For anyone who wonders before we start this, this is in the setting of the Legendary Monsterverse and I will be using Gigan's Godzilla: Final Wars design as it fits with the designs of the MonsterVerse Kaiju more than his Showa design as well as the feelings and message I wish to convey about Gigan himself. However, his Showa appearance will also be used in a past tense.
Cold.
It was cold.
So very cold.
He was mostly used to it, but he never truly shook the discomfort it brought.
He couldn't tell how long he had been feeling nothing but the cold, vast emptiness that surrounded him. A seemingly endless void reaching out in all directions beyond comprehension, beyond any understanding. He didn't know how he had managed this even before he had no choice, he didn't understand how this cold loneliness could have been what he had wanted for himself.
The only thing that surrounded him was the endless black maw of space, the only comfort found in the brief times his course allowed him to pass by something solid or material, the only sights he got to see were the dullest of planetoids and asteroids. The only comfort he ever got during these times was whenever he would be able to pass close enough to a star to feel some heat, actual warmth seemed like such a trivial thing to yearn for to most beings.
Not to him.
Not to Gigan.
It was days, weeks, months or years sometimes when he would find himself soaring through the endless abyss that made up the universe, the empty vacuum that he travelled through. The only comfort in the world is that for every time he had to do this, was forced to do this, he would see some kind of ground again. He would stand upon the hardened rock or soil of a planet, perhaps glide over expansive and chaotic oceans or dance in the sky against the backdrop of bright sparks and striking flames.
Perhaps that was the only reason he remained sane, not like it mattered much anyway.
Indeed, the only thing he looked forward to, but always so brief, so fleeting. He knew as soon as he had done whatever his current masters wanted him too he would be thrown back into the void all over again, maybe caged up and repaired a bit beforehand, not counting the rare chances he would be allowed some semblance of sleep or rest. But it was for those moments that he could exist in those worlds that he didn't give up hope for himself, hope that maybe he could be free, maybe a life outside of this one was worth working for.
Of course he never got to enjoy those moments for long, the incessant thoughts not his own being forced into his head, the repetitive commands, his body moving in ways he could feel but knew were not his own. He could only enjoy whatever feelings he had left that weren't artificial for brief moments, only allowed to take in the planets he would see only once in a lifetime before he had to burn them down. Kill, destroy, conquer and repeat. Gigan could scarcely remember a time when life wasn't this way for him, he could remember when he chose that life, he could remember when he had once enjoyed it.
What a fool he had been, young, naïve and filled with pride that was hypocritical to the core.
He couldn't remember his early years, though he supposed that was normal for most beings. Though Gigan didn't entirely know what constituted "normal" beings, tends to happen when you never stayed on the same planet longer than you could break it. But Gigan knew he had siblings, like blurs he remembered them, little and fragile. Such a contrast to what he was, he wondered if all his species were like him? Of course, that was a cruel joke, none were like him, and he would never be like them again. He couldn't remember his home world, he did know he had one, it was just some primal sensibility. He did remember the labs, he could vaguely remember his first masters. He was raised to be a fighter, he knew he was a weapon and he enjoyed it.
Those first masters seemed like saints to those who followed, Gigan could remember those years before he was modified, when he was the pinnacle of organic life. He could remember those golden scales and green plates, he remembered when he had eyes, a nose, an actual beak and teeth that were his own. He remembered feeling, he remembered the excitement and rush of the fight and the triumph of a hard won victory. He could still feel that valor coursing through his memories, sometimes little sparks would return to his veins, but smothered and nearly dead.
He had been traded from master to master, he went from the sharpest weapon to a simple tool over dozens if not hundreds of masters. He often forgot which parts of him had been lost first, and for what reasons. He knew some of his skin and scales had been replaced with plates to begin with, he understood at one point he began to lose fights and to his masters that was unacceptable.
Who was Gigan kidding? It was unacceptable to him too, Gigan knew it wasn't just their fault he ended up as he is. Gigan knew his pride was hurt, his anger flaring and his wounds deep, he could have fought back, tried to run as they gradually traded his beautiful Golden scales for cold and unfeeling metal grafted to his body. He could have stopped them when his eyes had been replaced by the visor through which he would see everything else in glaring red. He lost everything.
The rest of his head was encased in metal, his dorsal spines used for balance replaced with sharp metal structures, his chest hollowed out, organs removed and replaced with the synthetic, weapons attached to his whole being. Even his mighty claws had gone, replaced with giant sickles, but nothing compared to his brain. His brain was augmented and controlled, by the time it had happened he was already too dependent on the machine making masters and their ability to repair him to rebel.
So it was that Gigan lost his free will, so it was Gigan became a tool to be controlled, bent, broken and battered against everything without care only to be melted down and reshaped again. Gigan no longer enjoyed fights, he no longer enjoyed the thrill, his body wasn't even his own anymore. All that was left of the proud warrior, the triumphant and respected conqueror, was whatever flesh and bone was still left underneath all the metal and glass, whatever mind was locked away in his own head.
Gigan tried to fight it on the inside, he did.
But he never succeeded.
He couldn't feel, he couldn't smell and he couldn't even hear anymore. His sight, if you could call it that, was in a permanent shade of blood red, view clouded with the sensory data of his artificial replacement senses. He got data, he could even describe the feedback as some kind of sense, but it was muted, like touching something through a rubber glove or hearing through ear plugs, it was distant and unreal. The only organic sense he had retained was through his tongue, he was grateful that he could at least still taste.
He was broken, well and truly broken. Much like whatever was left of his body he was crushed and remade into something not of his own, a mocking copy of his past.
He was stronger than ever before, his mechanical body made him the true terror of the universe, none would dare stand against him except maybe for the Golden Ones, but he had never felt weaker than he was now. He had all this power yet none of it was his, his body wasn't his, he was owned and controlled. He didn't have control over his own body, sometimes he wondered when a new master would just tear out his brain and replace it with a machine altogether.
Maybe at least then he could have peace knowing he wasn't a prisoner to the metal coffin that was passed off for Gigan now days before he died.
Gigan had nothing better to do than ponder his own failures, after all what else could you do in space? There wasn't much to see, even if he wanted to he could only spare a passing glance before the voices and thoughts that commanded him returned and forced him back on target. He had traded himself and his freedom to gain this existence and he was reaping it's rewards, coldness and slavery.
Whatever planet he was being sent to now couldn't be any worse than the last few, what did he care if a limb was blown away, bones cracked organs punctured? They would always be replaced anyway, nothing mattered much to Gigan anymore except for the slim hope he may one day regain his freedom, everything else was apathy. The cunning, agile warrior that had existed was only there on the outside now, a marionette mimicking the actions of his past self. The real Gigan was nothing more than a prisoner, a lonely, remorseful and apathetic prisoner.
Yet even still he held out hope. Why? He did not know. Perhaps he would be more content to simply accept his fate, to resign himself to being the tool and slave of countless hundreds of warmongers, conquerors, pirates and more that he was passed between. But Gigan didn't Gigan refused. He didn't know why he believed it, but he knew that one day, even if it took millennia more of his seemingly endless life, he would be free.
As he sailed through the cosmos, through the blackened abyss as distant stars shown their endless waves of light off his reflective metal armor, as his energy burned with fuel from the inside and propelled him forward towards whatever planet was next on the hitlist he couldn't help but shake a little bit, rage, happiness and more swirling in a vortex inside at his thoughts.
Yes, one day Gigan would be free. He didn't care what happened after that, he only wanted to live freely again, even if for a moment, he didn't even care that this body was a mere mockery of what he had once been. He was going to control it, control himself, he was going to finally be able to feel and hope and dream for himself again no matter what.
In the fiery thoughts of future release his past flashed before him again and again and he knew it was his fault for letting this happen. He could damn those machine makers to whatever hells he could think of all he wanted, but Gigan knew he had gotten himself into this and he would be the one to get himself out. He knew the Gigan of old was still in there, inside whatever remained of his broken mind, all he had to do was pick up the pieces and take his destiny back.
Yes, he would do all that and more, he would shatter his chains with the fury of the thousands of lifetimes he had lived, he would tear down this oppressive control like he had torn down so many worlds and he would, even if only for a moment, rise to who he once was again. He would destroy those who got in his way, he would have his life back. That was not a bet, it wasn't even a promise.
Gigan felt with all of his soul and spirit that it was a prediction, he knew it would come true. He knew some day soon or some night long ahead he would have his freedom.
But for now, he moved along as he was commanded. He knew not what planet he travelled to, and he didn't care, it was only from point A to point B for him. Whatever it was he would enjoy it while he could and then he would move on to the next, and the next and so on and so forth until he could see his chance for escape, no feel it.
How long had it been since Gigan had truly burned on the inside like this? How long had it been since he had felt the fire of his kind and his will return to him with the force of the thousand stars he passed by?
His blades tucked tight to his chest, moving through the everything that was nothing, Gigan's screams of rage and cries of triumph and hope on the inside contrasted with the ordered and cold outside. Sharp metal plated ordered neatly as he moved ahead to some unknown place as he always did. Gigan had never regretted destroying worlds until he understood something; they were his only way to escape this hell, even for a moment.
He flew and flew and flew, gliding on towards some solar system where a threat existed or a planet with resources needed conquering. He would enjoy it for a few days, as much as one could while burning it down, then be forced to leave it behind and move on. Hell, Gigan wasn't sure if he would mind being destroyed on one of these planets, at least then he could go out spitting in defiance of those who controlled him. Gigan tried in whatever way he could to twist his metallic mouth into a smile, only achieving partial success. Yes, that wouldn't be so bad after all would it?
His half smile quickly dropped, there would probably never be another besides the Golden Ones who could match him, at least he knew of none. His apathy consumed him again, such a stark contrast to the fire that had just burned. It fit him well, the cold, hard and apathetic shell containing the fiery, hopeful self that was suffocated so often.
Gigan grew closer to his target, closer and closer. How long had he been musing? He didn't know and didn't care, time had no real relevance to him, he could have checked his internal clock but he wasn't in the mood. Time was inconsequential anyway, until the day he was free everything was the same. Information was projected into his mind as he needed it.
The information about his target, a planet filled with water, extremely habitable, images flashed through his mind of opponents, environment and more. The flood and rush of knowledge is something he was used to, most of it would be plucked from his head afterwards, whatever wasn't necessary could be a danger to his masters after all.
Such an interesting planet, the most vibrant he had seen in a long time, it was a shame to have to burn it down. Maybe he would taste defeat, maybe he would die, maybe, just maybe, he could be free. Or maybe it would be like all the rest, the most plausible answer if the most disappointing. But if he didn't take a risk with his hope there would be no reward, no salvation for his wayward soul.
Images of many different potential foes swarmed his mind and his view, swimming with pictures and technical readouts, estimated energy outputs and whatever historical records had been collected on their species by observers of the past. These "humans" were nothing impressive by the standards of Gigan's masters, but there were others too. Spikes and claws, some could fly and some could burrow, some were pathetic and negligible and others fearsome and admirable. Only a few really stood out to the cybernetic terror. These few looked impressive, yes, quite impressive and quite curious. Maybe they could give him the kind of fight he wanted? Maybe even set him free, one way or another?
An interesting world indeed, the natives called it-
Earth.
Excuse the shortness of this chapter, hopefully future chapters will be longer than this. I wanted it to be longer but didn't want to become redundant along the way. Any criticism or advice is welcome.
Thanks for reading!