, but then word got out that you'd reeled in a Gundam. How could I possibly pass that up?"

She leaned against the catwalk railing, looking at the Unicorn. "With that horn and its hidden face, it really does look like a mythical creature. Looks untouched too. Not a single scar."

Marida nodded faintly. "It’s like it hasn’t even fought. But we both know it has."

They watched in silence for a while. Sparks danced in the air as technicians continued working.

Mellic eventually asked, "How are you holding up?"

Marida didn’t look at her. "What do you mean?"

Mellic raised an eyebrow. "Don’t deflect. I know how Gundams affect you. This isn’t just another machine to you."

Marida tensed slightly. "I’m fine."

"Sure you are." Mellic didn’t push further. Instead, she glanced at Marida with a quiet smile. "Still as closed off as ever."

Marida gave a small sigh through her nose. "And you're still as nosy."

"Someone's gotta be," Mellic replied with a grin. "You never talk to anyone else. I'm practically your therapist."

Marida side-eyed her, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. "A very unqualified one."

"And yet you keep me around. Must be my charm."

The moment softened between them, the steel and fire of their environment unable to erode years of battlefield camaraderie. Mellic had been there through the worst of it, battles, losses, the quiet aftershocks of missions gone wrong. Their bond was forged in silence and shared glances, not grand declarations.

"Anyway," Mellic said, pulling a folded piece of paper from her jacket, "I have orders from Full Frontal."

Marida took it, unfolding it carefully.

"When they manage to open the Unicorn," Mellic explained, "you’re to take custody of the pilot. Escort him around Palau and keep him company until his meeting with the Captain. Gilboa Sant has already agreed to host you both at his home."

Marida scanned the letter and looked up. "That’s... unexpected. What does Frontal hope to achieve by this?"

Mellic shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe he thinks the pilot can be reasoned with. Or maybe he wants to test him. Either way, putting him in your hands is a calculated move."

Marida raised an eyebrow. "And Angelo?"

Mellic rolled her eyes. "Oh, he was fuming. Honestly, I think Frontal keeps him around just to remind himself how patient he is."

A small smirk touched Marida’s lips. "That sounds about right."

They stood together for another quiet moment, the hum of machinery filling the silence.

"The casualty report from Industrial 7 came through," Mellic said suddenly.

Marida's posture stiffened.

"How many?" she asked, voice low.

"3,572," Mellic replied grimly. "Most died when the ReZEL’s reactor detonated. The rest were caught in the crossfire."

Marida clenched her jaw, eyes fixed on the technicians floating around the Unicorn. Mellic saw her hands trembling against the railing.

She didn’t say anything more. She knew Marida was already blaming herself.

"Just thought you should know," Mellic added quietly.

"Thank you," Marida murmured.

Before Mellic could speak again, a technician shouted, "The hatch is opening!"

Both women turned toward the Unicorn. Its chest plates hissed and began to separate. Technicians scrambled toward it.

"Nice work, Petty Officer," Mellic called out.

"Ma’am, it wasn’t us!" the tech exclaimed. "We haven’t even cracked half the system’s firewalls!"

The cockpit fully opened, revealing a young man in a Federation pilot suit. His blonde bangs floated freely in his helmet, and his expression was peaceful despite his unconscious state.

Mellic turned to Marida. "You know what to do."

Marida nodded and floated toward the cockpit. She removed his helmet and checked his pulse, steady. His breathing was even.

She disengaged the harness and gently lifted him from the linear seat, noting how advanced and alien the pilot system looked compared to standard units.

As she drifted back, she said, "I’ll take him to Gilboa’s. I’ve got it from here."

"Good luck, Lieutenant," Mellic replied. Behind her, three technicians moved into the cockpit, tools at the ready.

Just as they started, a sudden gust of compressed air blasted from inside the cockpit, sending the techs tumbling backward with the cockpit closing up after them.

"What the hell?" Marida asked, holding the boy protectively.

Mellic shielded her face from the air blast and started fixing her hair. "Looks like it just locked itself."

Marida frowned. "But why would it open at all?"

Mellic turned to look at the boy in Marida’s arms. "I don’t know... but I have a feeling it has something to do with him."

They both stared at the unconscious pilot. Amid all the commotion, he remained calm—as if the chaos didn’t matter.

Marida glanced down at him. That same warmth. That same pressure.

"Who are you?" she wondered silently, holding him close as they floated out of the hangar, leaving the now-silent Gundam behind.

—------

The mood in The Mori’s bridge could only be described in one word: tense. They had just completed a full systems check following the brutal assault by the Sinanju. While the ship itself had held up relatively well, the damage wasn’t just in systems or armor—it was in morale. Nearly all of their mobile suits were gone, and most devastating of all, they had lost the Unicorn.

Captain Job John rubbed his temples, his expression drawn in frustration as another heated argument erupted between Alberto Vist and Daguza Mackle.

It was always like this now.

'It’s like I’m babysitting children instead of working with grown men who are supposed to understand the meaning of compromise,' Job thought bitterly. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his XO, Liam, mirroring his frustration, quietly pinching the bridge of her nose.

"—What I’m saying is that we could’ve—"

"Could what? It was your idea to send the Unicorn out in the first place, and now it’s gone."

"Don’t put this on me! You and the captain didn’t do anything to stop the boy from launching!"

"I made a mistake. One I intend to correct. We still have the ship. We can track the Unicorn’s last known coordinates and intercept—"

"ARE YOU INSANE?! That area must already be crawling with Sleeves forces!"

"ENOUGH!" Job barked, his voice cutting through the commotion like a sharp blade.

Daguza’s next retort died in his throat. Alberto floated backward, arms crossed, scowling but silent. The bridge crew turned their attention to their captain.

Job pressed a button on his armrest. The main screen shifted to the hangar bay. Lieutenant Mora Boscht-Keith stood in front of the intercom, her mechanic’s uniform marked with grease.

"Bridge to hangar bay," Job said, "Lieutenant Mora, what’s our current supply and equipment count?"

Clearing her throat, Mora’s voice came through evenly, "To be perfectly honest, Captain? We’ve got supplies, plenty of them. What we don’t have are mobile suits. Aside from Ensign Riddhe’s damaged ReZEL, a couple of ECOAS's Jegans, and Loto units, we’re basically down to scraps."

Job exhaled heavily. "And what are the plans for the ReZEL?"

"Currently under heavy refurbishment," Mora replied. "We’re trying to patch it up with spare ReZEL equipment, salvaging what we can to make it spaceworthy again for Riddhe."

She stepped back so the bridge crew could see the modified ReZEL in the middle of the hangar, scattered with makeshift upgrades and a half-disassembled frame.

There was a long pause. Then Job asked a question that froze the bridge in silence.

"Mora, with what we currently have on board, would you say we have enough strength for a full-scale assault against the Sleeves?"

Gasps echoed around the room. Liam looked stunned. Mora blinked, and even Alberto surged forward in alarm.

"Captain!" Liam gasped. "Surely, you don’t mean—"

"Are you out of your mind, Captain John?!" Alberto shouted, arms flailing. "Even with how advanced The Mori is, we don’t stand a chance!"

"That’s enough," Job said sharply. "If I remember correctly, I asked Lt. Mora."

Silence. All eyes returned to the screen.

Mora hesitated, clearly conflicted. She let out a breath.

"Yes, Captain," she finally said. "We’ve got the equipment. Weapons are online. Thrusters are at full capacity. Hull integrity is solid. But we’re still missing the one thing we really need: mobile suits."

Daguza stepped forward, arms behind his back. "We’ll cover that. ECOAS will lend its mobile suits and armaments for the operation."

"Understood. As you were, Lieutenant Mora," Job nodded and shut off the hangar feed.

Turning his gaze to the Weapons Officer, Job asked, "Well, Lt. Mitakule?"

The officer swiveled in his seat, tapping a few buttons. "Based on preliminary calculations and accounting for what we have… we’ve got about a 78% chance of success."

Job nodded slowly. "Then we’ve got a 22% chance of failure. I’ll take those odds."

"With all due respect, Captain," Liam began, stepping closer, "I must object. While I agree that recovering the Unicorn is imperative, we’re still critically understaffed. We’ve got one ReZEL, a few ECOAS units, and no reinforcements. Why not contact HQ and request backup?"

"I agree with her!" Alberto cut in, floating closer to Job. "We can fall back to Side 6 and resupply at Anaheim’s satellite dockyards. There’s no need to rush into a suicide mission."

Job turned slowly to them, his voice calm but resolute.

"Doing that gives the Sleeves more time to break open the Unicorn. We don’t know what kind of firewalls that thing has, but I know ours held for just under four hours before we were even halfway through. If they have the right tech, they could crack it by the time we’re back from resupply."

Alberto opened his mouth, then shut it, clearly unable to argue with the logic.

"That’s still assuming we can even operate at full capacity," Liam countered. "Even if we launch, we’re already short-staffed in key positions."

Job turned to Mihiro. "Ensign, current status of the bridge crew?"

"We’re down two CICs, one Sensor Officer, and one Weapons Officer," Mihiro said quickly. "So far, Lieutenant Mitakule and I have been multitasking. He’s covering both weapons and CIC. Lt. Parker’s doing double duty as helmsman and Sensor Officer."

Job leaned back in his seat, humming as he processed. ‘If we attack with this kind of strain, we’ll burn out mid-operation.’

Daguza’s voice broke the silence. "I believe I can offer a solution to our personnel issue."

Everyone looked toward him.

"Are you suggesting more ECOAS crew for the bridge?" Liam asked.

Daguza shook his head. "No. We’re short on pilots as is. Pulling from ECOAS would only weaken our front lines. But we do have other capable individuals aboard this ship who might be willing to help."

The bridge crew looked at each other in confusion. Job, however, understood immediately.

‘When did I become Bright Noa?’ he thought to himself, already knowing the answer, and not liking it one bit.

—------

"You want us to do what?!"

Ernst’s voice rang out through the hallway, echoing off the metallic walls in disbelief. The group of teens stood stunned, facing Daguza Mackle and XO Liam, who stood calmly in front of them.

"As I said," Daguza replied evenly, "we are requesting you to fill the vacant positions on the bridge. The Mori is currently understaffed, and I cannot spare any of my ECOAS personnel. We are preparing for a mission to recover the Unicorn and its pilot."

"We heard you the first time," Micott muttered, arms crossed. "We’re just… trying to wrap our heads around it."

"Yeah," Margo added, her voice half-stunned. "I mean… you want us on the bridge, and we’re still wrapping our heads around the fact that Audrey's a princess."

Liam stepped forward, her tone softer but firm. "This isn’t a decision we came to lightly. Some officers were completely against it. But right now, we don’t have many choices."

"But how do you expect us to know what to do up there?" Emily asked, hugging Zach’s Haro closely to her chest.

"We’ve already reviewed your backgrounds," Daguza said, handing out printed assignments. "Each of you has been matched with a role that best suits your experience and aptitude."

Even Mineva was handed one. She raised an eyebrow in surprise. Daguza simply answered the unspoken question.

"We need every hand we can get. And I know you’re more than willing to do whatever it takes to retrieve the key."

Mineva stared at him silently, then lowered her gaze to the paper in her hand, the weight of responsibility settling in.

"Cool, I’m a Combat Information Officer!" Ernst said as he read his paper.

"I have the same one," Emily said.

"A Sensor Officer?" Margo muttered as she went over her profile.

"Awesome! I’m a mechanic!" Takuya whooped in joy. "I get to spend my time along with those awesome mobile suits!"

"A stand-in medic for me, huh?" Micott said with a frown, then nodded her head.

"What did you get, Aud—I’m sorry, Your Highness?" Emily corrected herself as she turned to Mineva.

"A Communications Officer."

Seeing all the teens understanding their roles, Liam interrupted their jubilation. "As you can see, your roles have been chosen based on the data we gathered from your school and character. But I have to make myself clear, this is NOT a playground. We are going into high combat situations where there is a likely chance that we won’t survive. If you don’t want the position, we’ll understand."

The group went silent for a while before Emily spoke up. "I think we understand the situation we are in right now, Lt. Liam. But Zach is still our friend. We’ll go alongside him if he decides to see this entire thing through, and we’ll save him if he needs it."

The group nodded in agreement, with Mineva also doing the same. Seeing the teens had their minds set, Daguza spoke up and handed them uniforms. "Good. For now, take these volunteer uniforms and head to the bridge in 30 minutes. Some of the crew will teach you a crash course on your respective roles."

With that, Daguza and Liam saluted the group and left the room, with the teens doing the same.

Once all the adults had left, silence was the only thing that remained before Margo slapped her face.

"What did we just get ourselves into?" Margo moaned.

"Hey, this is gonna be worth it!" Takuya replied as he patted Margo’s shoulder. "I mean, we get to have a front seat watching another Gundam!"

"I think your enthusiasm and optimism are starting to get concerning, Takuya," Ernst said worriedly.

"I mean, yeah," Takuya muttered before brightening up again. "But who else can say that their friend is piloting a Gundam and about to be a new legend!"

As the group were discussing their roles and positions, Emily noticed Mineva walking away from the group with Haro floating beside her.

"Your Highness, are you alright?" Emily asked as she approached the princess.

Mineva let out a small smile as she replied, "I am alright, Lady Emily. I’m just imagining how all of my family is rolling in their graves when they learn that I became a Federation volunteer."

"From what I’ve learned in history books and what I’ve heard from my mom, they are probably seething at the prospect," Emily chuckled with Mineva.

Noticing the wording used, Mineva asked, "I’m sorry, your mother?"

Emily nodded. "Oh yeah, my mom was actually a socialite from Zeon and a pilot during the One Year War."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Emily replied before adding, "But during the war, she met my dad who was a Federation soldier, he managed to defeat her using only a Ball."

"That must’ve been embarrassing for her," Mineva replied as she chuckled.

"My parents said that it was the greatest thing that ever happened to them," Emily said, taking out her pendant and opening it to show a photo of her and her parents. "They told me that meeting each other showed them that both sides still have humans who just want to live."

"If you don’t mind me asking, what is the name of your mother?" Mineva asked.

"Aina Amada. But when she was unmarried, her name was Aina Sahalin."

Her answer momentarily shocked Mineva.

"Sahalin? The prestigious Sahalin Family?"

Emily nodded. "The same one." She then added, "Maybe that’s why I’m a bit sympathetic to the people of Zeon. My mother always taught me that there are always two sides in a conflict, and there are always people in both of them."

Mineva nodded to the other girl’s philosophy. She, someone born under a family of tyrants and power-hungry individuals, knew how many innocents were caught in the crossfire. That’s why she must destroy Laplace’s Box. Who knows what danger it contains. It’s just too dangerous to exist.

"Your Highness?" Emily interrupted Mineva’s musing.

"You can call me Mineva, Lady Emily."

"Mineva then," she replied, before adding in a somber tone, "Do you think we can save Zach? Do we have a chance to succeed?"

Mineva was silent for a bit before replying, "I believe that they won’t do anything inhumane to Zachary Mass. I expect the Sleeves to still have a bit of civility to them. As for our chance of success, for that, fate only has the answer."

"But as long as we push forward and give it our all," she added, "Then I do not doubt that we will succeed in saving him."

Emily nodded and smiled at the girl before looking down at her volunteer uniform. "Well, I guess we'd better change then. The others might already be a bit queasy, so we'd best distract them with the uniforms. I only hope that the skirt isn’t too short."

Mineva laughed as she followed Emily to the changing room. "For that, I concur."

A couple of minutes later, Riddhe Marcenas floated into the mess hall after finishing a simulation test on the new model he was set to receive and checking on his modified ReZEL. He was sipping on a juice box when he noticed the group of teenagers now wearing the volunteer uniforms of the Federation.

"What did I just miss?" he asked in confusion.

—-----

The only way Zachary Mass could describe the situation he found himself in now was strange, peculiarly strange, and tense. After regaining consciousness in an unfamiliar apartment, greeted by a curious child hovering near him and the presence of a certain red-haired woman, the same one who had pursued him and Mineva back on Industrial 7, his cold, sharp glare was perhaps warranted.

Now, after a shower and having changed out of his pilot suit into the slacks and shirt of his school uniform, he found himself seated at a humble dinner table. He was surrounded by Gilboa Sant, his family, and that same red-haired woman: Marida Cruz.

Zach quirked a brow as he noticed Gilboa’s son, Tikva, shooting daggers at him from across the table.

“You do realise,” Zach said as he calmly cut into his food, “that a glare alone does not constitute intimidation, Master Tikva Sant.”

“Well, are you from the Federation?” the boy shot back, scrutinizing the older teen.

“Let him eat in peace, Tikva,” Gilboa interjected as he took another bite.

“If one considers Spain a Federation territory, then yes,” Zach replied smoothly. “I am, by definition, a citizen of the Federation.”

At that moment, a toddler popped up between his seat and Marida’s.

“Are you a prince?” she asked eagerly.

Zach turned toward the child and offered a soft smile. “And what made you arrive at such a fanciful conclusion, young lady?”

Kora giggled, “You talk funny! And the way you sit and hold your fork and spoon, it’s like those old movies with kings and princes!”

Before he could reply, Marida scooped the girl up by the feet and passed her to her mother, who set the toddler back into her high chair.

“Sit still and eat, Kora. Don’t interrupt the Zach’s meal,” Elle Sant said as she spoon-fed her daughter.

“Are you a prisoner?” Tikva asked, eyes still on Zach.

Zach’s tone was neutral, but deliberate. “In a sense, yes. One might even call it a diplomatic detainment.” He cast a side glance at Marida, who, unsurprisingly, said nothing in return.

“Well then you’re lucky,” Tikva said boldly. “If the Federation caught you, you’d be tortured and starved!”

“Tikva!” Elle exclaimed, scandalized. “That is not proper dinner table conversation!”

“News to me,” Zach murmured dryly.

“It’s true!” Tikva insisted. “My dad says so! He was a prisoner on Earth, and Captain Zinnerman helped him out when he was stuck in the camps.”

Zach placed his utensils down gently and looked across the table at the young boy.

“I see. And perhaps you should also know, Tikva Sant, that many perished at the hands of Zeon. Entire families, men, women, and children, erased in moments.”

“We lost people too!” Tikva shot back, slamming his small fist against the table. “That’s war for you! Zeon fought for Spacenoid independence! Aren’t you a Spacenoid like us? Why’re you siding with the Federation?”

“As I mentioned earlier, I am from Spain,” Zach replied, measured and unfazed. “It is a place on Earth, where I was born, where my family resides. And allow me to be candid: if dropping a colony onto Earth and gassing its inhabitants is Zeon’s interpretation of independence, then I fear your ideals have long since warped.”

He picked up his utensils again, voice still steady. “War is rarely noble, and death does not discriminate. People die not for causes, but because others deem it necessary. If there is fairness in war, I have yet to witness it. And if justification exists for mass slaughter, I have yet to hear it.”

Whatever reply Tikva had withered under a stern look from Gilboa, and the boy fell silent, returning begrudgingly to his food.

Sensing the shift in tone, Elle Sant offered a change of subject. “Well, Zachary, how is the food? I admit, it’s not nearly as refined as what you’re probably used to.”

Zach turned toward her and allowed himself the faintest smile. “Quite the contrary, Mrs. Sant. This meal is exquisite. The Chicken Biryani, in particular, is exceptional, rich in flavour and delicately balanced. I daresay, it surpasses the fare of several private chefs employed by our household.”

Elle beamed at the compliment. “Being compared against world class chefs? Well, I’ll take that praise happily.”

Marida suddenly stood and carried her plate to the sink, turning to Zach as she did so. “Let’s go.”

“Behold, she speaks.” He muttered as he rose and placed his own plate beside hers, giving Elle a polite bow. “Thank you for the meal. It was a pleasure.”

As he followed Marida out, the apartment quieted for a moment.

Elle turned to Gilboa. “What an interesting boy, wouldn’t you say?”

Gilboa’s gaze lingered on the door where the two teenagers had exited. He gave a slow nod.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I suppose he is.”

Kora giggled from her seat, climbing out of the high chair again. “I told you he’s a prince!”

—----

Zachary followed Marida down an undisclosed tunnel carved deep into the asteroid's rock. The walls, worn and lined with the telltale abrasions of time, suggested this passage had existed since Palau’s earliest days as a mining colony.

As he trailed behind the red-haired woman, Zach let out subtle pulses of pressure, ones that would go unnoticed by all but the most attuned Newtypes. He allowed his body to move on instinct, half of him present in the corridor, the other half reaching out with his senses, searching.

'You're not him, are you?' he mused silently, focusing on the foreign presence he had encountered. 'You feel like him... but wrong. Familiar, yet warped, like a melody slightly off-key, masquerading as the original.'

“I do not disagree with your sentiment.” Marida’s voice broke his concentration. She didn’t look back as she spoke. “No war is ever truly justified.”

“However,” she added after a beat, “sometimes, to preserve life, one must discard righteousness.”

They continued down the dim path until it opened into a vast chamber that resembled a chapel. Stone benches lined the floor, and the flickering light from an altar cross and a few solemn candles cast long shadows across the room.

Noticing Zach’s questioning gaze, Marida explained, “This was constructed during Palau’s earliest days, back when the asteroid was still located in the belt. Many of the first settlers here were beggars, exiles, or political prisoners. They had nowhere else to go but the stars.”

She gestured around. “When the Universal Century began, the prime minister declared we were witnessing the death of God. But out here, where the sun is indistinguishable from other stars, people needed a guiding light of their own.”

“They could not live in darkness, so they kindled their own flame. Zeon became that light.”

Zach gave a small nod and finished her thought. “I presume that new light was Zeon, then?”

Marida inclined her head. “It gave them hope amidst despair. A promise that they might overcome the impossible and continue to exist in this cruel world.”

She turned to face him. “You might find it foolish to place faith in something so intangible. Many say ideals are luxuries we cannot afford.”

“I would say such people are either fortunate or profoundly deluded.”

Zach paused, his gaze on the glowing cross. “'Humanity alone possesses a God.' That was once said to me by a man who believed in transcending the present, a man who believed in possibility.”

“A romantic, then,” Marida replied. “One must have an exceptional faith in mankind to hold such beliefs.”

“Perhaps,” Zach said with a faint smile. “But my father shared those convictions. He believed in humanity’s capacity to grow from its missteps. His hope for humanity even confounds me to this day.”

“He sounds like a good man,” she said gently.

“The very best,” Zach answered, and for a moment, the room fell into reflective silence.

Marida eventually broke it. “Ensign Sergei, Emilia, and Alexei... do not grieve for them.”

“When we enter battle, we become extensions of our machines, pilots, not individuals. There is no space for regret.”

Zach stepped beside her. “Do you think less of me for feeling no remorse?”

She turned to him.

“You likely thought me a novice. The truth is, I’ve been piloting since I was seven. I mourn the necessity of taking lives, but those three stood in the way. Had I hesitated, the Mori and all aboard would have perished.”

“I understand.” Marida nodded. “And for protecting Princess Mineva, you have my gratitude.”

She motioned toward the exit. “Come. You’ll be meeting Captain Frontal tomorrow. You’d do well to rest.”

As they made their way back to Gilboa’s apartment, a man stumbled into Zach, the scent of liquor thick on his breath.

“'Scuse me,” the stranger slurred, drifting off unsteadily.

“What was that?” Marida asked, glancing back.

“Merely a drunkard,” Zach replied smoothly.

She accepted the explanation and continued walking.

Once she was out of sight, Zach opened his palm to reveal a folded slip of paper—passed to him by the man. After returning to his assigned room, he unfolded the note. It contained a rough schematic of Palau and key access points.

He studied it, then tucked it safely into his pocket.

With a hum of thought, Zach reclined on the small bed. The moment his head hit the pillow, his breathing slowed, his body already bracing for what tomorrow would demand.

Whatever awaited him in the morning, he knew it would be far from restful.

—----

"Palau. It’s a civilian mining facility owned by the citizens of Side 6," Alberto announced from the podium in the Mori’s briefing room

The room was filled with all of ECOAS’ personnel, Captain Job, Lieutenant Liam, and several members of The Mori’s crew. Most stood silently at the back, listening to the briefing with grave expressions.

"Our intelligence agency deduced that this is where the last signal from the RX-0 originated before it was jammed," he continued, gesturing to a tactical map of Palau displayed behind him. "This asteroid has been retrofitted with old Zeon military hardware, layers of reinforced tunnels, anti-ship batteries, and camouflage fields."

A new slide appeared, showing interior schematics. "Palau’s primary weakness is that its structure, while reinforced, is outdated. There are key points, load-bearing walls and thermal vents, that, if targeted, could collapse entire sectors."

"You’re telling me we’re going to assault that fortress alone, Captain?" The ship’s chief engineer, Sydow Omoki, whispered anxiously to Job.

"I know our situation isn’t desirable, ChEng Omoki," Job whispered back, "but if the Sleeves crack open the Unicorn... we can’t let them exploit what’s inside. Or its pilot."

Mora, standing just behind them, frowned. "Still can’t believe HQ couldn’t even spare us a few Jegans or Zeta Plus units. Feels like they want us to fail."

Job’s expression darkened. "Wouldn’t be the first time. Back on the White Base, we were on our own more often than not."

"I still don’t get how you guys survived that, Captain," Mora muttered. "Even on the Albion, we had backup, and we still didn’t make it through."

"We were just lucky," Job murmured.

Sydow scoffed. "With all due respect, sir, calling that luck is an understatement. That’s what you get when you flew with the White Devil."

Job offered a wry smile, then glanced down at his data pad. Zachary Mass’s personnel file was open on-screen.

‘Sayla Mass is his mother,’ Job mused. After the Battle of A Baoa Qu, the Federation did everything it could to scatter the crew of the White Base, to limit their influence. Most had lost contact with each other.

‘Last time I heard from her was nearly a decade ago, when she arranged for me to smuggle Leina Ashta to her estate.’

He paused, brow furrowing as his gaze locked onto a redacted section of Zach’s file. Black bars obscured the space where paternal information should be.

‘His father’s identity is classified... but with Sayla’s history and the timeline of her relationship with Amuro...’

His thoughts were interrupted as Liam approached, handing him a new data pad.

"All the results from the volunteers’ combat simulation," she said.

Job flipped through the reports. "These kids are good."

"Aye, sir."

He gave her a pointed look. "Be honest with me, Liam. Are they ready?"

Liam hesitated. "Frankly, they handled the simulations well. But this... this isn’t a game. This will cost them their innocence."

Sydow snorted. "Sleeves already took that from them."

"Maybe," Liam said, her tone quiet. "But they’ll do well. They’re loyal. I don’t doubt they’d charge straight into hell to bring Zachary Mass back."

Job gave a nod of approval. "Then that’s good enough for me. As you were, Lieutenant."

As Alberto continued outlining Palau’s structural weaknesses and internal vulnerabilities, including embedded charges ECOAS planted during old recon missions, electromagnetic blind spots they could exploit, and a low-traffic thermal exhaust route wide enough for mobile suits, Job leaned back in his seat, muttering under his breath.

"This will all be worth it."

—--------

Zach walked silently between Marida Cruz and the man he had encountered back at Industrial 7, the grizzled Suberoa Zinnerman. The trio exchanged little more than curt nods as they made their way through the most decadent corner of Palau’s inner sanctum: Full Frontal’s private estate.

This was no ordinary hallway.

Nestled within a greenbelt of cultivated forests and manicured gardens, the mansion itself was a crown jewel of Neo Zeon’s ideology, designed not only to impress, but to symbolize rebirth. The interior echoed with aristocratic grandeur. Marble pillars, each veined with gold, lined their path, while the floor beneath them was inlaid with a mosaic of Zeon’s rise: from the Republic’s formation to the final charge of the One Year War. The soft hum of recycled air mixed with the scent of sandalwood and polish. Overhead, vaulted ceilings bore crystal chandeliers whose brilliance scattered dappled light across the walls, setting every portrait and tapestry aglow. Each painting was a masterwork, idealized visions of Zeon leaders and battles, some almost religious in composition, their glory amplified by the towering Neo Zeon banners that hung between enormous stained-glass windows.

The group stopped before a set of double doors taller than a mobile suit cockpit, lacquered white with gilded Zeonic motifs and flanked by golden statues, allegorical figures of war and peace, holding a laurel wreath and a broken Federation emblem respectively.

The doors opened without a sound.

The room beyond was vast and imperial.

Silken red carpets stretched across the floor like a ceremonial path. A balcony wrapped around the upper walls, accessible by two opposing spiral staircases. To the left, a massive bar of dark cherrywood stood beneath a painted ceiling dome; to the right, a reading lounge surrounded by polished bookcases and low-burning hearths. But at the center of it all, beneath a ceiling high enough to fit a mobile suit’s upper torso, was a wide desk carved from black stone, its edge etched with Old Principality calligraphy.

Behind the desk stood the emblem of Neo Zeon, emblazoned like a coat of arms and flanked by crossed rifles beneath an eternal spotlight.

And seated before it—

Was a man who should not exist.

Clad in crimson, his long blond hair cascading over one shoulder like threads of gold, he looked every inch the legendary figure he portrayed. A half-mask glinted coldly under the chandelier, concealing his eyes but not the gaze that pierced through the room like a drawn saber.

To any outsider, the effect would have been total.

He was Char Aznable reborn.

But not to Zach.

The young man met that gaze with unflinching calm, his posture as composed and regal as a prince before a foreign court, his aura unreadable.

"They tell me there was a room quite like this," Full Frontal began, his voice smooth and measured, "in the final bastion of the Principality at A Baoa Qu."

He gestured slightly, his gloved hand sweeping across the expanse of the chamber. "The governor of Palau is, I’ve been told, something of an admirer of the former Principality’s aesthetic sensibilities. As such, I accept arrangements such as these with the requisite grace, even if the décor is rather more extravagant than my personal tastes permit. Still, flexibility is an indispensable quality for any leader."

He turned to Zinnerman and Marida. "Well done, Captain Zinnerman. And you as well, Lieutenant Marida. I’ll handle matters from here."

The two saluted wordlessly. As they turned to go, Marida met Zach’s eyes briefly before following Zinnerman.

She paused just before exiting. "Captain, one more thing—"

"I know," Frontal said, cutting her off gently. "The Federation’s possession of Princess Mineva was… unexpected. We shall have further chances to retrieve her through diplomacy or, if necessary, through force. Patience, Lieutenant."

Marida saluted once more and exited, leaving Zach alone with Full Frontal and Angelo Sauper, who stood rigidly by the tall windows.

Frontal gestured to the plush sitting area. "Come now. Be at ease."

Zach did not move at first. Then, without a word, he crossed to the low table, seated himself gracefully, and examined the teacup set before him. Lifting it delicately, he took a measured sip, ignoring the palpable glare of the silver-haired officer.

"How are you feeling?" Frontal inquired smoothly. "Piloting that Gundam must be no trivial feat. I instructed Lieutenant Gilboa to offer you food and rest before our meeting, an indulgence beyond standard procedure. I imagine you're aware of that."

Zach inclined his head. "Your hospitality is noted, and appreciated. However, I am not so naïve as to believe it stems solely from kindness."

Frontal’s head tilted slightly. "Oh? And what motives do you assign to it, Mr. Mass?"

Zach swirled his tea gently. "Two possibilities. One, you wished to buy time to breach the Unicorn’s systems. Or two, you hoped that, by exposing me to Palau’s civilian life, I might be swayed to sympathize with your cause."

Frontal chuckled. "Perceptive. Your instincts serve you well."

He stood and approached the sitting area, retrieving his own cup. "You handled yourself admirably in battle. Your instincts, reactions, and even your restraint, all worthy of note. You did not even activate the Unicorn’s special system. It is rare to find such discipline."

He extended a hand across the table.

Zach regarded it coolly but made no motion to accept. "Permit me a question. You wear a mask, evoking Char Aznable in every possible respect. Yet your chosen moniker is 'Full Frontal', a term denoting total transparency. Don’t you find that contradiction... telling?"

Angelo took a step forward, fury barely restrained. "How dare you—"

"It’s quite alright, Lieutenant," Frontal said, raising a hand.

He removed his mask slowly, revealing clear blue eyes and a scar across his nose. "A fair question. Etiquette, yes. But also symbolism."

Zach met his eyes without flinching. "You are not him."

Frontal’s smile did not falter. "And what makes you so certain, Mr. Mass?"

Zach offered no reply, only cool silence.

Frontal replaced the mask atop his desk with unhurried precision. "To be truthful, the mask is as much a tool of narrative as it is attire. I sometimes forget I’m wearing it."

He stepped behind his desk, hands clasped. "Now then. The Gundam Unicorn. I understand you were granted it by Cardeas Vist. What I find most curious is why. What reason did he have for entrusting such a device, and the key to Laplace’s Box, to you?"

Zach gave a quiet exhale. "That same question has been asked of me many times. The truth is simple. He asked only that I protect what I hold dear."

Frontal nodded slowly. "The Vist Foundation flourished through its pact with the Federation, holding Laplace’s Box as its trump card. And yet, they broke that pact, chose instead to entrust it to Zeon. Something, someone, changed the course."

Zach’s tone hardened. "Had you not launched a premature attack on Industrial 7, perhaps you’d already possess your prize."

Frontal sighed. "That eventuality was accounted for. My orders were specific: recover the Box, then eliminate the Mock Trojan Horse. But my men... acted with undue haste."

"And innocent lives were lost for it."

Angelo stormed forward and seized Zach by the collar. "You little—"

Zach remained calm, raising a brow. "Is this truly how you hope to win hearts and minds? With petulance and threats?"

Frontal’s voice cut in, sharp. "Enough, Angelo."

Reluctantly, Angelo released Zach, who straightened his collar without a word.

Frontal’s voice softened again. "We are not your enemy. We simply seek knowledge. Knowledge kept hidden by those who fear change."

"And Mineva Zabi made her stance clear," Zach returned icily. "That Box must not fall into your hands. If it does, this war, this endless cycle of retribution, will continue."

He narrowed his gaze. "And unless I’m mistaken, a soldier should obey their sovereign."

Frontal chuckled. "Do you, then, believe such a Box exists? Something with the power to unravel the Federation itself?"

Zach answered, "What I believe is that knowledge shapes history. If this Box contains such power, it is because it contains truth—and truth, Captain Frontal, is a force no weapon can surpass."

Frontal leaned forward, intrigued. "Go on."

"Zeon’s first colony drop. Char Aznable’s nuclear winter. The invention of the atomic bomb. Ideas have always changed the world, sometimes more catastrophically than any machine. If Laplace’s Box contains such an idea, it will shake humanity to its core."

A pause.

"Well said," Frontal murmured. "You are well-read."

He walked to the center of the room. "Are you aware that space colonization was initially a form of exile? The Federation retained authority over all sides, appointing governors without granting them the vote. Spacenoids had no true voice."

Zach nodded. "Until Zeon Zum Deikun."

"Precisely. A philosopher, politician, royalty, descended from nobility, who believed that humanity’s next step lay in space. His father, Viktor Rom Deikun, helped establish Side 3 and laid the foundation for Munzo, turning it into a monarchy. Zeon Zum Deikun only inherited and gave form to that legacy."

"And in his quest for autonomy," he added, "he found allies. Degwin Zabi among them. And so the wheel of history turned."

Frontal nodded again as he raised his cup. "Not all of Neo Zeon adheres to a single doctrine, but what we do share is the belief that this unjust system must evolve."

Zach glanced briefly at the antique wall clock, its ticking like a soft war drum in the silence.

"You bathe your words in honey, Frontal," he said, his voice velvet over steel. "Let us dispense with pleasantries. All you've done is prolong a war that should have ended in ashes."

His tone sharpened. "Tell me, what grave sin did my classmates commit? What threat did the citizens of Industrial 7 pose, that they deserved to die like insects beneath a boot?"

Angelo burst forward, incensed. "You sanctimonious bastard! Ensign Sergei, Emillia, Alexei, do their lives mean nothing to you?! You claim of innocence yet your hands are as dirty as ours!"

“You put words into my mouth.” Zach met his rage with calm disdain. "You should rewatch the recording of the battle. They fired first. I responded. That is war. But unlike you, Lieutenant, I do not wrap my guilt in the shroud of righteousness."

He stood slowly. "If you wish to know the last time I was innocent... it was when I was three."

The room then suddenly shook as explosions were heard outside the mansion, echoing across the entire colony. Frontal lost his footing along with Angelo, but Zach grabbed the silver-haired man by the bangs.

Then, without warning, he drove his head into Angelo’s face. The silver-haired man staggered, blood spraying from his nose. Zach seized him by the jaw and hurled him bodily across the room, smashing the tea table into splinters.

Angelo moaned, dazed, as Zach advanced and stomped his face once, twice, thrice, until teeth cracked and blood pooled.

He grabbed the porcelain teapot, smashed it, and took a shard in hand.

Frontal had only begun to rise when Zach straddled him. The shard plunged into his face.

Once. Twice. A third time.

Blood geysered across the rug and desk. Frontal screamed, his voice raw and breaking, as the shard carved down his cheek and across his eye.

"Here," Zach growled, eyes ablaze. "Let me give you a reason to keep wearing that mask."

He drove the shard again and again, until Frontal’s cries were hoarse and wet.

The doors burst open. Zinnerman and Marida stepped in, too slow.

Zach spun, a kick to Marida’s face sending her reeling. A swift chop dropped Zinnerman to the ground. The guards’ rifles lifted, only to be torn from their grasp and turned on them.

Zach was already sprinting.

Explosions rocked the manor. Firelight danced through the shattered stained-glass. Sirens wailed.

He leapt through the window, glass shattering behind him like falling stars, and landed with feline grace in the courtyard of the manor. The moment his feet touched the ground, Zachary Mass surged forward like a fired bullet, his limbs moving with a dancer’s precision and a predator’s drive.

“After him!” a guard shouted, his voice barely audible over the alarms and chaos now sweeping through Palau’s central district.

Vehicles roared to life, headlights snapping on as soldiers poured into the courtyard, scrambling for weapons. Zach was already at the outer wall, vaulting onto a crate, then a stack of barrels, leaping—his foot slammed down on a guard’s shoulder, using the man like a springboard. He soared over the gate and landed in a roll before sprinting towards the city.

A convoy of pursuers gave chase, their tires screeching as they tore through the streets, narrowly avoiding panicked civilians and overturned market carts. Zach twisted through the bustling colony, diving into narrow alleyways, vaulting railings, and ricocheting off walls like a ghost made of flesh.

Up ahead, the buildings rose closer together. Without hesitation, Zach jumped, catching a rusted pipe, and pulled himself onto a rooftop. His shoes hit gravel, then steel, and he was running again. Gunfire erupted from below, short bursts from angry pursuers, but he was already gone, ducking behind ventilation shafts and skidding across a skylight.

Bullets shattered windows behind him as he took a running leap across a chasm between two buildings, his coat flaring wide. He landed hard, tucked into a roll, then popped up into a sprint once more. Down below, soldiers shouted.

“He’s on the rooftops! Cut him off!”

Zach glanced ahead, and the rooftops were ending. Without slowing, he veered left, sprinted along the edge, and threw himself across a final gap. He crashed through a balcony door and tumbled into a modest apartment. A pair of lovers shrieked as he stumbled past their bed.

"Pardon me," Zach muttered quickly, already at the door.

He burst into the hall, raced down the stairwell four steps at a time, then dove out a side exit into a crowd. Ducking low, he vanished among the sea of bodies in the marketplace.

Back on the rooftops, a soldier huffed into his radio, chest heaving. “Sir. We lost him in Sector 9. He vanished into the crowd.”

Across the colony, Zinnerman’s voice crackled over the radio as medics patched him up. Marida sat nearby, a bruise forming on her cheek.

“He’s headed for the Gundam.”

Frontal’s voice rang through the chaos, raspy, his face bandaged and still bleeding beneath the gauze. “Double security at the MS hangars. Do not let that machine fall back into Federation hands.”

“Roger that, sir!” the soldier barked.

Unnoticed among the milling civilians, Zach emerged from a clothing stall, his form disguised under a dark hoodie and cap. His eyes scanned the area with clinical calm. Behind him, the stall’s vendor, a raven-haired woman, sat gagged, glaring at him.

He gently removed the gag. “Apologies, madam. Desperate times.”

She hissed at him. “You don’t just gag someone and rob them—!”

He dropped his wristwatch and wallet onto her table, the money crisp and real. “That watch will sell for a fortune here, and the cash should more than cover the clothes. Again, my apologies.”

He vanished into the crowd.

The woman, Comoli, stood stunned, watching him disappear. Moments later, her husband, Xavier, burst in.

“Comoli?! What happened? Are you alright?”

“I—I’m fine,” she said, breathless. “But that kid just gave me a thousand dollars and a watch worth three times that!”

“He did what?!”

“He was being chased, changed clothes right here, then ran off.”

Xavier stared at the exit, then shook his head. “With all these explosions? He’s probably the one causing them.”

Comoli stared at the trail of bills fluttering on the counter, still trying to process what had just happened.

“Let’s close early,” she said finally, voice quiet. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“I’ll grab the kids,” Xavier replied, giving her a quick kiss before running off.

And above, sirens continued to scream as the rebellion tore through Palau.

Zach was already gone.

—-------------------------

“Message from ECOAS, Captain,” Mihiro reported from her station. “All explosives have detonated at the designated key points. The operation is a go.”

Captain Job John nodded grimly and opened the shipwide PA system from his command chair. “Attention all hands, we are initiating Phase Three of the operation. We are now entering enemy airspace at maximum combat speed. Prepare to fire the Hyper-Mega Particle Cannon at the Neo Zeon stronghold. All personnel, Level One Battlestations.”

With a mighty roar, The Mori pushed its thrusters to full burn, plowing through the asteroid field surrounding Palau. Smaller rocks collided with its hull, glancing off with only minor damage.

“What’s the status of the hull, Crewman Brawn?” Job called.

Margo checked her readouts quickly. “Armor integrity is holding, Captain. Worst-case scenario, we’re looking at cosmetic damage. Just scratched paint.”

“Understood,” Job replied, keeping his eyes on the tactical display. “Once we’re within a few clicks of Palau, cut the engines and switch to inertial flight. Let’s use momentum to mask our power signature.”

He turned to Lt. Mitakule. “Lieutenant, transfer all available power to the Hyper-Mega Particle Cannon.”

“Understood, Captain. Beginning power transfer,” Mitakule confirmed.

“Dispersing Minovsky Particles at combat density,” Liam ordered, glancing toward Ernst, who nodded and adjusted the dispersal field accordingly.

Job turned to the bridge. “Once the cannon is fired, launch all mobile suits.”

Beneath The Mori, the central catapult bay opened, revealing the massive barrel of the Hyper-Mega Particle Cannon. The cannon began to charge, its rotating core glowing brighter as the energy buildup intensified.

Simultaneously, the two forward catapults were deployed from the ship’s legs. The catapult hatches opened, revealing several Jegan mobile suits clad in ECOAS black and grey, and a single heavily-armed ReZEL prepped for combat.

“Hyper-Mega Particle Cannon ready to fire!” Mitakule shouted over the hum of building energy.

Job turned toward Mineva, who was seated at the communications console. Their eyes met, and he waited for her approval. She nodded solemnly.

“Prepare to fire once we reach the target range,” Job ordered. He then turned to Emily. “Remind all allied forces to clear our line of fire.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily acknowledged. She activated the comms. “Bridge to all mobile units, the Hyper-Mega Particle Cannon is charging. Stay clear of the blast path. You are cleared to launch as soon as we fire.”

In the hangar, Riddhe Marcenas secured his gloves and sealed his pilot helmet. The hum of energy outside the ReZEL echoed through his cockpit. The countdown Mitakule announced echoed in his earpiece.

‘One ReZEL, a few Jegans, and Loto support against a fortress? No pressure,’ he mused darkly, steadying his breath.

“Ten seconds until firing,” Mitakule counted down.

Job stood and gave the order. “Fire!”

The Mori’s Hyper-Mega Particle Cannon released a blinding torrent of condensed energy. The beam surged forward, vaporizing any Neo Zeon mobile suits caught in its path. The beam struck Palau, crushing the internal scaffolding and causing one half of the asteroid to be pushed against the other.

Ships docked between the two halves were obliterated. Shockwaves rolled through the colony. Fires broke out across the surface as infrastructure cracked and collapsed.

On Palau’s surface, several Loto units began their assault. One of them, piloted by Daguza Mackle with Conroy Haagensen as his co-pilot, transformed into tank mode and advanced toward the rendezvous.

“You better be there, son,” Daguza muttered, eyes burning with determination. “We’re coming to get you.”

“Mobile suits, you are go for launch,” Emily’s voice declared over the comms.

In the catapult, Riddhe took one last breath and gripped his controls. “This is Riddhe Marcenas, ReZEL Romeo-8. Launching now!”

The ReZEL roared down the catapult rail and into the fray, its engines igniting like a meteor as it surged toward the crumbling fortress of Palau.

—-------

Pandemonium had erupted across the outer shell of Palau.

ECOAS mobile suits surged through the shattered breach, engaging Neo Zeon defenders with ruthless precision. Jegans in combat formation deployed from The Mori moved in squad-based units while Loto tanks flanked them, transforming rapidly between vehicle and mobile suit modes to match the terrain and pressure.

Above them, a ReZEL streaked across the void, its thrusters flaring bright, the silent fury of space combat unfolding without a single audible boom.

“This is ReZEL Romeo-8, Riddhe Marcenas—engaging,” he declared, his voice sharp through the comms.

Riddhe descended in flight mode, scanning the chaos below. He locked onto two Dreissens attempting to flank the ECOAS forward line. With a pull of the trigger, his long-range beam cannon hummed and then fired, both targets exploded mid-flight, their parts scattering like confetti across the battlefield.

Without missing a beat, Riddhe swooped lower, spotted a Gaza-C preparing a missile salvo, and launched a grenade into its torso. The detonation was a violent flower of light and smoke.

The ReZEL accelerated forward, transforming smoothly into its mobile suit form. He barrel-rolled through enemy fire, closed the distance on a Gaza-D, and impaled it with his beam saber, then pivoted and slashed a Zaku III clean through the waist, separating it into sizzling halves.

Red beams and purple tracer rounds streaked the skies. Neo Zeon Zakus darted around the asteroid’s outcrops, trying to outmaneuver the ECM-saturated field. Riddhe’s targeting reticle spun and locked. He fired three bursts and brought down another suit as it tried to flee.

"Romeo-8, Jegans are pinned near point 19C. Requesting assistance!"

"Acknowledged," Riddhe responded, already banking toward them.

He tore through the void like a blade of vengeance. Spotting the overwhelmed unit, he ignited both beam sabers and doves, slashing apart a Rick Dom and disabling the beam rifle of a Dreissen before blasting it through the cockpit with a beam shot at close range.

“Jegan squad, proceed to Point 22B. I’ll cover your retreat.”

“Roger that, Romeo-8.”

One Jegan launched a barrage of shoulder rockets, dispersing the attacking Zeon formation. Riddhe used the opening to cover their flank, laying down a spread of suppressing fire with his ReZEL’s vulcans and a second grenade shot into a clutter of Dra-Cs.

The impact detonated the ledge they were perched on, sending them tumbling into the void.

His sensors pinged again, new threats. Two Doven Wolves. Heavy units.

Riddhe snarled.

“Let’s dance.”

He jetted upward into a spiral climb, twisted midair, then descended in a corkscrew, avoiding their mega particle cannons by inches. Drawing his beam sabers again, he bisected one of them from shoulder to hip, the red light of the saber burning through alloy and pilot alike.

The second Doven Wolf turned to flee, but Riddhe transformed mid-motion and fired a full-powered beam cannon shot into its back, triggering its reactor and turning it into a plume of white-hot plasma.

Explosions echoed in every direction. The battlefield was madness.

As Riddhe hovered, scanning the horizon for his next target, his eyes narrowed beneath his visor.

“Where the hell are you, Zach?” he muttered, sweat trailing down his temple.

The hunt wasn’t over.

—--------

On the bridge of The Mori, the tension was razor-sharp.

“Report!” Captain Job John demanded, gripping the railing beside his command chair.

“Loto teams have secured breach point Delta. Jegans Alpha and Beta are advancing through corridor three,” Ernst relayed from the CIC.

“Enemy resistance?”

“Medium-to-heavy. They’re starting to rally.”

“Keep pressure on their flanks. Order Daguza’s team to link up with ReZEL Romeo-8 and clear out the southern edge of the docking facility.”

“Yes, sir!”

Job turned toward the massive panoramic monitor. Palau’s structure floated just ahead, battered, burning, breaking. The Hyper-Mega Particle Cannon had carved a devastating wound through the asteroid’s outer plate.

“Charge capacitor banks. Prep the cannons for attack,” he ordered.

“Already cycling, Captain. Ninety seconds until full charge,” replied Mitakule.

From her station, Mineva watched quietly, hands clenched into trembling fists. Emily glanced over and placed a reassuring hand on her arm.

“It’s gonna be okay, Mineva,” she whispered.

Mineva didn’t answer. Her gaze never left the burning asteroid.

Outside, The Mori’s catapults launched fresh mobile suit teams into the void, thrusters blazing. The flagship moved like a predator through the asteroid field, weaving past broken debris and enemy wreckage.

The fight for Palau was just beginning.

And the Mori was at the heart of the storm.

—------

“Head to hangar port 12C—we have to launch some of our mobile suits!” barked a female mechanical officer as she floated swiftly down the corridor, her voice sharp and commanding over the clamor of evacuation sirens and warning klaxons echoing through the asteroid base.

“We can’t reach that section, ma’am!” one of her subordinates shouted, stabilizing himself with a handrail as the hallway trembled underfoot. “There’s a depressurization alert in the connecting shaft!”

“Then reroute through the main bay!” she snapped, not missing a beat. She turned to the rest of her crew. “Everyone else, head to hangar port 14D, we need to transfer the Unicorn to the Rewloola, now!”

With sharp salutes, the crew obeyed and peeled off into the appropriate corridors, unaware that a figure trailing silently behind them was not one of their own. Cloaked in a borrowed crew uniform, Zachary Mass blended into the chaos, his face half-shadowed by his helmet’s visor.

‘Hangar port 14D,’ he repeated in his thoughts. His lips curled into a faint smirk.

As the last of the group disappeared into an adjacent shaft, Zach peeled away from the main path. With a soft burst of psychokinetic propulsion, he lifted off the deck and floated down another corridor, silent as a ghost. Moments later, he emerged into the cavernous expanse of the hangar nestled within the asteroid. The chamber buzzed with frantic energy, technicians shouting orders, loading cranes shifting cargo, suits being prepped for deployment.

But his eyes locked immediately onto one sign near the far end of the hangar.

14D.

Without hesitation, Zach pushed off the floor and shot toward it, weaving through shadows cast by towering mobile suit frames and stacks of cargo. He kept low, hovering silently between suspended walkways and control platforms. Every movement was calculated. Every breath is measured.

No flightpack. Can’t let them see me. They’ll start asking questions.

When he arrived at hangar port 14D, the sight before him made his breath catch for just a moment.

There it was.

The Unicorn.

It stood proudly in its MS cage, a radiant white war machine with a single, gleaming horn. Its armor shimmered under the artificial lights, and its presence alone radiated power. Surrounding it were mechanics and engineers moving with urgent purpose, trying to secure it for transfer. Two Geara Zulu units stood guard, their weapons raised in alert posture.

Zach’s eyes narrowed.

This was his moment.

Like a silver streak, he darted forward, cloaking his approach with a psychic veil. No one noticed him until it was too late. As he neared the mobile suit, a strange pulse ran through the air.

The Unicorn moved.

Its optics suddenly flared to life, vivid green light pouring from its visor, and the cockpit slid open with a hiss of decompressing pressure. A violent blast of air rocketed outward, sending startled mechanics tumbling through the hangar as if an unseen force had flung them aside.

Startled cries filled the chamber.

Zach didn’t stop.

He bolted into the open cockpit and landed in the pilot’s seat with a grunt. The hatch slammed shut behind him just as the first bullets began to fly.

Inside, the panoramic cockpit came to life, surrounding him in light and data. He gripped the linear seat's armrests, taking a breath as he grounded himself.

“That was nerve-wracking,” he muttered.

The console lit up with cascading system checks. In the center of the screen, letters appeared.

RX-0 Unicorn Unit 1
Pilot: Zachary Mass

Zach’s gaze hardened as the monitor panned to show a swarm of soldiers and guards surrounding the mobile suit. With a flick of his fingers, he pushed down on the foot pedals and shoved the right lever forward.

The Unicorn jerked, but didn’t move far. Alarms blared inside the cockpit.

Locked.

The suit was still clamped by its MS cage, its limbs shackled, the shoulders anchored, and its legs bolted to the deck.

Zach’s jaw clenched.

“Charming,” he muttered with sarcasm, increasing pressure on the controls.

The Unicorn’s shoulders groaned. Hydraulic lines hissed. Metal strained.

The guards reacted. The Geara Zulus raised their rifles and took aim. Mechanics scrambled to retreat, sensing imminent disaster.

A sharp crack rang through the chamber, the left arm restraint shattered, shards of metal flying. One fragment struck a Geara Zulu square in the head camera, knocking it off balance. Another lock broke loose and hit a nearby toolbox, scattering its contents and sending a few workers diving for cover.

A beam rifle echoed as the second Geara Zulu fired.

Zach threw the thrusters into overdrive. The Unicorn surged violently, breaking the remaining locks on its legs. Flames belched from its back as the mobile suit lunged forward like a beast unchained.

The cockpit rattled as Zach yanked the right lever. The Unicorn’s psycho-sword deployed from its right arm, its blade gleaming. In a heartbeat, he drove the sword deep into the enemy mobile suit’s torso.

The Geara Zulu shuddered and went limp.

Zach didn’t hesitate.

His left arm fired beam stinger rounds that tore into the chest of the already disabled Zulu, ensuring it would not rise again.

Sparks and smoke filled the hangar.

Soldiers fired at him from all sides now, some shouting orders, others screaming in panic. Mechanics were floating or crawling away from the blast zone.

Zach’s eyes narrowed. At first, he was considering firing on them, but he quickly threw that thought out of his mind.

‘No use on firing on those who can’t defend themselves.’ He muttered to himself before checking his ammo reserves and E-Pack capacity for the beam stingers, ‘Besides, I’m low on E-Pack charge.’

“Tch.” He hissed before turning away from the soldiers.

He activated the foot thrusters and lifted the Unicorn from the hangar floor, flames bursting from the back and feet. With a blinding flash, he soared toward the exit.

The asteroid’s docking bay doors loomed ahead—freedom just seconds away.

But then—

A flicker of crimson caught his eye.

A red mobile suit sat idle in a cage on the adjacent port, its armor polished like obsidian, with gold trim that shimmered under the hangar lights. Its frame exuded a sleek menace. And on the side of the cage, engraved in bold white lettering:

MSN-06S Sinanju

Zach’s breath caught. The legendary suit of the Sleeves’ commander. Its silent presence was like a blade in the dark. Not to mention beside it stood the quad-wing, NZ-666 Kshatriya

Mechanics tending to the Sinanju froze in place, staring wide-eyed at the Unicorn.

Zach ignored them.

Instead, his gaze shifted to the Sinanju’s weapon rack. The beam rifle. The shield. The bazooka. Fully stocked and untouched.

An idea sparked.

A bold, reckless, brilliant idea.

“…That could work.”

His fingers gripped the controls tightly as he set his sights on the Sinanju’s equipment bay. Sparks still danced around him. Bullets pinged off the hangar walls. But Zach was no longer thinking about escape.

He’s thinking of handicapping the Sleeves.

—-----

Full Frontal stood in the center of the command room nestled deep within Palau’s asteroid fortress, his imposing figure bathed in cold, artificial light. His signature red uniform was immaculate, though the lower part of his face bore recent signs of injury, thin surgical stitches trailing from his jaw to his neck, evidence of a battle too close for comfort. The iconic mask covering the upper half of his face gleamed faintly under the overhead lights, obscuring the unreadable expression beneath.

To his right stood Captain Suberoa Zinnerman, arms crossed and silent, his usual stoicism etched even deeper into his battle-worn features. Beside him stood Marida Cruz, her eyes sharp and focused, like a blade drawn but not yet swung. Around them gathered several high-ranking Neo Zeon officials, the tension in the room thick enough to suffocate.

Normally, Frontal would be flanked by his personal guard, Angelo Sauper foremost among them, but the fiery lieutenant was under strict medical observation following his injuries. For now, Frontal stood alone, commanding the room with presence, not muscle.

“What is the current status of the battlefield?” he asked, his voice calm and resonant, slicing through the overlapping shouts and chatter like a drawn saber.

The room quieted instantly.

One officer stepped forward, his hands trembling as he gripped the edge of the console. “Sir… we’ve lost two of our Endra-class vessels. Taken down by a single ReZEL. And… ECOAS infiltration teams have breached our lower hangar sectors using compact mobile suits.”

Frontal’s gaze did not shift, but the atmosphere tightened.

“What of the ‘Mock Trojan Horse’? Has its position been confirmed?” he asked, fingers lightly brushing the railing beside him.

Another officer, a young woman with her uniform rumpled and sweat staining her brow, shook her head. “No viable opportunity, sir. Its anti-air systems are holding off our forward elements. We can’t approach it without heavy losses, and the Jegan squadrons from the Earth Federation’s forward fleet have us locked down from deploying any of our prototype weaponry.”

“Tch. This is your fault, Captain Frontal!” one of the senior officials snapped from across the room, slamming his fist into the console. “This entire trap was your design, now we’re boxed in and bleeding!”

The room erupted into murmurs and unrest.

But Frontal raised a single hand.

“Peace, Commander Shokolov,” he said softly, with the quiet confidence of someone who saw beyond the present. “Everything is proceeding as needed. We now hold the Box’s key. These losses, regrettable though they may be, are not without purpose. All sacrifices must serve the greater plan.”

His words carried a chilling weight. Some officers visibly relaxed, while others remained uneasy, but none dared challenge him further.

Seeing an opening, Marida stepped forward and snapped a crisp salute. “Captain Frontal. With your permission… allow me to launch. I can buy time for our damaged fleet and draw away some of the enemy fire. My Kshatriya has been repaired and is standing by.”

Frontal turned slightly, nodding. “A prudent move, Lieutenant Marida. The battlefield will benefit from your presence.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied with conviction, offering a respectful nod to Zinnerman before turning to exit.

She barely took two steps before a console officer’s panicked voice rang out across the command center.

“Captain Frontal!”

All eyes turned.

The officer’s face was pale as he stared at the readings on his monitor. “The Unicorn… it’s activated. Someone got inside it. The guards were overwhelmed!”

Frontal’s brows narrowed behind his mask. “Explain.”

“The Gundam’s cockpit suddenly opened on its own. An individual, unidentified, flew into the cockpit, and it closed before we could stop him. He... overpowered the mobile suit locks, sir.”

Frontal’s voice sharpened. “What do you mean he overpowered them? I thought we used the cage with the gundanium locks?”

“They’re… gone. The restraints were broken. Smashed by the Unicorn’s own force output.”

“Where is it now?”

Another officer shouted from the adjacent terminal. “The Unicorn’s been spotted en route to hangar port 1A!”

There was a sharp intake of breath across the room.

“It’s heading straight toward the Sinanju and the Kshatriya!”

“What!?” multiple officers cried out in unison.

The primary monitor on the command platform lit up, and live footage from the surveillance drones appeared. The room fell into stunned silence.

Onscreen, the Unicorn stormed into the hangar, its green visor glowing like the eyes of a wrathful god. Without hesitation, it reached toward the Sinanju’s armament rack, gripping its beam rifle in one hand and the shield in the other.

Then, with unnerving precision—

BANG.

A beam shot erupted from the rifle, tearing through the Sinanju’s leg joint. The explosion threw debris across the hangar. Alarms wailed. Mechanics fled in terror.

CRASH.

The Unicorn raised the shield high and slammed it down into the Sinanju’s torso, then again into its head. Sparks and armor fragments burst outward with every blow, until the Sinanju’s proud visage was nothing more than a twisted, cratered ruin.

But it didn’t stop there.

Turning toward the newly refurbished Kshatriya, the Unicorn’s rifle barked again, blast after blast targeting the massive binders and exposed joints. Explosions rocked the mobile suit’s frame, knocking it backward like a crumpling tower.

Then the Unicorn turned, thrusters firing to full power. With one final blast, it destroyed the hangar doors and surged out into space, leaving behind the shattered remnants of Neo Zeon’s most iconic machines.

The room was dead silent.

Marida’s hands clenched into fists. Zinnerman looked away.

Frontal stood perfectly still. Then, after a long pause, he clicked his tongue softly.

“…Both the Sinanju and Kshatriya can be repaired.”

“But the key,” Zinnerman said quietly. “We just lost the Box’s key.”

Frontal didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the screen, the image of the fleeing Unicorn shrinking into the black void of space.

Then, slowly, he turned to the officers.

“Let them run. Let them think they’ve won.”

He stepped forward, his voice calm again, but with steel beneath it.

“Deploy a Musaka-class vessel. Tail the Mock Trojan Horse. Let them lead the Unicorn straight to us.”

His eyes narrowed beneath the mask.

“We are not out of the picture yet.”

—------

Riddhe grunted as a searing blast from an EWAC Zack obliterated his beam cannon, the proximity of the explosion scrambling his head camera with static.

"Damn it!"

He tore the rifle from his back and fired two precise shots at the EWAC Zack, sending the reconnaissance unit crashing in flames.

"This is Romeo-8 to Mori! We're getting overrun out here! Have we established contact with the target yet?"

Mihiro’s voice crackled through the comms, tense. "Romeo-8, negative. Still no word from ECOAS. Hold your ground, we’re coordinating backup."

A Jegan exploded in a fiery blast just beyond Riddhe’s viewport.

"We don't have ground to hold! There’s only five of us left out here!"

"Understood!"

Aboard the Mori, Job sat at his command chair, hands tapping on his armrest as he surveyed the rapidly deteriorating tactical display.

"Helm, bring us into support range. Begin suppression fire the moment we’re in position. Mihiro, transmit a priority message to the Loto team, if they’re delayed any further, we’re going to be torn apart. CIC, I want real-time data on all enemy movements."

He turned sharply toward the weapons station.

"Mitakule, concentrate the forward beam cannons on sector 15D. Fire at will. Launch a coordinated missile barrage."

"Aye, sir!"

The Mori glided forward like a leviathan, beam turrets igniting as they cut through enemy units. Panels slid open across the ship’s flanks, unleashing a salvo of guided missiles that spiraled toward the densest clusters of Neo Zeon forces. Explosions rocked the void.

Near Palau’s surface, Daguza and Conroy lay hidden with a Loto team, their eyes scanning the smoke-choked sky.

"Feels like cowardice just sitting here," Conroy muttered, adjusting the turret of his Loto.

"Our job is to retrieve the boy. Keep your head in the mission," Daguza replied evenly.

"Then where in hell is he? Taking a stroll through the asteroid?"

Before Daguza could respond, a white blur shot from the docking tunnels, scattering wreckage as it exploded through the hangar doors.

"There! That's the Unicorn!" Conroy shouted, zooming his sensors. The Unicorn gleamed beneath the fires of battle, its frame untouched, but now outfitted with the Sinanju's beam rifle and shield.

Daguza immediately opened a channel. "RX-0, this is Commander Daguza. Zach, report. Are you operational?"

A pause.

Then a voice returned, calm and composed. "Commander, this is Zachary Mass. I am unharmed and fully functional."

A collective exhale of relief followed as the Loto team deployed and formed a protective wedge around the Unicorn.

Conroy chimed in. "With all due respect, kid, where the hell were you?"

"Apologies, Sergeant," Zach replied, his voice clipped and slightly amused. "The asteroid’s interior proved more labyrinthine than anticipated. Additionally, I was forced to appropriate certain... assets from my gracious hosts."

He gestured subtly with the Sinanju’s armaments.

"You downed the Sinanju?" Daguza asked, astonished.

"Disabled, not destroyed," Zach clarified. "Along with the quad-wing unit. Their restoration, however, will demand significant time and resources."

"Hah! Not bad, kid," Conroy smirked. "Could’ve used that firepower five minutes ago."

Daguza cut in. "All units, this is Commander Daguza. Objective secured. Repeat, we have retrieved Zachary Mass. The Unicorn is under our control."

On the Mori’s bridge, cheers erupted. Margo covered her mouth in disbelief. Emily blinked back tears, and even Liam allowed a rare smile. Mineva, silent, clasped her hands with visible relief.

"They made it," Emily whispered.

Riddhe, still weaving between enemy fire, laughed. "About time!"

"All mobile units, prepare for extraction!" Job ordered. "Cover the Lotos and Unicorn at all costs."

The Mori’s beam turrets and missile pods resumed firing in controlled volleys.

As the Lotos and the Unicorn made their way toward the ship, Zach suddenly shouted, "Evasive maneuvers!"

He dove, dragging two Lotos with him just as a blast vaporized the space where they had been. From below, a fresh squad of Dreissens and Geara Dogas surged upward, blocking their route.

"Multiple hostiles ahead! We’re cut off!" a Loto pilot cried.

Daguza’s voice rang clear. "Then we carve the path ourselves!"

Zach's beam rifle barked. A Dreissen exploded in his path as he weaved past, returning fire, his shield intercepting a volley of spinning remote weapons before he crushed them with an energy axe embedded in the Sinanju's shield.

He dove into the enemy vanguard like a vengeful specter, tearing through the Neo Zeon formation with merciless grace.

Behind him, the Lotos fired from cover, picking off targets. A Gaza-D aimed its bazooka—

—but a thrown beam saber pierced its core.

Riddhe’s ReZEL soared into view.

"Good to see you, Unicorn. How’s Palau?"

Zach exhaled through a smirk. "Charming, in the way of dungeons."

"That bad, huh?"

"Not entirely. The people were... civil."

"Cut the chatter," Daguza ordered. "Focus on extraction."

"Understood," both replied.

On the Mori’s bridge, Job watched the monitor. "Launch blind missiles. Create a corridor."

Liam relayed the command. "Fire them at staggered intervals, maximize the confusion."

Eight missiles launched. They streaked across the void, then detonated in blinding flashes, saturating the enemy sensors.

"All units accounted for," Emily announced.

"Helm, burn every thruster. Get us the hell out of here."

"Aye, Captain."

The Mori twisted sharply, its side engines firing in sequence. The main thrusters roared to life, and the ship rocketed away from Palau, bearing its surviving crew, and the recovered Unicorn, into the stars.

—--------

“What’s the status of our fighting forces?” Full Frontal asked from the command deck of the Rewloola, his voice calm, but edged with frost.

The officers gathered in the dimly lit command room glanced at one another before one of them stepped forward. The battle was over, at least for now. Thirty minutes had passed since the Mori’s raid, the escape of the Unicorn, and the loss of the Key. Full Frontal had already ordered a full evacuation of Neo Zeon forces from Palau, and now they were taking stock of what remained.

“We lost approximately forty-five percent of our forces stationed at the Palau stronghold, Captain,” the officer reported grimly, “Additionally, both the Sinanju and the Kshatriya sustained severe damage. Repairs will be extensive.”

Frontal let out a contemplative hum, his crimson eyes narrowing.

He turned to the open channel with the Garencieres. “Can your crew handle the Kshatriya’s repairs on your own, Captain Zinnerman?”

Zinnerman appeared on the monitor, arms folded, his face tired, but resolute. “Yes, sir, my men are already at work. They estimate it will take a few days, assuming no complications.”

His gaze drifted briefly to the side, where Marida stood quietly.

“Understood,” Frontal said, nodding once, “For now, the task of retrieving the Unicorn will fall to you. I will dispatch support ships to assist while you pursue the mock Trojan Horse.”

Zinnerman snapped a salute. “Acknowledged, sir.”

The channel closed. Silence lingered on the bridge of the Garencieres. Marida turned to leave, but Zinnerman’s voice stopped her.

“Marida.”

“Yes, Master?” she replied instinctively, her voice soft.

Zinnerman let out a sigh, rolling his eyes. “You know I hate when you call me that.”

She looked at him, her expression unreadable.

“Are you alright?” he asked, gentleness breaking through his usual gruffness.

“Yes,” she answered too quickly.

He chuckled, but it was hollow. “That’s how I know you’re not. Talk to me, Marida. What’s weighing on you?”

Marida hesitated, then looked down, biting her lip. She exhaled slowly. “It’s… It’s nothing serious. I’m just worried about the Princess.”

Zinnerman’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t trust Frontal to ensure her safety, do you?”

Marida nodded. “No, we’re going after the ship she’s on. If we engage, there’s no telling what could happen. One stray shot could rip through her quarters. It terrifies me.”

Zinnerman placed a large, calloused hand atop her head. “You’re right to be cautious. But listen, during the One Year War, there were tales of the White Base with the White Devil turning the tide. Legends forged in fire. If we are witnessing that return, the ship will be fine.”

She nodded slightly, her shoulders still tense.

He continued, voice softening. “Besides, that boy, the one who took the Unicorn, you met him, didn’t you? From what I can tell looking at the kid, he’d throw himself into a star to protect that ship. The Princess is in good hands.”

Marida’s lips trembled. “The boy…” she said slowly.

Zinnerman raised an eyebrow. “What do you think of him? Gilboa and his wife said he’s polite, maybe a bit too polished.”

There was a pause. “To be quite honest, Captain? He scares me.”

Zinnerman blinked. “Scares you?”

“Yes,” she said, voice barely above a whisper, “You know how Newtypes can sense one another?”

He nodded silently.

“When I was near him… it felt like I was standing in the middle of a void, but there was a light, brilliant and blinding. It was warm, but it burned, too. Like he’s trying to hide something vast and terrible.”

“Even back in Industrial 7, he looked so emotionless, but underneath all that is something powerful.”

She looked up at him, eyes shimmering. “He’s trying to contain it, to lock it away, but even his restraint can’t dim that light.”

“Like lightning in a bottle,” Zinnerman said softly.

Marida tilted her head. “Lightning… in a bottle?”

He smiled gently. “You try to trap lightning, but the bottle always breaks. Power like that doesn’t stay caged.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “I don’t think I can beat him. If it comes to that…”

Zinnerman’s heart clenched. She had never doubted herself before, not when facing death, not even when he found her in that dreadful place. Now, she was breaking.

He stepped forward, pulling her into a gentle embrace. “Marida, I don’t understand all this Newtype stuff. But I do know you. You’re strong. You’re brave. And you don’t have to face him alone.”

She buried her face in his chest, her tears soaking into his uniform. He held her tighter.

“All of us on the Garencieres, we’ve got your back. Whatever happens, we’re with you.”

Outside the bridge, Gilboa and Alec approached, chatting quietly. They stopped when they saw the scene inside, Zinnerman and Marida, locked in an unspoken moment of tenderness.

Gilboa held out a hand, halting the others.

“Let them be,” he said quietly, “They need this.”

Without a word, the crew turned away, floating down the corridor in silence, leaving the surrogate father and daughter alone in the stillness, bound together by something stronger than blood.

—-------

Zach floated towards his assigned quarters in silence, the events of the day slowly bearing down on him like the crushing weight of gravity in freefall. His body moved on instinct, allowing his mind to guide his flight to his quarters. The moment he had disembarked from the Unicorn, the medical staff and support crew had practically ushered him straight to rest, disregarding standard protocol. No interrogation, no debriefing, just a soft bed and a quiet order to recover. It was a kindness wrapped in quiet awe, and perhaps, a bit of fear.

He turned a corner, his thoughts still spiraling, when he came face-to-face with a tall man. The stranger had a youthful but weathered face, his blonde hair neatly combed, and the unmistakable uniform of a ship’s captain clinging to his frame. The man smiled gently, the kind of expression worn by someone who had seen war, yet still believed in extending warmth.

“Zachary Mass,” the man greeted, his tone calm and welcoming. “My name is Job John, captain of this ship, the Mori, and a member of Londo Bell. I never had the chance to personally thank you for what you did today, for protecting this ship during Full Frontal’s assault.”

Job’s voice carried sincerity, even reverence. “Not to mention,” he added, “I didn’t visit you while you were in the infirmary. That was neglect on my part, and for that, I apologize.”

Zach inclined his head with a quiet, courtly grace and extended his hand. “The pleasure is mine, Captain John,” he replied in a composed and elevated tone. “I am grateful for your kind words, though I believe I merely performed my duty.”

They shook hands, a firm, steady grip between generations. Job’s expression shifted slightly, his eyes glancing down the corridor to ensure their privacy before speaking again.

“Now,” Job began, voice lowered to a near whisper, “before I let you head off to your quarters, I must offer my condolences for what happened to your father.”

Zach blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. He tilted his head slightly, his voice feigning genuine surprise. “My father? I must confess, Captain, I am unaware of his current whereabouts. Perhaps you are mistaken.”

Job chuckled softly, not in mockery, but in fond remembrance. “Kid, I served with your parents during the One Year War, aboard the White Base. I was one of your father’s wingmen in the Guncannon. Believe me, I know exactly who your family is.”

Zach’s composure faltered ever so slightly. His eyes softened, and he let out a gentle sigh. “Then I must beg your pardon, Captain John. It was only a matter of time before the truth came to light. And forgive me, but your name did not strike familiarity at once.”

Job leaned against the corridor wall, the gentle curve of a nostalgic smile playing at the corners of his lips. There was no bitterness, only quiet acceptance.

“So they don’t talk about us much, huh?” he asked, his voice tinged with melancholy. “The White Base crew. Those days.”

Zach shook his head slowly. “No, sir. My parents did not often speak of the war. Whenever I inquired, they would deflect, claiming the past was better left undisturbed. I daresay it was too steeped in pain and sorrow.”

Job looked away briefly, his gaze drifting to the floor as if recalling distant memories painted in blood and fire. “Can’t say I blame them,” he murmured. “If I ever have a kid someday, I doubt I’d want to tell them about the things I’ve done either. There’s glory in war stories, sure, but there’s also shame, and sorrow, and people you never got to say goodbye to.”

The silence between them stretched, but it wasn’t awkward. It was reflective.

“Still,” Job continued, looking Zach in the eye again, “you being here, fighting like you did, it’s like seeing a ghost walking beside us. Your father would’ve been proud. So would your mother.”

Zach’s expression softened, a faint, elegant smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll try to live up to that… even if I don’t entirely understand what that means yet.”

Job nodded, straightening up and patting the boy’s shoulder gently. “None of us ever really do, not until the fighting’s long over. Rest up, Zachary. You’ve earned it. I hate to say it since I'm prettty much like Bright Noa, but we’ll need you again before long and we resupply at Side 6.”

But just before he turned to leave, Job asked one final question, his voice laced with wary curiosity. “Full Frontal… is that really him?”

Zach's gaze hardened. “No. His presence is nigh similar,” he said coldly. “But no, it is not my uncle.”

With a final nod, Job drifted down the corridor, his figure receding into the muted light of the ship’s interior. Zach watched him go, the weight in his chest both heavier and somehow lighter. 

He resumed his path toward his quarters, passing crew members who offered congratulations and admiration. He acknowledged them with only a courteous nod, never breaking stride. When he finally reached the door to his quarters, a faint tremor in the air caught his attention.

He turned to his right.

“Mineva Lao Zabi,” he greeted curtly.

Mineva landed lightly beside him, her emerald eyes meeting his with quiet intensity.

“Zachary Mass… if that even is your real name?”

The door slid open behind them, but neither moved. The corridor was silent.

Zach met her gaze without blinking, the glow of the psychoframe still faintly echoing in his pupils.

Then, with deliberate calm, he replied:

“And what, Princess, would you have me say?”

The both of them stood there in the hallway, the tension of the silence as palpable as the vacuum outside the hull, unspoken histories hanging between them like suspended dust in zero gravity.