... data-link requested...

... enter ID code...

... LAn88M2...

... ID code accepted...

...data link established...

After waiting several seconds for the familiar connection process to complete the face of one of Monarch's numerous DataSecs (data-analysis secretaries) popped up on the screen. "Hello Liam. Gorgo - I mean Gerald has 17 new maintenance requests for you." Her plastic smile faltered momentarily as she referred to an inside joke among the maintenance department.

Gerald Caven, the senior administrator of the maintenance department of Monarch was originally a die-hard roughneck who would rather spend his time in the guts of a drilling rig then behind a desk. Life unfortunately had other plans. His skill with a wrench was only outpaced by his ability to organize others, so in no time he was running the entire maintenance department of Monarch. Gorgo...heh...it was a term of endearment more than anything.

It referred to his overprotective nature concerning his... babies. Everything from the VTOLs (vertical takeoff and landing vehicles) to the MMPs (mobile maser platforms), even the Argo itself he would fuss over like a doting parent, and if you brought back his equipment with so much as a scratch... his wrath would be equal to that classic movie monster. I sighed..."17? he's kidding right? We haven't had any missions scheduled for months.

Did someone decide to go on a joyride or is this another hanger malfunction?" I leaned back at my desk and ran a hand through my thinning salt an pepper hair. "Jen... can you double check please? I'd rather not have to work overtime again this weekend." Her expression softened for a moment and I could have sworn I saw real emotion behind her eyes before her professionalism reasserted itself. [So she did sympathize? huh.]

Overtime... the two-sided lament of every worker the world over... except... for Monarch. Here overtime was dreaded for an additional reason. For most companies overtime met a few extra hours here and there. Nope, not Monarch. Due to the semi-secret nature of our bases all transports had a set schedule. If you missed your scheduled transport... it wouldn't be till the next cycle (anywhere from two days to a week) when you would you be able to catch another. I waited with my fingers crossed out of sight under the desk as she looked at another monitor.

Her fingers rapidly clicked cross the keyboard as a secondary screen popped up. "Yep... it's 17 all right. Sorry Liam." She frowned. My heart sank. "It's all right. I didn't feel like going home this weekend anyway." I gave a fake laugh, but I swear I could almost feel another patch of hair falling out. "Thanks for the info Jen." With a click of the Esc key the uplink was terminated. Maybe I should have waited for her reply but I wasn't exactly feeling conversational.

I glanced around my office; a sturdy steel desk painted black so oil stains wouldn't show, numerous files vied for space with several odds and ends that I've collected over the years. I picked up one particular piece, turning it over in my hand. An explosive pin used in ejection seats. This particular one did its job flawlessly... but it wasn't enough to save the pilot. A grimace twisted my mouth as I remembered being grilled by the top brass, having to defend myself and my team when they were the ones that sent those pilots into an unwinnable fight. It was last year during the Alpha Incident.

The Argo with a squadron of fighters in-tow was on the run from a flying Kaiju - Class 3. I closed and rubbed my eyes as images from those reports flashed through my mind. 12 pilots, some of which I considered friends. The pin was blackened from explosive residue except for a small silvery chip. investigators thought that chip meant that there had been a structural failure in the pins. No. There was no failure. That chip...was from a tooth.

When the pilot ejected... there was nowhere to go. That monster ate him in one bite. Rodan...or what ever the fuck the researchers named it. I clenched the pin tightly in my hand as I glanced over to a small cork board that hung next to a row of filing cabinets. On it were the 24 M.U.T.O.s that were currently known. Several of them were circled with red marker with tally marks below them.

My eyes narrowed as I looked below the circled image of Rodan... there weren't tally marks... just a simple red square. That particular mark was reserved for Kaiju that had claimed over 100 lives. I suddenly noticed that my hand was hurting. Glancing down I saw that I was white knuckling the pin. I took a deep breath and sighed. If I was going to do my job right I needed a level head. Closing my eyes I started counting and visualizing the meditation techniques that the on site shrink had prescribed.

Dozens of schematics flashed through my mind, each one more complex than the last. Finally I got the last one... that same pin. "It did its job and so did you." I repeated that mantra 3 times and took another breath, exhaling slowly. I set the pin back down on the desk, glancing one more time at the offending image. [The best tech that our guys can come up with can't do more than piss them off, for now. Someday. We'll find something that can take them down. When that day comes... I hope you're the first one you damned buzzard.]

I shifted my focus over to my terminal and after navigating a few menus brought up the latest requisition email. "17." I muttered under my breath. [At least it'll be a good distraction.]

... Repair Requisitions...

...RE: D.O.I.A.(department of international affairs - URGENT...

... 17 requisitions pending...

...4 - R.U.A.V.s (remote unmanned aerial vehicles - ext. heat/rad...

...2 - Amph. Transp. - ext. heat/rad...

...1 - Multi. Command V. - ext. heat/rad...

...10 - A.H.T.V.s (all hazardous terrain vehicles - ext. heat/rad...

...LOC: Base MU (initials refer to a mythical island similar to Atlantis)

"Woah" I exclaimed. Direct from the D.O.I.A.? Must be serious if it came from them." My eyes scanned down the list of requisitions. [Interesting.] All of them suffered from extreme heat and radiation damage. [Base MU? I didn't think they were able to go in there just yet. When Dr. Serizawa made his way into that literal hell hole to feed Godzilla a nuclear packed lunch they'd gotten some great readings from inside the cavern... and then it got blown up. Neat.

I never met the man myself, but he was highly respected... a living legend if you will... at least he was. Now? He's a martyr. A hero who gave his life to give us a fighting chance. What a waste. I know we needed the big lizard, but it doesn't mean I have to like it. Reading further into the files I noticed something, the mission timestamps. Prior testing indicated but the minimum safe time in that area was roughly 15-20 minutes. Anything after that equipment would start to break down and their protective gear would start to melt.

"This can't be right. No one in their right mind would be that reckless." The timestamps ranged from 25-32 minutes. That included manned vehicles. [The brass must have gone crazy to push this far.] Yep. There was no mistake. The safety codes had been overridden, not once but multiple times. Those codes were designed to automatically redirect the vehicles back to an area of lower radiation in case of danger. [Those bastards!] I stopped to take a few deep breaths.

[Do those idiots have any idea how close they came to a complete system failure?] Another minute or two and the cockpits would have breached... and from the looks of it one of them did. I narrowed my eyes and let out a dismissive snort. Typical. With the recent lull in Kaiju activity the higher-ups have been trying to find something to justify our budget. No activity means the UN will think we can make do with a lower amount. I can understand the reason, but you would think that they would appreciate not having Kaiju run amok.

Scrolling through the files I came across something of interest; Research Notes. 47 pages of them. [Holy crap! No wonder they kept them down there so long!] I had to see what was so important to risk so much damage as well as personel.