February 25, 2004
United Nations Combined Fleet
UN FLAGSHIP
The soft hum of machinery and the gentle rocking of the ship were the first things Takeru became aware of as he drifted back to consciousness. His body ached with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion, the kind that seeped into every muscle and sinew, refusing to let go. He inhaled deeply, the sterile, metallic scent of the ship's recycled air filling his lungs. It was air he desperately needed, air that grounded him in the present, reminding him that he was still alive.
Countless loops, countless battles, and yet here he was, still breathing, still fighting.
"We're alive. Still alive and kicking. Always," the veteran voice rumbled in his mind, its tone filled with a grim satisfaction.
Takeru slowly opened his eyes, his vision swimming as he adjusted to the dim light of the room. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar, the walls too, but the slight, almost imperceptible swaying of the room, combined with the appearance of the interior, told him he was on a ship. Which ship, he didn't know, but the Imperial flag and the UN insignia on the wall were all the hints he needed.
He tried to sit up, but the tug of an IV in his arm stopped him. Glancing down, he saw the thin tube connected to his hand, the clear liquid dripping steadily into his veins. They were treating him, but it didn't feel like a hospital room. The bed was too narrow, the space too utilitarian. It was a spare room, probably hastily converted for his use.
"Tank-class was clawing through the Gekishin's armor. The UN unit who rescued you was able to pull you out because of the Gekishin's raised fist," the Eishi's voice informed him, professional and precise as always.
Takeru winced, a hand going to his head. How did the voice in his head even know that? He hadn't been awake for the rescue. Had he?
"You were asleep, but we weren't," the bratty voice piped up, its tone laced with smugness. "Your ears were still hearing. Your brain just didn't respond."
Takeru exhaled slowly, trying to process the information. It was all so surreal, these voices in his head, each one offering a different perspective, a different piece of of him from another was making up him and his fractured mind. But there was no time to dwell on that now. He needed to understand where he was, what had happened, and what came next.
Sitting up, Takeru took in his surroundings more carefully. The room was small, the walls bare except for the flags and a few pieces of medical equipment. The bed he was on was hard, functional, not meant for long stays. The door was closed, but he could hear the faint sounds of footsteps and voices outside, the constant activity of a military vessel.
"Our survival and successful destruction of the hive's reactor grants us that," the professional voice commented, its tone devoid of emotion. "However, despite this victory, it will be hollow if Operation BABYLON continues."
"And will that change anything?" the veteran voice asked, sarcasm dripping from its words.
"Unlikely," the professional voice responded. "The Professor's alternative plan failed. It's safe to assume that Babylon will be next. The Great Ocean's collapse. A single voice isn't enough to curb the masses."
"But we can't just let it go," the idealistic voice insisted, its tone filled with a quiet determination.
"What can we do?" the bratty voice sighed, resigned. "We're just a Surface Pilot, nothing more… and nothing less."
The door to the room suddenly creaked open, interrupting the conversation in his head. Takeru looked up as a nurse stepped inside. She was young, with dark hair tied back in a neat bun, her uniform crisp and clean. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, she seemed startled, as if she hadn't expected him to be awake. Then, unable to contain her joy, she practically trotted to his side, checking the IV with a bright smile.
"I'm glad you're awake, Lieutenant," she said, her voice filled with genuine relief.
Takeru nodded slowly, still trying to gather his thoughts. "Where am I?" he managed to ask, his voice rough from disuse.
"You're on a UN flagship, Lieutenant," the nurse replied, adjusting the flow of the IV. "You were brought here after the battle. You're a hero, Lieutenant. The combined UN fleet is singing your praises. Tales of your prowess are spreading everywhere. They're calling you the Hero of Sadogashima."
The voices in his head fell silent at her words, as if each of them was processing the information. But one voice, the bratty voice, broke the silence first.
"Ask if our squad's alive… we have to ask," it urged, the usual bravado gone, replaced by a nervous energy.
"Quickly rip the bandaid off," the veteran voice advised, its tone cold and practical. "It's not your first time."
Takeru hesitated, the question burning on his lips, but the answer was terrifying in its potential. Finally, he forced himself to ask, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Were there any survivors… from my squad?"
The nurse's expression faltered, the joy in her eyes dimming. "I… I don't have that information, Lieutenant," she admitted, her voice soft. "I'm sorry."
Takeru felt a cold pit form in his stomach, a gnawing dread that threatened to swallow him whole. He had seen so many of his friends die, time and time again, and the thought that this loop might be no different made him feel sick.
"I see," he said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Am I allowed to move?"
The nurse looked conflicted, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her uniform. "I'd think about that, Lieutenant," she said carefully. "Right now, after our losses, the only thing keeping our morale up is the fact that we took care of the hive. That a Japanese pilot, piloting a Gekishit—um, I mean Gekishin, was able to do all that. You're practically a hero to the men and women who retreated. Hundreds and thousands of BETA on the front and rear — how did you do it, Lieutenant?"
Takeru shook his head slightly, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I guess I hit my head hard," he replied, the words feeling hollow even as he said them.
The nurse studied him for a moment, then sighed, her expression softening. "Most likely. I'll tell the doctor you're awake, Lieutenant. I… I don't know what you lost, Lieutenant, and it may be too much to ask this, but please puff your chest and give them a boost. We really need something to lift our spirits right now. More than ever."
With that, the nurse gave him a small, hopeful smile and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Takeru was left alone, the silence of the room pressing down on him like a weight.
"We survive and now they think we have to be the clown that keeps morale up," the veteran voice muttered, its tone dark with bitterness.
"Think of it from their perspective," the professional voice countered. "What we did is something unprecedented. It brings them the worst drug we could give them: hope."
"But all we want to do is survive," the bratty voice whined, the frustration evident in its tone.
"Our destruction of the hive in Sadogashima will spread out the BETA," the Eishi voice interjected, as analytical as ever. "Yokohama will be in danger, and the mainland will have to take on the brunt of the BETA that escaped."
"Despite our victory, this would immediately lead into the Defense of Yokohama Base, a disaster of even greater magnitude," the professional voice continued, its tone grim. "After the losses here, both for the UN and the Imperial Japan forces… what can we do?"
Takeru's head swam with thoughts, a whirlwind of possibilities and fears. But before he could delve deeper into the implications of their situation, the door to his room swung open with a loud creak, and two familiar figures rushed inside.
"Shirogane!"
The voices called out in unison, filled with a mixture of relief and desperation. Takeru's heart clenched as he recognized them—Kei Ayamine and Chizuru Sakaki, his comrades, his friends.
They were alive.
Takeru froze, his eyes darting between the two women. He tried to look behind them, searching for the rest of his squad, but all he saw were the dog tags hanging around their necks and the bandages wrapped around their arms. A shudder ran through him, a cold realization settling in his gut.
He forced a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes, the light in them dim and hollow.
Kei and Chizuru exchanged a look, then quickly composed themselves, their expressions guarded.
"Who did we lose?" Takeru asked, his voice flat, as if bracing himself for the answer.
Chizuru stepped forward, her posture stiff as she saluted. "Oberon One, Oberon Two, Oberon Six, and Oberon Seven perished in battle."
The words hit Takeru like a physical blow, each name cutting into him like a knife. Mikoto. Meiya. Miki. They were all gone. He had known, deep down, that this was a possibility, but hearing it spoken out loud made it real in a way he wasn't prepared for.
"Mikoto… Meiya… Tamase… they're gone?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Kei nodded, her usual stoic expression softening with sorrow. "Yes. We've… recovered their dog tags… except for Oberon Two and Six. Mitsurugi… we couldn't recover her."
The bratty voice trembled in his mind, the bravado stripped away. "Meiya… is she gone?" it whispered, the words heavy with grief.
The other voices fell silent, the weight of the loss pressing down on all of them. Takeru felt a deep, yawning pit open up in his stomach, the familiar pain of losing his friends again, of watching them die in loop after loop, never able to save them. It was a pain he had experienced too many times, and yet it never got easier.
"Hold it," the veteran voice commanded, its tone harsh and unyielding. "You can take it. This isn't the first time, and if we keep on doing this again and again… then it won't be the last either."
"Can we hold it?" the bratty voice asked, a note of despair creeping into its tone.
"It's something we have to stomach and do," the professional voice replied, its tone resigned. "Right now, focus on the two that survived. They are what you have right now. They are all you have. We don't know for sure if the next deployment will make us lucky, and so you must cherish them. That's all we can do."
Takeru took a deep, shuddering breath, the pain in his chest nearly overwhelming. But he knew the voices were right. Kei and Chizuru were still here, still alive, and that was something. They were all he had left, and he couldn't afford to lose them too.
Without warning, Takeru stood up and pulled both women into a tight embrace, holding them close as if afraid they would disappear if he let go. He buried his face between their shoulders, his body shaking with silent sobs he could no longer hold back.
"Class rep, Ayamine… I'm glad you're still here," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.
Kei, always the stoic one, tried to put on a brave face. "Crybaby," she muttered, though her voice lacked its usual bite. "I'm glad you're alive too."
Chizuru placed a gentle hand on Takeru's back, her voice soft and reassuring. "You did well, Shirogane. You did very well."
Takeru held them tighter, his tears flowing freely now, the grief and exhaustion too much to bear. Kei and Chizuru didn't know what to do, their own grief raw and painful, but they stayed with him, offering what little comfort they could.
The door creaked open again, and a doctor stepped inside, then with a soft word, the doctor gently separated the three of them, ushering Kei and Chizuru aside as he checked on Takeru's condition.
But even as the doctor examined him, Takeru's thoughts were elsewhere, consumed by the faces of the friends he had lost, by the weight of the lives he had failed to save. He knew the war was far from over, that there would be more battles, more losses, but in that moment, all he could feel was the ache of the present, the hollow victory that had come at such a terrible cost.
Takeru stood in the sterile white room, the hum of fluorescent lights above him a constant reminder of where he was. The walls were bare, the floors a polished linoleum that reflected the stark brightness of the room. He was dressed in a plain medical gown, the cold fabric a stark contrast to the heat that had surrounded him in battle. The room was a far cry from the cockpit of the Gekishin, where he had fought tooth and nail for survival. Here, there was no enemy to fight, no BETA to cut down—only the quiet, clinical gaze of the doctors and the cold machinery that surrounded him who were wondering if he had any cybernetics. Takeru could somewhat guess that someone dug through his files and learned he was part of Alternative 4 somewhat.
He felt like a specimen under a microscope, every aspect of his being scrutinized and analyzed. The doctors spoke in low tones, their words indistinct, as they poked and prodded, took notes, and ran tests. Blood samples, reflex tests, psychological evaluations—it all blended together in a blur of questions and instructions. Takeru answered mechanically, his mind detached from the process, as if watching himself from a distance.
He was aware, on some level, that they were testing him for physical and mental stability. After what he had been through, it was only natural. They needed to ensure that he was still fit to pilot, still capable of holding a TSF against the relentless onslaught of the BETA.
Or that they were wondering if there was something in him that made him able to pilot a TSF beyond the possible operation limits.
But Takeru couldn't bring himself to care. His thoughts were elsewhere, lost in the memories of the battle, the voices in his head a constant, unyielding presence.
"We're in control," the professional voice assured him, cold and steady. "They're testing us, but we know how to pass these tests. We've done this before. We can do it again."
"Just answer their questions," the veteran voice urged, its tone gruff. "It's all routine. They're looking for cracks, but we're solid. Keep it together."
Takeru nodded absently, the words of the doctors washing over him like white noise. He could see their lips moving, their expressions shifting from concern to confusion, but the meaning behind their words didn't quite reach him. He felt like he was drifting, untethered, the connection between his mind and body fraying with each passing moment.
"We're all parts," a voice said. "Of ourselves gathered from other worlds."
In a room adjacent to the testing area, Kei Ayamine and Chizuru Sakaki watched through a one-way glass, their expressions tense. They had been given permission to observe the tests, though they weren't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. Seeing Takeru like this — so distant, so detached — was more painful than they had anticipated.
"Ayamine, do you think he's going to be okay?" Chizuru asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, the knuckles white with the force of her grip.
Kei didn't answer immediately. Her eyes were locked on Takeru, watching his every move, every subtle twitch of his expression. She was searching for something, anything, that might tell her he was still in there, that the man they grew close to hadn't been lost in the chaos of battle. But what she saw only deepened the pit in her stomach.
"He's in control," Kei finally said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. "But it's the worst kind of control."
Chizuru turned to look at her, frowning. "What do you mean?" she asked, though she had a sinking feeling that she already knew the answer.
Kei let out a slow breath, her eyes never leaving Takeru. "He's shut down," she said quietly. "He's doing everything by the book, following the rules, answering the questions. But there's nothing behind it. He's not really here, not really."
Chizuru's heart ached at the words. She had noticed it too—the way Takeru had clung to them earlier, the way he had held them so tightly, as if afraid they would vanish if he let go. It wasn't the same as before. There was a desperation to it, a hollowness that hadn't been there before. He had always been strong, even in the worst of times, but now... now it was like he was holding on by a thread.
"I feel bad," Chizuru admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "I mean, he's still like that. Hugging us, trying to comfort us, but... there's something broken."
Kei's expression hardened, her jaw tightening. "It's tiring," she said bluntly, her words cutting through the air like a knife. "Seeing him like this... it's exhausting. We've all been through hell, but he's the one who keeps getting lost in it. It's like he's stuck in a loop, and no matter what we do, we can't pull him out."
Chizuru flinched at the harshness in Kei's tone, but she knew there was truth in her words. They had all suffered, all lost people they cared about, but Takeru's losses were on a different level. It was sometimes a wonder how he had held on for as long as he had.
"He's trying," Chizuru said softly, though she wasn't sure if she was trying to convince Kei or herself. "He's doing his best to hold it together. He just... needs time."
Kei finally tore her gaze away from Takeru and looked at Chizuru, her expression softening just a fraction. "Time?" she echoed, a hint of sadness in her voice. "How much time, Sakaki? How many more battles, how many more losses, before he finally breaks completely?"
Chizuru opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. She didn't have an answer to that. She wished she did, but the reality was that they were all walking a fine line between sanity and madness, and Takeru was balancing on the edge of that line more precariously than any of them.
Kei saw the struggle in Chizuru's eyes and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "We're such a pain in the ass," Chizuru muttered under her breath, trying to inject a bit of humor into the heavy conversation, but it fell flat.
"We are," Kei agreed quietly, her voice filled with a weary resignation. "But so is he. And we're stuck with each other. More than ever with the others gone."
They both fell silent, their eyes drifting back to Takeru as the doctors continued their tests. He was answering questions now, his voice low and monotone, his posture stiff. Every movement, every word, seemed rehearsed, like he was going through the motions without truly engaging.
"That's what we signed up for, you know," Chizuru said after a long pause, her voice soft, almost wistful. "Both of us. We are into that stubborn, reckless idiot who always threw himself into the thick of things, who always tried to save everyone, even when it was impossible. But now..."
"Now, he's trying to save himself," Kei finished for her, her voice heavy with understanding. "And he doesn't know how."
Chizuru nodded, her heart aching for the man they had both come to care for so deeply. She knew that Takeru was trying to hold on, trying to keep himself together for their sake as much as his own, but it was clear that something inside him had shattered. Losing Meiya, losing the others — those wounds had cut deeper than any physical injury, and they weren't wounds that could be healed with time alone.
The door to the observation room opened, and one of the doctors stepped inside. He was older, with graying hair and a weary expression that spoke of years spent dealing with the aftermath of war. He looked at Kei and Chizuru with a mixture of sympathy and professionalism.
"He's physically fit," the doctor said, his voice calm and measured. "But his mental state... It's concerning. We're seeing signs of severe trauma, likely exacerbated by his experiences in the field. He's holding it together, but just barely. I'd recommend giving him time to rest, to recover, before considering sending him back into combat."
"Time to rest," Kei repeated, her voice flat. "We're in the middle of a war, Doctor. Time isn't something we have."
The doctor sighed, nodding in understanding. "I know," he said quietly. "But if we push him too hard, too soon... we might lose him completely."
Chizuru felt a lump form in her throat at the doctor's words. They had already lost so much—so many friends, so many comrades. The thought of losing Takeru, of watching him slip away into the darkness, was almost too much to bear.
"We'll do what we can," Chizuru said, her voice trembling slightly. "We'll be there for him, whatever it takes."
The doctor gave her a small, encouraging smile before turning back to the observation window. Takeru was still answering questions, still going through the motions, but there was a blankness in his eyes, a hollowness that hadn't been there before. It was as if he had retreated deep within himself, locking away the parts of him that had once been so full of life and fire.
"He's not the same, is he?" Chizuru asked quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Kei didn't answer, but the look in her eyes said it all. She felt it too—the change, the distance, the emptiness that had taken root in Takeru's heart. And it scared her, more than she was willing to admit.
They stood there in silence, watching the man they had both fallen in love with, the man who had fought so hard to protect them, to protect everyone. But now, it was Takeru who needed protecting, and they didn't know how to reach him, how to pull him back from the brink.
It was a pain that was hard to suppress.
Losing Meiya… must have been quite a blow to his psyche.
As the doctor continued his assessment, Kei and Chizuru exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between them. Whatever happened next, they would face it together. They would fight for Takeru, just as he had fought for them, even if it meant walking through hell to bring him back.
But as they watched him, they couldn't shake the feeling that something had been lost, something that might never be recovered. And that thought, more than anything, was what terrified them the most.
Takeru stepped out onto the deck of the UN flagship , the cold sea air hitting his face like a wake-up call. The ship's deck was crowded with personnel — soldiers, medics, and technicians—all working with a quiet urgency that spoke of the weight of the task before them. The ocean stretched out around them, vast and unforgiving, the horizon a thin line where the gray sky met the churning waves. But it wasn't the sea that held Takeru's attention — it was the procession of aircraft, the steady stream of helicopters and TSF transporters that were bringing in the survivors from the battlefield.
The crew moved with grim efficiency as they unloaded the wounded and the dead, the deck lined with stretchers, each one carrying a story of survival or loss. Takeru's eyes followed the movements, taking in the scene with a detached calm. He had seen so much death, so much destruction, that it had become almost routine, and yet there was a part of him that couldn't help but feel the weight of it all pressing down on him.
"Look at them," the veteran voice murmured in his head, a tinge of sadness in its tone. "So many lives... and so many lost. We're still here, but for how long?"
Takeru didn't respond, his gaze drifting over the deck, searching for familiar faces. He knew Kei and Chizuru were nearby, but he couldn't bring himself to look at them just yet. He wasn't ready to see the worry in their eyes, the unspoken fear that had settled between them since the battle. Instead, he focused on the scene unfolding before him, on the men and women being pulled from the wreckage, their faces etched with exhaustion and pain.
"It's like watching a machine break down," the professional voice observed, its tone clinical. "One part fails, then another, until the whole thing grinds to a halt. They'll keep fighting until they can't anymore, just like us."
"And what do they think when they look at us?" the bratty voice asked, a note of bitterness creeping in. "Do they see heroes? Monsters? Or just the next thing to be used and discarded?"
Takeru didn't have an answer to that, and he wasn't sure he wanted one. He turned his attention back to the helicopters, watching as another group of soldiers was unloaded. Among them, he spotted the familiar insignia of the Imperial Japanese forces, their uniforms a sharp contrast to the UN's. The two groups moved together on the deck, the lines between them blurred in the aftermath of the battle. They were all survivors now, regardless of their nationality, united by the common enemy they had fought against.
Kei and Chizuru finally joined him, their expressions a mix of relief and tension. They had been through so much together, but Takeru could sense the distance between them, the unspoken words that hung in the air like a barrier they couldn't quite cross. It wasn't only him who had to deal with loss.
"You've become quite the celebrity, Shirogane" Kei said, her voice flat but laced with something Takeru couldn't quite identify. Resignation? Weariness? It was hard to tell.
Takeru raised an eyebrow, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Celebrity?" he echoed, the word feeling foreign on his tongue.
Chizuru nodded, her expression more somber. "Anyone who's seen your flight data... they're looking at you like you're some kind of monster." She paused, searching for the right words. "I don't think they know what to make of you, Takeru. It's our first real sortie and you've done something no one could. You did something incredible out there, but... it's like they're afraid of what it means."
"What it means?" Takeru asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
"What it means," the professional voice interjected, "is that we've crossed a line. We've become something different, something that scares them. They don't understand how we survived, how we fought the way we did, and that makes them uneasy."
"And now they'll want to use us even more," the bratty voice added, its tone laced with cynicism. "They'll see us as a tool, a weapon to be pointed at the enemy and unleashed. And we'll do it, because what else can we do?"
Takeru clenched his fists, the reality of the situation settling in. He had always known that being a pilot meant being used, being sent out to fight and die for a cause that sometimes felt so far removed from the reality of the battlefield. But now, with the eyes of the entire fleet on him, he felt that weight even more acutely.
Before he could dwell on it further, a UN officer approached, his expression a mix of admiration and discomfort. He was tall, with graying hair and a crisp uniform that bore the marks of a long and distinguished career. Takeru recognized him as one of the senior officers in charge of the recovery operation, a man whose name he couldn't quite place but whose authority was unmistakable.
"Lieutenant Shirogane," the officer greeted, his voice filled with a practiced warmth. "It's an honor to meet you. I've read the reports, seen the data... what you did out there was nothing short of extraordinary."
Takeru nodded, but his response was muted, almost automatic. He had heard similar words before, from other officers, other superiors, and each time they had left him feeling more disconnected, more hollow. The praise meant nothing to him now, not after everything he had seen, everything he had lost.
The officer seemed to sense this, his expression softening as he continued. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, Lieutenant, especially after what you've been through, but we need you to prepare for another deployment. The situation is critical, and your presence could make all the difference."
Takeru remained silent, his gaze fixed on the officer, but his mind was elsewhere. The voices in his head were loud, a chaotic chorus of opinions and emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.
"There's no choice," the professional voice stated firmly. "We knew this was coming. We're too valuable to be sidelined now, especially with the battle for Yokohama looming."
"It's never going to end, is it?" the bratty voice muttered, a note of resignation in its tone. "They'll keep sending us out, again and again, until there's nothing left of us."
"It's the reality of war," the veteran voice added, its tone grim. "We fight until we can't, and then we fight some more. It's all we've ever known."
Takeru took a deep breath, pushing the voices aside as he turned to the officer. "I understand," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "We'll be ready."
The officer looked relieved, though there was a trace of guilt in his eyes. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I know this isn't easy, but the situation is dire. We need every able pilot we can get."
With a final nod, the officer turned and walked away, leaving Takeru, Kei, and Chizuru standing in silence. The deck around them was still busy with activity, the air filled with the sounds of engines and the voices of soldiers and medics working to save what they could from the wreckage of the battle.
Chizuru watched the officer go, her brow furrowed in concern. "They're sending us back already," she murmured, her voice filled with disbelief. "We barely made it out of the last fight, and now they want us to go back into the fray."
"It's not surprising," Kei replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "We're assets, just like the TSFs. As long as we're operational, they'll keep using us."
"But after everything we've been through...they expect us to just pick up and fight again," Chizuru said, her voice trembling with frustration.
Kei looked at her, her expression softening. "Because they don't have a choice," she said quietly. "And neither do we."
Takeru remained silent, his thoughts swirling in a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He knew that Kei was right — there was no choice. They were soldiers, and soldiers fought. But there was a part of him, a small, fragile part, that wanted to scream, to refuse, to walk away from it all. But that part of him was buried deep, under layers of duty and responsibility, and it was a part he couldn't afford to listen to.
"We're going back to Yokohama," Takeru said finally, his voice firm. "We'll prepare, and we'll be ready for whatever comes next."
Chizuru sighed, a mix of relief and resignation in her expression. "Yokohama," she repeated softly, as if the word itself held some deeper meaning. "I never thought I'd be so anxious to go back."
"It's not home," Kei added, her voice tinged with a quiet bitterness. "But that's all we have."
Takeru nodded, his gaze drifting back to the horizon, where the dark clouds loomed ominously. And as much as he wanted to rest, to recover, he knew that there would be no peace for him, not yet.
"We'll do what we have to," the professional voice echoed in his mind, a cold certainty in its tone.
"And we'll survive," the veteran voice added, the words filled with a grim determination.
"But what will be left of us when it's all over?" the bratty voice wondered, a note of fear creeping into its usual bravado.
Takeru didn't have an answer to that, and he wasn't sure he wanted one. All he knew was that they had to keep moving forward, one step at a time, until the war was over or until they couldn't fight anymore.
As the three of them stood on the deck, watching the last of the survivors being brought aboard, Takeru felt the weight of the world pressing down on him, heavier than ever before. But he didn't flinch, didn't falter. He was a soldier, a Surface Pilot, and this was his duty. And for as long as he could, he would carry that weight, no matter how heavy it became.
With a final look at the deck below, Takeru turned and walked away, Kei and Chizuru following close behind as they made their preparations to head back to Yokohama.
February 25, 2004
Sadogashima to Yokohama
The rhythmic thrum of the helicopter's rotors reverberated through the cabin as Takeru, Chizuru, and Kei sat strapped into their seats, each lost in their thoughts. The landscape below them was a patchwork of devastation and defiant survival, the remnants of cities and towns that had once thrived before the BETA invasion. Now, as the helicopter carried them south, the scars of war were etched into the earth like a wound that refused to heal.
They had been traveling for hours, the helicopter making steady progress across the Japanese mainland. The flight took them over the remnants of Kashiwazaki, a city that had been reduced to rubble, its once-bustling streets now eerily silent. The forests of Gunma followed, the dense greenery a stark contrast to the ruined urban landscapes they had left behind. Saitama was next, a place that had seen its share of battles, but which still bore traces of life, of people trying to rebuild amidst the chaos.
As they approached Tokyo, the sight was both breathtaking and heartbreaking. The capital had been fortified, its skyline a mix of towering skyscrapers and makeshift defenses, the city a testament to humanity's determination to survive. The helicopter flew low over the city, giving them a brief glimpse of the iconic landmarks that had somehow survived the onslaught—the Imperial Palace, Tokyo Tower, and the remnants of the Rainbow Bridge, now reinforced with military emplacements.
For a moment, Takeru allowed himself to feel something close to awe. Even after everything that had happened, the world still held beauty, still held places worth fighting for. But the moment was fleeting, and as they passed over Tokyo Bay, he forced himself to focus on the mission ahead.
There was no time for sightseeing. Their destination was Yokohama, and there was no doubt in Takeru's mind that the battle for the base would be fierce. The helicopter banked sharply, heading southwest, the urban sprawl of Tokyo giving way to the coastline. The sea shimmered below them, its surface deceptively calm, as if unaware of the horrors that lurked just beyond the horizon.
As they neared Yokohama, the scale of the operation became clear. The base was a hive of activity, TSFs rolling in from all directions, their massive forms dwarfing the soldiers and technicians scurrying around them. The air was thick with tension, the kind that only came before a major engagement, and Takeru felt the familiar weight of anticipation settle over him.
"It's crowded unlike before when we were training," Kei muttered, her voice barely audible over the roar of the rotors. Her eyes scanned the scene below, taking in the sheer number of TSFs being deployed.
"No time to rest," Chizuru added, her tone resigned. "They're gearing up for something big. It's obvious they're preparing for a major defense. We took down the hive in Sado and now we have to worry with those who escaped."
Takeru nodded silently, his thoughts aligned with theirs. The signs were unmistakable—this was a full-scale mobilization, and it could only mean one thing: the BETA were coming.
The helicopter touched down with a jarring thud, the crew signaling them to disembark quickly. As Takeru, Kei, and Chizuru unstrapped and climbed out, they were immediately met with the sights and sounds of a base on high alert. Soldiers rushed past them, shouting orders and coordinating movements, while mechanics worked furiously on the TSFs, preparing them for combat.
"We're not going to have time to settle in," Kei said, her eyes scanning the chaotic scene. "We'll be lucky if we get a chance to catch our breath."
As if to punctuate her words, the base-wide alarms suddenly blared to life, their shrill tones echoing across the compound. The effect was immediate—every soldier, technician, and pilot snapped to attention, their movements becoming even more urgent as they prepared for the inevitable.
"All TSF pilots, prepare to sortie!" the voice over the loudspeaker commanded, the urgency in the tone leaving no room for hesitation.
Takeru's heart skipped a beat, the adrenaline already starting to pump through his veins.
Kei and Chizuru were already moving, their expressions hardened into masks of determination. Takeru followed close behind as they made their way toward the officers coordinating the sortie. The scene was chaotic, pilots scrambling to receive their orders, mechanics rushing to ensure the TSFs were combat-ready. It was a controlled frenzy, the kind that only came in the minutes before a battle.
As they reached the officer in charge waiting for them, he glanced up from his tablet, his eyes narrowing as he took in the three of them. "Lieutenant Shirogane, Ayamine, Sakaki," he said, quickly scanning their files. "You're being assigned to the defense of the base. It's going to be a heavy engagement. We've got reports of a BETA force inbound. Possible remnants from Sadogashima."
"Understood," Chizuru replied crisply, her voice all business.
The officer looked at his tablet again, frowning. "There's an issue with the TSFs. We've had to reassign some of the units due to damage from the last battle." He glanced at Kei and Chizuru. "You two will be piloting Shiranuis. They're ready to go, so head to your stations and suit up."
Kei and Chizuru nodded, already turning to leave, but the officer's gaze lingered on Takeru. "Lieutenant Shirogane, we had a special reassignment for you."
Takeru's brow furrowed slightly, curiosity piqued. "A reassignment?"
The officer nodded, his expression softening slightly as he stepped closer. "It seems that the personal TSF assigned to Mitsurugi Meiya has been transferred to you. The orders came directly from command."
Takeru felt a jolt of emotion at the mention of Meiya's name, the wound of her loss still fresh in his mind. He hadn't expected this, hadn't anticipated being given something so personal, so tied to the memory of someone he had cared for deeply. His thoughts swirled, the voices in his head silent for once, as he tried to process what this meant. Normally, he wouldn't touch it, fearing political implications, but his feelings were still exhausted.
"The TSF has been repainted in UN colors," the officer continued, unaware of the turmoil inside Takeru. "It's in hangar bay seven. Get suited up and head there. You'll receive your orders from the base commander."
Takeru nodded numbly, unable to find his voice. Kei and Chizuru exchanged a look, their expressions unreadable, before turning to follow him as they made
their way toward the locker rooms to change into their fortified suits. The buzz of the base's activity surrounded them, but for Takeru, the world had narrowed to a single point — Meiya's TSF, now his.
They reached the locker room in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The tension between them was palpable, but none of them spoke. There was nothing to say that could ease the weight of what they were about to face.
Takeru entered his locker room and began the process of suiting up. The act was mechanical, a series of practiced motions that required no thought. But as he strapped on the various pieces of his suit, his mind was anything but calm. The memory of Meiya lingered, a specter that refused to be ignored.
"It's a heavy burden," the professional voice murmured in his mind, the first to break the silence. "Taking on her TSF, carrying her legacy. But it's not one we can shy away from. Not when we know how good it was to pilot one and how useful it can be."
"She would have wanted this," the veteran voice added, its tone somber. "For her TSF to keep fighting, even after she's gone."
"But it's still her machine," the bratty voice chimed in, a note of unease in its tone. "I don't want to lose what's left of her."
Takeru finished securing his suit and took a deep breath, trying to center himself. The voices were right, each in their own way. Meiya's TSF was more than just a machine — it was a symbol, a connection to someone he had lost. But now, it was also a tool of war, and he had to use it to protect the people still alive, the people who needed him.
He stepped out of the locker room, the weight of the suit grounding him, sharpening his focus. Kei and Chizuru were waiting for him, both clad in their own fortified suits, their expressions unreadable. They had seen him at his worst, had fought beside him through every trial so far, and now they were going to do it again.
"Let's go," Takeru said quietly, and the three of them headed toward the hangar.
The hangar was a massive space, filled with the towering forms of TSFs in various states of readiness. Mechanics scurried around, making last-minute adjustments, while pilots performed their final checks before heading out to the battlefield. The air was thick with the smell of oil, metal, and the charged energy of imminent combat.
Takeru's gaze swept over the rows of machines until he spotted it —the TSF that belonged to Meiya. It was unmistakable, even in its new UN colors. The sleek, deadly lines of the Takemikazuchi stood out among the other TSFs, its presence commanding attention.
Takeru turned to his wingmates. "Oberon Squad, prepare for deployment!"
NOTE: I was seriously brainstorming on what to call their squad, but then I re-read altered fable and during the finals of the airsoft tournament in their festival. Walken called them Oberon Squad so I'm going with it.