Hey, peeps~! Here's the next chapter of The Phoenix Rising. And let's just say that there's gonna be more intel and searching for secrets... :3
Review replies:
- Spiceracksargent001: Oh, you'll see~! X3 I really did enjoy writing that segment for sure. ;3
- raw666: I will. :3
- operation meteor: And glad ya liked it! :) They will join soon. Just as soon as Operation: Merlin begins. :3
- CT7567Rules: Huh. Maybe you can PM me ideas for firearms for the resistance! XD :) I'd be appreciative of that. ;)
(A pair of optics flashes online before lights flare on to show the Strike Dagger S in its hangar bay, Spray standing atop its shoulder with an American flag held in one hand, his trench coat draped across his shoulders like a cape)
START MIKAKUNIN HIKOUSEN BY TAKAYOSHI TANIMOTO
(The pilot tosses the American flag off to the side as he leaps off his machine's shoulder, the camera following the flag as it flutters down to the hangar floor)
Oh yeah! Be strong, jump on, and become the wind (The camera moves up to show the Strike Dagger S engaged with the Perfect Sword Strike, both pilots superimposed over their machines as their blades clash)
Pass the orbit beyond the sky (The two break off before flying towards one another again, Spray shown with Earth in the background, his eyes in SEED Mode as he grits his teeth)
I can't hold back this rushing speed (Dennis Krantz is shown with a large, shadowy shape in the background as he charges in, his eyes wide in his fury)
A familiar town becomes a diorama (The camera follows both pilots as they clash in a flash of light, the camera panning down to show the Resistance base in Mexico, Dr. Keith Martinez and Commander Ibara standing before it)
Burst through the unclear skies (The skies are shown to be covered in clouds as the camera pans up and over, coming down to show Rear Admiral Dorana Xen as she stands in a land battleship, arms crossed, a large army of AI-controlled suits before her)
Blow away your worries and discontent (The rear admiral sneers as she watches the resistance fighting bravely, but unable to do much to stop her, only for a flash of a beam saber to cut across the screen)
Who needs a journey that's by the book? (The camera pans to the right to show a gray-colored mobile suit as it spins around, glowing blue optics locking onto Xen's eyes)
Even if you're lost or trembling, raise the altitude (The machine climbs up, becoming a small speck in the sky, only for a second machine to come down, showing it to be the Demolition Dagger as it lands in front of Paris, looking up as the camera shows Kyle behind it)
Oh yeah! Show off, mess up, and stand back up (The Demolition Dagger attacks the closest Atlantian Daggers before the camera is blinded by thick black smoke, only to fade to show Wing Zero stand up in the middle of a damaged naval base)
I'll watch the unknown horizon with you (The camera is engulfed in flames before they blow apart to show Eisenhower standing atop the warehouse, three other figures standing behind her as the sun sets before her)
Now be strong, jump on, and become the wind (The camera moves to the right as it shows Eisenhower leaping off the building, a pair of mechanical phoenix wings sprouting from her back)
Use the sun that lights tomorrow as a guide (Above her is shown Spray Krane in his own machine, reaching out for the light of the sun as it shines above a new, futuristic city)
Fly off to the glorious world of freedom! (The scene freezes with all the major players flying towards a shining world, stars around all of them)
GUNDAM WING: THE PHOENIX RISING
Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall
- Steven Jackson 'Spray' Krane
CHAPTER XX: Deathly Secrets
December 7th, CE 0073
Heaven's Base, Iceland
The icy wind was way too much for many who lived and worked in the base in Iceland.
But for Corporal George Treston, it could've been worse.
He stood off to the side as he examined the large, walled off segment of the base. His eyes narrowed as he studied it critically.
Everything he could see ended at that wall.
That wall was what was shielding the mysterious Project Reaper from their eyes and ears.
The Natural shifted his stance before he turned and walked off, heading into the nearest building to get some respite from the bitter cold.
Growing up in Alaska had given him an intense tolerance for cold, but even he had his limits, and Iceland's chill was enough to make him regret being transferred here.
But if the resistance needed him here, then so be it.
The door to the barracks slid shut and he rubbed his shoulders as one of his fellow soldiers approached. "Hey, George!" the man remarked. "Chilly out, isn't it?"
"Yeah. And I thought a lifetime in Alaska was bound to prepare me for this!" George jested with a laugh.
"Eh, no one can be prepared for the bitter cold of the Icelandic winter," the soldier said with a grin. "Not like those freaks up in orbit, no offense to some of 'em."
Thaddeus Thatch was a rare breed in the diehards in this base, George knew. A good majority of people would call him a sympathizer, but he still toed the line, only spouting out what needed to be said instead of repeating the same base lies. Those that were considered "good" Coordinators in his eyes were those who fought to save the world in the First Bloody Valentine War, and to George, that was a sign that Thaddeus could be trusted with some things, but not all. So he was sort of a member of the rebels, but not entirely due to the residual beliefs of the Coordinator race being a threat.
"Eh, you can't always judge a book by its cover, Thaddeus," George reminded the other man.
Thaddeus did know, and he returned it with a wry grin.
"Yeah, I getcha, buddy," he said. Then he became serious. "That whole project though... what is it exactly?" he asked in a softer tone.
"No clue, Thaddeus, but it's not good," George whispered back. "Look. I've been digging around, and all that I can come up with is that there is no way it can be a set of ships. There's just too much supplies being sent here."
"I know," Thaddeus muttered. "I did some checking myself... and what is up with the mobile suits? There's no provisions for pilots, no medical supplies... nothing."
That was something that sent chills down George's back every time he thought of it.
"But why?" he muttered. "It just doesn't make any sense..."
The two men really had no answer as to why the ship was being constructed with no human crew in mind. If there were mobile suits, then it surely had to have pilots or crew to man and maintain them. And with the sheer size he was beginning to suspect it was, it would require a crew of thousands just to keep it up and running, along with all support and weapons.
George turned and started to walk back towards his room, concern crossing his face. Thaddeus was baffled as he watched his friend head off without him. He jogged after, trying to get an idea of the man's thoughts.
"George?"
The rebel mole didn't answer. He just had his eyes narrowed, fists clenched as he walked, trying to think.
Thaddeus by now knew how his friend thought, so he decided to let him think as the two made their way back to their shared room.
For the rebel, though, his mind was working overtime.
'Why strip out the human components if there are all those mobile suits? Where are the pilots, the mechanics, etc.? It's not normal to have a ship stripped of all that essential crew...' he thought. 'Unless there was a reason for it... And then there's the fact that all that metal and ammunition and armaments are being sent in. Just how big is this project?'
He could recall the reports describing how some supplies were being sent here to Iceland, and of how some were being sent to the L2 shipyards up in orbit. That alone was worrisome, and his eyes hardened as he gritted his teeth. "This... This is not good..." he muttered. "What the hell is going on here?"
The two men reached their room a half hour later, and George unlocked the door. Once inside, he tossed his hat to the side as Thaddeus did the same. Then, he suddenly spun and punched the wall, startling the other man with a yelp.
"The hell, George?! You could've hurt yourself!" Thaddeus exclaimed.
George didn't answer as he looked up, eyes narrowed dangerously. "Thaddeus... what is going on here?" he asked.
The other man didn't know what to say as he looked down at the ground beneath his feet. "Well... what do you want me to say?" he asked. "You and I have been investigating this thing, but you haven't told me why."
"And that will come after we win this war," George told his friend seriously. "That is, me and those who want to end this before it gets out of hand."
Thaddeus wasn't told the whole story, and it kind of made George a bit frustrated. Thaddeus was a good kid, but until he could be shown the truth about Coordinators entirely, then there was no way he could be trusted. As it stood, George had insisted on the man being brought into the investigation into Project: Reaper because it was better with multiple people working on it rather than one individual alone.
And so Thaddeus had been told a half-truth about whom he was really working for. He had only been told that George was part of a group who sought to prevent the war from escalating into a war of full-on genocide. And in a sense, it was true, but at the same time, it was not. So George had to be careful about whatever he spoke to the other man about regarding this mission. It was nerve-wracking to say the least. George hadn't signed up to become a spy. He had signed up to become a mole in the military's higher command. But now, here he was, acting as a spy for the resistance.
That kind of thing made his skin crawl and he had to take in a breath to keep himself from succumbing to the jitters.
He managed to keep his hands from shaking, but he couldn't hide the sweat starting to pool at the base of his neck.
The other man noticed his friend's anxiety. "George?"
"Sorry. I'm still trying to piece this all together," the rebel lied. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the sticky feeling of sweat on his flesh. "It's kind of disturbing... And in so many ways it's not funny."
Thaddeus was silent, but he accepted his friend's story. He sat down, running his hand through his hair. "The only question now is... what is this Project: Reaper really meant to do."
George gave a nod, unsure of what he was to say next.
He reached over and grabbed the TV remote, flicking it on and flipping through the channels.
The base did have some decent TV, he had to admit, but the shows beaming back from the Atlantian Reich were far from what he wanted to see. At least it was better than that damned propaganda that they spouted all the time.
However, as he flipped to the news, his eyes widened as he saw what appeared to be a smoking mountain on the TV, and he sat upright, his mouth falling open.
Beside him, Thaddeus was caught off guard as well.
"What's happening in Mexico?" he asked.
"I have no idea..." George whispered.
'Oh crap...! That's where the BOLO Initiative is being carried out!' he thought in a panic. He turned up the volume a bit and the news reporter's voice started to filter into the room.
"...here in the Chihuahuan Desert where apparently a large scale battle took place at this location," the man said, his eyes locked onto the camera. "The entire scene is one of devastation, as numerous wrecks of mobile suits and what appear to be old tanks litter the battlefield."
The cameraman panned the device around, and George felt his breath catch in his throat. He could see one of the mobile suits right on the screen, and the pilot was obviously dead. But the face... the pilot helmet had been shattered, revealing the face of one of his closest friends, Julie Rebus. Her eyes were closed and she had a smile on her face, even in death.
"The inhabitants of the nearby towns have always suggested that this place was haunted by spirits and extraterrestrials, but as one can see, there is no such thing here. And yet, many are starting to question just who the combatants of this battle were," the news reporter stated. "From the sight of the mobile suits and pilots, it's clear to those of us here that there is a notable underground movement starting to brew. However, the numbers are up for speculation."
"The hell?" Thaddeus murmured. "A resistance movement within our own country?"
George's heart leapt into his throat and he gulped before he took in a breath and let it out. "It's hard to accept," he concurred, doing his utmost best to hide his fear and anxiety. He clenched his fists a bit before forcing himself to relax.
"I wonder what their objective is..." Thaddeus muttered.
The rebel had to resist answering. He turned back to the news.
"While a number of the machines here were piloted, the majority were not, leading many to speculate as to what is really happening within the higher echelons of the High Command," the reporter continued. "Theories are already starting to bounce about artificial intelligence controlled mobile suits, but so far, no one has come forward to confirm or deny the rumors."
Thaddeus and George both tensed as they heard those five words.
"Artificial intelligence..." George breathed.
"Controlled..." Thaddeus muttered, eyes wide.
"Mobile suits?" both men whispered as one.
The two looked to one another, and for once, George was glad the base in Mexico had been attacked. Well, not in the sense he was relieved that the base was destroyed, but the fact that the aftermath had diverted Thaddeus' attention away from the resistance and on the AI suits that were in theoretical development. "Thaddeus... That explains a lot..." he said softly.
"You mean to tell me that the ship or ships being built here are supposed to carry a complement of those suits?" the other man asked.
George gave a firm nod. "I think that is what they're doing here..." he said in a serious tone. "It would explain the lack of personnel aboard and the lack of any human accommodations for the pilots, least of all any mechanics or whatnot."
Thaddeus realized his friend did have a point.
It was the only explanation they could see.
But why would they assign a contingent of AI controlled suits to these new ships? And with how much stuff was being shipped in for these...
His eyes widened as realization began to dawn in his mind. A sinking feeling filled his gut as he began to sweat a bit, his skin becoming pale as the blood drained from his face. "Oh, shit...!" he breathed. "This whole thing...! Project Reaper...!"
Now he knew what it was.
A fleet of ships equipped with AI controlled mobile suits.
And as to how big they were, he could only hazard a guess, but that guess was not going to be the truth of the sheer scale of the ships.
He glanced to Thaddeus. "I have to make a call to my superior," he said. "I'll be right back."
Thaddeus just nodded as he watched his friend get up and leave.
As he exited their shared room at a brisk pace, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He glanced around furtively before he hit the encryption app and the channel came up. He made a show of searching for a phone number when in reality he was entering the code for the encrypted communications function. His eyes narrowed as he spotted a security camera and he held the phone up to his ear, mouthing some words and moving his hand as if exasperated. Once he was out of the line of sight of the camera, he lowered his phone and hit a certain phone number.
. . .
Resistance Headquarters Warehouse
Denver, Colorado
The President was sound asleep when the call came in.
The loud siren alarm on her phone blared and she jolted upright, her eyes wide as she sought out whomever or whatever had woken her. Her gaze landed on the phone buzzing beside her, and she frowned as she wracked her sleep-addled brain for a moment as she saw the number.
Then it clicked and she was awake, her eyes hardening as she snatched the device off her bedside dresser and activated it.
"Go," she ordered.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry to wake you, but it's urgent!" the voice of George Treston stated.
"What's so urgent you needed to call me this early?" Eisenhower grumbled.
"It has to do with Project Reaper."
That was all it took. She sat up in bed fully, throwing the covers off as she sat on the edge of her bed. "What have you learned?" she asked.
He proceeded to tell her, and her eyes widened in shock before they narrowed to mere slits. "Dammit...! That's not good!" she growled.
"Yeah. Thaddeus also agrees with me on this," George told her. "But the main issue here is... just how many ships are they building, and what kind of weapons loadouts will they have, if any? And how big are they?"
She pursed her lips as she tried to think.
'Okay. Looks like that the project is beginning to near its completion, but as to how long that will take is beyond us for the moment. The fact that there are no human accommodations indicates that these things are meant to be carriers for the AI mobile suits. Or something else...' she thought, narrowing her eyes. 'This requires a more in depth scouting operation. The only question now is... how to get into the yards?'
That was the key.
If they were to get a true idea of the scale of Project: Reaper, they would have to have someone infiltrate the yards, which was a lot easier said than done given the intense security there. And as it was, it was only by pure luck they had managed to get a mole into the personnel at Heaven's Base.
And there was also the question of what other secrets lurked in the darkness of LOGOs.
Her gaze flicked back to the images of the men and women training in the desert close to Kiddie Kamp, and her eyes narrowed a bit more.
"Ma'am?" Her gaze snapped back towards Treston's image.
"Corporal, you have to try and get into the yards," she ordered. "That's the only way we can even ascertain how big Project: Reaper truly is."
"But the security...!" he blurted.
"I know." Eisenhower's eyes were narrowed into mere slits as she spoke. "I know about that. But given the chance, wouldn't you also want to know about the true scope of this project?"
Treston bit his lower lip as he glanced to the wall of the yards nervously. "I don't know..." he whispered. "It's too big a risk... And Thaddeus may not like it. He might report me, and then you'd be out of a mole here."
She pursed her lips at that. Thaddeus was a risk factor, she knew. But from what she had heard of the kid, he did seem like a good boy. But as to how indoctrinated he was... that was an issue. He didn't seem like it, but there was no telling.
And that brought her back to the next issue.
Commandant Ramius.
Her own project was about to commence, and she wanted to be there to see how he could be snapped back to his senses, if at all.
If not, then at least he would be removed from command of Norfolk and then they could put one of their own in charge there.
Her gaze hardened. "Just do what you have to do. Do whatever it takes to get in without exposing yourself to anyone, including Thaddeus!" she ordered.
Treston gulped before he merely gave a salute and closed down the encrypted line.
She sighed as she rubbed her forehead with both fingers. This was going to be a long day...
. . .
Satellite Base No. 01
Mexico
December 4th, CE 0073
Dr. Keith Martinez was completely oblivious to the world around him as he slept.
His last efforts to make sure the base's defenses were well organized had pushed him deep into the night without much sleep for two days. So he was exhausted beyond belief.
He collapsed a few hours ago in his bed, and now he was out like a light, soft snores coming from him as he drooled into his pillow.
At least until a loud blaring rang in his ears.
His eyes snapped open and he was on his feet in a flash, throwing the covers off his bed and getting to his feet. His hand flew for his pistol and he felt the first surge of adrenaline as he scanned the room for any sign of an intruder. But there was nothing. The next thought was of a cyber attack. He ran over to the desk in his new room, grabbing the chair and sitting down, only to pause as he realized the blaring was not coming from his computer, but from his phone.
The computer whiz rubbed his forehead as he felt the first pangs of a headache building. "Crap... why does it have to be so early for this?" he muttered as he got up and walked back over to his bed. He grabbed the phone and sat down on the edge of his bed, bringing the device online.
He could already see that the caller was someone he knew, but the woman's name escaped him for the moment. The code name for her was Jackal, and he had to wrack his brain for a moment before her name came to him.
"Jackal... Jackie Willis," he muttered. "Now why would she be calling me at this time in the morning?"
He hit the accept button and the encryption system went to work, allowing him to put in his code to receive the encrypted call. The screen flickered before the static faded to reveal the face of Jackie Willis. She was in her mid-to-late thirties, and she had a shock of bright red hair that looked unnatural, but it was just dyed. Her eyes were a piercing bronze, and she clearly looked like she had been an athlete before being forced underground.
She was not a pilot, that much was for certain. While she could have been one, the one thing that kept her from doing such a strenuous activity was the fact she had high blood pressure. She did, however, make for an effective scout because she was very silent and highly observant out in the field. And she was the one who had been assigned to scouting duty this morning.
"Jackal... What's the idea calling me so early?" Keith grumbled.
"Sir, I'm sorry to wake you, but this is urgent," the woman said.
The way she said it was enough to make Keith snap to full alertness. The last vestiges of sleep slipped away as he sat up straighter. Her tone was enough to send a chill down his back. "What's going on?" he demanded.
"Let's just say that there's been an unexpected development..." Her voice trailed off and Keith felt a bit of irritation building in his chest.
"What development?" he demanded.
"It's best you come down to the command center, sir," Jackal admitted. "It's got to be seen to be believed."
Keith grumbled as he hung up the phone and got dressed. He exited his room fifteen minutes later, holding a cup of coffee in one hand. That was all he had been on these last few days: cup after cup of coffee. He ignored the aching from his headache as he made his way down to the tunnel that led to transport network.
The entire tunnel network connecting the satellite bases to one another was not meant to walk down, although it could be done on sidewalks running past the rail tracks. The tunnels were meant to be used by a subway-like system of transport, but due to lacking the materials to build the cars, most of the transport between bases was done either by foot or by handcar, of which there was an abundance. Keith opted to take a handcar, as it would keep him busy.
The computer whiz checked out a handcar from the nearby storage center and pushed it down to the tunnel. He hopped on and began to push the crank, generating the motion necessary to move the car. Up and down, up and down, up and down...
It was tedious and monotonous, but it also acted as a meditative thing for him as it allowed him to focus on his thoughts as he headed down the tunnel. The lights whizzed by overhead, a few other cars going the opposite way with people heading back from the command center or other sections of the satellite base network. He finally came to a stop not even an hour later at what appeared to be a large intersection. He braked his car and put a nametag on it, marking it as his.
He hopped off and shook his arms, trying to ignore the aching racing through them. "Okay. We have to get an electric car system in here soon..." he muttered.
Keith exited the intersection and headed into the main tunnel leading towards the command center.
The door hissed closed behind him as he walked up the stairs, coming to a halt outside the main door. He leaned forward, a retinal scanner sweeping over his eye before blinking. The door unlocked and slid open, allowing him entry.
Unlike the main base, this command center was in a room the size of NASA's mission control. The huge curved walls were replaced with more standard walls, and at the front was the main monitor, with each satellite base marked on the map. The main one was flashing, indicating it was where everything was run from. Men and women alike sat at the many seats scattered around, replying to information and transmissions from the other bases in the network. He watched as a number of other aides scurried to and fro, carrying papers with important data on them or with reports.
He heard a whistle and he turned, seeing Jackie standing there, waving an arm.
The temporary commander headed over to her.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"This way, sir," Jackie said.
The duo made their way throughout the command center before coming to a stop just before one of the stations. The man in charge looked back. "Ah. About time, sir," he said.
"So what's the deal? Why did you have to call me down here this early?" Keith asked as he struggled to contain a yawn.
Jackie turned to the man and gave a nod. He returned it and turned, typing in a few commands on the keyboard. Within two minutes, the screen flickered and he swung to face the main monitor.
The images of the base network shrank down to the left and within seconds, a new image took their place. This image depicted a sprawling compound, and Keith's eyes widened. "What is this?" he asked.
"That... is what we discovered during a patrol just ten hours ago," Jackie explained. "We did some perimeter scouting and well... let's just say we finally know where Dr. Sung went to."
Keith's eyes widened even more and he gaped as he stared at the massive compound. Several buildings were constructed around a central lab, and a bunch of prefab homes were erected around the lab and larger buildings. What appeared to be walls guarded the compound from all sides, and he could see a dirt road heading to a main gate.
"That's... what is that place?" he asked.
"This is Dr. Sung's lab compound," Jackie stated. Her eyes narrowed. "And well... let's just say that we've gotten some worrisome signs he may have seen us."
Keith narrowed his eyes as he pondered this new development. "So in short, what you're suggesting is that we have to either make a move on that place... or let it be and risk exposing ourselves again," he surmised.
She nodded.
"Hm." Keith crossed his arms and looked at the image critically.
'The fact that this place is built so close to our satellite network... it must've been by pure chance that this happened,' he mused. 'But still... this has to be considered an important thing. This could actually give us some leverage... Heero did say that he wanted data from any Extended lab or projects... and this one is just the jackpot we need. Plus... if we could get data on how to reverse the programming...!'
His eyes hardened as he lifted his gaze. "We're taking that lab."
A few people heard him and blinked as they looked at one another before focusing their gazes on him. Keith turned to face the entire room. "We are going to take that lab," he repeated, jabbing a finger at it. "That right there is the heart of the entire Extended program! If we can take it, we could also find out how to reverse the programming done to those kids, as well as maybe even gather more data on how to remove the drugs from their systems, and reverse the brainwashing! That lab is the base of one Dr. Guo Sung, the creator of the programming and machines needed! So if we can get him... we can also remove him from the playing field!"
A lot of people were surprised as they saw what was coming.
"But sir, we lack intel on its defenses," one man protested.
Keith directed his gaze at him. "And that's why over the next twenty-four hours, we'll be conducting scouting ops and some probes to see just what they are! Once we do that, we can make a battle plan! I know it's risky, given how we haven't trained for this, but if we could devastate two Destroys by collapsing our base, then think about this: if we can do that, we can take this base and show just what we're capable of! We can show these Atlantian Nazi barbarians what we really fight for!"
Cheers broke out as Keith smiled, looking around the room.
Then his grin faded and he became serious. "I want all commanders of the units here to meet me in the meeting room within fifteen minutes. We need to formulate a rough battle plan before we make our move. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir!" came the cry.
Keith nodded. "Very well. You are all dismissed!"
. . .
December 5th, CE 0073
Dr. Gup Sung's Lab
Chihuahuan Desert, Mexico
The lab was a bustling madhouse as personnel scurried to and fro, carrying reports and papers pertaining to the operations of the compound.
Out of all the labs in the Atlantic Federation, this one was the most secretive, and for a good reason.
This was where the programming for the most elite Extended were done.
Dr. Guo Sung sat in his office, overlooking the facility from the tenth floor.
He was in his mid-to-late sixties, with a thatch of thinning black hair that was starting to turn gray. His eyes were a dark brown, borderline black, and he had a somewhat paunchy build. He had fine hands and fingers, the marks of a programmer and a geneticist. He wore a white lab coat with a brown shirt and black slacks. He had white sneakers on his feet and around his neck was a lanyard with his ID on it.
Dr. Sung was one of the foremost experts in the conditioning of the human mind, having developed the Extended programming by pure accident. While he initially wanted to help people, it was his love for power that was his downfall. The very concept of programming a human mind into whatever he saw fit had been too tempting, and he fell into the habit of seeing how far he could push it. It was only when he was caught by a number of people did he finally get arrested. But before he could be deported to the Republic of East Asia, he was bailed out by Lord Murata Azrael who had seen the military value of his work.
However, he was ordered to never show his face in public, lest he be arrested again or even lynched by the public. A small price to pay, he mused, for the chance to create the perfect soldiers to wipe out the Coordinators. Even in the aftermath of his disappearance from the public eye, he was still behind the creation of the Extended, even going as far as to submitting his programming instructions to the other labs as a means to allow them to build upon his work. And he had to admit Los Alamos had really redefined what he had set out to do.
He hoped that once this war was over, they were given a Nobel Prize.
He had no idea how wrong he was to assume that.
His eyes roved over the defenses of the compound, taking note of all the mobile suits, all the technological marvels that were set up to protect him, or so his superiors had said. In reality, he knew, it was to keep him in, contained in a prison of his own making.
But as long as he did his work, he was allowed out of the compound under strict conditions. So he figured it wasn't all too bad.
The door hissed open behind him and he turned, tearing his eyes away from the outside to face his subordinate and second-in-command, Jun Shin.
"Sir? We have to talk," he said.
"What?" the doctor asked.
Jun didn't even hesitate to walk over to the window, closing the blinds before he turned to face his superior. He held up a tablet and handed it to him. "We recently got wind of someone probing on the outskirts of the compound."
"Hm?" Dr. Sung took the tablet and looked at it, his eyes narrowing. "What's this?" he asked, spotting the faint dust trails of vehicles outside the cameras' range.
"The cameras couldn't pick up who it was, but they were clearly scouting out the perimeter," Jun stated. "The guards were the ones to determine that."
"And how did they determine that?" Dr. Sung inquired.
"The Jeeps came closer to the perimeter, testing us," Jun pointed out. "They then withdrew out of range of our guns."
The doctor was no military expert, but he did see the repercussions of this. If there was someone scouting out the compound's perimeter, then that was a sign that the escaped rebels were somewhere close by.
And that was a problem.
His eyes hardened as he handed the tablet back to Jun. "Are all the guards aware of this?" he asked.
Jun nodded. "Yes. They have already begun mobilization of the mobile suits and armored forces."
Dr. Sung cracked a sinister grin as he turned back to the window; although the blinds were closed, he had a suspicion that the forces assigned to guard him were moving out. He could hear the loud metallic footsteps of the Windams as they made their way across the grounds.
This was going to be easier said than done though, given what was at stake here...
. . .
The Jeep bounced over the desert as Jim Kendricks peered through his binoculars at the compound's gates.
The former mailman could see the large metal gates, and he didn't like the way they loomed over the lone road leading into the facility.
He pursed his lips as he turned to the driver, a young woman of Mexican heritage who had joined the movement four years ago. Her name was Virtudes Casal and she was in her early forties, with long black hair and rich, chocolate brown eyes that flattered her tan skin. She was not some beauty that was to be fawned over though. She was a former spec ops soldier in the Mexican branch of the Atlantian Armed Forces, and it showed in her physique and experience with operations like this.
Jim on the other hand was in his late sixties, having left his home in Boston to assist in Mexico where his brother-in-law had been killed several months ago in a protest against Atlantian women being banned from the military on account of their gender alone. He quit his job and left Boston, traveling hi hitchhiking down to the country's southern border and heading through the checkpoint into Mexico itself. He joined the resistance a few days later, making his home in their base and establishing himself as a reliable messenger, even if it was through the TORN rather than through snail mail.
"You getting this, senor?" Casal asked.
He nodded. "Yeah. I can see it." He narrowed his eyes. "They've got some heavy security here."
"Si. And given who he works for, it makes sense," Casal admitted. Her eyes hardened as she slowly turned the Jeep around, driving in a circle to the left. "What else can you see?"
"Let's see... I'm making out AA guns, so our fliers will have to be careful of that," he remarked. "Those Windams are going to also be a hassle."
"We can handle those," Casal stated. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "What about other weapons for defense?"
"I can barely see a large hangar, but it's there," Jim reported. "It's... I think it might house a Destroy, I'm not entirely sure."
"We will keep that in mind," she replied. "Thank you."
The Jeep bounced along the perimeter of the facility, allowing Jim to scan its defenses more thoroughly. His eyes could barely make out the large shapes of the Windams as they proceeded to prowl the exterior of the complex. He could already see that one of them was watching the Jeep, its rifle aimed at them. Casal seemed to see this as well, for she peeled to the right, heading away from the facility.
"I think we have enough information," she said.
Jim, however, wasn't too sure of this. The fact that there was a large hangar in the middle of the facility made him worried. A chill ran down his spine as he glanced to her. "For now..." he muttered.
Casal understood his meaning as she nodded grimly.
. . .
Heaven's Base, Iceland
December 7th, CE 0073
The two men stood outside the main gate leading into the large shipyard.
Corporal George Treston was nervous as hell as he shifted his stance, looking down at the maintenance uniform he was wearing.
It hadn't been hard to get a uniform. But it had been difficult to get some forged ID papers in a quick and timely fashion, which was essential to get in through this very gate. Only by a sheer stroke of luck did the rebels have a small cell in Iceland, allowing him to quickly get the papers within two hours at most.
The guards were strict in this policy, and he had to admit, this was perhaps the most worrisome and stress-inducing assignments for the resistance he had undertaken. For his part, Thaddeus Thatch was acting as a mere guard to replace one who had 'fallen sick' with a slight bout of food poisoning. The guard had gratefully accepted Thaddeus's offer to take his shift, which would allow George to explore and try to get an idea as to what Project: Reaper truly was.
Or at least to get an idea of the scale of the thing.
The guard looked to the two, and he snorted as he saw the medical report. "Some fool didn't even think to avoid eating expired sushi, huh?" he grumped.
"No, sir," Thaddeus remarked. "I do hope that he feels better soon, though."
The guard nodded. "Yeah. Food poisoning is not fun. I will admit that," he remarked. Then he turned his gaze to the disguised soldier. "And who might this be?"
"Jus' one o' th' maintenance men, sir," George said, adding a slight Texan accent to his voice.
"ID papers." The guard held out his hand and George reached into his uniform's pocket, pulling out the papers and handing them to the guard. He scanned them over, then looked George right in the eye. "You look familiar..." he noted, and for a moment George felt his heart leap into his throat as he tried to remain as calm as he could be. He had to clench his gloved hands to keep them from soaking the palms.
"But then again, what would I know? You maintenance guys look a lot alike to me," he said, handing back the papers. "Go ahead."
George took back the papers and pocketed them. "Thanks, man," he said, throwing a laid back salute before the doors started to unlock.
The clattering of the locks was enough to make him wince and he almost clapped his hands to his ears, but he refrained as the doors finally started to slide up, exposing the interior of the yard.
And already he could see large amounts of weaponry ready to be equipped to this new ship or ships.
The mole nodded to Thaddeus who returned it.
And George stepped into the belly of the beast.
Once beyond the gate, there was no going back until he was supposedly done with a maintenance check on some of the weapons systems.
The man stepped beyond the gate and already he was dreading his mission.
The huge yard was massive. Almost a kilometer and a half long, it covered a large segment of the island nation, and it allowed for a number of ships to be built in secrecy. The shipyard had been in development for much of the First BV War, and the intervening peace had allowed it to be developed and finished rapidly, along with the starting of this mysterious Project: Reaper.
And now he was starting to get an idea as to what it was.
He slowly pulled out his smartphone and activated the camera. Then he started to record what he saw.
"Okay. I'm in."
He swept the phone's camera around, looking for any sign of what Reaper was.
"Looks like they've got a lot of firepower here," he noted. "Guns, AA systems, missiles... Man... how much firepower do they need for this thing?"
He started to make his way throughout the facility's yard, unaware of the fact he was being watched...
And not by a friend...
But by an enemy.
. . .
"..." The commandant of the base, one Commandant Lárus Ármannsson, was observing the yard's activity, and along with it, one worker in particular.
"So... he wants to see what Project: Reaper truly is, hm?" he mused.
At forty-five, the commandant was a career soldier, having served with distinction during the First Blood Valentine War in the Battle of Armageddon. His ship had been one of many to survive, but due to the treaty limitations imposed by those creatures in orbit and the race traitors of Orb, the vessel had been scrapped. Or so it had seemed. Due to the need for secrecy, his ship had been gifted to Phantom Pain as a flagship for one of their units. He, on the other hand, had been assigned to Heaven's Base to assume command and take charge of this secret weapon.
Ármannsson was a tall man at six feet, towering over most of the others at the base. He had fair hair and eyes, a broad, muscular build, and a strong jaw. His hair was thick and curly, and he was dressed in cold weather gear as he stood on one of the balconies overlooking the yard. A sneer crossed his face as he watched the resistance spy start to creep around, heading past one of the piles of munitions and making his way towards the hulking shape of the ship under construction.
He was glad that one of his men had told him about this man.
The fact that a resistance movement was forming was disturbing enough. But to find it was already reaching critical levels? That was even worse.
But not as worse as them trying to sniff out Project: Reaper.
He had been given strict instructions by Colonel Nazara to not let anyone find out about this, under threat of execution.
So how was it that this man was able to slip in?
There were many ways he could eliminate this man, he knew. And a lot of them did appeal to him. Some were more brutal than others, but one of them was something he had been wanting to do for some time.
A live hanging.
However, due to the need for discretion, he was not allowed to do so. And that made him mad.
But for the sake of his superior, he would refrain from doing something so... barbaric, as the foolish public would say.
The commandant shifted his gaze from the man as he prowled the dock to the monitor in his office. The terminal was beeping with a call, and he turned, walking back inside as he closed the door behind him. Now enclosed in the heating, he took off his coat and set it aside as he sat down at his desk.
He turned on the monitor and activated the terminal's communications software.
The device's screen flickered before he saw the image of the seal of the Atlantic Federation come on, and he jolted a little.
The image faded to show only static, but then it faded to show Colonel Nazara as he sat in his room. His mask lay on his desk as he scowled.
"Commandant Ármannsson." His voice was thick with anger, something that made the Atlantian shudder. "How goes Reaper?"
"It is moving along, sir," Ármannsson said. "We are starting to increase the capabilities of its armaments and are getting the contingent of mobile suits ready for boarding."
"I see. At least something is going right..." Nazara grumbled.
"Sir? Did something happen?" the commandant inquired.
"Those fools... Our plan was perfect... it was all ready! Our attack dogs were set and unleashed, we had the perfect Extended, we had everything! And yet Terminal interfered!" Nazara snapped. "And it didn't help that we had several moles within the attack force!"
"Moles?" Now Ármannsson was starting to get an idea of what had made his superior so angry. "As in moles for the budding resistance?"
"Try more like a widespread movement!" Nazara snarled. His blue eyes flashed in anger as he punched his desk. "If they had such people in our ranks, then it makes sense to assume that they are much larger than anticipated! But the only issue is... how can we find them?! They are like ghosts! Phantoms! The Headhunter Division can't sniff them out, and the Court of Owls has been assassinating them left and right!"
Ármannsson frowned. "I see..."
Normally he didn't speak to his superior as an equal. But since both men were of the same age and had backed each other up during his tenure in North Africa, it made sense that he would see his superior as a comrade in arms and treat him with respect. In exchange, Nazara had a respect for this man as well. He could sense in him a kindred soul, and their hearts burned with the same hatred for Orb, the Coordinator menace, and all who stood against them. His appointment to Heaven's Base had not been a mere fluke; Nazara had personally recommended him for the task, trusting him with Project: Reaper and its construction.
And so far, he was proving to be just the man for the task at hand.
"The resistance... they were the ones who sabotaged the Destroys," Nazara finally admitted. "They somehow tampered with the targeting systems and made hospitals forbidden targets, it seemed."
"Sir, I am going to admit that while I do not like the fact they interfered, I am impressed by how they did it," Ármannsson admitted.
The colonel finally sighed, closing his eyes. "Please. Call me Nazara, Lárus. If it's just the two of us, you can call me by name."
Lárus nodded. "I understand, Nazara."
"I can see why you'd respect it. I have to admit that it was clever, albeit narrow in its scope. But that was what led us to fail in torching Moscow into nothing but rubble," Nazara told his friend. "It really makes me burn with hatred... how could our people not be united in our crusade? We have done everything we can to make it so."
"I have no answer to that, Nazara," the commandant said, shrugging. "I am a military man, not a psychologist or someone who specializes in this matter."
He knew what his friend was referring to. The colonel nodded. "Yes, you are."
"Also, there is something else that is bothering me," Lárus told him. He shifted in his seat, his eyes taking on an icy tinge. "We have a mole in our ranks, as well."
There was only silence in the room as the colonel narrowed his eyes. "A mole, you say?"
"Yes," the commandant admitted. "For the resistance, no doubt."
"And you weren't aware of this until now?" Nazara asked, a tinge of fury making its way into his voice.
"I was aware," Lárus assured his friend. "One of my men is in contact with him. So he was able to inform me of his activities. I have him under observation now."
Nazara's scowl furled a bit before his lips tugged up into a smirk. "Excellent. I assume you have plans to execute or arrest?"
The fact that he had put execution as a top choice rather than merely arresting was a sign of how far the Atlantians had fallen, preferring to make an example out of those who dared to resist their new world order. And to many in the aftermath of the war, it was only a mark of how brutal they had become in their treatment of others, including their own kind. It was enough to make many sane people feel sick. But then again, when were any of the Atlantian leadership sane these days?
"Yes, I do, old friend," Lárus stated. "I do indeed."
"Good. We cannot have anyone, least of all the rebels, finding out about our project. Lord Djibril would be pissed," Nazara stated.
Lárus folded his arms as he smirked. "The mole will be killed when he least expects it," he assured the colonel.
Nazara gave a sinister grin as he tented his fingers. "Excellent, Lárus. I expect a report soon."
"As you wish, old friend," the commandant purred. He closed down the terminal's COMM frequency and turned in his seat to look out the window of his office. He sneered.
"I hope you are ready... rebel scum... for it is your final demise that will show our determination..."
. . .
"...to end the Coordinator menace once and for all...!"
Thaddeus watched with an emotionless face as he observed his so-called friend through his sniper scope.
He hated this.
Despite his being a really good guy, the truth was he was a staunch anti-Coordinator supremacist. Sure those who had fought to prevent the extermination of humanity were good people, he had to admit, but it did little to change the truth: that many of them were Coordinators and needed to be wiped out. After all, if both sides had been wiped out, then there would be no one to inherit Mother Earth's bounty.
And he was not one to let his sentiments stand between him and the crusade.
He had his orders.
He aimed and waited.
Down in the docks, George made his way past several more maintenance workers, and he finally came to the large shape he had seen briefly. He had to pluck out his flashlight because the shape was blocking the light of the moon as it continued to move overhead. "This...!" His eyes were wide as he slowly swept the flashlight up, the beam barely touching the underside of the huge object looming over him. "What...?"
Now he was getting a bad feeling. And he had to hurry.
He started to continue to make his way throughout, sweeping his flashlight all along the entire object, his dread growing all the while. He could finally see just what the project was... and of the danger it posed.
The ship... was huge!
And there was no way Project: Shūmatsu could even bring this behemoth down.
It was way too big.
And the mobile suits under construction?
All driven by AIs.
The ultimate expression of humanity's technological prowess and that racist minority's single-minded devotion to the Coordinator Genocide.
This was...
Project Reaper.
The mere implications made him sick to his stomach.
This... This was a mere mockery of what the resistance intended for humanity to become.
Technology of this scale should not be used to wipe out a single species of humanity for how they were born. It should be used to encourage colonization of new worlds, to advance, to showcase the true nature of humanity's ambition to become better and push forward beyond their limits. It should be used to defend against any possible aliens out there in space, if they even existed. But most importantly, it should've been used to make humanity better instead of for this stupid conflict!
He finally stopped halfway around the perimeter of the ship, panting as he looked up at it. "You... you sick son of a bitch...!" he rasped, clutching at a stitch in his side. "Technology should not be used for something like this...!"
George stood there for a moment, regaining his strength and collecting his breath. He knew what he had to do now.
He grabbed his phone and pulled it out before hitting the encryption key to enable the high-strength encryption.
. . .
December 7th, CE 0073
Resistance Headquarters Warehouse
Denver, Colorado
Eisenhower grunted as she pushed hard, her back and shoulder muscles straining against the weight tied to her braid. She could feel the agony, but she pushed past it, making sure she was not bothered by the shooting pain. She had dealt with worse, after all.
Her muscular arms pumped as she pulled herself up on the bar, sweat running down her face and limbs as they barely shook.
Her workouts were intense, and some even said that she was crazy to push herself so hard.
But seeing as how she intended to be out fighting alongside her forces when the revolution began, she was not about to be left behind. It also helped keep her in shape and fighting the advances of age. She was not about to be a weakling against the men of the Atlantian Reich.
She felt her braid beginning to strain a bit more as exhaustion crept up on her. She gave it a few more seconds in holding her position before finally letting go and landing on the ground, the weight tied to her braid landing on the floor behind her with a loud thunk. She reached back and grabbed the rope, pulling and letting her braid fall free. She stood up and rolled her shoulders before she walked over to the table and grabbed a water bottle. She cracked it open and took a large swig of the sports drink inside.
The President grabbed a nearby towel and threw it over her shoulders as she sat down, feeling the intense strain of her workout surging through her entire body.
She slowly looked up, hearing her phone buzzing from the bench close by.
Grumbling, she grabbed it and pulled it close, bringing it up and her eyes widened as she saw who it was on the encrypted communications app.
She pressed the button and the code was sent, linking the two devices and enabling encrypted communications. The screen fizzled for a moment before George's face came up on the screen. "What is it, George?"
"Ma'am, I have some news to report," the mole said. "It has to do with Project: Reaper!"
That got her. She sat up straight, her eyes narrowing. "Project: Reaper? What can you tell me about it?" she asked.
Here George moved a bit, allowing her to see something huge looming overhead as he angled the camera to try and take in as much of the shape as he could. "The ship they're building is far too big to be a mere ship," he told her. "From its size alone, I can easily tell that Project: Shūmatsu is not going to be able to take this thing down with one shot like we initially hoped for..."
"What else can you tell me about the project?" Eisenhower demanded.
"It's got a full compliment of AI units aboard it. So far no human accommodations have been noted at first glance, but that could change," George reported. "The ship is also incredibly armed, and from what I can see on its front, it has some kind of shield emitters. I can't even begin to fathom what kind they are, but whatever the case, the Atlantian Nazis have clearly been working on this thing for some time."
Eisenhower was not liking this one bit. She felt a sinking feeling surfacing in her gut. "So... based on this alone... you're telling me that Project: Reaper is some kind of super ship?"
George gave a nod. "Yes. Project Reaper is a -" He was suddenly cut off as he jerked, his eyes widening as blood suddenly dribbled down his mouth, making the President grasp her phone as she got to her feet.
"George?! What's happening!?" she barked.
"...red...nut..." was all she heard before her mole fell, his phone slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor. She could hear it before she started calling out.
"George?! GEORGE!"
. . .
Thaddeus pulled his knife out of George's chest, reaching down and grabbing the cell phone in his hand.
"George!" a female voice called out. "Respond!"
"I'm sorry to say that your spy is dead," Thaddeus admitted.
"Who the hell is this?!" the voice demanded.
"I can't say," Thaddeus told her. "But I can tell you this. You should be thankful I won't spill about you."
"Why should we trust you?!" the woman snapped.
"Because I trusted George. But... given the circumstances, Coordinators are still a menace, even if they did help to save the world from Armageddon a few years back. However, out of respect for him, I will give you a warning." Thaddeus fell silent as the woman spoke.
"Then why kill him if you trusted him?" she hissed.
"Because we cannot have our trump cards revealed to the public, least of all a force like your own," Thaddeus explained. "It's on orders from our superiors that any and all spies or people who seek to expose it must be executed."
The woman began to speak, only for Thaddeus to continue, tears forming in his eyes. "I admit that there is nothing that I can do to justify my actions here. But if not for me, then for your comrade I hope you heed my warning."
"Just what is it?" the woman growled.
The Atlantian closed his eyes. "The warning is this. Beware the leader of the Northern Folk. It is he who will lead LOGOs to a new war if he is not stopped."
"What northern folk?" the woman demanded.
"You should know. Their lands are located on the east coast of the country you are seeking to reclaim, yes? The one former superpower?" Thaddeus muttered. He opened his eyes. "LOGOs plans for things in threes. Three attacks on Eurasia. Three Destroys to eliminate Moscow. One war concluded with a loss. One war raging. One more war remains."
The woman's eyes widened in shock at his words. Then Thaddeus held up the phone. "I will destroy this phone and all record of communication. Think of this as a last act from someone who regrets his actions, but cannot break free." He then shut it down and dropped the device to the ground. He turned to look at George's corpse before he stomped on the phone, crushing it and placing it in his hand.
"I am truly sorry..." he muttered. "But... I just can't break free from this... As much as I want to. At least I still have enough self-awareness to do this last act before I succumb to their hatred."
He turned and walked off, having given the resistance a big heads up as to what would come in the future if LOGOs was not taken out...
Completely.
. . .
Eisenhower stared in shock at the dial tone before she hung up and placed the device on her bench.
She bowed her head as she tented her fingers, placing them in front of her face as she pondered the words of the man who had killed their former mole.
She could already see that there was something in that warning he had given her.
The mention of a new leader that would take LOGOs in a new direction if they were not taken out. That was disturbing enough to make her wonder just what they had planned for this third war if they lost this one.
But then there was something else that tickled at her conscience.
The identity of this new leader.
The man mentioned the Northern Folk, and their lands being on the east coast of America.
But there was no land that held people called the Northern Folk.
Unless...
Her eyes suddenly snapped open.
"The Northern Folk... the east coast of America..."
She had a good idea as to where this man was located now. And her eyes narrowed as she pondered her next move.
She knew that Captain Ramius's father was the commandant at Norfolk.
But the fact that he might be a new leader of LOGOs? That was something she didn't even want to consider. Still, she would have to act if she was to stop this from happening again. She stood up, tossing the towel off her shoulders and picking up her phone.
She had a new call to make.
