Chapter 3
The clouds drizzled away in color and form as ink and dye was riddled throughout them. The dazzling sunlight vanished from the island's existence, leaving Miki and Meru scolded in an everlasting shadow. Godzilla's frayed splinters of skin and hide, deepened, as well as the water that streaked against his waist.
"I think we should talk to some people about feeding Godzilla." Miki's tone seemed to calm the storm that bellowed above them, her wishful thinking as carefree as a child's.
"Junior has become aggressive, haven't you sensed it this time? It would dangerous to put anyone near him, for fear that he may not be the pacifist that he use to be." Meru's words were splattered with droplets of rain as she spoke.
"He is the same as he was when he was little. He is only aggressive in nature, when he is hunting for feed to pacify his hunger for nuclear material; almost all animals change their behaviors when hunting or feeding. I am sure he is tame enough for us to lure him out to Tokyo bay and give some type of nuclear material from a ship of some sort. For the past three years he has stayed away from Japan's shores, he has no interest in humans or no need to be near our cities. He shouldn't be stereotyped for what others like him have done." The rain seemed to heighten Miki's sadness for the bitter creature and knowing that others will just judge him the same way as they did with the first two Godzillas.
"I know how you feel, but Godzilla is still more aggressive than before he was transformed, he may not be as uncaring as his predecessor, but he is still a beast of nature and precautions have to be taken and that means, one of these days, Aso may came looking for him."
As the two spoke, the storm crackled in defiance, and Godzilla once again disappeared from human eyes, his legend and freighting presence slowly being washed away with the waves, never again would Godzilla detest humans.
The stale, almost sour air that fumigated the dorm room, smelled nearly fresh and sweet to Kenichi's nose. The small, table-mounted fan blew against the back of Kenichi's head as he ravenously typed away at his just set up computer. His new roommate took in Kenichi's silence as he sat on his bed just behind the desk. His eyes batting to each item that laid above or upon Kenichi's computer, feeling the obsession of Godzilla that Kenichi had.
"What's with the obsession with Godzilla now, he's dead. I would think it would get boring without any new information on him, coming in." His roommate's despair played with everyone else's wonderment of why he spent so much time on the study of a monster that attacked and destroyed Tokyo numerous times.
"It's in the same sense as someone that studies dinosaurs or historical events. Godzilla was something that was astronomical to this world. Humans manipulated him and took him out of his own context and world, and shaped him with the bi-product of their own booming technology, it's not hard to see why he doesn't care for us. It's just a tragic story of revenge, something that interests everybody." Kenichi didn't even move his head to see the expression of his dim minded roommate. "He was made by something that still can't be equaled, even with some of the newest weapons. Something like that just can't be helped to studied."
"I guess he could be worth the time to study, but it's hard to admire something that has no care for humans, even if we are responsible for it being here. It's still his judgment that makes him do what he has done. Do you remember the newsreels and reports from 1954 or even more recent accounts of the second Godzilla's attack in 1984, the horrible damage that was done to Tokyo? Those were single attacks on Japan, not induced by anything. An out right attack on us!" The mutters of the ranting roommate were just like the others he had heard. Wars are tragic things, but people studied them to even bigger extents. Just like a wars, the damage that Godzilla has done will just further the bonds of technology. Each time humans have been presented with a horrible fate; we have improved our lives and capabilities.
"We need Godzilla."
Trees crept and weaned as their broken braches and trunks budged and altered in the soil that they were once planted in. Bark and grass smoldered in flumes of smoke and greased fire as the dotted wreckage from the crumpled helicopter stimulated them. Just a small number of feet away from the scraped helicopter, its towed investment lied. The bright orange container splintered open, letting the world see the package inside.
The hard, burnt syrupy smell of smoke, coasted and lingered around the small group of gathering men. Their black jumpsuits steeped with sweat from the gleaming sun and waving heat from the fires. Their weapons, mainly M4A1s, glistened with near sweat themselves. The foreman of the group, only known by one name, Wisker, brimmed his eyes with sunglasses, concealing them from whoever wanted to see them.
"Archangel-6 has been downed, but cargo seems to be intact. We'll proceed to the point and secure the area. Wisker out." The small microphone that branched from the headset sprung back as he lifted the weight of his finger back from it.
The forest was smothered with life from the slivered fires, drawing alongside their hike, the smoke nipping at the toes of their combat boots. Sturdy with covering heat, the scorched form of the helicopter burned with what was left of its fuel reserves, its black armor seethed and wilted into a chalked like gray. It stood as a statue in the heart of the scarce meadow, its tail lumbered towards the sky, touching the tip of the sun. The rest lied in a jagged, disarray of fingered metal shards, crisping against the ground.
Seconds from the remnants and leftovers of the dismayed helicopter, the masqueraded container lazed in the polished heat; its face frayed open in four diverse directions. The sliver lining emphasized the bluish metal of the encompassing cone shaped object, the topper half of the cone laid slightly open, like the hood of a car, the almost gluey smoke laid delayed in the inners of the odd cone.
Nick Gray, the youth of the Special Forces group, skulked with his legs crouched at the knees, towards the container, cautious to what was inside. His heavy shoulders, only grazed by the uncomplaining pads of his flank jacket that he wore only as a vest. His crinkled, dark hair flustered against his shoulders, the tiny hairs on his neck prickled his mind with nerves. His eyes jumbled as the container wobbled, but he threw it away as a trick played on his eyes. His fingers flickered with anxiety as they reached for the side of the container to secure if it's safe. As the furrowed rings of flesh on Nick's fingertips faintly touched the now cold metal, the side quaked as something sat on top of the unstable metal basket. Thick threads of bone curved into a point, leveling over Nick's head. His eyes besieged by whatever was above him. A horned muzzle snorted ghastly hot air over him, leaving a sticky humidity over his skin.
"Anguris, that son of a bitch." Chuckled musings lipped from Wisker's mouth.
The lumbered dinosaur mutant mouth over the tattered ends of the container, his lower jaw craning down to banish his searing wail, rattling the long stick like warhead that was held within the cone object, the small tri-ring of spikes slowly rotating away time.
The desolate, twisting road curved around the mountain's bends, riveting the motorcycle's twin tires to its tar surface. Go Fujimaki lead his body weight across the road, transferring it into the motorcycle's own body. The bleak roads were a welcome to Go, giving him the space that he needed to speed and the comfort that he knew that no trouble was ahead of him.
It wasn't just a joyride for Go, it was another one of his hobby leavings, something that had to be done. Small, almost horribly scarce reports of a Giant Yeti roving around Kyoto Kitayama forest area had persuaded him to go. The old man that witnessed the completely white Yeti was willing to talk about what he saw. Go couldn't pass up the chance of maybe seeing one of these legends in person. For years, he had been chasing most of these awfully rumored legends, ranging from Yetis to Aliens and not one had ever been seen by his eyes, this was just too close for him not to miss.
The dismal, swamped sky bathed overhead as Go followed the side road that lead to the old man's house. Ticking lights of red and blue bounded from the two police cruisers, milking the stout bushes of trees that striped the sides of the road. Go parked his bike next to them, still wondering what the upheaval was about.
Yellow ribbons of caution tape looped a drawn out piece of land, next to a minute cabin, who's wooden sides had turned an almost charcoal gray from the decay of the weather worn wood. Two men, dressed almost in the same black suit, sat alongside the yellow tape, one scribbled small notes in his palmed book as the other measured something beyond the caution line. Across from them, an old man stood, his back too tender to carry his weight, his arms engrossed in the sleeves of his faded flannel shirt, his smile, missing teeth, made his old frame even more dilapidated looking, but still signaled for Go to come over to him.
"You most be Go, I have been waiting for you to come." His words whistled in between his crooked teeth, sending small tacks of saliva with each letter said.
Go, with each passing word, switched his view from the old man, to the peculiar hole that had been dug into the ground, its perimeter blocked off by the police caution tape. Its shape like that of a human hand, but oddly thick. Its size triple the size of Go himself. He knew this myth had to be true.
"Well, let me get started, it was late in the night and what I thought as a earthquake was shaking the ground. I went out to see, but nothing happened after that, not in till I felt something touch the back of my neck, and when I went to brush whatever it was, off, my hand got tangled in the beast's hair. That's when the beast stepped over me and disappeared into the night. It was at least 60 meters tall, something that I would never thought could hide in a forest for too long, but I guess it has." Izumo's toothy smirk still lingered on with its whistles.
With the old man's story told, Go was ready to do what he came there for, to hunt the beast down.
Upon grooved and riveted shoulders, a gloomy emerald jacket sat, gleamed up in medals and awards only given for high acts of thought and bravery. Even though the medals showed the pride and satisfaction in the field, the jacket was dreadfully soaked in failure, failure so many times over that the person wearing the medals didn't feel the worth of wearing them anymore.
Years ago, he was someone that was looked as powerful, someone that could stop the threat that was at hand, but with all the money wasted on failed plans, his time was almost up. He knew they were planning on replacing him. He even knew who was going to replace him, but if this last plan went well, he could keep his job and maybe redeemed his draining self- confidence. This most recent preparation he had arranged, was shaped sharply in every form. Money spent to the exact right amount. Specialized help used in every area that called for it, even in areas that didn't need that much. This plan would be seized in perfection, nothing would interfere with it, it was the last chance that Commander Aso had before his nemesis took the rest of his life from him.
The bleakness of space was now home to goddess, Mothra, its promise to Battra still was unfulfilled and in till then, Mothra would stay above the earth, protecting it from whatever came for it. It had been years since it sat down on earth and its body was longing for the gravity, for something to pull down on its body and tell it to rest. The forgiving, earthly deity marveled and brooded near the border of the sandy almost shady planet, Mars.
The grainy red sands vibrated the planets glow, but something else happened within the dishing sands. Speckles of shimming green specks swam across the planet's surface. They acted like a thunderstorm, slowly dispersing over Mar's shell; gleaming and arcing like some sort of electrical gathering. The massing cloud of green cells swarmed and churned, becoming more violent with their riving current.
Mothra's dotted, crystal like eyes seamed with a high level of awareness, knowing whatever was going on, on Mars was something that was going to a growing threat for her believed planet.
The clouds drizzled away in color and form as ink and dye was riddled throughout them. The dazzling sunlight vanished from the island's existence, leaving Miki and Meru scolded in an everlasting shadow. Godzilla's frayed splinters of skin and hide, deepened, as well as the water that streaked against his waist.
"I think we should talk to some people about feeding Godzilla." Miki's tone seemed to calm the storm that bellowed above them, her wishful thinking as carefree as a child's.
"Junior has become aggressive, haven't you sensed it this time? It would dangerous to put anyone near him, for fear that he may not be the pacifist that he use to be." Meru's words were splattered with droplets of rain as she spoke.
"He is the same as he was when he was little. He is only aggressive in nature, when he is hunting for feed to pacify his hunger for nuclear material; almost all animals change their behaviors when hunting or feeding. I am sure he is tame enough for us to lure him out to Tokyo bay and give some type of nuclear material from a ship of some sort. For the past three years he has stayed away from Japan's shores, he has no interest in humans or no need to be near our cities. He shouldn't be stereotyped for what others like him have done." The rain seemed to heighten Miki's sadness for the bitter creature and knowing that others will just judge him the same way as they did with the first two Godzillas.
"I know how you feel, but Godzilla is still more aggressive than before he was transformed, he may not be as uncaring as his predecessor, but he is still a beast of nature and precautions have to be taken and that means, one of these days, Aso may came looking for him."
As the two spoke, the storm crackled in defiance, and Godzilla once again disappeared from human eyes, his legend and freighting presence slowly being washed away with the waves, never again would Godzilla detest humans.
The stale, almost sour air that fumigated the dorm room, smelled nearly fresh and sweet to Kenichi's nose. The small, table-mounted fan blew against the back of Kenichi's head as he ravenously typed away at his just set up computer. His new roommate took in Kenichi's silence as he sat on his bed just behind the desk. His eyes batting to each item that laid above or upon Kenichi's computer, feeling the obsession of Godzilla that Kenichi had.
"What's with the obsession with Godzilla now, he's dead. I would think it would get boring without any new information on him, coming in." His roommate's despair played with everyone else's wonderment of why he spent so much time on the study of a monster that attacked and destroyed Tokyo numerous times.
"It's in the same sense as someone that studies dinosaurs or historical events. Godzilla was something that was astronomical to this world. Humans manipulated him and took him out of his own context and world, and shaped him with the bi-product of their own booming technology, it's not hard to see why he doesn't care for us. It's just a tragic story of revenge, something that interests everybody." Kenichi didn't even move his head to see the expression of his dim minded roommate. "He was made by something that still can't be equaled, even with some of the newest weapons. Something like that just can't be helped to studied."
"I guess he could be worth the time to study, but it's hard to admire something that has no care for humans, even if we are responsible for it being here. It's still his judgment that makes him do what he has done. Do you remember the newsreels and reports from 1954 or even more recent accounts of the second Godzilla's attack in 1984, the horrible damage that was done to Tokyo? Those were single attacks on Japan, not induced by anything. An out right attack on us!" The mutters of the ranting roommate were just like the others he had heard. Wars are tragic things, but people studied them to even bigger extents. Just like a wars, the damage that Godzilla has done will just further the bonds of technology. Each time humans have been presented with a horrible fate; we have improved our lives and capabilities.
"We need Godzilla."
Trees crept and weaned as their broken braches and trunks budged and altered in the soil that they were once planted in. Bark and grass smoldered in flumes of smoke and greased fire as the dotted wreckage from the crumpled helicopter stimulated them. Just a small number of feet away from the scraped helicopter, its towed investment lied. The bright orange container splintered open, letting the world see the package inside.
The hard, burnt syrupy smell of smoke, coasted and lingered around the small group of gathering men. Their black jumpsuits steeped with sweat from the gleaming sun and waving heat from the fires. Their weapons, mainly M4A1s, glistened with near sweat themselves. The foreman of the group, only known by one name, Wisker, brimmed his eyes with sunglasses, concealing them from whoever wanted to see them.
"Archangel-6 has been downed, but cargo seems to be intact. We'll proceed to the point and secure the area. Wisker out." The small microphone that branched from the headset sprung back as he lifted the weight of his finger back from it.
The forest was smothered with life from the slivered fires, drawing alongside their hike, the smoke nipping at the toes of their combat boots. Sturdy with covering heat, the scorched form of the helicopter burned with what was left of its fuel reserves, its black armor seethed and wilted into a chalked like gray. It stood as a statue in the heart of the scarce meadow, its tail lumbered towards the sky, touching the tip of the sun. The rest lied in a jagged, disarray of fingered metal shards, crisping against the ground.
Seconds from the remnants and leftovers of the dismayed helicopter, the masqueraded container lazed in the polished heat; its face frayed open in four diverse directions. The sliver lining emphasized the bluish metal of the encompassing cone shaped object, the topper half of the cone laid slightly open, like the hood of a car, the almost gluey smoke laid delayed in the inners of the odd cone.
Nick Gray, the youth of the Special Forces group, skulked with his legs crouched at the knees, towards the container, cautious to what was inside. His heavy shoulders, only grazed by the uncomplaining pads of his flank jacket that he wore only as a vest. His crinkled, dark hair flustered against his shoulders, the tiny hairs on his neck prickled his mind with nerves. His eyes jumbled as the container wobbled, but he threw it away as a trick played on his eyes. His fingers flickered with anxiety as they reached for the side of the container to secure if it's safe. As the furrowed rings of flesh on Nick's fingertips faintly touched the now cold metal, the side quaked as something sat on top of the unstable metal basket. Thick threads of bone curved into a point, leveling over Nick's head. His eyes besieged by whatever was above him. A horned muzzle snorted ghastly hot air over him, leaving a sticky humidity over his skin.
"Anguris, that son of a bitch." Chuckled musings lipped from Wisker's mouth.
The lumbered dinosaur mutant mouth over the tattered ends of the container, his lower jaw craning down to banish his searing wail, rattling the long stick like warhead that was held within the cone object, the small tri-ring of spikes slowly rotating away time.
The desolate, twisting road curved around the mountain's bends, riveting the motorcycle's twin tires to its tar surface. Go Fujimaki lead his body weight across the road, transferring it into the motorcycle's own body. The bleak roads were a welcome to Go, giving him the space that he needed to speed and the comfort that he knew that no trouble was ahead of him.
It wasn't just a joyride for Go, it was another one of his hobby leavings, something that had to be done. Small, almost horribly scarce reports of a Giant Yeti roving around Kyoto Kitayama forest area had persuaded him to go. The old man that witnessed the completely white Yeti was willing to talk about what he saw. Go couldn't pass up the chance of maybe seeing one of these legends in person. For years, he had been chasing most of these awfully rumored legends, ranging from Yetis to Aliens and not one had ever been seen by his eyes, this was just too close for him not to miss.
The dismal, swamped sky bathed overhead as Go followed the side road that lead to the old man's house. Ticking lights of red and blue bounded from the two police cruisers, milking the stout bushes of trees that striped the sides of the road. Go parked his bike next to them, still wondering what the upheaval was about.
Yellow ribbons of caution tape looped a drawn out piece of land, next to a minute cabin, who's wooden sides had turned an almost charcoal gray from the decay of the weather worn wood. Two men, dressed almost in the same black suit, sat alongside the yellow tape, one scribbled small notes in his palmed book as the other measured something beyond the caution line. Across from them, an old man stood, his back too tender to carry his weight, his arms engrossed in the sleeves of his faded flannel shirt, his smile, missing teeth, made his old frame even more dilapidated looking, but still signaled for Go to come over to him.
"You most be Go, I have been waiting for you to come." His words whistled in between his crooked teeth, sending small tacks of saliva with each letter said.
Go, with each passing word, switched his view from the old man, to the peculiar hole that had been dug into the ground, its perimeter blocked off by the police caution tape. Its shape like that of a human hand, but oddly thick. Its size triple the size of Go himself. He knew this myth had to be true.
"Well, let me get started, it was late in the night and what I thought as a earthquake was shaking the ground. I went out to see, but nothing happened after that, not in till I felt something touch the back of my neck, and when I went to brush whatever it was, off, my hand got tangled in the beast's hair. That's when the beast stepped over me and disappeared into the night. It was at least 60 meters tall, something that I would never thought could hide in a forest for too long, but I guess it has." Izumo's toothy smirk still lingered on with its whistles.
With the old man's story told, Go was ready to do what he came there for, to hunt the beast down.
Upon grooved and riveted shoulders, a gloomy emerald jacket sat, gleamed up in medals and awards only given for high acts of thought and bravery. Even though the medals showed the pride and satisfaction in the field, the jacket was dreadfully soaked in failure, failure so many times over that the person wearing the medals didn't feel the worth of wearing them anymore.
Years ago, he was someone that was looked as powerful, someone that could stop the threat that was at hand, but with all the money wasted on failed plans, his time was almost up. He knew they were planning on replacing him. He even knew who was going to replace him, but if this last plan went well, he could keep his job and maybe redeemed his draining self- confidence. This most recent preparation he had arranged, was shaped sharply in every form. Money spent to the exact right amount. Specialized help used in every area that called for it, even in areas that didn't need that much. This plan would be seized in perfection, nothing would interfere with it, it was the last chance that Commander Aso had before his nemesis took the rest of his life from him.
The bleakness of space was now home to goddess, Mothra, its promise to Battra still was unfulfilled and in till then, Mothra would stay above the earth, protecting it from whatever came for it. It had been years since it sat down on earth and its body was longing for the gravity, for something to pull down on its body and tell it to rest. The forgiving, earthly deity marveled and brooded near the border of the sandy almost shady planet, Mars.
The grainy red sands vibrated the planets glow, but something else happened within the dishing sands. Speckles of shimming green specks swam across the planet's surface. They acted like a thunderstorm, slowly dispersing over Mar's shell; gleaming and arcing like some sort of electrical gathering. The massing cloud of green cells swarmed and churned, becoming more violent with their riving current.
Mothra's dotted, crystal like eyes seamed with a high level of awareness, knowing whatever was going on, on Mars was something that was going to a growing threat for her believed planet.