Author's Foreword: Argh. Sorry this took so long to get out. I thought the next chapter would be around 2,000 words at most…how wrong I was. I just couldn't stop seeing opportunities to expand, flesh things out, elaborate! When I finally decided to chop it into two chapters, it had grown to over 7,000 words. So the bad news is that this chapter won't cover all the things I said it would in Chapter 1's "next time". However, there is good news: Chapter 3 will be posted much more quickly than this one—and that is a promise. Look for it by the end of this weekend. But not for now, enjoy Chapter 2 of Godzila vs. Cloverfield! I've included a few Easter egg references here and there—see if you can find them all. ;)

Atlantic Ocean, Laurentian Abyss, 19,000 feet.

The remote-operated vehicle cruised through the crushing depths, its headlights on and instruments acute. The pilot at the surface, onboard the Canadian research vessel CCGS Hudson, was part of an ambitious expedition to map the Laurentian Abyss in detail for the first time. A team of science students from the University of Toronto presided over the operation, lead by the school's chief oceanographer, Dr. Roy MacDonald. They all had high hopes for the excursion. Who knew what wonders they would discover down there that had lain hidden for millennia…until now. Whatever was present, the ROV would find it with its cutting-edged instruments, including omnidirectional sonar. MacDonald and his students watched the live feed from the ROV's cameras and instruments intently as it neared the seafloor.

Suddenly, one of his students pointed at the sonar screen. "What's that?"

Looking, MacDonald saw a series of hills show up on the display. "That doesn't make sense." He rubbed his chin. "The Abyss is supposed to be all flat."

"Should I take a closer look, Doctor?" the pilot asked, looking back at them.

The Canadian scientist nodded his assent, and the pilot steered the craft in for a closer inspection of the odd mounds. They appeared to be composed of ordinary sand, but then the ROV's propellers blew away some of it and exposed smooth rock underneath.

"That doesn't look anything like stone from the seafloor," another student mused. "It's too…even."

"Get a sample, Vasquez," MacDonald ordered.

"On it." The pilot pressed a button on his keyboard, which caused the ROV to deploy a small scraper from its myriad assortment of tools. He carefully extended the tool forward and, once it had made contact with the stone mound, activated the utensil.

Moments after the instrument began scraping at the material's surface, motion flickered at the edge of the ROV's camera, and a new anomalous shape appeared on sonar for a split second. Then the ROV's signal was lost in a burst of static.

The feedback made them all jump, even the pilot. "What the…" MacDonald exclaimed.

"I guess something hungry came along," Vasquez said.

"A deep-sea shark, maybe?" postulated one of the students.

"That sounds about right." MacDonald let out a frustrated sigh. "It's a good thing we brought more ROV's. Let's send two more down, and make sure they cover each other's blindspots." He picked up the ship's phone and called the ROV mechanic. "Jimmy? We just lost Martha. Could you prepare Bonnie and Clyde for descent?"

"Martha? Aw, for cryin'…okay. They'll be ready to dive in half an hour."

"Thanks, Jimmy."

"You can thank me by not getting more of my babies destroyed. What was it?"

"We don't know yet. Probably a really hungry shark, or a sperm whale that wasn't watching where it was going."

"Alright." The mechanic hung up.

Turning back to his students, MacDonald saw them studying the last recorded sonar ping from Martha. "Doctor," one of them said, "This doesn't look anything like a shark."

"You're right, LeBeau. But that doesn't mean we caught whatever killed Martha on the sonar. That's unlike any sonar signature I've ever seen. It was probably just a glitch, sort of like her death rattle."

Half an hour later, Bonnie and Clyde dropped into the ocean. It took them about an hour and a half to descend, and by the time they reached the site of Martha's demise, the strange hills were gone, replaced by an equally-bizarre series of depressions. A few small puffs of silt floated around the area, and a dozen metres away lay the scattered, twisted remains of the first ROV.

San Francisco General Hospital.

The sound started faint, like it always did, with a distant mournful lowing. Sweat prickled on her upper lip, and the sound, which had seemed sad at first, began to change as the train drew closer. Louder now, it began to take on an anxious sound. Even as it grew in volume and changed into an impossibly angry shriek, terror flooded through Elle's body and her hands spasmed. The clipboard fell from her grip, landing on the floor with a clatter. Suddenly, she wasn't in San Francisco General anymore. She was back in a bomb shelter under the hospital, crammed together with the remaining staff and patients while the MUTOs, those horrible abominations that had brought the city to its knees, howled and wailed above them. Interspersed among their screeches were the roars of the other creature…what was its name? She couldn't remember its name. She couldn't remember her name, her husband's name, her son's name. She couldn't remember anything except for the dreadful noises coming from above, the raw horror that pulsed through her veins with every heartbeat, the excruciating uncertainty every time the ceiling trembled over their heads. Would this be it? Would a monster's foot break through the concrete reinforcements and crush the bomb shelter and everyone in it? She couldn't even scream, just crouched on the floor with her mouth open and air coming out, but no sound.

Finally, the train passed, the airhorn fading, and with it, so did the attack. She returned to herself. With a deep breath, she reached down and picked up the clipboard. But her episode had not gone unnoticed. Several of her coworkers looked at her askance. "Elle? Are you okay?" Her friend—and recently-promoted boss—Laura called as she approached from down the hall.

"Yeah...yeah, I'm fine. Just dropped the clipboard."

Laura's look of concern didn't ease, but she said lightly, "Let's get some coffee." The two friends walked down to the small break room. As she had known it would be, the coffee/tea/hot chocolate vending machine was empty of product or other staff. Once they were alone, Laura leaned in close and dropped her voice. "Elle, cut the crap. You've been working your ass off these past few weeks, but every time a train passes or a ship blows its horn, you just shut down."

"They startle me, that's all."

They'd been friends long enough that Laura didn't have to actually say "Bullshit," but she very clearly conveyed that response before going on. "I know you, Elle—you're not okay, and you're not fooling me. I want you to take some time away from the hospital and collect yourself. Do it before you hurt someone."

The tremendous longing to do just that swelled up in Elle's chest, but she fought it back and shook her head. "No. I'm not the only one here who's lost people. Indira lost her brother. Jacob lost his daughter. Dr. Zhong lost his whole family. None of them are taking time off."

"Would he want you to do that, to make yourself sick and crazy?"

Elle responded hotly, "You know damn well that if I had died instead, Ford would be out there helping people as much as he could, no matter what."

"Elle, you're one of our finest nurses, but you can't help people if you fall apart every time a horn goes off somewhere. What if that happens when you're working on a patient in critical condition? They could die while you're having a panic attack. They need you at your best. I need you at your best."

Something about Laura's compassion for her weakness irritated Elle. "So don't put me with any critical patients, until I get better," she snapped, and then, with one of those abrupt emotional shifts she had been having so little success in controlling since Ford's death, she pleaded, "I can't take time off, Laura. I just can't."

One reason they'd become nurses was because of their strong shared desire to help people. Laura had that in abundance, along with the necessary ruthlessness that would enable a good nurse to hurt someone, if it would help them. She played dirty now. "If you won't do it for yourself or for me, then what about Sam? Seeing each other some more would do you both a world of good."

"Joe is keeping an eye on him right now while he looks for a job." It sounded like a feeble excuse even to her ears. There was more she didn't add: Every time I see Sam or Joe, I just want to start screaming because it's like Ford is still alive and looking back at me. I have to close my eyes every time I kiss Sam or hug him. I have to wear earplugs at night because of the trains and the ships. I scream and cry myself to sleep every night, and every time the floor shakes at all, I wake up screaming again. This is the only place where I have some semblance of structure, of stability.

Her boss seemed to pick up on it nonetheless. "Look, I can't even begin to understand how rough things are for you right now. But you need help, Elle. You have to do whatever it takes for you to improve. And there's no way you're going to improve on your own."

Elle let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Help? Who could possibly help me?"

"I've been meaning to give this to you, but I didn't want to intrude on your privacy, you know?" Laura reached into a pocket on her uniform and produced a brochure, which she handed to Elle. The title read Of Monsters and Men: A Support Group for People Affected by the Monsters of Our World. Hosted by Lily Ford and sponsored by the Ford Foundation. Elle's breath caught in her throat upon seeing the word "Ford", but she opened the brochure nonetheless. "The first meeting is tonight," Laura continued. "As your boss, as your coworker, and as your friend, I'm telling you to check it out. If I can't convince you to take some time off, then at least try this group."

Elle sighed. "If I say I'll go, will you get off my back?"

Her friend smiled slightly. "Only if you go and don't like it."

"Alright. Fine. I'll go."

"I'll hold you to that."

Laura put a comforting hand on her arm, and then left Elle with her thoughts. The rest of the work day proceeded somewhat uneventfully, though Elle still clenched her teeth and scrunched her eyes shut whenever a horn sounded. After she finished her shift, she went out to her car—Ford's car—in the parking lot and sat inside it for a while, looking at the brochure. She very nearly crumpled it and tossed it out the window, but the section about Lily Ford stopped her: Lily Ford was in Old New York City the night of January 18th, 2008, when the creature known as Cloverfield attacked. She was the sole survivor of a group of friends that included her fiancée, his brother, and their best friend. After the attack, she created the Ford Foundation with the goal of helping people whose lives have been affected by the giant beasts of our world. Of Monsters And Men draws directly from Ms. Ford's own experience in leading support groups for survivors of the New York attack, and is highly recommended for those who have been victimized by these beasts. The accompanying picture showed a rather exotic-looking dark-skinned woman, somewhat older than Elle, but she still looked young and attractive.

Elle rolled her eyes, but decided that it couldn't hurt to go to just one meeting. She started the car and drove out of the hospital's staff parking lot, into the dirty, packed city streets. Along the way, she pulled out her phone and had it call Joe.

After a few rings, he picked up. "Hello, Elle." His voice…so like Ford's…

"Hey, Joe. I'm going to be coming home late tonight. Could you make some dinner for Sam?"

"Again? Okay, I'll take care of it. When will you be back?"

"In time to put Sam to bed. How did your job interview go?"

Joe heaved a frustrated sigh. "Interview? I waited in line all day with what must have been about 500 people, never even got near the damn door."

"I'm sorry…"

"Me too."

An awkward silence grew between them. Finally, Joe said, "I guess I'll see you later tonight."

"See you," Elle agreed, and hung up.

Traffic was horrible, as per the course for San Francisco. The Depression had only made it worse. It took her an hour and a half to travel to the address on the brochure. At least the parking lot had one space left, which she wasted no time in acquiring. She entered the building and traveled up a few flights of stairs to reach the conference room where the support group was being held. Upon opening the door, she found the group already in session. The participants were seated around a square table with some snacks and water bottles.

"…people were cheering, then the creature grazed the tower as it passed us and the building…just leaned over us like it was a drunk man falling," a woman in a wheelchair was saying. Her legs were nothing but thigh stumps wrapped in bandages. "We all tried to run, but we weren't fast enough…it landed on my wife and son, and it landed on my legs."

The attendants all turned to look at the new arrival, and Elle felt irrationally self-conscious. She did see a familiar face: Jacob, one of her coworkers from the hospital. She also recognized Lily Ford from the picture in the brochure, sitting at the head of the group. Lily stood and greeted her with a warm, honest smile. "Hello. Welcome to the group. Don't worry, you're only about ten minutes late. I'm rather surprised that you're our only late arrival so far, given the traffic situation in San Francisco."

That got a small chuckle out of the other attendants, and even Elle's mouth twitched upwards. "Please, join us," Lily said. "You can take my chair; I'll get another one." She went over to the corner of the room and pulled out another chair. "We've started out by telling the stories of our experiences during the incident."

"Thank you," Elle murmured, and took her seat. For the next hour, she listened to the various terrifying tales of disaster and woe from the San Francisco survivors. Some told stories of loved ones buried beneath destroyed buildings, like the woman in the wheelchair. Others described the loss of their workplaces, how their families were now facing financial ruin. Still others expounded on how a monster had wounded them directly, showing their casts and stumps. An unlucky few's stories overlapped between those categories, though thankfully none had lost family, workplaces and limbs. In addition, a significant number of the attendees were using old-fashioned ear trumpets to listen, their hearing having been damaged by the monsters' screeches. Hearing aids hadn't been in widespread use for six years now—just another casualty of the Depression.

"Ma'am?" Starting, she realized it was her turn. She looked around at the other attendants, cleared her throat, and began. "My name is Elle Brody. The monsters killed my husband." Once she started, she couldn't stop. It all just tumbled out—the hours spent huddled in the bomb shelter and listening to the monsters shriek above them, Joe's tearful face as he told her what had happened to Ford, the nights of screaming and crying herself to sleep, the panic attacks caused by train and ship horns, overworking herself at the hospital, unable to look at her son or her father-in-law without wanting to scream…with the words came a flood of tears, of which plenty had already been shed by the other attendants. A part of her was amazed that she could choke out coherent words through her sobs, but she managed it somehow. When she had finally laid bare her tortured soul for all to see, she sniffled, "That's all I have. I know it's not as bad as what some of you have gone through—"

"Stop." Looking up, she saw Lily Ford's eyes glistening, as they had been throughout the entire session. However, when the woman spoke, her voice was strong and resolute. "Thank you for sharing, Elle. But we are not here to have a contest on who suffered the most. We are here to help each other get better. Do you understand?"

"I think I do…"

"Let's find out. Now that we've all told our stories, we can move on to the next part…"

Elle didn't precisely feel better when the session ended, but when she returned home and saw Joe and Sam, she thought the usual surge of heartache felt just a tiny bit less painful than it had been before.

San Francisco, the next day.

"…and where were you educated?" the bespectacled woman asked.

It's on my resume, you idiot. Didn't even bother to look, did you? "MIT, Master's in Engineering. Class of 1979." Joe managed to keep the irritation out of his voice…barely.

"I see. Well, Mr. Brody, I think this meeting has been…productive. Thank you for your time. We'll be in touch."

"It was a pleasure." He got up, adjusted his suit and tie, and walked out of the office. "We'll be in touch," he muttered under his breath. No, you won't. He knew that phrase and the look that went with it all too well—they had been the common theme at every other job interview he'd had these past few weeks. Whenever he heard that phrase or something similar, the prospective employer invariably failed to keep their word. No one wants to hire an old man just a few years away from retirement.

As he exited the office, the next applicant walked in—only the latest in a line that went out the building and wrapped around it multiple times. He slipped on his old leather jacket, checked his watch, which read 12:30, and heaved a sigh. He'd arrived at 7:30 and at least a hundred other people had still gotten there before him. Four hours of waiting…all for nothing. And to think, just a few months ago they said that the worst was finally over. He proceeded through the streets of San Francisco, which were littered with cars, other pedestrians, and homeless people pushing shopping carts full of their belongings or loitering wherever they could find space. Numerous buildings were run-down and lifeless, their windows boarded up and graffiti covering their walls. Many of the stores and offices had large "going out of business" signs plastered over their fronts, and Joe saw only one with a "help wanted, now hiring" sign. That building had an even longer line of applicants going out its door than the place he had applied to.

After plodding along for ten blocks, Joe reached the bus stop and, with no surprise at all, found it crowded with other travelers awaiting transportation. It would almost be faster to walk home…almost. He slumped down against the edge of the stop's outside wall, wincing as his joints protested, and pulled his copy of Moby Dick from his jacket pocket. As he did, something stuck to the back cover fell off...a card. When he picked it up, his gut seized: It was Dr. Serizawa's card, the number written in plain black below the Japanese characters that spelled out his name.

For a long moment, Joe thought about calling that number. Then he shuddered, tucked it back into his jacket, and opened the book. He managed to read through several chapters before an engine's low growling and coughing signaled the bus's arrival. The doors opened with a hiss of hydraulics, and the waiting travelers crammed themselves onto the bus, just barely managing to fit all of themselves onto the vehicle. Joe was forced to stand in the center of the aisle, holding onto one of the overhead rungs for balance with his good hand. At least I'm not getting squished in between fat people. Almost none of the bus riders were overweight—a situation reflected in the rest of the city and the nation at large. If the Depression has done anything good for us, it's cut down on obesity rates.

Joe braced himself as the bus doors hissed closed and the vehicle lurched into motion. Unable to read properly with his bad arm alone, he reached into his jacket pocket and grabbed his phone. Pictures of Ford, Sandra, Elle, and baby Sam flashed at him when he woke it up, causing his breath to catch in his throat. He swallowed and went to CNN, where a list of headlines awaited him: Dow Jones Industrial Average falls to lowest point since Depression began. US unemployment rate climbs to 20%, up from 17% before May. Experts estimate total cost of property damage from the MUTOs in the tens of billions, reconstruction five years at minimum. US Navy on high alert: Giant creature known as "Godzilla" projected to pass by Hawaii on August 2nd, but not expected to make landfall. Referendum in Hempstead, New York passes to officially change its name to Nouveau Manhattan. He tapped on the last one and started reading.

"With all precincts reporting, it appears that the name Hempstead, New York will soon be a thing for the history books. The city's residents have voted to pass a measure that will officially change its name to Nouveau Manhattan, completing a movement that first began in late 2011 when Michael Bloomberg, then-former mayor of Old New York City, proposed the measure during his campaign for mayor of Hempstead. As many will know, however, the roots of the name change can be traced back to the night of January 18th, 2008, when the enormous creature called 'Cloverfield' attacked Old New York City. After the unprepared military spent hours fruitlessly attempting to kill the creature with small-scale weapons, the President authorized the usage of the HAMMER-DOWN Protocol in a last-ditch effort. The thermobaric bombs deployed manage to finally bring the gigantic beast down, but obliterated what was left of the city. While the vast majority of Old NYC's populace was evacuated before the bombing began, they returned to find their homes, schools, businesses, and places of worship reduced to little more than ash and cinders. Some former New Yorkers chose to leave forever, but many more vowed to rebuild their lives as close to their old home as possible, and moved to the unaffected eastern regions of Long Island. A prominent community of former New Yorkers sprang up in Hempstead…"

And the rest is history, Joe thought, putting his phone down. He gazed over the heads of the seated passengers next to him, outside the bus's grimy windows at the city passing by. The vehicle crested a hill and gave them all a clear view across the bay for a few minutes. Many buildings in San Francisco proper still bore the marks of the monster battle that had raged through the region three months ago. With the Big Apple gone, the Great Recession had turned into the Second Great Depression. Millions of jobs were lost in months. The stock market suffered a near-total implosion. And then just when we thought things were finally starting to get better, the monsters attacked us again. His teeth clenched and his good hand tightened into a fist around the overhead rung. Monsters…they've ruined so many people's lives. If they don't stomp on you, they'll destroy your house, your school, your church, your workplace. And if they don't do any of that to you, they'll do it to the people you love. Our world would be better off if every single one of them died right now. Then, his thoughts drifted unbidden back to a few months ago…

Oakland, Tactical Operations Command. May 6th, 2014.

"…if you don't hit a skyscraper on the way in, you rendezvous at Rally Point Charlie, right here." Major Williams indicated the location on the map.

"Doctors," Corporal Garcia asked of the scientists, "Any guesses where to look?"

Serizawa stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Underground," he answered. "If the MUTOs have finished mating, they will likely be digging a nest."

"And they'll have put the warhead with the eggs," Vivienne added.

Eggs? Joe thought. That can't be good. Eggs mean baby MUTOs. And baby MUTOs could mean the end of humanity. He scratched at the new cast on his arm, which itched something fierce. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ford walk into the briefing room and his heart soared. Oh, thank you, God. He had feared the worst when he was informed about the female MUTO's attack on the train that Ford had been riding. He turned away from the proceedings and hurried toward his son. "Ford!"

Ford's eyes widened as he approached. "Dad? Is that you?"

"It's me, son." Joe let out a sob of relief and embraced Ford—a sob that turned into a gasp of pain upon trying to include his injured arm in the embrace. "Aaaaahh!"

"What's wrong? Your arm?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm just so glad you're alive. I thought you were dead for sure."

"Come on, Dad, I already survived two MUTO attacks before that. I think I'm getting the hang of it. Hey, have you heard anything about Sam and Elle?"

"Yes. I spoke to Elle before the MUTOs' EMP fried the phones. She sent Sam with Amanda and Tim when they left the city. He's safe with them. But Elle stayed behind to help out at the hospital."

Ford did a double-take. "Wait, what? Elle's still in the city? I told her to get out with Sam." The barest hint of fear crept into his normally-stoic expression, which told Joe that he was nearly paralyzed with terror.

"I'm sorry, son. I tried, but I couldn't persuade her to leave. She said, 'You and Ford are doing your parts. I'm going to do mine, no matter what happens.'"

Ford sighed. "Yep, that's just like Elle. Okay, there's nothing we can do about it now. They need me on this mission."

He started towards the briefing table, but Joe grasped his arm. "Wait. Before you came in, the Monster Lovers—" He indicated the two scientists, "—said the MUTOs probably put the warhead in their nest. You know what that means, right?"

"A nest. Eggs?"

"Yes. And if those eggs are allowed to hatch, we'll never see the end of the MUTOs. If you find it, you have to destroy the nest. Promise me. Do whatever it takes. Otherwise, Sam will grow up in a world overrun by those things…if he even grows up at all.

Internally, Ford rolled his eyes. Joe had always had a penchant for drama. But he put a reassuring hand on his father's shoulder. "Okay, dad. I promise."

"Lieutenant Brody!" called Captain Hampton from the briefing table. "Glad you could make it, kid. Now get your ass over here!"

Father and son exchanged one last nod, then Ford turned and strode away to join his comrades for the mission. Hours later, Joe would watch helplessly through a pair of binoculars as the rampaging female MUTO massacred the squads of soldiers who tried to stop her from taking the warhead back. She disabled the boat they had commandeered to transport the nuke away, before slowly bending her head to the deck and devouring the lone survivor. A few final, defiant gunshots flashed against her skin just before her jaws closed, and she seemed to take great pleasure in the kill. So much pleasure that she didn't sense Godzilla coming until he slammed into her broadside. Caught completely off-guard, the MUTO could only flail in vain as the ancient predator forced her mouth open and fired a blast of hyperaccelerated plasma from his throat down hers. The MUTO stopped struggling and seconds later, her neck disintegrated from the inside out.

Joe hadn't wanted to admit it, but in that moment he knew the last soldier the creature killed was Ford.

Next time: Drs. Serizawa and Graham make a horrifying discovery. The CCGS Hudson's research team continues their investigation. Joe stumbles across classified information regarding the Skull Island Incident. Elle continues her attempts to heal.