Mobile Suit Gundam Alpha (Revise) (2024)

Juno System
July 1, GC 379

It seemed as though a new dawn had emerged across the Juno System. Initially beginning as a series of much smaller explosions, the colony laser erupted into pure white, washing over all surrounding space with the force of a tidal wave. The glare was such that those nearby, whether Federation or Zeon, were forced to shield their eyes, even when their respective viewscreens attempted to adjust. This was followed by a great shockwave, generated from the laser's detonating core, that blasted through space with the effect of a thunderclap, slamming into mobile suits and capital ships alike. Though none in the outer reaches perished from the wave, nor was critical damage incurred, its effect on those commencing the Battle of Juno would not be dismissed.

And then, all at once, it was over. In a short period, the field of white faded and was replaced with open space once more; only the black void remained where the colony laser had once been, such that no remains or debris could be seen. Even the laser's escort ships were no longer present, as those that had somehow survived Unit Gamma's onslaught had ended up giving into their wounds upon the shockwave. Seemingly, all that remained of the mighty Zeon superweapon was a thick pocket of radiation fading away due to the space's vacuum effect, alongside the free-floating form of Unit Alpha, which had been badly damaged from being near the detonation but by no means destroyed.

Thus, with their final attack neutralized, the Zeon, one after another, began to realize what they had universally grown to fear. Despite their earlier success, the battle was now lost.

Zeon Rewloola-class battlecruiser Rwaden
Juno System

Slumping back into his ruined command chair, Delaz, and the Rwaden's surviving bridge crew could only look on in pure shock as the last remnant of the laser's detonation burned out. It was impossible; they all knew the defensive power of the laser and that it should have taken at least an entire fleet to break through and obliterate it. There should have been no way for what they had just witnessed to occur, yet it had happened anyway, right in front of them like a sign from God. A single mobile suit had just destroyed a superweapon the size of a space colony, and it had done so with only one shot.

And as Delaz slowly realized over his astonishment, his last hope of delivering a finishing blow to Wakkein and his task force had also died out. The laser had been his last card to play; without it, he had nothing else to throw at the Federation rabble. And although he, too, would survive for at least a few moments longer because of it, that fact hardly registered to Delaz as the despair began to weigh in. He had failed his mission and His Imperial Majesty's will.

No sooner than the realization sank in did the cries of fear and death from both the mobile suit forces and the capital ships begin ringing out over the Rwaden's barely functioning comm system once more, signifying the reemerging state of the battle. With the colony laser destroyed, nothing was holding the Feddies back from pressing the full offensive, and Delaz's fleet had taken far too much damage to hold the tide. Though the sensors showed that his fleet was still fighting, a testament to the will of the Zeon soldiers, they were too exhausted and demoralized to put up little more than token resistance. Thus, one after another, the green dots were being blotted out by the swarming blue dots as the Feddies mounted their charge.

"Admiral," the captain breathed from his chair, struggling to overcome his wound long enough to speak. "We must withdraw."

Delaz sighed at that. Despite its inevitability, the idea felt like acid against his skin, and it took every ounce of will not to slam his fist into a nearby console. The few surviving bridge crewmen could only watch as Delaz's face marred between outrage and resignation.

"How will we apologize to His Majesty?" the Rwaden's XO, whose face had been viciously burned from an exploding console but was very much alive, grimly asked.

"Leave that to me," Delaz replied as he clasped his hands together, placing his bald forehead against them. Slowly but surely, the resignation was winning over outrage. "I am the only one who must apologize to His Majesty."

With that, he looked up again, clear resolution in his eyes. "Engine status?" he asked toward the helm.

The helmsman quickly reviewed the data. "Main engines are back online, but only at marginal power," he reported. The warp drive remains on standby."

Delaz nodded. There was no other course now. "Signal all ships," he ordered plainly and regrettably. "Prepare to retreat."

Federation Lexington-class fleetcarrier Ark Royal
Juno System

"Impossible," an anonymous crewmember breathed as the flash, at last, died out; all the while, the Ark Royal's entire bridge crew looked on.

Standing up from his chair, Bright could not keep himself from taking several steps toward the main viewport. His eyes widened with shock and completely fixed upon the area of space where the colony laser had been. In all of his experience during this war, he had never seen such an event; a single mobile suit accomplished what would have taken a whole fleet to do with only a single shot right after it had slaughtered a whole Zeon force almost as singlehandedly, such that it had allowed the Federals to reorganize and relaunch their offensive, which was continuing even now against the Zeon.

Bright quickly realized that Lieutenant Ray and Unit Alpha had done far more than slaughter the Zeon wholesale and then cost them their prized superweapon. That single white mobile suit had shifted the entire tide of the battle; what should have been a sound defeat had been transformed into a true victory, even a pyrrhic one, in which the Zeon were completely decimated and Juno, while still lost, had been fully avenged. A single mobile suit had made more difference in this battle than an entire fleet or a Zeon wonderweapon.

Bright could not believe it for his life, even after all that he had seen. How could one mobile suit provide such a difference? How could one unit, no matter how advanced it was, bring such a level of destruction that it changed the whole outcome? Granted, the other Earth units hadn't been ineffective, and Sleggar and Lieutenant Mass in Unit Beta and Unit Gamma apiece had also been responsible for much of the dead Zeon. Yet it was Unit Alpha that had shifted everything, forced the initially driving Zeon on the defensive while allowing Wakkein's force to retake the offensive, and then blown out Delaz's last gambit before the damage could be done. As such, Bright could only ponder how a single Gundam could accomplish such a feat.

Or perhaps it's not the Gundam's power to begin with, but rather Lieutenant Ray's? That thought alone disturbed Bright on a level that no Zeon atrocity or miraculous turn of events could have done.

Omar's voice quickly broke Bright out of his trance. "Captain, I'm showing multiple vector changes on the remaining Zeon ships," he reported, his voice now triumphant. "They're recovering their mobile suits."

Mirai and the rest of the crew immediately caught on. "They're retreating," Mirai surmised, sighing relief.

Returning to his chair, Bright quickly engaged his holodisplay, which showed a system-wide scan of the battle. Indeed, the Zeon were retreating; their ships, or at least the ones that could still move, were all turning away toward an outbound vector, with the stricken Rwaden leading the herd. The remaining mobile suits were also abandoning the field and returning to whatever ship was nearby, with a few brave units choosing to forgo escape and keep the advancing Guncannons off of their comrades. Moments later, the Zeon ships began going to warp speed, one after another, until the last capable ship was well on its way back to Zeon.

Of course, only the ships could still go to warp. As Bright saw, there were still a fair amount of enemy warships in the system, which, for whatever reason, could not escape. Some chose to turn around toward an outbound vector anyway and try running for it on sub-warp engines. In contrast, others decided to hold one last stand against the Federals, all with the remaining mobile suits being divided between either. Whatever the decision the Zeon made, Wakkein's ships closed in for the kill regardless, and by the Admiral's order, no quarter was to be given.

"Shall we aid in mopping up the remnants?" Mirai asked, effectively speaking for the rest of the crew. Despite their collective exhaustion, they were all still willing to continue fighting on their captain's word.

After some consideration, Bright sat back in his chair. "No, that won't be necessary," Bright said, then brought up a holoscreen of Juno's remnants. We've done all we could to avenge the Junoans, as well as our comrades in arms," he spoke solemnly.

He then flashed a small grin toward Mirai. "Besides, we still have the Admiral's flagship under tow, remember?" he spoke slyly. "We can't risk the Zeon going after it."

Mirai nodded with a grin of her own before turning around. "Drop to one-fourth engine power and begin recalling our mobile suit units," she ordered, causing the crew to return to their duties. "We're standing down from combat operations!"

Bright then turned over to Kikka. "Status on Shrike Three?" he inquired.

Kikka quickly reviewed the data. After a second, she breathed a sigh of relief. "Shrike Three's IFF signal is still active, as are Lieutenant Ray's vitals," she replied. Shrike Two is moving to recover."

"Very well," Bright replied before turning back to face forward. Again bringing up his holodisplay, he centered on Unit Alpha's battered form floating freely in space while its crimson sibling, Unit Gamma, moved over it. Then, lifting its right arm over its shoulder, the red Gundam began to pull its comrade away, moving slowly and steadily back toward the Ark Royal's direction.

Seeing this, Bright felt a large weight settle on his stomach. As much as he was glad to see that Lieutenant Ray, a fellow Federal Forces officer, had indeed survived the battle and was returning home, the captain could not help but feel disturbed.

Disturbed that what he had just witnessed, whether by the Gundam's hand or Amuro Ray's, was the first of many events.

Federation Montana-class battlecruiser Magellan
Juno System

An hour had passed since the last Zeon ships had been exterminated. As a result, a solemn calm had settled throughout the Earth fleet, which remained flying over the outlying space of Juno in a silent vigil of sorts. Arrayed in a pseudo-Naval Review level formation, the battered and beaten Federation ships flew over the remnants of their base world in a final pass-over for the friends, families, comrades, and citizenry that had been lost. Though this potentially left the fleet open for attack, none of the ship crews were concerned; they all knew the Zeon were not coming back, and even if they were, it wouldn't have stopped them.

Within his ruined office aboard the Magellan, which by now was mostly back online and leading the impromptu procession, Wakkein slowly and quietly looked over the list of names on his computer monitor. Seemingly endless in scope, the list held the name of every citizen on Juno alongside the Earth personnel garrisoned there, all in an overlapping stream of blue lettering against a black background; the names of the men, women, and children that he had failed to defend, all due to a simple miscalculation. Men, women, and children had been slaughtered for the crime of existence.

So many names... Wakkein thought bitterly as his eyes continued to gleam over the list. It wasn't very sensible to him; an entire collection of human lives described in a listing of two or three words apiece. He could not tell what their owners were in life, whether they were citizens of Juno or members of the Federal Forces, whether they were young, old, or middle-aged. He did not know their occupations, politics, likes, dislikes, hopes, and dreams. He did not even know if they had lived their lives happily. He only knew, or at least tried to understand, their names and nothing more.

Feeling the futility of it all, Wakkein took a break and leaned back in his chair, taking off his commissar cap to wipe the sweat from his brow. It had been a long time since he had felt so run down; as many battles as he had seen like this one, the loss of countless innocent lives alongside the men and women who served under him was something he could never take easily. Even when Wakkein knew, as an Admiral and the commander of Earth's Second Fleet, he had to move away from this sooner than others, lest those still depended on him suffer from his demeanor. Whoever said flag rank was worth sh*t was an enlistee.

As if on cue, the door buzzer went off. Wakkein sighed in response as he put his cap on and readjusted himself; at least he could make one thing right today. "Enter."

With that, the door slid open, and Bright Noa stepped through. Seeing the Ark Royal's captain again, Wakkein let out a flat smile. "You disobeyed my orders, Commander," he said. "You disobeyed them twice over."

Bright raised an eyebrow. "Twice?" he asked.

"At the beginning," Wakkein clarified. "You were specifically ordered not to launch until the command was given."

Bright felt his right hand fold into a fist. "With respect, Admiral, if I hadn't launched, my crew and I would be among those names you're reading now."

A minute surprise formed on Wakkein's face as he looked back toward his monitor. He then let a smirk fold upon his face. "And yet you jeopardized your ship and crew by disobeying me the second time. When I ordered you to get your ass out of the firing zone."

This time, Bright shrugged. "Breakdown in communications, sir."

"No doubt," Wakkein dryly replied before leaning back in consideration. "Normally, Commander, I would put your ass in a sling over such insubordination, but I think we can forgo that this time."

Feeling the tension drain away, the captain dared flash a smirk of his own. "I'm sure there will be other opportunities, sir. After all, there could always be another Arcturus..."

Wakkein's jovialness quickly vanished. "I hope you're not digging for an apology, Commander."

"Not at all, sir," Bright replied. "I'm just pointing out that you may still get your chance to bring me in," he said before regaining his smirk. "The future, after all, is uncertain. As is my career."

"Heh." the Admiral laughed lightly at that notion. For such a straight-laced officer, Bright Noa could be funny when he wanted. "I'll say this much, Commander: you are not the man some have made you out to be. The man I thought you were."

A knowing look quickly entered Wakkein's eye. "As ironic as it may sound, I now understand why Admiral Revil gave you the Ark Royal."

A more genuine smile formed on Bright Noa's lips at that. "I'll take that as a compliment, sir."

Wakkein nodded in acknowledgment and then rose from his chair. "Since we effectively lost this sector, there's no other choice but to take the flock back to Cadmus," he said as he stepped around his desk, looking toward the screen behind it, which displayed a star map. I assume you're continuing to Earth?"

"Those are my orders, Admiral," Bright replied. "Though I need to get the Ark Royal repaired first."

"How bad off is she?" Wakkein asked.

"Not as damaged as she could have been, but still enough to warrant a few days in drydock," Bright answered. "You know how Zeon is with Lexingtons."

Hearing that, Wakkein turned back toward the map. After a moment, he tapped his finger on a particular star system. "Golan III will do you well then," he explained. "It's not too far off and has docks large enough for a fleetcarrier."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir," Bright answered as he looked at the Golan System on the map.

It was then another voice chimed in over the intercom. "Bridge to Admiral Wakkein."

Wakkein quickly tapped a switch on his desk. "Wakkein here."

The voice on the other end explained, "The fleet has completed its orbit around Juno. All ships are standing by for your command."

Taking a small breath at that, Wakkein answered. "Standby bridge, I'll be heading up soon. Wakkein out." Turning off the intercom, he faced back to Bright. "Well, I guess now's the time."

He then looked back toward his monitor. Even though it was facing away from him now, Wakkein could still see the various names scrolling through his mind. "As much as it still hurts, we've done all we can for them." he continued, his voice retaining the earlier solemnity. "Now, all that's left is to let them rest."

Bright was about to comment but stopped short at the last moment. It was not his place to say such things to a superior officer. "I better return to my ship then," he said before looking at Wakkein again and saluting. "Despite all that's happened, both before and during the battle, it's been an honor Admiral."

Wakkein smiled as he returned the salute. "The feeling's mutual, Bright," he said, reaching his hand out, which Bright took. "Good luck."

"You as well, sir," Bright said before turning around and moving to exit the office.

Before he reached the door, however, Wakkein spoke up again. "One last thing, Commander," the Admiral started, causing Bright to stop. "How did you know about the laser?"

"Sir?" Bright questioned.

"You didn't launch your ship at random," Wakkein clarified.

Bright carefully pondered his answer. "It was the only logical explanation for Delaz's strategy. Why would he leak his intent to 'invade' Juno to draw you and the Second Fleet out? Why assault the planet two days early when your force could still intercept? It would have all been suicidal if Delaz intended to capture Juno, but not if he wanted to destroy it..." he then gazed knowingly toward the Admiral. "Along with you and your fleet in the same motion."

The Admiral arced an eyebrow at that. Despite the Commander's explanation, he had a strange feeling that Bright was hiding something. However, he decided not to press it. "In short, you had a hunch."

Bright bit his lip. "I guess you could put it that way, sir."

Again, Wakkein let out a light laugh. "One hell of a hunch," he muttered, waving the captain off. "Pleasant journey, Commander."

"Thank you, sir," Bright replied before finally exiting.

Federation Lexington-class fleetcarrier Ark Royal
Juno System

It's almost beautiful. Sayla thought as she gazed over Juno's remnants from the Ark Royal's observation deck. Over an hour since the planet's destruction, the world's larger fragments had settled into a stable holding zone, forming an asteroid field that was presently around Juno's original size but was ever-expanding. Beyond those asteroids, the abstract dust particles also expanded, creating a multi-colored cloud that shone against the light of the star Juno, glistening against the backdrop of space like a jewel-engraved tapestry. Indeed, it would have been beautiful had it not entailed the demise of an entire world.

That thought alone made Sayla lower her head as she felt tears threaten to reemerge. Juno had been celebrating its anniversary only a few hours ago, marking the seventieth year since the world was first colonized; seventy years of hard struggle that had been rewarded with the progression into a firmly developed society of freedom and plenty. It was all gone; with a single beam of light and a fiery explosion, Juno's story came to a close. Its history ended, its culture destroyed, and its people, save for those who were fortunate enough to be offworld, extinct. And all that remained of it now was what Sayla saw before her, what she found herself almost believing beautiful: a collection of free-floating rocks and minerals marking where the planet had once orbited. The only remaining marker of a once proud civilization.

And the worst part was that Sayla knew too well that it would soon be forgotten. The galaxy would continue as it always did. Still, it would do so without even the memory of the Junoans, who were but one world amongst millions upon millions, many of which had already suffered the same destruction or would suffer the same destruction before the war was done. Eventually, the other worlds would forget the tragedy that had taken place here; the people may feel sorrow for all that was lost and rage toward those who committed the atrocity for a time, but eventually, it would be put aside for newer events, and with it, the memory of Juno's presence would slowly but surely vanish like the flare of a sun. It would be as if Juno and its people never existed, a fate that many worlds would share to come.

All because of Sayla's civilization. The very empire her ancestors had founded so long ago.

"I'm sorry..." the Gundam pilot quietly cried out as a tear ran down her cheek. Slowly but surely, she gave way to emotions, letting the rage and remorse bubble to the surface one last time. "I'm so sorry...!"

"Sayla," Sleggar called out as he entered the observation deck. Moving quietly, the Commander stood some distance behind his subordinate, doing well not to violate her personal space.

Sayla sniffed at that. By the timing of that call, he knew she would be there. "I suppose you're going to tell me it's not my fault?" she spoke almost derisively.

Despite the sting in her tone, Sleggar did not flinch. "I thought that was an obvious fact, but I can if you'd like," he said, his voice devoid of its usual lightheartedness. "Rather, I'm here to give you a shoulder to cry on."

He then considered that last statement. "Assuming your people willingly take to that kind of thing. Superhuman emotional control be damned."

"Heh." Sayla let out, unable to prevent herself from chuckling a little. Somehow, her commander could make even the most stonehearted people laugh despite any circ*mstance.

Taking that as close to an invitation as any, Sleggar closed the gap and came up beside her, his eyes on the Juno debris field. "It wasn't your fault," he said with utmost seriousness, despite Sayla's earlier outburst. "You had no more of a hand in this than anywhere else the Zeeks pillaged."

"That doesn't matter," Sayla countered, the tears still in her eyes. "I am Zeon."

"Yeah, and I am... I was American." Sleggar said as he reached out and wiped some of the tears away. "That doesn't make me responsible for Wounded Knee."

Incredulousness quickly entered Sayla's eyes. "How do you equate a wounded knee to that?" she demanded, vestiges of rage behind her voice.

Sleggar sighed at that. He could never get used to it, no matter how often it happened. "Wounded Knee was the name of a place. An ancient battleground of sorts," he clarified. "On December 20, 1890 AD, the 7th Calvary of my late country's army escorted a tribe of three hundred and fifty Lakota there and forced them to make camp. Sometime later, the 7th's commander, a heartless bastard named Forsyth, attempted to confiscate the Lakota's weapons. One thing led to another, and a fight broke out."

"That doesn't sound so horrible," Sayla commented. "Your army was attempting to pacify a highly aggressive people, and they were doing it without resorting to brutal measures."

Again, Sleggar sighed. He had to keep Sayla's background in mind. "Yeah, well, that didn't last long. Thinking the Lakota were uprising, the 7th proceeded to wipe out the tribe, women and children included. Out of a tribe of three hundred and fifty, only a few dozen stragglers survived."

Sleggar let out a breath as he went on. "And that's not even the worst. While a few Lakota attempted to fight back, the majority, especially the women and children, had attempted to flee to the plains. They were hunted down and slaughtered like elk."

Sayla said nothing to that as Sleggar's expression diminished. "A US Army detachment performed that massacre, just as a Zeon military detachment performed this massacre." he continued. "That doesn't make either of us guilty of mass murder."

Despite that claim, Sayla felt her fist tighten. "Even so..." she said, anger and sorrow returning to her voice. "It was still my people who did this..."

"I know," Sleggar replied, placing a hand on Sayla's shoulder. "But that doesn't mean you should take their crimes as your own. It will only drag you down until you can't get back up."

He then gave Sayla a reassuring smile. "Besides, you just fought a hard battle against the murderers, not to mention made the Nightmare of Solomon sh*t his pants," he said, waving a hand toward the debris field. "As far as I'm concerned, you've vindicated yourself to them."

Sayla said nothing to that, causing Sleggar to look at her with a corner glance. The sorrow was still there, but no more tears came. It was a slight improvement, but an improvement all the same. "You know there is an old custom from the part of Earth I came from," he continued after a brief moment of silence. "Upon death running its course, those gathered would take off their hats, place them against their hearts, and speak a prayer for the dead."

Sleggar smiled reassuringly. "While neither of us have Stetsons or even our commissar caps, you can still join me in making a prayer."

Sayla frowned in response. "You do realize what you're asking," she spoke dryly. "Having a Zeon pray to a God that may not even exist."

Despite her tone, Sleggar couldn't help but laugh a little. He was well aware of the universal agnosticism Zeon abided by. "Then don't pray to God per se," he said. "Just pray and believe whatever is out there is listening."

With that, Sleggar looked forward, closed his eyes, and slowly knelt his head. From that point on, he spoke nothing else verbally, instead reciting whatever prayer he gave in silence. He did not even clasp his hands in the standard form of prayer.

Sayla watched her commander for several more moments, now feeling uneasy from the display. Coming from a civilization that held for centuries that whatever, if any, superior power that lay beyond the stars was impossible to identify or determine, she couldn't help but feel out of place watching her fellow Gundam pilots act, even if she had seen it repeatedly since coming to the Federation. For her, it was almost like watching an ancient ritual of some primitive tribe, like an Earthen Native American dance or the Jewish practice of ta'anit. It was fascinating, perhaps even mystical, to watch, but it did not stack up to the scientific and philosophical logic and reason embraced by her culture.

However, just as Sayla was about to disregard the idea, she felt a certain memory enter her mind: the cathedral she had visited upon Juno and the priest she had met. Despite his faith, the priest had carried the tome written by one of her ancestors and had even said there was certain truth to its words. She also remembered that the priest himself had the same gifts that she held, alongside her brother and Lieutenant Ray. If such a being could keep his faith in God and yet embrace the words of another creed, then why couldn't she do something similar? Especially when it was toward a great and most noble cause?

As such, with great hesitance, Sayla slowly bowed her head and closed her eyes. And though she remained unsure that there was anything out there to listen to, she still called for peace and safe passage for the souls of Juno regardless. Alongside the strength to finish this war and, in the end, ensure no more worlds would suffer from her family's mistakes.

"Amuro!" the voice of Fraw Bow rang out from the other side of the door, seemingly in the distance. She was concerned, rightfully so; right after the battle had ended, Amuro had beelined straight for his quarters and sealed himself, not even changing out of his normal suit beforehand. Being well aware of Amuro's emotional deficiencies, the CMO could only suspect that the worst had occurred. "Amuro, are you alright!? Say something!"

Though he wanted to answer, he struggled to answer. Amuro, now stripped to his undershirt and boxers as his normal suit lay in a heap on the floor, couldn't find the power to do so. The screams, which remained abundant even after the battle had ended, continued to ring out in his mind, driving away every thought he had except for the last few moments of Juno's existence and its inhabitants' final thoughts and feelings. His eyes shut, and his teeth clenched. His exhausted body struggled and withed within the covers of his bed, trying all he might to force the screams back, but it was no use. Even if he had retained his strength, which the previous battle had nearly drained, the screams would only overpower every attempt to force them out. The result was, naturally, unrelenting pain.

Cries of his muffling from his lips, Amuro twisted within his blankets, his hands now clutching the sides of his head. The screams seemed to intensify with every passing moment, such that it felt like they would split Amuro's skull open and force their way back into the mortal plain. Before, Amuro slowly realized he had focus; he had been fighting for his life and to avenge Juno's destruction, such that the screams, despite the pain they caused, fed his drive rather than hindered him. Now the battle was over, and his enemies had been defeated, yet the screams remained, and Amuro no longer had a means to channel them. All that remained for him to do was wallow as they rang through him, overwhelmed him, to the point that it felt like his very soul would succumb to their cries.

"Please...!" he murmured and begged even as his body painfully trembled, sweat pouring from every orifice. It was all he had the power to do now, as he had long learned that any anger he held amounted to nothing against them. They went on regardless. "Get out...! Get out of my head!"

The Gundam pilot's cries went unheeded, as before. The screams washed over them like a rising tide, not even acknowledging them as they continued. His thrashing was almost violent now, to the point that he may fling himself out of the bed while his fingers nearly dug through his skin and into his skull. Tears, which had been flowing from his eyes off and on since the battle, now emerged renewed from his still-shut eyes, yet even they did little to comfort him. All Amuro could do was keep from screaming himself, keeping his voice from mixing with the ones in his mind.

And so, tossing and flailing in the darkness, entirely oblivious to Fraw's cries from the outside, Amuro could only struggle as the last telepathic vestiges of Juno ran through his mind and body. All with no apparent end, either to the screams or the pain they caused, in sight.

Presidential Residence
Dakar, Earth, Earth Federation
July 2, GC 379

Sitting within the main office of what many considered the very center of the galaxy, Jamitov Hyran, President of the Earth Federation, could not have been any less than the same image of his office. A tall man with tanned skin, neatly trimmed white hair and goatee, and a penchant for wearing crisp yet tastefully understated black suits, oft with complimenting mantles, several had claimed him to resemble nothing less than a modern-day Paul Kruger, who happened to be a distant ancestor of his. Adding onto this image, he held a warm and friendly disposition about himself, such that those who came into his presence could feel a sense of ease, while his charm and charisma had only endeared him to his constituents. Of course, all that took a backseat to traits that weren't so visible, namely his cunning and ambition, but Jamitov was quite skilled in concealing those.

Having entered Federation politics during his late teens, Jamitov initially held various minor postings throughout the Federal apparatus. However, not long after coming of age, he rose to Earth's representative in the Senate. That posting by itself would cover the larger portion of his lifespan, and throughout, Jamitov had seen and learned many things regarding the Federation's infrastructure and politics in general. More often than not, things kept hidden deep within the Federation's bureaucracy were never seen by the citizenry. That accumulated knowledge and experience would serve Jamitov well when he ran for the Presidency in '74, where he defeated his opponent, fellow Senator John Bauer of Libot, by over half of the vote.

Indeed, Jamitov had invested much to gain the ultimate seat of power within the Federation, and for the last five years, it had been his and his alone. In turn, he had wielded that power quite effectively; whether history would judge him as among the best or worst leaders of the Federation, it could not be denied that Jamitov had proven himself a skilled administrator and charismatic figure, one who could rally and organize his people to the utmost level of efficiency. Had it been peacetime, where he could concentrate on areas more inclined with his interests, Jamitov had no doubts he would have led the Federation to even further greatness.

But it wasn't peacetime, a fact Jamitov and the rest of the Federation knew all too well. Only a few hundred lightyears from Earth, the Zeon, and their allies were advancing with impunity, fighting a virtual crusade against the inner galaxy, the Federation included. For the last two years or so, Jamitov had rallied his nation to hold the line against an empire of superhumans that intended to conquer the entire galaxy and, as far as the stories went, "cleanse" it of all "lowborn" lifeforms, two years of continuous fighting against beings of superior physiology that held intentions of galactic genocide. And yet, despite the Federation's great efforts over those two years, it only served to delay the seeming inevitable; the Zeon and their cohorts were still conquering or decimating every sector they invaded, and the best Earth or anyone else could manage was to slow them down. No fleet held against the vast armada of the Imperial Forces, and - until recently anyway - no mobile suit could stand before the power of the Zaku. Zeon's victory seemed nigh.

Jamitov sneered at the very thought. Like he would allow that to happen, he would use every means to ensure it didn't. Subsequently, the meeting about to occur had to do with one of those means.

His intercom quickly lit up. "Sir, your nine o'clock is here." his secretary said from the other end.

A small smile broke on Jamitov's lips at that. "Send him in," he replied, his deeply accented voice projecting warmth and authority. Some of the more classically inclined had even equated his voice to that of ancient film star Joss Ackland.

A moment later, the double doors at the end of the office opened, and a single man stepped through. At first glance, the man appeared unassuming and ordinary; possessing cropped brown hair, a rather aged-looking face, and small brown eyes, the man was not ugly to look at, but at the same time, not very distinguishable. This, in turn, was complemented by a set of glasses, which in the modern Galactic Century were more a fashion statement than anything else, that framed his face somewhat. Seemingly, the only thing noteworthy about the man was his Federal Forces uniform, which bore the markings of a Captain on its shoulders and collar.

However, like with most other things, Jamitov knew better. What appeared to be an ordinary form hid one of the greatest minds humanity had ever seen, such that Jamitov considered him one of the Federation's last hopes at stemming the tide and perhaps extending on to far greater heights. At that, he rose from his desk and walked around it. "It is good to see you again," he started, extending his hand. "Professor Ray."

Smiling back, Professor (and Captain) Tem Ray reached out and took the hand. "You as well, Mr. President," he replied courteously. "I trust you have read the reports from Juno?"

Jamitov grinned in return. "Naturally, Professor," he said before gesturing to the twin couches in the middle of the room. "Can I interest you in some tea?"

"Rooibos?" Tem asked as he sat down on one of the couches.

"As always," Jamitov replied as he tapped the intercom again to make the order. Once that was taken care of, Jamitov took a datapad off his desk and sat on the opposite couch, where he began scrolling through it.

"Impressive," he began as he reviewed the data, including an excerpt from Juno. "Most impressive. In only a few days, Project V has practically turned the entire war on its head."

"I'm glad you approve, sir," Tem said as the secretary, a blonde woman dressed in a suit skirt, entered with a tea set. After putting down the tray on the center table and pouring both Jamitov and Tem a cup each, the secretary turned and exited the room silently. "The project has certainly developed faster than I anticipated."

"Will that cause problems?" Jamitov asked, looking up from the pad.

Tem coolly took a sip of his tea before answering. "That is always a possibility with rapid development, Mr. President," he replied. "However, I do not foresee anything the project can't adapt to."

"Good," Jamitov exclaimed, taking a sip of his tea. "The war has been going badly for far too long. Too many worlds, both Federation and otherwise, have been lost, and no one can stem Zeon's advance."

Tem considered that. "I believe the Sanc have been doing well in that area as of late."

"Yes, and I will soon be meeting with King Milliardo to discuss that matter among others, but they haven't been doing it well enough," Jamitov answered. "It takes more than halting the Zeon advance into one's territory to end a war. Much less end it in victory."

"True enough, sir." Tem acknowledged. "Though at this stage, I do not think Project V will deliver the victory you're hoping for."

"That doesn't matter," Jamitov said, now taking on a wry smile. "So long as we win in the end and, more importantly, hold the greatest weapon ever conceived by man and God, I do not care how much longer the war will go on." he continued, looking at his reflection within the teacup. "If it takes another five or even ten years for Project V to reach its full potential, then I can abide by that. It's not like Zeon and its miscreants will be going anywhere."

"And our allies?" Tem questioned.

Jamitov merely shrugged. "They will have no choice but to comply, lest they wish to be exterminated or enslaved."

Tem snickered at that. Hell of a choice. "You make your point vividly, sir."

Jamitov nodded as if accepting a compliment. However, the question of how long Earth could hold out remained. "To think, a single mobile suit destroying an object the size of a space colony," he said as he read the data again. And the project is only in its early development stages?"

"Very much, sir," Tem replied, smiling. "At the risk of speaking beyond my scope, the galaxy will never be the same once Project V reaches its full potential."

"I hope you're right, Professor," Jamitov said before taking another sip of his tea and thinking about those areas of interest. He would have been focusing on the ones had it not been for the war. "I most certainly hope you're right."

Federation Lexington-class fleetcarrier Ark Royal
Warp
July 4, GC 379

As the steward poured the pot of fresh Earl Grey into the waiting teacup, Bright silently took in the dark and exquisite aroma. Having been born and raised in the Earth city of Portsmouth, tea had played an important role in Bright's life since before he had come of age; very few things in the universe could make him relax, whether in preparation for a new day or for the decline of an ending one, as much as a cup. It was as fulfilling as it was part of Bright's familial lineage, as the Noas had been traditional tea enthusiasts since the age of sail. And above all else, it always offered him some tranquility, even in the most trying times.

Tranquility. Bright thought as he took a sip, savoring the flavor. Now, there is a beautiful word. Indeed, tranquility was something Bright and his crew sorely needed now. The Battle of Juno may have been over, but its aftereffects still lingered through the Ark Royal, both in the shock of seeing a whole planet destroyed before them and the natural case of battle fatigue. Though the crew continued their duties as usual, it was clear that the recent experience shook them, and they were barely fit to get into another fight. Even Mirai and Sleggar seemed to be off from their usual selves, with Mirai appearing more exhausted as of late and Sleggar acting more subdued than normal. The latter especially perturbed Bright; it was too unnatural.

Again, fortunately, it would not last. The Ark Royal was still five days out from Golan, and she would spend another period in drydock so that her wounds from Juno could be tended to. During that event, Bright and the company would have plenty of time to rest and relax before returning on their journey back to Earth, just as he was doing now.

Now idly sitting silently, Bright decided it was time to check the war's progress. Engaging his monitor, he switched the channel to ENN (Earth News Network). From that, Bright observed the image of President Hyran, dressed in his trademark black suit and accompanying mantle, offering a hand of greeting to King Milliardo and Queen Lucrezia, who had just exited a shuttle that bore the golden lion sigil of the Sanc Kingdom. Dressed in the traditionally regal garments of their nation and being much younger than the President, both King and Queen appeared to contrast Hyran completely but gratefully accepted his hand before the swarm of reporters and cameras. In the foreground, Bright could depict a pair of white Leos, the Sanc Kingdom's mainline mobile suit, overlooking the scene from behind their lieges while a pair of grey Guncannon Troopers did the same from Hyran's side.

"...though it is unconfirmed, many believe that this meeting between President Hyran and King Milliardo will include discussions toward joint military operations between the Earth Federation and the Sanc Kingdom..." the female reported prattled on amidst the applause and camera shots.

That'll be the day. Bright thought derisively. As much as he, and likely the rest of the free galaxy, wished it would happen, joint operations between the Earth Federation, Sanc Kingdom, or any other Inner Powers were unlikely to occur. Outside of a common enemy, none of the nations had any reason to officially ally with the other and were more focused on fighting the Zeeks on their terms than anything else. Thus, outside some additional exchange in military supplies and perhaps technology, it was doubtful Bright would see Guncannons and Leos working in tandem against Zakus.

That thought made Bright run down his mental list of nations that posed an actual threat to Zeon, or at least enough to put up a decent fight. Bright had a habit of keeping the real players of this war in mind, as he felt that, should a victory for his side occur, it would not be due to the Federation alone.

At that point, Bright leaned back a little, allowing his memory to recall the various players of the war from both the Inner Powers and the Outer Powers. He then began to remember each of them, starting with his allies.

Within the galaxy were eight major Inner Powers, followed by numerous minor powers and lesser nations with aligned interests. The first that came to mind was the Sanc Kingdom. As one of the oldest star nations to exist, Sanc enjoyed power, prosperity, and influence that lesser nations could only dream of, while its immense military was said to rule the stars, unlike the British Empire over Earth's waves so long ago. Further on, Sanc also had the Preventers, a special forces unit that had been formed to fight and defeat the Kingdom's enemies before a true war could begin (thus their name). Bright had heard many things about the Preventers before the war, and though he wasn't sure if all the stories were true, he was glad that Zeon and its cohorts were the Kingdom's current adversaries, not the Federation.

Soon noted by the ENN correspondent, the Sanc Kingdom had been the most successful at fighting the Zeon as of late, more so than the Federation even. Though they had not outright defeated the Zeon, the Sanc military had at least halted their advance and dealt considerable damage throughout their frontlines in direct combat and through the Preventers' covert operations. The former, in turn, was said to be due to the skill of the military's commander, Lord Admiral Treize Khushrenada, a man that even King Milliardo recognized as a superior strategist and tactician. From that, it wasn't hard to guess why President Hyran, who more than likely was feeling bruised over Sanc doing better than Earth at fighting the Zeeks, was holding the present meeting with the Sanc King and Queen.

Following in the Inner Powers' hierarchy was the Orb Union. Located in the Onogoro Sea, Orb's sphere of influence was held over the multitude of star systems within Onogoro, with many more following each day. Besides that, Orb was a nation that enjoyed great political and economic stability to the modern age, thus establishing its epithet, the "Nation of Peace." And finally, its military was naturally one of the best interstellar forces to exist, holding some of the most advanced warships in its muster alongside a rapidly developing mobile suit force, courtesy of the arms conglomerate Morgenroete. Indeed, despite all the talk about peaceful coexistence with its neighbors, Orb had enough military power to keep any outside nation at bay. And though it wasn't performing as well as Sanc in keeping the Zeeks and the Outer forces at bay, it still fought bravely and inflicted as much damage for every lost system.

Third down Bright's list was the Freeden Confederacy, located in the Sea of Lorelei. Once considered a "fringe" world of sorts, Freeden had long since built a sizeable nation and a strong military to ensure it remained unto itself. Its current President, Jamil Neate, was also highly competent, apparently foreseeing the inevitable war with Zeon and its legions of evil, thus spending his early years in office strengthening and modernizing the Confederate forces. That effort eventually paid off, as the Outer Powers did indeed invade the Confederacy, and though they had yet to be defeated or even stalemated, the fact the Confederacy - much like Earth and Gaea - had yet to be conquered was a testament to its military strength.

The Soleil Commonwealth followed after that. Named after its first (and so far only) monarch Queen Dianna Soleil, the Commonwealth, otherwise known as the Realm of the White Doll due to the mysterious statue on its capital world, was a power in its own right, holding dominion over the Soleil Sea and several outlining sectors while maintaining a sizeable Counter force. Unfortunately, much of its power had been squandered by its modern leadership. While Queen Dianna was still the official ruler, she had spent the last hundred years or so in suspended animation due to a reportedly terminal illness, leaving the administration of the Commonwealth to a line of Regents who led in her name. The current Regent, Agrippa Maintainer, was a complete buffoon who, besides being a reportedly incompetent administrator, thought he could negotiate a settlement with Zeon to preempt the war; Bright could only imagine the laugh Emperor Gihren had over that one. Like seemingly everywhere else, the Zeeks invaded, but as luck would have it, the leaders of the Commonwealth's military forces were not as foolish as their Regent and so were well prepared. Up to this point, they've been putting up a good fight, even though the Zeeks still advanced like almost everywhere else.

From there, the Kowloon Alliance soon came to mind as well. An alliance of star systems centered around, naturally, the planet Kowloon, the Alliance was something of an oddity amongst the Inner Powers. Noteworthy for its eccentric culture, Kowloon and its surrounding worlds are favored by martial artists and other aspiring warriors. Again, naturally, this meant that the Alliance possessed a strong military, whose mobile suit force was composed of the famous Siwang series. Kowloon was further complimented by the elite Shuffle Squadron, an independent fighting force comprising the six best fighters and (as the rumors claimed) mobile suit pilots within its borders.

To that end, Zeon only paid light attention to Kowloon. Whether it was because they did not see the need to conquer it or because even they were hesitant to take on a nation full of trained hand-to-hand fighters and combatants, they had only sent a few incursions (likely probing raids) into Kowloon space. However, it would likely not be long before the Zeon war machine came fully upon the Alliance, and when it did, Bright looked forward to seeing how the Kowloons held out. The image of a Siwang karate chopping a Zaku's head in half was a special image within his imagination.

And then there was the Tekkadan State, a somewhat smaller nation in the Barbatos Gulf. Bright didn't know much about Tekkadan besides it being a military junta - having been formed some time ago when a band of junior officers ousted a corrupt leadership and had ruled benevolently ever since - and the fact that it had lost its home system to its apparent lifelong enemy, the Vingolf Alignment. However, their Supreme Commander, Orga Itsuka, and much of their forces had managed to escape and set up a new capital in exile on Arbrau. Since then, they had continued the war on their own terms, though they had yet to advance against the Zeon-supported Vingolfs.

And last but not least, the Benerit Combine. Placed closer to the Galactic Core than the others, the Combine was less a formal nation and more a collection of corporate entities aligned over common interests, namely in the acclamation of resources and the development of advanced technology. Due to it being further inward on the galactic plane than the other Powers, Zeon and the rest had yet to reach Combine space, but that hadn't stopped it from participating in the war to head off the enemy. Its current president, Miorine Rembran, had especially been adamant about Benerit participation in the war, preferably before the Zeeks and their entourage did reach the core territories.

With his allies noted and documented, Bright then moved to the opposition within the Outer Powers. As opposed to the Inner Powers, there were seven primary Outer Powers, with numerous lesser nations and states following their lead. However, all seven powers wielded considerable strength and influence, the primary reason for the war.

The first that came to mind, after Zeon itself, was Cosmo Babylonia, the Ronah family's "cosmic aristocratic" state located in the titular Babylonia System. Though somewhat smaller than most star nations, it was still a technologically advanced nation, and its military forces had reportedly been as successful in its battles as the Zeon. Their mainline mobile suit, the Denan Zon, had proven to be on par with the Zaku, holding similar mobility and emphasis on close-range combat, courtesy of their unique shot lancer weapons. That said, Bright could only wish they were his allies, as they were formidable fighters. Unfortunately, Carozzo Ronah's coup de tat had ensured that, for whatever hostility the Babylonians had held toward the Zeeks, they would remain within their camp throughout the shooting.

Second on that list was the Zanscare Consortium. Laid out below Zeon and Cosmo Babylonia in terms of prosperousness, Zanscare held a rocky history with several attempted revolutions and unofficial civil wars. Not unlike the nations that had once inhabited Earth's Balkan Peninsula, as Bright had seen, Zanscare was aesthetically similar to the former Balkan nations alongside ancient Eastern Europe. Currently, however, Zanscare was a strong military power under the leadership of King Tassalo and, like Cosmo Babylonia, had played an all too willing role within Zeon's advance. All were complimented by weapons rolled out by Keilas Guilie, Zanscare's primary arms manufacturer, who had enjoyed great logistical and developmental support from its fellows in Zeonic and Zimmad.

Third on the list was the Nergal Dominion, another imperialist state in the Regalia Cluster. Headed by the infamous Dominus (formerly Admiral) Crux Dogatie, the Dominion was perhaps the most oppressive galactic state next to Zeon and one other. Much like with the latter, Bright suspected that the Nergalites were using the war to expand their brand of tyranny to much freer nations while enjoying Zeon's enthusiastic logistical support. Fortunately, they weren't quite as advanced nor as numerous as their allies, so their war successes had been few and far between. Still, they remained one more group fighting for the Zeeks, which meant Bright could not discount them as a threat.

Speaking about Dogatie, Bright was curious as to how he saw himself within Gihren's hierarchy. The man was as far from a "Highborn" as physically possible, being hundreds of years old, kept alive only by a special chemical tank called the Fountain of Youth, which he was rarely seen out of. Somehow, Bright couldn't see Crux living that much longer outside his glorified fish tank, much less be able to survive Zeon's genetic engineering processes. As such, what Crux intended after the galaxy was conquered, or more specifically, what Gihren intended for him after the galaxy was conquered, was a mystery.

After Nergal, there was the Khyber Principality. This one Bright knew very little about, and it irked him considerably. The Principality was a highly secretive nation that let very little slip into the outside galaxy, but what was known was that they practiced genetic engineering to a similar extent as Zeon. They were also technologically advanced for an Outer Rim nation, whether or not they benefitted from their alliance with Zeon in that area. Beyond that, all Bright knew was that Khyber had a serious grudge against Orb, with rumors claiming they aligned themselves with Zeon and the rest specifically so they could fight the Union in wartime.

Then, there was a nation that always made Bright sneer. The Aeolian League. Or as it was originally christened, the Human Reform League. A title and creed that implied humanity needed reforming and that the League in question held the appropriate reform in mind. While Bright might agree the human race could use some reforming, that didn't necessitate being ruled over by a totalitarian regime that followed the ancient and repeatedly disproven philosophy of Communism. Especially the Marxist-Leninist variety, even if it was modernly referred to as "Aeolianism" after the League's founder, Aeolia Schenberg.

Founded within the Scarlet Reaches during the early Galactic Century, the League was, not unlike the others before it, established as a "Worker's Paradise" meant for the galaxy' lower classes and others who had fallen short of galactic industry and capitalism. Or at least that's what their propaganda claimed; in reality, it was little more than a de facto empire, one that regularly and forcibly annexed star systems under the pretense of "liberation" from the capitalist powers and some such. If that wasn't blatant enough, the League's leadership wasted no time or effort in promoting their nation as the ancient Soviet Union's reincarnation, even using terms like "bourgeois" and "proletariat" in said propaganda. Naturally, this was followed by a brand of authoritarianism and repression that was comparable to Nergal's, which often translated into population purges, while government infighting always seemed to be constant.

And now, with Zeon on the move, the League at last had the excuse to go to war with the "bourgeois" Inner World nations. Though their primary military force was not quite as advanced as its "allies," it was still one of the larger militaries in the galaxy, thereby granting the Zeeks an additional boon in power. Their Ahead mobile suits were especially proving to be a handful, being on par with the Zaku despite their larger and rather uninspiring design. Combined with the sheer zeal of its pilots, the League had made great headway for its Zeon masters, though Bright could only wonder how long that would last. After all, Zeon was just as capitalistic as any other nation, while the League was just as "lowborn" comprised. If only one would turn on the other...

And finally, there was the Vingolf Alignment. A minor, non-augmented version of Zeon, the Alignment was headed by a group of families known as the Seven Stars, who had administrated the Alignment since its inception. Combine that with the fact that their most hated enemy, the Tekkadan State, was a noted Inner Power, and it was only natural for Vingolf to ally itself with Zeon and the other Outer Powers and take an eager role in the war. It was a role that allowed them to finally conquer the Tekkadan System itself, though it had yet to defeat the State formally, as noted before.

"All the King's Horses and all the King's Men..." Bright muttered as absent-mindedly as he took another sip of his tea. So many worlds and people were now fighting for or against freedom and their right to exist, such that the Galactic War truly lived up to its name. And yet, among all those on Bright's side, the only relative success story was the Sanc Kingdom's halting the Zeon advance. None of them had beaten them back, and none had certainly defeated them. Was it even possible at that point?

Some things never change, Mirai thought with a sigh as she quietly entered her ex-fiancé's quarters. She had originally attempted to contact him through the intercom, but when that had been ignored, she decided to pay him a direct visit. And already, she was beginning to regret it.

As a military man, Sleggar was not a messy or unorganized individual. Quite the contrary, his quarters were neat and pristine, with everything in its proper place and nothing left sprawled on the floor or the desk areas. Rather, it was the contents of the quarters Mirai found off-putting: various memorabilia, from posters and pictures to models and action figures, covering every available space. All flauntingly against regulations and all harkening back to an era and form of culture beyond Mirai and most others.

Quietly, Mirai observed the various framed posters decorating the walls, each showing different real and animated images, but most including some form of giant robot or fightercraft. From there, covering both Sleggar's desk area and cabinet space were the various models and action figures of AD-era aircraft, mecha, or characters from assorted "anime" and "movies," all placed on stands to keep them from shifting about and all neatly arranged as to not to overcrowd the room. And even further on, Sleggar's audio player was active, currently playing "The Winner" by Albion.

"Before I met you, I was incomplete; I didn't know what to do with anything! Now you're here, and I'm on my feet, and my heart is feelin' everything! I don't ever want to lose this feeling! I don't need anything but you!"

Mirai blinked as the song continued playing over the audio. Not only did she hear the singer's voice, but also Sleggar's, who was singing to the track as he was showering. A small cloud of steam emanated from the bathroom area, adding further credence to that development.

Again sighing, Mirai moved to turn off the audio when she noticed two additional objects on Sleggar's desk. The first was a helmet of some kind, not a normal suit helmet, but something more ball-shaped and rougher, with a shaded visor and a breather mask with a tube at the front. It was black with blue flames streaking from the edges, with the word "SLUGGER" written across the middle. Next to that was a picture, one of rough and largely faded texture, that displayed what appeared to be a younger-looking Sleggar, dressed in a green flight suit with the helmet under his arm, standing with several others in front of an AD-era aeronautic fighter on a flight deck overlooking the sea. As Mirai looked at the image more closely, she saw a woman of clear oriental origin standing beside Sleggar, smiling toward the camera.

"I gotta burning love, and to all that I desire! From the moment I'm awake until the dead of night! I gotta burning love, and only you'd put out the fire! I feel like I'm a Winner because you're mine!"

Suddenly feeling anger well up in herself, Mirai looked back at the audio player and nearly smashed her finger against the button, causing the music to end abruptly. The next sound he heard was Sleggar almost tripping over himself in the shower.

"Alright, who's the son of a bitch with a death wish!?" the Gundam pilot shouted as he hurriedly tied a towel around himself while bursting out of the bathroom, his face completely embellished with fury.

However, seeing a very angry Mirai waiting for him with her arms crossed, he stopped short and adopted a more passive demeanor. Now thoroughly embarrassed, he began to rub the back of his head. "Well, uh..." he spoke hesitantly. "This is awkward."

At that, Mirai unfolded her arms. "For the record, you're still tone deaf," she said as she moved over and sat at Sleggar's desk chair.

Shaking his head, Sleggar threw off his towel and moved to his closet. He didn't care. She had seen him naked before. "I assume that you were buzzing me on the comm. Earlier?" he asked as he opened the closet and pulled out a uniform set.

"Indeed it was," Mirai answered, now irritated. "May I ask why you have been ignoring me?"

"Simple: I'm off duty," Sleggar answered as he pulled on a pair of boxers. "So unless we have Zeeks on our tail again, it can wait until Golan or after."

"Sorry, but I insist on this one," Mirai replied staunchly. "I want to know what exactly happened before the laser fired."

Pausing momentarily as he slipped on an undershirt, Sleggar considered the question. "Lieutenant Ray flipped out, and Lieutenant Mass had an epiphany," he replied. "There was Nothing more to it."

This only agitated Mirai further. "Don't undercut me, Sleggar," she hissed. "There was a lot more going on in that hangar bay, and you know it."

Again, Sleggar paused before answering. "Well, what do you want me to say, Mirai?" he asked. "That two of my pilots are psychic? That they foresaw the colony laser attack before it happened?"

"You seemed to believe it," Mirai pointed out.

"Yeah, well, it was either that or stay on the ground and take my chances," Sleggar replied as he slipped into his grey trousers. "I figured better to risk a court martial than get vaped."

Mirai clenched her teeth at that. She knew she was being stonewalled. "You told the Captain not to ask any questions and simply do what Lieutenant Mass said," she pressed on. "And when he didn't, you yelled at him not to argue and just get us out."

Sleggar nodded, this time putting on his black boots. "I did, yes." he acknowledged. "What of it?"

"I know when you're truly serious about something, Sleggar, just as I know when you aren't playing on a hunch. You were both after Lieutenant Mass' communiqué," Mirai pointed out. "Which means you knew exactly what was going on throughout."

"So you think," Sleggar shot back.

"So I know," Mirai countered sharply, her gaze hardening further. "And I want to know this as well."

Sleggar withheld a sigh as he finally pulled on his grey uniform coat, which he quickly closed and fastened the belt. He knew when there was no arguing with Mirai, though he still had a few cards up his sleeve. "This isn't something that will magically fall into a report to High Command, is it?"

Mirai's face seemed to explode with anger at that. "Do you think so low of...?"

"Okay, okay, I take it back," Sleggar replied as he held up his hands. "You're right. I know you better than that, and I'm sorry."

When Mirai visibly calmed down, Sleggar considered his answer as he straightened the collar of his uniform. After a few moments, another thought came to mind: one that wasted no time in bringing certain feelings within Sleggar. "I tell you what, Mirai. Since this is a mystery for you, I'll happily explain it, but on one stipulation: you explain another mystery to me."

"Oh?" Mirai laughed a little as she crossed her arms again. "You mean there's something the great Eagle of Arcturus doesn't know?"

"Sad but true," Sleggar answered in mock humility. "And this mystery has been haunting me for a long time."

Still amused, Mirai couldn't help but ask. "And what mystery is that?"

Though Sleggar's verbal reply didn't come immediately, Mirai quickly realized the answer as he came right before her, blue eyes boring into hers. "Why you broke off our engagement."

Now feeling a cold wash over her skin, Mirai visibly swallowed before answering. "Our relationship just wasn't meant to last Sleggar."

"The hell it wasn't!" Sleggar barked, now finding himself in the same stonewalled position he had put Mirai in. Turnabouts were a bitch. "We were in love! Totally, over the top in love!"

Mirai felt something churn as the ace went on. "We had it going to the point where we were both willing to leave the service if it came down to it," again, his eyes bore into hers. "And then, without cause or warning, it all crashed with a Dear John note and your transfer to the Suzuya!"

So intense were the years of pain and anger rising through him that Sleggar had turned himself away. As much as she was the cause of it, he didn't want his ex to see him like that. "Bad enough you left me with a broken heart..." he continued, trying to keep his emotions in check. He would be damned before shedding any tears. "But you didn't even explain why, and I've been banging my head against the wall for almost a decade trying to figure out what went wrong."

Again, Mirai swallowed, the hardness in her eyes disappearing like a puff of smoke and replaced with a much softer gaze. Even before she had written that note, she had known that Sleggar would never take well to it; as he said, they had been in love to the point either would throw everything away from the other. It hadn't been any easy for her either, as she remembered many tears and feelings of remorse being shed as she wrote that note, alongside a great stabbing pain in her chest and the feeling she was making the biggest mistake of her life.

However, to see the very pain she caused, amplified by years of not knowing the true answer, before her now, she could only feel that same remorse and stabbing pain rise from within her as well. Alongside several other feelings that she thought she had left behind long, long ago.

As Sleggar's back was still turned, Mirai slowly and silently rose from her seat and walked up to him. Then, when she reached a certain distance, she watched, seemingly as a third party, as her right arm reached up and drew toward Sleggar's shoulder. However, before her fingertips could even touch the fabric of his uniform, Mirai hesitated, her hand drawing back a little. Inwardly sighing after a moment, she withdrew her hand entirely.

"Regardless," she spoke again, forcing herself to readopt her hardened visage. "It's in the past, Sleggar..." she said, almost not believing her voice. "And it's best that you move on from it."

Sleggar's head shot up at that. "That's it?" he let out, looking back toward her with incredulousness. "That's all you'll tell me after all these years!? To move on from the best thing that ever happened to me!? To us!?"

"Yes, I am. And not just for both of our sakes'," Mirai said, refusing to back down, both from Sleggar and herself. "Like it or not, we both have more imminent responsibilities, namely getting this ship back to Earth."

Now, Sleggar's gaze was anything but pleasant. "So help me, Mirai, if you're hiding behind your commission..."

"I'm stating the facts," Mirai shot back, her return gaze just as challenging. Right now, we have a war to fight and a crew depending on our leadership," she said. There's too much at stake for us to get bogged down by our personal issues."

"You don't have to worry about that," Sleggar snarled as he glowered back at her, almost looming over her. "Rest assured, the last thing I think about when I go out there with my Group is what we had. And what could have been."

Mirai felt her emotions threaten to reemerge at that point, but this time, she held them in. "That will have to do then," she said, maintaining her posture. "Until the point, you can finally let go."

Sleggar sniffed derisively as he stepped away. "That's one thing that will never happen, Mirai," he replied, emotion flickering within his eyes and voice like a flame. "Me letting go."

Mirai could only solemnly close her eyes to that. "As you say, Commander," she exclaimed as she rose. "But all the same, it would be for the best."

With that, the Executive Officer turned around and marched out the way she came, leaving Sleggar behind in his quarters. If she noticed the expression he held as he watched her go, then she didn't say anything.

Now alone again, Sleggar sighed before quietly looking over toward his desk. Specifically, beyond the helmet and the picture, toward a certain red velvet box in the corner—an object that Mirai had missed upon entering.

"Someday..." Sleggar murmured quietly and firmly as he looked over the box. After a few more minutes to let the song play out, he exited his quarters and went down to the hangar deck. Though he was off duty, he still needed to look into something.

"Alright, that should do it," Fraw said as she looked over the data screen showing Sayla's physical condition. "It looks like you're in perfect health, Lieutenant."

"Sayla will do," Sayla said as she exited the table and began putting her uniform back on. Though she knew herself to be in perfect health, it was always reassuring to hear a doctor acknowledge it. "No irregularities, Doctor?"

"None whatsoever," Fraw replied as she looked over the screen. It was almost hard to believe just how much peak condition her patient was in; even if she was a pilot, Sayla Mass was the perfect physical specimen. It was almost too good to believe. "And you can call me Fraw. I only reserve 'Doctor' for the people I don't like."

"Heh, alright. Fraw then." Sayla replied as she put her uniform coat back on. At least I know it's still working. She thought, recalling the transmitter that, while embedded at the base of her spine, sent false readings to any scanning devices in proximity, making it appear that Sayla was a basic human. It was one of the major factors that had kept those around her and the rest of the Federation in the blind as to her true species and identity.

As she continued getting dressed, she turned and looked back to the Ark Royal's new CMO. Of all the things she had expected to see in the war, she never thought she'd encounter another woman her age with the title of doctor. And yet there she was, a young brunette dressed in uniform with a white coat over the top and various medical instruments around it. Had Sayla not known any better, she would have sworn Fraw was an actress from holodrama rather than an actual doctor.

"I must admit you're not quite what I expected," Sayla said, deciding it didn't hurt to speak truthfully. "A doctor as young as yourself."

Fraw seemed unsure about the comment. "What can I say?" she finally replied, unintentionally getting defensive. "I went to medical school in a mining colony. They weren't particularly fussy when they handed out the doctorates."

"And yet you have such skill," Sayla replied, causing Fraw's expression to change somewhat. "I've seen what you've done with survivors from Antillia and Juno. It is some of the best work I've seen in this end of the galaxy."

Fraw was confused. "You're a doctor, too?"

Sayla laughed at the notion. "No, I'm afraid not. But I did aspire to become one a long time ago," she said, smiling as the memories came to pass. She then looked back to Fraw. "That being said, I have a certain eye for medical talent. And while you may still have more to learn, you're still among the best I've seen."

Instantly recognizing that the praise was genuine, Fraw beamed almost embarrassingly. "Well, humans have workings, and, for lack of a better description, they talk to me," she replied sheepishly. "Hardly anything compared to an ace like yourself."

Sayla shook her head at that. "Anyone can be skilled in taking life," she said almost sagely. "But to be skilled in preserving life. That is a rare gift."

She then looked down at herself. "A gift that I had long wished for myself," she said, now sounding regretful.

Sensing that there was more there, Fraw couldn't help herself. "What made you stop?" she asked, eyeing Sayla carefully.

Sayla looked back at her with a flat smile. "Let's just say Destiny had other plans for me," she replied before closing the collar of her uniform. "Is there anything else?"

"No, that's it. You're free to go," the doctor said. Nodding at that, Sayla turned and began to approach the door.

However, before she could reach it, Sayla felt a sudden yet concentrated wave of emotion from behind her: fear, uncertainty, anxiety, and growing doubt. All centered around a certain Gundam pilot, who remained shut within his quarters. "Fraw?" Sayla asked upon turning around again, once more pretending to be oblivious. "Is something wrong?"

Pausing briefly, Fraw sighed at the question and ultimately decided there was no point in denying it. "Am I really that obvious?" she asked dejectedly.

Seeing Fraw's disposition, Sayla drew a breath. "It's Amuro, isn't it?" she said, deciding that was enough of an indicator of the truth.

Face grave with concern, Fraw nodded. "Something happened to him at Juno. Something bad," she said, looking down. "He wouldn't act like this over anything less."

Sayla bit her lip on that. Though she couldn't say it, she had a very good feeling about what Fraw was talking about. "What do you think happened?" she questioned.

Fraw considered her reply. "As strange as it sounds, I think Amuro felt the planet die around him," she said. "And that he's still living with the aftereffects."

Sayla raised an eyebrow on that. "By 'feeling' the planet die, do you mean by psychological implications or other means?"

"I don't know," Fraw replied, her voice wavering. Amuro has always been a strange case. He knows absolutely nothing about emotions, and yet he's the most empathic person I've ever met." She sighed, remembering how he acted when her parents died. It wouldn't be farfetched to say he literally felt Juno's destruction."

No, it wouldn't, Sayla thought but withheld from saying. Like her true origin, that was a subject Fraw didn't need to know about—not yet, anyway. "Do you think you can help him?"

Fraw's fists tightened at that. "Again, I don't know," she said, now feeling anger toward herself. "I've read every medical journal I can find on PTSD and everything similar, but nothing's ever come clear," she snarled, looking down at her lap. "This...This is well beyond the physical body, perhaps even the mind."

Despite her best efforts, she could feel tears begin to well up in her eyes. "I fear nothing can be done for him," she murmured, trying to hold it all in.

So distraught was she that Fraw didn't notice Sayla walk back up to her, her hand reaching out onto her side just as Sleggar had done for her before. "There's always something that can be done," Sayla spoke reassuringly. "So long as the patient is still alive."

Sniffing, Fraw nodded in acceptance. "I know..." she said, trying to steady herself. "But sometimes... it all feels past the point of healing."

Sayla smiled back sympathetically. "Yes, it does," she replied knowingly. "Yet, even so, one cannot give up hope so easily..."

Slamming himself against the deck wall, Amuro struggled to keep himself from falling onto the floor. His breathing was erratic, and simply taking a step was a struggle in itself; he had barely been able to take a shower earlier, in itself a poor attempt to alleviate the pain, put on his uniform, and make it out of his quarters. Helping even less, he had not eaten anything since before Juno, so his body was severely strained. Though he had no appetite, his stomach burned almost as much as his head. Even so, Amuro knew none of it would last for much longer.

Suddenly feeling the pitch of the screams rise again, Amuro gritted his teeth and threw his back against the wall, silently trying to force it all back. Though it had been three days since the battle, the screams had not receded in the least, only rising in volume and then falling back to their original level in a series of waves. The frequency was enough that Amuro could almost feel his mind crack and fissure like glass with each passing hour, while any attempts on his part to calm the screams or find a tranquil spot within himself only failed. Such as he was now, barely holding himself back up against the wall, his teeth clenched and his nostrils flared while his eyes squeezed tears out. All the while, he resisted the urge to bang his head against it or scream himself.

Eventually, the wave passed, and Amuro could find some semblance of himself again. Though the screams remained, he could move one step before the other. Slowly but surely, he made his way down the corridor, wary of any passerby as he went - he could make himself appear normal long enough for them not to notice anything - while continuing onto his destination. Each step was a struggle, and the screams threatened to shatter his mind throughout, but by his will alone, he managed to keep going, to keep holding his body upright while putting one foot down in front of the other. Once more, none of it would last much longer, and that knowledge drove Amuro on just until he did what needed to be done.

At last, he finally reached his destination: one of the ship's armories. Tapping the control panel, the door slid open and allowed Amuro in, with Amuro nearly stumbling as he entered. Grabbing onto a nearby shelf and taking a moment to reorient himself, Amuro slowly looked up at the sight before him and scowled. Dozens upon dozens of pistols, rifles, grenades, and other innovative means to murder and destroy. Now on the brink as he was, he could not help but feel saddened that this was humanity's ultimate legacy: millions of years of social, biological, and technological evolution, and yet man continued to kill one another like Cain and Abel at the beginning. However, Amuro didn't have time, nor the wish, to dwell on that prospect.

Picking himself up from the shelf, he slowly went to a nearby pistol rack and picked one out from the shelf. Checking it over, he saw it had a full charge and was completely functional. Satisfied, he placed the pistol and its holster on his uniform belt; that way, anyone passing him would believe it to be a sidearm and think nothing of it.

Reorienting himself toward the exit, Amuro felt the screams well up again, to the point that he cringed and grasped his head with his right hand, a silent cry of his own exiting his lips. The screams were growing louder and in greater frequency than before, to the point that Amuro felt that his head would explode from the pressure. At that, he was half-tempted to draw his pistol out and end it all there, but despite the anguish and the desire to be rid of it once and for all, Amuro refused. He did not want his last sight to be the interior of a ship.

And so, with what he believed to be his final conscious effort, he again forced himself to move, one step at a time, until he properly exited the armory and the doors closed behind him.

It was said to be the Lexington-class' defining feature, even more so than her impressive weapons allotment and mobile suit capacity. It was said to be one of the few things the Federation held over Zeon, such that the Zeeks had designated the Lexington-class as a high-priority target. It was said to have been the one thing in Earth's arsenal that had stood up to the Zaku Scourge and allowed the Guncannon to regain its status as an effective weapon.

To Shiro, however, it was little more than a glorified metal cave. Located at the base of the Ark Royal's bridge tower, the Combat Direction Center was perhaps the most important area within the fleetcarrier, even more so than the bridge and the hangar decks. Large, cavernous, and dimly lit by a selection of overhead lights, the CDC was pretty much made up of numerous computer terminals placed around the floor, all neatly arranged in traditional military efficiency, and viewscreens dotting the walls. A larger set of viewscreens was placed at the "front" of the center - specifically, the part angled toward the ship's bow - while a series of holographic projectors dotted the ceiling, allowing an image to be placed virtually anywhere within. Finally, there was a single command station at the center of the room, where the Chief CDC Officer would oversee the center's operations and potentially take direct control of it.

"It seems we both had the same idea," Shiro said as he approached the station, where Lieutenant Noel Anderson sat back and enjoyed the peace. It was to be expected; with light duty assigned throughout the ship and the bridge handling command and control operations when there were no mobile suits deployed, the CDC was left mostly deserted, leaving a dark, quiet, and tranquil environment that one could lose him or herself in. It was far from the facility's intended purpose, but it wasn't like anyone would complain; they were several hundred lightyears away from Earth.

Opening her eyes in slits, Noel looked toward the DCAG with annoyance. "Don't you mobile suit jocks hang out in your lounge during off hours?" she quipped, clearly put off at having what she considered her personal space violated.

Shiro chuckled at the notion. "Tonight's Shrike Squadron's annual poker game, so the lounge is effectively commandeered. And I'm not in the mood for gambling," he said as he took a seat at one of the nearby stations, looking around him. "So this is where all the magic is made."

"Not made. Directed." Noel corrected as she leaned up in her seat. Sporting dark brown hair, soft brown eyes, a well-proportioned figure, and a rather seductive voice, the CDC officer was both easy on the male eyes and ears, making her the ideal "face on the comm. circuit" that pilots adhered to. Noel had originally been a Bridge Bunny before her tactical and command skills saw her promoted to full Lieutenant and transferred to the Ark Royal's CDC. Since then, she had been the undisputed queen of the Ark Royal's tactical center. "Make sure to keep the difference in mind."

"With your face and voice, Lieutenant?" Shiro replied, not missing a beat. "I guarantee that won't be a problem."

Noel raised an eyebrow. "Are you flirting with me, Commander Amada?"

The responding grin was sly. "Wouldn't dream of it," Shiro answered. If his memory served, Shiro recalled Noel having a boyfriend onboard the Lexington. Matt something or whatever.

In response, Noel was about to question whether Shiro had a girlfriend but immediately bit it back. Like everyone else in the Federation, it seemed she had heard the rumors. "How are your pilots handling things?" she asked, changing the subject before it was even brought up.

Shiro shrugged. "Considering they just witnessed a whole planet go up in smoke, they're doing very well," he ignored the shiver down his spine as he said that.

Noel nodded. "That's good," she replied. "We already have enough combat fatigue going around. We don't need trauma alongside."

"I assure you those boys and girls are made of tougher stuff than that," he said, taking pride in his pilots. "After all, they've already seen their share of battles."

"Of course," Noel nodded, remembering all the past fights the Ark Royal had been involved in, both major and not. She then, with some hesitance, asked another question. "And how are you holding up?"

Shiro sighed. He knew exactly what she meant. "As well as anyone who just relived the worst day of his or her life," he said. "Not even having nightmares."

Noel looked on sympathetically. "You think you'll be able to hold up like that?" she asked. "We still have a long way to go."

"I'll be alright. I've got too many things to worry about to get bogged down like that," Shiro replied flatly. "Even if the nightmares start, there will be plenty of opportunities to take it out on the Zeeks before we reach home."

Noel felt great uncertainty at that response. "That's not a reassuring answer."

Shiro again shrugged as though it were no large issue. "Still the truth."

"Son of a bitch!" Michel hollered as he threw his cards on the table, which showed a pair of eights. "How the hell do you do that, Kai!?"

"Magic, my dear comrade," Kai replied with an irritating smile as he took in his chip pile, a Full House with jacks over fives in front of him. "I have an eye for people who bluff."

"Not to mention for cheap dates," Hayato quipped.

"And equally cheap aftershave," Kiki replied from beside Michel, even waving her hand for effect.

Despite all that, Kai beamed as if he were taking in praise. "Ah, Envy," he said, the snarkiness dripping from his words. "A most wonderful sin."

"Will you Ensigns knock it off with the ass kissing?" Eledore sounded off, still bitter over his hand losing so early on. "Whose deal is it?"

"Mine," Sanders said as he stacked the cards and reshuffled. "Texas rules this time," he said as he started dealing two cards to each Shrike.

"Ah man, not that hold 'em sh*t again!" Eledore complained as Sanders passed him his two cards. "Do you have a fetish for overly complicated games, sir?"

Sitting beside him, Karen sniffed. "Only you would think that overly complicated."

"Now, boys and girls, let's keep the conversation civil," Sanders said as he finished dealing. I open with a hundred," he said as he threw in a few chips.

"What the hell? Money is overrated," Job said as he added a few chips.

"Yeah. Who needs that new Lacus Clyne single?" Kiki remarked as she also threw her chips into the pot.

"Or an emerald ring for one's girlfriend?" Michel added as he threw in his chips alongside.

"My my, such pessimism," Kai again smiled as he threw in some of his chips. It would be best if you guys were more optimistic—like me," he said before adding more chips. "I raise a hundred."

"Right, Kai. You're just a goddamn ray of sunshine," Hayato spoke up, throwing some of his chips in. "And I'll see your hundred with my fifty."

"Call," Karen said as she threw in her chips.

"Ditto," Eledore said as he also threw some in. Unlike the others, he seemed to anticipate. Maybe I'll get that Gibson after all.

Now that all the bets were in, Sanders laid out the first two cards, which turned out to be a ten and an ace. "I raise a hundred."

"Call," Job said, throwing more chips on the table. He was starting to wonder if he'd have any paycheck left.

"Same," Kiki remarked as she followed up. She then asked a question that had been weighing on her mind for a while. "Does anyone know where the others are?"

Michel, also calling, answered first. "Last I checked, Commander Law was heading to one of the hangar decks. Commander Amada was in the CDC, and Lieutenant Mass was taking a physical," he replied.

Kiki took a breath, knowing that she was about to bring up a taboo subject. "And Lieutenant Ray?"

The atmosphere at the table grew slightly colder at that. "No clue. Nobody's seen him since the battle," Kai said as he threw in his chips. "And I raise another fifty."

"Good riddance on that," Hayato replied as he also called. "Last thing we need is another freak show like before."

That earned a glare from Karen. "That 'freak show,' Ensign, was what tipped us off to the colony laser attack in the first place," she said, throwing in her chips. "Raise fifty."

"Same," Eledore said from his end before wondering out loud. "How the f*ck did he know anyway? We weren't anywhere near sensor range, and the Zeeks were cloaked."

"Probably the same way he picked up on Aznable back at X-145," Sanders commented, earning him confused looks around the table. Sanders looked on bemusedly at that. "What, you guys thought we found the Zeeks at random?" he said before putting down the next two cards, a six and another ten.

"Damn it," Job growled as he threw down his cards. "I fold."

"Me too," Kiki snarled as she repeated the action. She then looked back toward Sanders. "How the hell do you figure he did that?"

Sanders shrugged. "Just before we hit the Zeeks, I picked up some comm chatter between the Gundams. First, it was between Unit Alpha and Unit Beta, and then it was to Unit Beta and Unit Gamma," he said. "Not too hard to figure out what happened there."

"So what? Are you saying Lieutenant Ray is psychic?" Michel stammered before throwing in more chips. "Call."

"If he is, then I'm really glad he's not here now," Kai stated as he added more chips. "Raise another hundred."

"I can't believe we're discussing this," Hayato spoke irritably as he raised another fifty to the pot. "Couldn't he have just been lucky all this time?"

"Sure he was Hayato," Job quickly entered back in, casting Hayato a dubious glance. "He just luckily foresaw a Zeon attack twice over right before he luckily blew up a colony laser right as it was about to fire."

"After luckily decimating the Zeek fleet by himself," Kiki added, holding the same glance as Job. "Somehow, you find that easier to believe than Lieutenant Ray having certain 'gifts'?"

"Just ignore him," Kai said as he casually looked over his cards. "He's going through the early stages of penis envy."

Hayato looked like he was going to strangle Kai at that. "For the last time, Kai, I do not...!"

"Enough. Let's keep to the game," Karen said, intervening before something less than civil broke out. Then, after looking between her cards and the ones laid out, she sighed. "Damn it, I fold."

"Not me, baby. I'm riding high," Eledore said as he threw in his chips, much to some of the other players' surprise. He then pointed his cards to Kai. "I'm going to have you eat those chips, Kai."

Seeing a new challenger, Kai could not help but smile fiendishly. "So you believe now, Eledore," Kai shot back. After looking at his cards again, he looked over to Sanders. Your go, Lieutenant."

"Alright, let's see..." Sanders said as he drew the next card. Upon looking at it, however, he cringed. "Goddamn it," he growled before laying out a jack. "I'm out."

"Same," Hayato said, throwing down his cards and then rubbing his temples. I don't believe in it, but foresight would be a really good power to have."

"Even if you did have it, you'd still suck, Hayato," Kai quipped before looking challengingly at Eledore. "So you think you can beat me, Eledore?"

"Like a drum at a Jupiter Ghost concert, Kai. Your luck can't last forever. In fact, how about we make it interesting?" he said, patting his chips beside him. "Let's go all in."

A sudden chill ran across the table, with Kai only looking unaffected. "You sure you want to do that?" he asked sardonically. "I mean, I might feel terrible taking all your money."

"I won't. Not when I take all of yours," Eledore said, grin now encompassing his whole face. "You're going to contribute to my Gibson fund."

"Now there's a worthy cause: a thousand-credit guitar for a half-credit artist," Kai replied dryly before looking Eledore over. "And a boyband type no less."

Resisting the urge to move over and deck his fellow Guncannon pilot for that, Eledore settled for gritting his teeth. "Are you in or not?" he snarled.

At that, Kai shifted all of his chips forward. "All in," Kai remarked. Once Eledore pushed all his chips forward, the former Shrike leaned on his hand and asked. "Since you're so sure of yourself, how about you go first?"

"With pleasure," Eledore replied before flipping his cards over and revealing a ten and a six. "Full House. Tens over sixes."

Michel let out an impressed whistle, signifying the others' thoughts. After that, all eyes turned to Kai, with Eledore holding a dominant grin.

Seeing that, Kai momentarily feigned hesitation and leaned forward to lay his cards out. "Royal Flush," he said, his grin quickly returning to his lips as he revealed his king and queen.

Silence dawned across the table as Kai helped himself to the pot. All the while, Eledore, appearing frozen in his earlier pose, looked on blankly, clearly contradicting his frozen grin. Only slightly twitching across his lips showed Eledore was still alive and active.

After Kai took in all the chips, he finally let out. "WHAT THE f*ck!?"

"You heard it right," Kai explained, smiling trollishly as he condescendingly explained. "See, face cards beat number cards. I have three face cards, plus an ace and ten, and you have five number cards. Therefore, my hand beats yours."

"Nice going, dumbass," Karen commented beside him.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!" Eledore shouted, pounding the table with each "No." "That was going to pay for my new ES-3000!"

"Too bad. Now it's going to pay for my dates," Kai said, completely unsympathetic, before gazing at his fellow Ensigns. "Which, contrary to popular belief, are not cheap."

"I swear, Kai," Eledore growled back, anger quickly returning. "Next time, I'll bring Amuro in just to see him wipe that disgusting smirk off your face."

As the table let out a hearty laugh at the display, Sanders sat back and considered for a second. "Amuro, huh?" he remarked, a small smile forming. "You know, the kid did save our lives twice over, as well as kill a whole slew of Zeeks."

The others quickly looked back toward the Lieutenant. "What are you getting at Terry?" Karen asked.

Sanders quickly leaned forward. "I think it's time we officially bring him into the Shrikes."

"An initiation?" Michel asked, surprised by the thought. "Do we have the proper instruments for that?"

"With our Commander? That's pretty much a guarantee," Kiki replied, clearly approving of the idea. The rest of the table did as well, except for Kai, who was disinterested, and Hayato, who just scowled at the thought.

Even so, Karen looked over at Sanders with certain concern. "Are you sure he'll be able to handle it, Terry?" she asked. "I mean, I like the kid and am grateful for all he's done. But he's not exactly functioning on all thrusters."

Sanders smiled. "Don't worry, I'm sure he'll come around," he said, looking up in thought. "And speaking of the Commander, I wonder what's so important for him to skip out on the game..."

"What do you mean you don't know what it is!?" Sleggar let out, completely astonished by the answer he had just received. His outburst was such that it threatened to echo around the whole hangar bay, all the while causing technicians to look up in confusion.

"You heard me, Commander," Astonaige replied, completely dumbfounded on the subject matter. "I've run every test I know to make and ran every sensor scan available over it, and all of it has come back inconclusive. We can't even determine the metallurgy."

"But you've been working on this since we left Juno," Sleggar exclaimed.

"Yeah, and my crews and I have reviewed it nearly every waking moment. But we've come up with squat," Astonaige replied. "As far as official records and the specs are concerned, it - whatever it is - does not even exist."

Sleggar could hardly believe it. It had been the first time he had heard of such a thing. But then, it was also the first time he had seen a mobile suit with that under its armor.

Not long after the Battle of Juno had ended, Sleggar, with the image of Unit Alpha's aura and performance over the battle still fresh in his mind, had Astonaige and his maintenance crews look over the three Gundams for anything "out of the ordinary." Since the Gundams were the latest Federation units, they carried a lot of next-generation technology. Yet Sleggar felt they also carried features that had never been seen before. Whether in a Guncannon or any other mobile suit out there.

Sure enough, Astonaige's inspection had indeed come up with something: an entire layer of metal, or at least it was assumed to be metal, built right into the frame of the mobile suit. At first, it was thought to be an extra layer of armor, but after Astonaige scanned it, he concluded that the layer wasn't durable enough. It was then theorized to be some special alloy to allow the Gundam's greater ease of body motion. The appropriate test showed that, despite being built into the frame, it had no effect on the Gundam's joints or inner mechanics. From there, Astonaige had spent the last three days running continuous tests and evaluations on the strange construct, from its composition to its energy base. And he had come back empty-handed.

Despite displeasure, however, the chief mechanic's answer only intrigued Sleggar further. He had no proof of it yet, but he knew that whatever that thing in the three Gundams was, it was tied to what he had witnessed at Juno when Amuro began his whole-scale purge of the battlefield. And it just may have something to do with Sayla's claim that she felt as if Unit Gamma had been part of her own body, such that it moved almost in complete accordance with her mind.

Sleggar still couldn't understand that last one. Sure, the Gundams were great mobile suits, but from his experiences with Unit Beta, they weren't anything but mobile suits. "Are you sure you found nothing?" he continued. "Not even a speck of data?"

Astonaige looked at his superior curiously. "You seem hung up on this Commander."

You would be, too, if you had seen it up close. Sleggar thought but didn't say it aloud. "Let's just say I want to know exactly what I'm flying out there."

The Chief Maintenance Technician nodded. There was no reason for him to see otherwise. "Well, since you asked so nicely," he said slightly sarcastically. "We did find something curious."

Now Sleggar was listening. "Curious?" he repeated.

"Like everything else, the tests and scans were inconclusive, so we can't say what it is. But it's there all the same," Astonaige explained, gesturing Sleggar toward a nearby terminal station.

Following the mechanic, Sleggar watched Astonaige bring the terminal online. After a few minutes of typing, he brought up the Gundam's specs, centered on the inner frame lines, and magnified them to an atomic level. From that, Sleggar saw what Astonaige was talking about.

Laid out across the newly discovered layer were a series of hexagonal-shaped objects arranged in a pattern not unlike a honeycomb. Though the computer failed to identify the object in any way, it showed that the hexagons ran through the entire layer and, by extension, the whole mobile suit.

"Some kind of transmitter?" Sleggar asked. He was reminded of an ancient AD speaker system when he looked at them for some reason. Or miniature satellite dishes.

"As said, Commander, all the tests and scans failed to identify it," Astonaige repeated.

"Right," Sleggar replied as he continued to look over those strange objects. He then let out a sigh. "Fine then. Captain won't like it, but I will give the Professor a ring."

Astonaige raised an eyebrow at that. "The Junk Guild?" he asked, nearly scoffing. "What can they do that we couldn't?"

Sleggar laughed at the CMT's indignation. "Relax, Astonaige, Lowe Guele isn't going to steal your job. He's the last person I want messing with the Gundams," he explained reassuringly. "The Professor, on the other hand, does have a mind for experimental, not-officially-existent tech. Perhaps she'll be able to help."

The responding grin on Astonaige's lips was a wry one. "You sure you're not calling her in to try and score a date?"

Remembering his earlier confrontation with Mirai, Sleggar adopted a scowl at that. "She's not my type," he said blandly before turning away from the surprised Astonaige and walking out.

As he got into the turbolift and pressed the button, Sleggar began reviewing the facts. He now knew that there was something atomic-sized within the Gundam's framework, something that was not even present in the original blueprints and that whatever it was, it was virtually unrecognizable by conventional techniques. That something, in turn, was spread throughout the entire mobile suit, from head to feet, and so undoubtedly positively affected the whole body.

Alongside, he knew that, whatever it was, it had to be connected to what he saw and heard about at Juno. Whatever it was, it empowered the Gundam beyond its basic performance level. It enhanced its reaction speed to the pilot's commands, allowing the Gundams to perform at what Sleggar considered super robot levels. If Sayla wasn't exaggerating - and Sleggar knew she wasn't the type - it could perhaps even allow the Gundams to be controlled through thought alone, at least if the pilot had the right capability.

With all that taken in, Sleggar came to the ultimate conclusion. There's no doubt about it, he thought as he felt his anxiety levels grow. The Gundams were made for them.

A cold dread swept through Sleggar's as a new line of questions and mysteries entered his mind. If the Gundams had been designed for that kind of human, did that mean the Federation was aware of their existence? That seemed obvious since the Gundams wouldn't have been built with them in mind otherwise. Yet, the Federation had spent centuries claiming that neither they nor any other "special" kind of human existed outside of propaganda and fantasy novels. But if the Federation was aware of them, what were its intentions toward them? To use them as weapons against Zeon? Perhaps beyond the war?

What was Project V? And much more, what was its true purpose?

Sleggar shook his head. Like it or not, he could do nothing about it now; there were still too many things he didn't know and too many factors he wasn't in control over. He was only a soldier, a mere Commander at that, and he was to fight the enemies of the Federation, not to question or dictate its policy, just as he had been long ago when he had donned an entirely different uniform and served an altogether different country.

Yet as he thought about the pilots under his commander, Amuro, and Sayla especially, he knew it was still his duty to protect them and the rest of the Ark Royal. As far as Sleggar was concerned, that included potential enemies within and without the Federation. No, he had to stay on this and, even if slowly, put the pieces together before whatever monster the Federation had conjured up emerged.

He could, and would, not risk that monster hurting his own.

Once more, with one step in front of the other, Amuro made his way through the twin doors and proceeded to his intended destination. The screams had only gotten worse since he had begun his trip from the armory, such that their sting had blurred his vision and caused tears to fall from his eyes continuously while his breathing had become increasingly hampered. Seemingly, every portion of his body was strained to the breaking point, and if he had had anything in his stomach, he would have likely thrown it all up by now. Even so, he had continued through sheer willpower alone, and at last, he was where he wanted to be.

Nestled at the very bow of the ship, in between the twin hangar/catapult deck "arms," the Ark Royal's observation deck was something of a marvel. As large as the interior of a cathedral, it contained several couches and chairs on its main floor and a large viewport at the very end that gave one a transcending view of the space beyond. As the Ark Royal was still at warp, that space beyond was little more than a tunnel of flashing light, with the blackness and "still" stars barely visible past the conduit. However, Amuro cared little about that. He could see them just fine from where he was.

Struggling to move before the screen, he held his strained eyes onto the viewport toward the stars beyond. The same stars he had gazed at since childhood, back when he lived with his mother and father on Earth. Like many children his age, those stars had inspired Amuro to venture into space, all with the dream of exploring new worlds and wonders deep within the void. Eventually, that dream developed as he grew, with Amuro moving away from being an explorer and into an engineer; rather than exploring the galaxy himself, he sought to create the instruments that would expand humanity's foothold into the final frontier. And yet, even when that dream had been put aside for his entrance into the Federal Forces and participation in Project V, he had never stopped looking at the stars and dreaming of the worlds and planes that lay beyond them, waiting to be discovered.

Now, however, that dream, too, would end. Amuro no longer had any strength left in him to confront the pain and despair lingering in his mind. The last remnant thoughts and feelings of Juno's population would not be silenced, at least not as long as Amuro continued to think and feel himself. Even so, going against both the screams and his straining body, he had forced himself, at the very end of the Ark Royal, so that he may look upon the stars one last time. As well as gain final peace under their light.

Slowly and with great effort, Amuro drew the pistol from his side. By now, his hand was shaking so badly that he had to grasp his right hand with his left to steady it and allow the whole arm to raise up. His breathing and his heartbeat increased as he did so, his body drawing upon the last ounces of his strength to complete the act. Then, after what seemed like an eternity of struggle, Amuro managed to bring the barrel of the pistol against his chin, the metallic cold of the gun barrel feeling strangely relieving against his skin.

With both index fingers against the trigger of the pistol, Amuro took one final look at the stars and, for a fleeting moment, imagined their warmth. And then, with his last act, he slowly pulled the trigger back.

Stop!

His body reacting to the call before he was even conscious of it, Amuro's arms flew away from his head in one frantic motion, taking the pistol away from its mark. In that one brief moment, an all too familiar presence had forced its way into his mind and caused his body to shift from under him. As a result, Amuro felt himself stumble forward, his legs threatening to give way from the shock, and hunched over, his breathing rapid once more and the sweat and tears pouring down his face. All while the screams continued their tremor.

Now feeling anger began to sweep over him, Amuro glared back toward the entryway, where Sayla stood and looked over him. Instead of her usual stoic expression, the one she gave now was of concern and sympathy. "You..." Amuro growled, his voice weak and hoarse. "Don't get in my way!"

"I know what is happening to you, Amuro," Sayla said, her voice now soft and reassuring. "I can help you."

Amuro spat. "You can't," he breathed, now taking on the visage of a cornered animal. "Nobody can help me now."

"I can if you let me," Sayla replied. "You are feeling the spiritual resonance of Juno's destruction," she explained. "Because you have virtually no mental defenses, it has imprinted itself into your mind like an echo trapped within a cavern, all the while being augmented by your thoughts and feelings."

"Do you think I haven't realized that!?" Amuro roared as much as he could, given his condition.

Sayla remained undeterred. "It is powerful but not indestructible," she said once more calmly. "I can dispel it if you allow me..." she said, slowly moving forward.

"Stay back!" Amuro yelled, now bringing the pistol back up and pointing it at her. His arms shook, and his aim was virtually nonexistent, but Sayla stopped anyway. "This...this isn't just about the screams..." he started. "I'm tired of it...tired of feeling everything around me. Tired of feeling constant pain and misery, to the point that it's overwhelming..."

"I know," Sayla said, her voice now warmer and more sympathetic. "I know how much it hurts..."

"You know nothing!" Amuro shouted back.

"But I do," Sayla replied ever calmly. "When you go out the park, you see and hear everything at once: the songs of birds, the laughter of children, the conversations of their parents. Until it all blends into one great noise..."

Amuro maintained his pistol. However, despite himself, he felt something begin to give way to her words.

"When you're in the city, you see the infinite workers and wage earners hustling from place to place, feel the anger and frustration of those stuck in traffic, and pick up on the urgency and tension of those who strive to make a living for themselves and their families. All to the point it threatens to wash over you like a rising tide..."

Slowly and unconsciously, Amuro's eyes widened.

"And when you're in battle, you feel the continuous destruction and the flickering of lives dying out. You see every shot fired, feel every explosion, and watch every abrupt end of life. From beginning to end, it is nothing but pure, unrelenting destruction, carnage, and despair, such that for what seems like an eternity, the universe contains nothing else."

Sayla again attempted to step forward, but Amuro raised his pistol again. "Eventually, you find yourself drowning in that despair, until at last the battle ends and you feel either a deathly calm or, as you are feeling now, the last vestiges of those who had passed on."

Though he remained defensive, Amuro could only marvel at those words, which were the complete truth. "How?" he gaped.

Sayla smiled at the question as if it were obvious. "I'm sure you've recognized by now..." she said as she projected a wave of pressure over Amuro. ...that you are not the only one with power.

At that, Amuro felt the pressure wash over him like an oceanic wave—not one that would have swept him off his feet but one that simply moved over his body until it reached shore. That being said, however, he could feel that there was much more power from the wave's source—power that he had never felt before in another.

"Indeed," Sayla continued. "Ours is a rare gift, but not one you will find in so few."

Amuro's anger surged at that. "It's not a gift!" he snarled, his pistol shaking even further. "It's a curse!"

"It is a gift. You have not realized it yet," Sayla insisted, not intimidated. She again moved forward. "Let me show you..." she spoke softly as she drew closer.

"Don't move!" Amuro shouted again, raising his pistol back up. If he hadn't been willing to shoot before, now he looked more than ready to.

Seeing that, Sayla could only smile and let out a light laugh as if a child was threatening her. And then, much to Amuro's fear, she slowly and steadily began to close the gap between herself and him. Hands tightening around the pistol until it felt like his knuckles would split open, Amuro aimed the barrel straight at Sayla's head. However, even though his fingers remained on the trigger, he could not find it and pulled it back. No matter how much he tried, something inside kept him back.

Now realizing he could not fight back all the while, the opposite Gundam pilot came close; Amuro dropped the pistol and began backing away as if the additional distance between him and her would dissuade her. Eventually, however, he felt his back press against the viewport, signaling he had nowhere else to go. Thus, now literally backed against the wall and had not the will nor the strength to defend himself, Amuro could only watch as Sayla, a smile remaining on her lips, drew up to him and, once again slowly, brought her hand against Amuro's cheek. All the while, her sapphire blue eyes, the most brilliant eyes Amuro had ever seen, bore into his.

At first, Amuro attempted to resist her touch, just as he had done with anyone else - besides Fraw - who attempted direct contact with him. However, before he could reach up and push her hand away, he felt himself give way again, allowing Sayla to proceed. Soon enough, Amuro felt her fingertips grace his skin, sending a chill throughout his body. And yet, despite all of his hatred toward being touched, he felt something different here, something that gently bypassed his usual defenses and reached deep inside him while eliciting feelings that Amuro had never felt in such volume before.

Warmth, calmness, contentment, peace... Like a small stream running down a forest, those feelings trickled from the touch. They entered him, causing Amuro to shudder as, once again, slowly and gently, the tension and fatigue fell away, allowing his body to relax, his breathing to stabilize, and his mind to gradually clear. Such was this effect that Amuro felt his eyes slowly drift shut, as if sleep, the first sleep he would have had in three days, had at last overtaken him.

Deep within himself, he still felt the screams, but now they were receding. One after another, Amuro felt a voice lower itself into silence, with each lowering voice gaining a little bit more peace. At first, only a few dozen died away, only for what felt like a hundred more, a thousand more, and then a million. For what seemed beyond time, the screams fell into silence, their terrible pitch receding into the void like a choir at the end of a song. Eventually, it was all gone, and Amuro finally felt completely calm from within.

His body again reacted despite himself. Amuro slowly reached up and placed his hand against Sayla's, deepening her touch against his skin. As he did this, his eyes opened, so that he could again stare into Sayla's, who in turn gazed back with a warm smile.

I sense great power in you, Amuro Ray. Sayla spoke with the same voice in Amuro's head as before; all the while, she brought her hand away, never breaking her gaze into Amuro's. A power that can destroy and instill pain and despair... Yet capable of far, far more.

Finding no more words to respond with, Amuro allowed her to continue. A power that is beyond all imagination. Sayla went on, seemingly in a whisper. A power that would enable you to feel time itself.

Reaching out again, Sayla brought her hand into Amuro's and raised it between them. All you need is to learn to control it, she said, squeezing his hand lightly. You need to master it as if it were part of your physical body.

His hatred of being touched was all but forgotten, and Amuro found the hand both soft and warm against his. He felt as though he could lose himself in the feeling, and yet he held enough awareness to reply. How can I learn that? he telepathically replied, his own "voice" feeling distant from him.

Again, Sayla laughed at the obviousness of the question. Through experience of course. Just like you would piloting a mobile suit.

Sayla then went on further. If you wish it, she said, looking down somewhat. If Amuro didn't know any better, he thought he could detect nervousness within the ace. I can set you on that path... she continued, her voice wavering slightly. I can teach you how to control your power, as well as how to use it in ways beyond comprehension.

Hesitantly, she looked up again. I can show you that your power truly is a gift.

Looking into her eyes again, Amuro felt something within himself move. A feeling that he couldn't quite describe, except that it caused his heartbeat to increase and his willpower to drain away. He could not find it in herself to turn her away, to resist her mental and physical touch as if she were outright controlling him.

And yet Amuro knew that feeling in himself was his and his alone. Despite being in a clear position to do otherwise, Sayla had truly left the choice up to him, such that if Amuro didn't know any better, she feared that he would turn her away. It was perhaps the first time Amuro had ever seen Sayla Mass, the Valkyrie of Riah, so vulnerable, so fearful. The first time he had seen her as so...human. It was a word that Amuro had very little understanding of and yet still knew.

It was for that reason, beyond even the desire to control his power and never feel pain from it again, that Amuro made his decision. Yes... he replied in his "internal" voice. ...I would like that very much.

"Hearing" his answer, Sayla again smiled warmly and appreciatively, a smile that Amuro soon found himself returning. From there, time no longer held meaning as the two remained on the observation deck, alone but with themselves and their thoughts and feelings.

Zeon Rewloola-class battlecruiser Ralmel
Callax System
July 25, GC 379

With certain abruptness, the Ralmel exited warp and entered the Callax System. Now fully repaired and refurbished, his crimson hull glistened against the light of the yellow dwarf Callax, all the while her twelve main engines propelled her gracefully toward the system's third planet. Unlike before, when she had been pursuing the Ark Royal, she had traveled to this system alone.

Sitting on his chair within Ralmel's bridge, Char watched Callax III grow closer to the main viewport. Long ago, a great solar flare had erupted from the star Callax, with the excess radiation desolating all three planets and rendering them completely lifeless. While the two planets closest to the star were turned into little more than barren rocks, Callax III, while still losing much of its initial ecosphere, still retained enough to support human life. This, combined with the rare minerals underneath its surface, made it an ideal planet for colonization, albeit with no short amounts of terraforming. Now, however, Callax III was a fully civilized world that showed with an aquamarine sparkle against the backdrop of space.

For this reason, alongside the planet's strategic relevance and reputation for unique forms of art and culture, a certain Zeon commander had selected Callax III as his new headquarters. A man that Char knew all too well.

"We're receiving a hail from the planet," Ralmel's communications officer reported.

Nodding, Char looked over to the bridge's main monitor. "Put it through," he said, resisting the urge to sigh.

A moment later, the image of a man who seemed somewhat younger than Char appeared on the monitor. "Well, well, the great Commander Char Aznable himself. It has been quite some time, Red Comet."

Despite the mocking nature of the tone, Char allowed himself to smile. "I may have to trade that name in for a lesser one, Garma. Or is it Admiral Garma now?"

Letting out a small chuckle, Admiral Garma Zabi, commander of Zeon's Second Fleet, regarded his old friend warmly. "Garma will do just fine. We are dear comrades, after all," he replied before adopting a more serious disposition. "That being said, I trust this isn't a social visit, Char?"

"I'm afraid not," Char acknowledged. "We have much to discuss Garma, and I wish to do it face to face."

Garma nodded understandingly. He knew when Char was being completely serious. "Very well, Commander. Consider your clearance to land granted then," he said before smiling again. "Welcome to Callax III, Char."

Char returned the smile. "Good to be here."

With that, the Ralmel continued its flight toward the planet, bringing her legendary commander onto the next stage of his campaign...

END OF ACT I​