Chapter 1

"Doctor ...I must again remind you that the product was able to gain consciousness unassisted….too dangerous ...should have been impossible."

"Move...product to the conditioning...begin at once…"

"Why?...our backers want results and this is the sole success we've had so far...not about to throw away two years of progress…"

"He's coming to!" "Nurse, sedate it at once!"

Another prick. Then more blankness.

Over the next what had to be days, I drifted in and out of awareness. Probably because the mix of scientists and nurses that ran this cloning lab were dosing me in medication of some kind. But crucially there were times where I was able to grasp strands of conversations that helped clue me in to my current predicament.

One - I, aka the clone body, was not supposed to be able to even achieve consciousness without the help of some kind of machine that was here in the lab.

Two - These scientists had really not been successful in their attempts to clone good old Char. I think molecular degeneration was mentioned in reference to one of the other attempts. Or that could have been me they where talking about.

Three - Since I was awake ahead of schedule, I was being taken somewhere. That's all really, they had just mentioned a transfer, don't really know the destination.

Overall, not the best situation but certainly not the worst.

Prick. Blankness

Next time I came too, things were different than before. I had been placed upright, in what felt like a chair. I could hear people moving around me, the low hum of voices as they talked to one another, and the metallic clinking of straps and belts being tightened and attached.

It was usually around this stage of awareness that this lot would reinject whatever drugs they had been using on me, but they did not this time. Then I heard a distinct chime come from my left.

"Good, the product is coming to. Doctor, if you would?" The voice of a female said close by.

"Of course." A male voice replied, this time from right in front of me.

Smack. Stinging pain blossomed on the right side of my face. My eyes snapped open in response but the harsh LED light above me made them flinch back shut.

"Wake up." Came the harsh growl. Squinting my eyes open this time, I was able to make out the blurry outline of the man right in front of me. Please don't let it be Degwin again. But as the numbness in my jaw resided and my vision cleared I could see that this was not Degwin. Rather this man looked to be a scientist, in good shape and with glasses and a lab coat on.

The scientist hummed in response to my eyes focusing on him. I started to speak but found out that I couldn't, something was clenched in my mouth. It felt like a clothed dowel of all things. I could also feel a harness of sorts that was attached to both the dowel and my head, likely what was keeping it in place. This made me unable to move my head in any direction and to make things look even worse for my current situation, I was unable to move any of my limbs. So I was definitely stuck in this chair.

Turning my focus back to the white coats, I saw a female nurse walk over to the male doctor and hand him a clipboard full of papers.

The male doctor cleared his throat, and began speaking into a lapel mic he had attached to his overcoat.

"Begin Log 419. This is Doctor James Sexton, lead project manager on Project CNCAC. Assisting me is Doctor Amelia Serizazi. As previously stated in Logs 418-A through D, subject Cha Eins was able to gain a state of mental activity that has been unparalleled in previous Cyber Newtype development. Possible reasons for this activity could be due to the initial power testing of the salvaged psycommu system ..." As Sexton continued to dictate his version of a captain's log, I started to notice a pressure of a kind. It was like someone was poking me on the arm, trying to get my attention.

I shook off the pokes, refocusing on the good doctor as he wound down his little ego booster.

"I will now begin the Psycho Reintegration Process with Subject Cha Eins." The smug scientist strode over to his female companion, Amelia he said her name was, and told her to begin the procedure.

It was only when a bloody ring of metal descended from the ceiling, putting me square at the center of the circle, that I began feeling an all too familiar feeling of dread in my gut. But it was when Doctor Serizazi announced the start of the procedure that I knew I was in for a world of pain.

Because that glowing ring of metal, well at least the four sections of the metal that looked like they had been through hell or a battle. And knowing as I did that Full Frontal was the most literal interpretation of a Char clone, I'd bet my soul that whatever apparatus that was just lowered contained the leftover scraps of the Sazabi's psycommu apparatus

Add on the fact that I'm a Cyber Newtype due for his conditioning, and there is about to be a world of hurt inflicted on me. Best guess on the outcome, I'm about to get Full Frontal's full dose of nihilism courtesy of the broken and dead psyche of Casval Rem Deikun. Best part is, these fucking scientists probably don't even consider me human just a product, so not like they're gonna care about what pain I'm in.

As the ring-machine started to power on, a vibrant red coursing through its circuits, I fell back on the only defense type of defense that I had: spiritual.

Because if a full decade of using my soul for every activity doesn't allow me to withstand full on mental conditioning then I will be extremely pissed.

"Reintegration Process start in 3..2...1", called out Doctor Serizazi who was operating the control panel. The ring whirred into life, spinning round and round. The incorporated Sazabi psycommu parts started sending physical waves of light right into the center of the circle. Right into me.

Immediately, it felt like my head had been put in a vice, a quickly tightening vice. I tried to escape the pain; knowing that if I just left the center of the circle the pain would stop, but the restraints keep me firmly in place no matter the effort I put in.

Then the vice became a hammer.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Sharp, cracking blows smashed into my very soul. The blows threw my own soul out of the area they had landed on and I could feel, like ants crawling on my skin, as something that was entirely other filled the vacant space. Those small pockets of otherness felt cold to me. They felt like a dizzying mix of resolve, despair, hate, and determination. These others, fragments of a soul who had already passed on, clamored through my psyche, their desperation palpable to my senses.

"Doctor Sexton! The Integration process is stalling!"

So these fragments of a man wanted in huh? Well too bad! I was here first so they can go ahead and skip to the end of their sorry tale right this instant! Marshalling the entirety of my soul's strength together, I began a counter attack on the fragments, beating back the pieces to the very edge of my mental plane.

"So turn the damn pulses to a higher frequency!"

"But that would require stopping the rotations and risk destruction of the brain, Doctor!"

Credit where credit is due though. Even the pieces of Char Aznable were stubborn to the core. They hung on like barnacles, resisting every wave that washed over them.

"DO IT! We can always just make another one if we have to."

"...yes Doctor."

Yet just when my victory over the fragments nearing its realization, the hammers came back. The renewed blows were stronger this time and I could feel my body painfully straining itselfs against the bonds that held it.

THUD. THUD. THUD

The hammers did not let up this time, landing with stronger and stronger force behind them. My soul contorted under the unrelenting barrage, and the pain made my awareness of my mental plane shrink.

But! But I could make out the fragments and strange as it was, the fragments were being beaten back with me. The very same blows that trampled over my soul, the fragments just weathered. Oh they were beaten back with me, no doubt, but after a certain point they had anchored down and began resisting the hammers.

Still as the hammers landed I came to the stark realization that neither the fragments nor myself would be able to resist as separate entities. Pride cometh before the fall as the saying goes. So I bit the metaphorical bullet and reached out to the disparate fragments. Strength in numbers and Unity I whispered/spoke to them, and after what felt like an eternity the fragments gave their individual assent.

"The Integration rate is rising!"

"Well it's working properly, about time.. Keep the current frequency. Don't want it getting any ideas."

Soon I could feel the otherness of the fragments using channels in my soul to reconnect with each other, and fairly quickly the fragments coalesced into a single form.

This form spoke to me, and it spoke to me deeply and personally, without misconception or deception. The form emminated forward momentum, the desire to make wrongs better, the power to never back down from a course, the deep and aching sadness of things long lost, and many more minute feelings that weren't communicated as strongly as the others. So this was the infamous Will of Char. The driving factor of the original Full Frontal.

Oh how the Will made me fear it. Not because I feared what was whispered/thought in my mental plane. But because I could feel the emptiness of the Will. It wasn't a whole soul, it was lacking part of itself that could never be recovered or made anew.

It lacked anything that might have been hopeful in Char Aznable, most likely because those emotions were what was flowing through the psycoframe system before the Sazabi's destruction. The Will didn't feel evil or bad to me per say, just extremely focused. Focused enough that I could easily see how the Will could become so nihilistic.

Yet human possibilities are endless as the saying goes, and as my soul and the Will strove to fend off the hammers, I could feel the Will and myself coming to an understanding. Soon we were striving together towards the boundaries of the mental plane. The Will acting as the speartip to cut into the hammers, while my soul provided the muscle to go forward. It was a rather beautiful harmony of effort between the two of us, by my reckoning.

And then, suddenly and mercifully, the pain was gone. I could faintly hear the scientists scurrying around me and the vague sensation of

The Will suddenly sprung into action, gathering the entirety of its essence together. But it did not renew its attack on my soul. Rather, the Will shoots back to a corner of my mental plane, passing through my own soul, unopposed,l to get to said corner. I then got the rather off putting sensation of a cat going to sleep, the Will seeming more focused on itself than myself.

Even weirder was the fact that my very soul no longer saw the Will as a threat.

But outside matters once more sought to deny me even the slightest bit of time to get my head on straight, because all of a sudden the alarm went off.

I seized back into the world with a jolt of adrenaline.

Danger, Danger. Attack, attack, attack.

Acting on pure instinct, I swung out of the bunk(?) I had been placed into and stood upright. Belatedly I noticed that I was dressed in a white shirt and black pants. Sparing a second to take note of my surroundings I saw that I was currently in what looked like a converted administrative office. The continued cadence of the alarms reminded me that something was wrong.

As fast as possible I threw on the boots that I knew would be at the base of the bed, I made my way to the room's door and exited into the corridor, pulling on the red officer's jacket that had been folded on the desk as an afterthought.

Officers always had to maintain some degree of decorum afterall, no matter the situation they found themselves in.

Now that I was in the corridor, I could hear a voice coming from the intercoms.

"Red Alert, Red Alert. A Londo Bell warship is attacking our fleet outside the colony. Scramble all mobile suits to defend the fleet. Red Alert, Red Alert ..."

So the Federation had followed me here was well? No matter, one ship cannot stop me.

Determination filled me, I placed my feet on the doorframe and pushed off down the corridor, knowing I had the best head for the mobile suit bay. Even if my personal suit wasn't here at the moment, doubtless there would be spares lying around.

Due to years of experience in navigating under the low gravity of warships, I was able to traverse down the hallways at a good pace, the alarms blaring in my ears all the while. The helpful signs that pointed to the hanger bay also helped.

After flying down a particularly long corridor, I ran into a person, the first person that I had seen since those scientists. He, based on the shoulder size, was wearing an olive and tan pilot suit with the standard red visor marking him as a mobile suit pilot.

"Pilot!" I called out to him, the aura of command once again settling on my shoulders. The pilot halted himself by grabbing onto a handrail, and turned to face me. He caught sight of my jacket and straightened to attention.

"Sir!" The pilot addressed me, not saluting due to the circumstances. Understandable. I landed on foot or two from him.

"What's our situation out there?"

The pilot looked slightly confused. "Sir?"

"Do we know the composition of the enemy's mobile suits? How many suits does the fleet have defending it?" I asked, brushing past the pilot and into the hanger.

The hanger was actually atypical of the Zeonic design principles, most likely due to its nature of being attached to a colony. The mobile suits were standing upright, forcing the mechanics and pilots to soar up and down the various suits. So in some way it fit right in with Sweetwater itself, being a mix of Zeon and Federation techniques. Not like this would hamper me, my days in the AEUG had given me quite the familiarity with how the Federation types like to lay out their MSs.

"Its Londo Bell sir, best guess is those Stark Jeagans they released about a year ago. And we're all the fleet has." I was shocked. The entire fleet was stationed outside Sweetwater, how was it possible that less than a dozen mobile suits were left to protect it?

I floated to the right half of the hanger, where the remaining four mobile suits were standing. Good, now all I have to do is head out in the Sazabi and scare Londo Bell off. Yet when I reached the feet of the red mobile suit among the four, I was floored that the machine wasn't the Sazabi.

How was it possible? The Sazabi went wherever I went. Had it been damaged? No that was impossible, no mere Federation suit could ever damage the Sazabi, the mobile suit that would finally let me kill Amuro on an even footing.

Wait.

A gong rang through my head. Sudden and horrifying clarity shot through me as the mists of illusion were blown away.

Had...had I been acting like I was Char? No, not acting like in a play. I was Char. I felt palpable disgust when I had thought of Amuro Ray then, it was like he had actually done me an unforgivable wrong.

What the fuck.

Hurriedly I built a mental wall around the Will, who was definitely doing something but I just didn't have the time to figure out what. I would just have to hope that...the experience didn't happen again.

Looking up at the red mobile suit whose appearance had helped to throw me out of that mental haze, vague foreknowledge reminded me that this was an AMS-119 Geara Doga unit. Probably a custom variant if I had to guess. Despite it being nothing more than what would be considered a grunt suit, or maybe because of that, the suit struck me as majestic. A titan of war forged of metal. I could have stared at that machine for days on end.

A gasp from in front of me demanded more attention than the Geara Doga however, and I saw that the male pilot who I had encountered outside the hanger had gathered his friends. All three of them, two males and a single female, had retracted their helmet visors and all bore the same expression of awe on their faces.

No, awe was perhaps too soft a word for what was on their faces and shone in their eyes. Adoration was a better word and even that fell a little short.

Then the female pilot spoke up. "So is it true?" She reverently addressed me. "Have you come back to us?" Feelings of hope and budding confidence emanated from the trio of pilots.

Ah it made sense now. So that was why Neo Zeon had followed Full Frontal seemingly right from the get go. To these true believers in Zeon, Char Aznable was not so much a man as a messianic figure come to save all spacenoids from those bound by gravity.

And most crucially, messiahs do not die.

So here I was, a perfect copy of Char Aznable, appearing right after the failed asteroid drop and in the darkest hour of the Neo Zeon cause. The implied narrative was something straight out of a fairy tale, and as my Newtype sense began to pick up trust from the pilots I was hard pressed to even deny the assumptions. It was all true and not even from a certain point of view. Full Frontal had been made for this purpose: to save Neo Zeon.

So I responded to the female pilot. "I have come again because Zeon itself calls out for me."

The female pilot looked ready to shout for joy with that, her male compatriots not far behind from the looks of it.

I forestalled further questions by pointing at the red Geara Doga. "Is that suit fueled and armed?"

The male pilot who hadn't spoken yet spoke up. "It is but it just has its beam sword-axe and machine gun equipped Supreme Leader."

"None of that now." I firmly stated. "Captain will do for now if you must call me by a title."

I jumped into the air, heading towards the Geara Doga. "Well don't just stand there, we have a battle to win." I called over my shoulder to the pilots.

The trio raced over to their mobile suits, and began powering the machines up.

Luckily, the cockpit for the Doga wasn't locked and I was able to enter the suit with no problems. I only felt a sense of familiarity as I brought the mobile suit to life, my fingers flying across the switches with the practice born of years of experience. True to the words of that male pilot, the Doga only had its beam sword-axe and beam machine gun equipped, although the machine gun had a grenade launcher attachment affixed.

As the panoramic cockpit booted up and the Doga's UI came to life, I saw that the other three machines in the hanger with me: another AMS-119 Geara Doga on my left side, a AMX-009 Dreissen directly across from my Doga, and a AMX-014 Döven Wolf diagonally across.

Still going through the motions, I established a comm relay with the other machines which allowed us to function as an ad-hoc squad.

Making some judgment calls, I assigned the Geara Doga and the Döven Wolf together and placed the Dreissen as my wingman. Thankfully their streak of blind compliance to me continued and we used out verniers to move to the launch catapult entrance in the middle of the hangar.

Due to the way our suits had been placed in, I was the third one to launch which was just fine to me.

"Savoir Pazzi, Geara Doga. Launching!" The thrusters on the Doga went to full power and the suit rocketed into space.

"Domenic Treble, Döven Wolf. Launching!" Out went the Wolf after its partner.

Then it was my turn.

I keyed my mic but hesitated. Did I even have a name to call myself by? Full Frontal maybe, but I was hardly him.

Oh wait.

Feeling quite foolish, I moved that thought aside. Of course I had a name! I am Full Frontal and it was time for the Federation to learn the name of their new enemy!

New adrenaline began to course through me as I called out that most Gundam of sayings.

"Full Frontal, Geara Doga. Launching!"

And the Red Comet had come again.