Disclaimer: I do NOT own Pacific Rim! I only own my characters and this half brained plot!
Hope you enjoy and please R&R!
[-PROLOGUE-]
Californian Coast – 2025
Long Beach had never been the same after the first Kaiju attack. Comparably speaking it had only been a Category II, a tiny thing, but in those days that had still been considered 'gigantic', especially after it had chomped the Queen Mary in two with a single bite. After the monster had been dealt with several hundred tons of firepower, the denizens of the city were quick to pick up the pieces and rebuild their once glamorous city.
With some minor adjustments of course.
The once valuable beach front property was unrecognizable. Where swimmers and party goers once traveled to enjoy the California sun was now but a wasteland tarnished by scorch marks from the Military's attempts to stave off the oncoming threat and the few stubby patches of weeds that stuck up in odd places. Even with the threat of both manmade and Kaiju radiation, a large bundle of buildings in numerous stages of construction spread across the sands, bordering the "Danger Zone". Some buildings even crowded against the massive bleached bones of the Kaiju that once terrorized the city. A constant reminder of a threat the humans knew so little of.
The few who were rich enough to do so moved far away as possible from the tainted coastline, instead making residence on the hills that surrounded the older parts of the city. Their sprawling lighted complexes seen from any location in the city.
The former destroyed Port had been repaired and revamped from the ground up transforming into the Los Angeles Shatterdome. One of many bases that were dedicated to the Rangers and their Jaegers that served the global Pan-Pacific Defense Corps.
Any outsider could tell the Shatterdome was either brand spanking new or recently refurbished. The metal was shiny and the paint looked recently brushed on. Yet what was visible, two wings surrounding a single dome that housed the Jaegers and a short landing strip for the aircraft, was pretty small. Size however was deceiving since most of the installation was spread out underground, filled with barracks, offices, repair bays, and two fully loaded armories in case of any emergencies.
On one of the upper floors, Benedict "Bennie" Carmine was late. His short stout legs hurried him down the hallway as he clung to the large manila folder that was threatening to slip from his sweaty fingers. He was an average man, neither too skinny nor too fat with fair brown hair that hung across his light hazel eyes. Some could even say he was attractive. Yet no one seemed to be really interested….
Taking a quick breather at a corner, he pushed back some of the hair away from his reddening face. If he had known he was to be spending so much time running around doing errands, he would have easily quit this bullshit he had signed on for. If he had wanted to run, he would have signed on with the bloody military not some intern job with a hellish boss, even if the pay was more than he would earn working fast food or something.
Speaking of… If he didn't get these dossiers there in time, the Marshall would skin him alive and use his ass as a trophy on her wall like a stuffed deer head. Obviously exaggerated by the techies and engineers who had the pleasure of pissing her off, but Bennie did not like tempting fate.
Bennie set out again, making a beeline for the bridge that connected the two wings of the Shatterdome together. It spanned one of the narrower inlets that ran into the bay that rose and fell with the tide, sometimes showing the old foundation of the original Port and the ruins of old million dollar yachts.
The glass sides of the bridge gave an aesthetic pleasing view of the surrounding area and contrary to appearance; the fragile looking crystalline panels were bulletproof reinforced with titanium supports. In case of an attack, huge shutters composed of the strongest metals money could buy would slam down cutting off the weakest point of the base. Bennie nary gave a passing glance as he briskly walked in the direction of the office where his commanding officer resided. The serene ocean tinted copper by the setting sun laid to the west while the rolling hills and marshlands of the Californian coast laid to the east dotted with palm trees and brush. Beautiful to the new guys but after the first half-dozen times of walking by, it sort of lost its charm. Plus he was in hurry, so…
The two guards that were posted on either side of the double mahogany doors stiffened as he neared them. Clumsily, Bennie reached for his ID, flashing it to them after nearly dropping the damn thing twice. "You're late," grunted the one on the right after a few seconds of glancing at the shaking card. His name was Larry, if Bennie remembered correctly. "Yeah I know I know." The man muttered pocketing his ID again as the guard on the left, Gary, opened the door for the intern. Two guards in matching uniforms named Larry and Gar Who knew? As he passed, Gary muttered a quiet 'good luck'.
Thanks, he thought gloomily as he passed through the doors and into the main foyer. So gonna need it.
His first look of the Los Angeles Shatterdome Commanding Officer was a ram rod straight back with both arms crossed over it and dark brown hair pulled up in a tight bun. The definitive term of the infamous Marshall Miranda Perry, though few knew her first name and even fewer called her by it. Most would say her name was just 'Marshall' and nothing else.
She was a stern woman with intimidating dark eyes and a hard face that hardly ever smiled. The Commanding Officer was forty eight years old, by no means out of her prime, but by Ranger standards, she was considered one very old lady.
Since as most knew, Rangers did not live long.
Out of all the first pilots that enlisted in the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps Jaeger Program, only four had survived, Perry being one of them. "Sirs if you think I'll agree to such a thing, you can all frankly kiss my ass." The woman growled to the large projection screen that showcased several cold expressionless faces of the PPDC's top officers. Some of them looking quite pinched either meaning they were constipated or were not looking forward to the long argument that was starting to brew. "You don't have much of a choice Perry." The grey haired and steely eyed officer that had been the former Marshall of one of the Canadian Shatterdomes coolly responded with a forced patience. "Your Rangers and their Jaegers are to draw back to Sydney immediately for reevaluation of mental and physical capabilities."
"What you are asking is nearly impossible." Perry stated firmly. "Those Rangers are essential to the protection of the Western coastline. Just recently they diverted an attack right off Catalina. And let's not forget they have one of the best records the PPDC has to offer-."
She was cut off by one of the other lady officers in the meeting, this one having a slight South American accent. "And no disrespect to you or your own, but as did Francis McArthur, and he murdered three of his fellow Rangers in cold blood, one of them being his own co-pilot I remind you, before killing himself."
Admiral Terrence, Bennie finally remembered the name and rank of the grey haired Canadian, continued from where she left off. "Like what Torres said, even the best records cannot protect someone from ailments. With that in mind it has come to our attention that McArthur and the three other Pilots involved suffered from similar side effects. Hallucinations, paranoia, insomnia, spasms… The list goes on and on." He paused shuffling the papers in front of him. "It is even reported by facility personnel that McArthur had frequent in-depth conversations with himself and when confronted claimed it was Midnight Serenade talking to him."
"His own Jaeger?" She raised her eyebrow, her tone doubtful at such a thing.
"Yes," came the brisk reply. "This was also experienced by his co-pilot and both of his other compatriots. Interestingly enough all were either current or former Mark II pilots. We believe it is safe to say that there is a pattern here and that your Rangers are at risk."
She stayed silent for quite some time, her brows furrowed. Finally she unfolded her arms and placed both hands on the table. "I am at a loss here. Please very slowly explain to me why there are other former Mark II pilots not being asked to draw back while four of mine are."
The higher ranking officer's eyes hardened. "That is classified."
Marshall Perry had a stubborn glint in her eye as she and the Admiral had a standoff. Bennie, wisely keeping his distance, knew her well enough in the short time he had been there, that it was her intent to continue arguing on the subject, despite being told not to. Surprisingly though, she straightened and briskly nodded. "Understood, sir," she ground out.
"Good." The Admiral replied before standing up. "I want those reports on my desk the next time I sit down tomorrow. In the meantime, I do believe this meeting is adjourned."
All members of the conference including the brooding Marshall currently in front of Bennie, saluted in respect before the screens blanked out one by one. As the last one went to black, Perry's stiff posture fell, as she started massaging her temples. "I hate my job sometimes." She muttered as she turned to Bennie, finally regarding his presence. "And you're late."
"So I've been told." He managed before remembering what he was here for. "Here are the reports on the four pilots and their Jaegers you wanted." Bennie winced internally at the fact the offered folder had bent corners and what looked like imprints. "The additional information you requested was… difficult to say."
Perry eyed the folder disconcertingly like a hungry predator. "But did you get it?" He could tell her patience had been worn thin by the meeting.
"Y-yes," he twittered tapping his fingers across the folder before it was snatched out of his hands. He waited in an uncomfortable silence as the older woman flipped through the pages. It must have been to her liking because she had pleased look on her face as she snapped it shut. "Excellent."
Usually when Perry said that, it was Bennie's cue to leave her office and await further orders. This time however, he wanted to find out something.
The brown haired man coughed into his hand. "…sir," he started. It was a known fact that you did not call Marshall Perry 'ma'am.' Before his courage left him as the older woman's unsettling eyes fixed on him, he continued. "I know I shouldn't have eavesdropped on the meeting. Stupid I know. But I didn't help but notice why do they want four pilots that are no longer in the Mark II program? I mean it's been decommissioned for three years now. Those four have been in Mark III's and Mark IV's for that time. Hell, the Aussies even gave one of their special Mark V's to two of them because they impressed them so much. Why all of a sudden is the Board interested now? "
He felt flustered after he finished and was expecting an immediate reprimand for questioning orders and such. Surprisingly though she didn't do any of that. She just looked blankly at the wall before she set the manila folder on the desk and activated its built-in console. "Apparently something very important."
A flickering hologram appeared of a huge shambling kaiju wrestling with what Bennie recognized to be the lithe form of Calico Jack and the bulkier Devil Spitfire. He internally guessed it was footage of the most recent mission. The intern didn't know. He just delivered files. And unlike some he didn't exactly keep track of all the Jaegers and their kills.
Even if it wasn't his kind of entertainment, (he much rather preferred comic books), Bennie watched as the two behemoths tag-teamed the even bigger crested giant. After a barrage of well-timed punches, Calico Jack slammed into it, flipping over its shoulder, and grabbed the kaiju from the back putting it into a tight headlock just as Spitfire followed and dug its arm mounted blades straight into the exposed neck and activating its twin flamethrowers barbequing the sorry bastard to kingdom come.
He was so enthralled by the footage of the monster sinking into the sea, he didn't grasp that the Marshall was talking to him until she grabbed his shoulder and not so gently shook him.
"Did you even hear me? Christ, report to Mr. Howard and tell him to call them in."
Stupidly he opened his mouth. "But aren't they on shore leave?" Bennie quailed when a dry smile appeared on her lips.
"Guess they're going to have to cut it short."