I always wanted to write a MUV LUV story and after thinking about it. Might as well go for it. The premise is Takeru looping in Sadogashima mid-battle and with the 'voices' of his past incarnations stuck in his head. I'm leaning more on how he acts in The Day After here but with less of the apathy and if there any are inconsistencies, please do understand that I might not be able to remember it all. I had to read some part of Unlimited, Alternative, and TDA 1-3 as a refresher before writing this.
February 22, 2004
SADOGASHIMA HIVE
The world around him was a chaotic symphony of buzzing—relentless, overpowering, a cacophony of noise that consumed everything. It was a vibration that seemed to resonate not just in the air, but in his very bones, a low hum that pulsated through the thick metal walls of the cockpit. The sensation was unbearable, as if the very fabric of reality was fraying at the edges, and all he could do was wait for it to tear completely.
And then, as if a great pressure had suddenly released, air rushed into his lungs, filling his chest with an aching gasp. The noise in his head shifted, the sparks of electricity firing in his brain, sending jolts through his nerves as he struggled to regain control. The world flickered into focus like an old film reel sputtering to life. His mind, still foggy from the aftershocks of unconsciousness, tried to piece together where he was and why.
A voice broke through the confusion, stern and authoritative, filled with a strength that spoke of years of experience. "Wake up. This isn't the time to be sleeping." It was the voice of a veteran, a phantom presence that seemed to resonate with a lifetime of battle-hardened wisdom.
Then another voice, younger, sharper, filled with a restless energy. "Dude, we're fucked if we don't move." This one was brash, unfiltered, the voice of someone who had seen too much too fast and was just barely holding on.
A third voice, calm and precise, cut through the others with cold efficiency.
"Most of the pilot systems are functional. WS-16 Assault Cannon: missing. Type-87 Assault Cannon: needs reloading. Type-65 PB Knife: intact. Type-74 PB Blade: mounted. Type-92 Supplemental Armor is holding. Suggestion: S-11 SD-SYSTEM should be purged." The voice was that of an Eishi, systematically cataloging the state of the machine he was inside, treating the dire situation with an unsettling detachment.
Then came another voice, this one soft and idealistic, tinged with hope despite the dire situation. "We need to keep fighting. Kei, Chizuru… Meiya… Mikoto… Miki… you need to keep on fighting. We have to find them."
The names echoed in his head, stirring memories buried deep beneath layers of trauma and despair.
"Your fortified suit is holding," the veteran's voice reassured him, grounding him in the present. The logical voice of the Eishi followed, confirming the systems check. "HUD readout is stable. Activating Head-Mounted Display system."
The cockpit around him burst into light as the systems flared to life. Panels glowed with data, and the screens flickered as the Heads-Up Display came online, casting a cold, digital glow over the interior of the TSF. He could finally see, and with sight came the crushing weight of reality.
"We're inside a fucking hive, dude. Where are we!?" The bratty voice returned, more frantic now as the realization of their predicament settled in.
"Operation Iceberg," the veteran's voice answered, steady but with a dark undertone. "It went to hell. You remember it, right? We were surrounded by the BETA, and then…"
Pain flared behind his eyes as his head throbbed, the memories flashing through his mind in fragmented, disjointed images. The battlefield, the screams, the horde of BETA swarming over the horizon—it was all a blur of violence and death, replaying in a cruel loop.
He heard Mikto and Tamase... their screams...and then Meiya's link... simply vanishing.
He started breathing madly.
"Calm down," a new voice joined in, one that was professional, methodical, laced with a cold acceptance. "We've been through this. What's another loop? How many more can we take until we reach an end?"
"We simply do until the bitter end," the idealistic voice whispered, holding on to a thin thread of hope.
"Easy to say… I'm tired, dudes." The bratty voice was losing its edge, wavering under the weight of exhaustion and despair.
"Pilot, please come to your senses. We are under enemy territory. Non-action will kill us. Data link is inactive. Short-data link… none." The Eishi's voice snapped him back to the present, cold and clear, a lifeline of logic in the sea of chaos.
"Other than the dead?" The veteran's voice was grim, accepting the reality they faced.
"We can recover supplies from the disabled TSF units. Supplies deployed all over the hive will supplement our survival," the Eishi responded, still calm, still calculating.
"How long have we've been out?" The veteran's voice asked, as if it already knew the answer but needed confirmation.
"Eight hours," the Eishi responded. "The pilot systems have been shut down during our encounter with G-elements… Conclusion: We're aware because of our fragmented minds given 'will'."
"Is that how we justify having voices in our head?" The bratty voice snapped, a hint of bitterness in its tone. "We know that's bullshit—"
"We are tired and broken," the veteran interrupted, his tone softening with a touch of melancholy.
"Our 'memory' as an Imperial Royal Guard has given us composure, apathy, but we need to be prepared for the pain. It's best to assume that your friends are killed in action," the professional voice interjected, clinical and detached.
"That can't be… surely they must have…" The idealistic voice faltered, hope dwindling in the face of harsh reality.
"It's impossible to conclude," the Eishi admitted. "However, the squad had faced numerous BETA and their chances of survival… is below expectations."
"That might not be solely true," the bratty voice offered, a faint trace of defiance lingering.
"Perhaps," the veteran conceded, "but it won't be long until Operation Babylon alongside the G-bombing will be conducted… if we are to survive, then we must make the retreat. Just leave the thinking about combat to me while you let the Eishi do the movement. The Professional will take care of anything when it comes to military and politics. Don't worry. You've simply gone insane. That's what we are. A Casualty Conductor, walking in the body of a dead man. Being insane is preferable. We need that in this kind of world. We're all just fragments of the dead trying to cling on to life, Shirogane Takeru."
The name hit him like a shockwave, anchoring him in the swirling storm of voices. Shirogane Takeru. He was Shirogane Takeru. The realization brought clarity, a moment of stillness in the chaos. He wasn't someone lost in the fog of war; he was a soldier, a survivor, clinging to life in the depths of enemy territory.
Takeru shifted in his seat, the harness straps digging into his shoulders as he forced his body to respond. His muscles ached, stiff from inactivity and the lingering aftershocks of battle. He reached out, hands trembling slightly, and began configuring the pilot systems. Each movement was deliberate, methodical, as he recalled the Professor's developer code. His fingers danced over the console, inputting the sequence into the back-end of the OS. He needed to raise the sensitivity, mimic the XM3 OS, and cancel the pre-set movements of the TSF unit. This was no longer about survival—it was about control.
The Eishi voice returned, monitoring his actions with a steady calm. "Powering up. Systems green. Should we purge the S-11 to increase mobility?"
"No," the veteran voice responded firmly. "Let's keep it just in case we're disabled. We are not getting eaten ever again. Do you understand me?"
"Roger. Our mobility will be impacted, but this is a reasonable choice. Data-link is active. Proceeding with a low-NOS flight. Engagement procedures?" The Eishi's voice was already planning, anticipating the next move.
"Keep it melee," the veteran instructed. "Noise attracts BETA, and we need the Type-87 Assault Cannon for the bigger targets."
The Gekishin lit up, the reactor humming as power surged through the TSF. The cockpit's lights brightened, and Takeru felt the machine respond to his touch, a seamless extension of his will. He drew the Type-74 PB Blade on the right and the Type-87 Assault Cannon on the left, the weapons settling into his grip with familiar weight. His mind was clear now, focused on a single objective.
With the HUD readout flickering, Takeru plotted a course deeper into the hive. The maps were old, outdated, filled with gaps and inaccuracies, but they were all he had. The hive was a labyrinth of tunnels and chambers, teeming with the alien menace that had driven humanity to the brink of extinction. But Takeru wasn't afraid. Fear had been burned out of him long ago, replaced by a cold, unyielding determination.
His goal was simple: blow the hive to kingdom come. It was a suicide mission, the kind of operation where the odds of survival were so low they barely registered. But Takeru wasn't concerned with survival.
He was concerned with victory, with striking a blow so deep that the BETA would feel it in their collective consciousness.
As the Gekishin powered up, Takeru felt the voices in his head go quiet, their chaotic chorus subsiding into a tense, focused silence. They weren't gone, but they were listening, waiting for him to make the first move.
They were his ghosts, his fractured psyche given form and purpose in the depths of despair.
As the Gekishin moved through the hive in near silence, its systems purring with a low hum that reverberated through the cockpit. Takeru's hands were steady on the controls, his breath measured, eyes scanning the HUD for any sign of movement. The darkness pressed in around him, the walls of the hive slick and organic, pulsating faintly as if the entire structure was alive. The air was thick, oppressive, filled with the acrid stench of decay and the metallic tang of blood. But here, in the heart of the enemy's lair, Takeru felt a strange calm settle over him.
The voices in his head, once a cacophony of overlapping thoughts and emotions, were now quiet, almost meditative. They were still there, lurking at the edges of his consciousness, but they had taken on a new role—guides in the darkness, each one offering a different perspective on the situation at hand.
"Maintain your course," the Eishi's voice instructed, clinical and precise. "The hive is a labyrinth, but the central chamber should be ahead. We need to keep moving before the BETA become aware of our presence."
Takeru nodded to himself, his eyes narrowing as he adjusted the Gekishin's speed, keeping it just above a crawl. He needed to conserve energy, keep the reactor running cool, and most importantly, avoid detection. The BETA were out there, he knew—hordes of them, just beyond the walls, waiting for the slightest noise, the smallest vibration, to trigger their murderous instincts.
The veteran's voice broke through the quiet, a low, gravelly whisper. "Stay sharp. We're not out of this yet. If we're going to make it, we need to be ready for anything."
There was no room for error, no time for hesitation. This was a world where survival depended on split-second decisions, where the line between life and death was razor-thin. And Takeru had crossed that line too many times to count.
As he pushed deeper into the hive, the Gekishin's sensors began picking up faint signals—metallic signatures, faint and erratic, scattered throughout the tunnels. Takeru narrowed his eyes, recognizing the patterns immediately. These were TSF units, or what was left of them, broken and scattered like toys discarded by a cruel child.
"We've got company," the bratty voice commented, its tone lighter, almost sarcastic. "Looks like some of our buddies didn't make it out."
Takeru maneuvered the Gekishin toward the closest signal, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. The wreckage came into view slowly, a mangled TSF unit half-buried in the wall of the tunnel. Its armor was torn open, exposed circuits sparking weakly, the cockpit shattered. Whoever had piloted this machine was long gone, their remains likely assimilated into the organic matter that lined the hive.
"We should scavenge what we can," the professional voice advised, practical and detached. "Every bit of ammunition, every weapon, could make the difference between life and death."
Takeru hesitated for a moment, then nodded again, guiding the Gekishin closer. He activated the external manipulators, delicate appendages extending from the TSF's frame like mechanical limbs. With precision born from years of experience, he began the process of cannibalizing the wreckage.
The Gekishin's sensors fed him data in real time—ammunition count, weapon integrity, power levels. The first thing he extracted was a cache of Type-87 Assault Cannon rounds, their cases still intact, though some had been damaged in the battle. He loaded what he could into the Gekishin's storage bays, the rest discarded as scrap.
Next, his eyes fell on something more promising: a second Type-74 PB Blade, still mounted on the wreckage's arm, its edge gleaming even in the dim light of the hive. He worked quickly, detaching the blade from the ruined TSF and securing it to his own. The weapon locked into place with a satisfying click, its weight balanced perfectly against the other arm.
"Dual blades," the veteran's voice remarked, a hint of approval in his tone. "That'll give us an edge in close combat."
Takeru moved on, methodically stripping the wreckage of anything useful—armor plating, spare parts, even fragments of circuitry that could be repurposed in a pinch. Every piece was a potential lifeline, something that could keep him alive just a little longer.
As he continued his grim work, the idealistic voice spoke up, softer this time. "These pilots… they were our comrades. They fought and died here, just like we're doing now."
"They knew the risks," the professional voice responded, though there was no malice in it, just a cold acceptance. "We all did. But their sacrifice won't be in vain. We'll use what they left behind to keep fighting."
Takeru paused, his gaze lingering on the broken cockpit of the downed TSF. He didn't know who had piloted it, but he felt a pang of sorrow, a brief flash of something human amid the machinery of war. Then he shook his head, forcing the emotion down. There was no time for mourning. Not here. Not now.
"We're done here," the Eishi voice announced, cutting through the moment. "We need to move. The BETA won't stay dormant forever."
Takeru retracted the Gekishin's manipulators, securing the scavenged supplies in place. The TSF was heavier now, burdened with the spoils of the dead, but it also felt more formidable, more lethal. He resumed his course, pushing deeper into the hive, the stolen blade gleaming at his side.
The tunnel narrowed, twisting and turning in unnatural ways, the walls pulsating with a sickly glow. The further he went, the more the hive seemed to close in around him, the air growing thicker, more oppressive. But Takeru didn't falter. His mind was locked onto his objective, every fiber of his being focused on survival and destruction.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of winding through the dark, he emerged into a larger chamber. His HUD flared with activity, the sensors picking up dozens of heat signatures—BETA. They were everywhere, clustered in groups, their grotesque forms twitching and shifting in the darkness.
But they weren't moving. Not toward him, not toward anything. They were… inactive, almost dormant, as if waiting for a signal.
"This is it," the bratty voice whispered, filled with a mix of awe and dread. "The heart of the hive. We made it, but… what the hell is going on?"
"It's possible that the bombardments along the coastline have stopped to make way for the retreat," the Eishi voice analyzed, its tone carefully measured. "Without the pressure of external threats, the BETA might be in a state of temporary stasis, awaiting further instructions from their command structure."
"So, what's the plan?" The veteran voice asked, always focused on the next step. "Do we sneak through, or do we fight our way out?"
Takeru's mind raced, considering the options. They were deep inside enemy territory, surrounded on all sides by BETA. Stealth was an option, but it was a risky one—if the BETA detected him, there'd be no escape. On the other hand, a direct assault was suicide, but it also carried the possibility of breaking through their ranks, creating enough chaos to escape.
"We need to get to the surface after blowing that reactor," the professional voice advised, its tone steady. "If we're going to set off the S-11, we need to do it from a position where we have a chance of survival. We'll leave the timer on just in case."
"But if we go now, we might alert them," the idealistic voice warned, hesitation in its tone. "We need to be careful."
Takeru clenched his fists around the controls, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it—the moment where everything hung in the balance. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him, the lives of his comrades, the fate of the mission, all riding on what he chose to do next.
And then, in a flash of clarity, he made his decision.
"We fight," he muttered, his voice low but resolute. "We take them head-on and cut a path to the surface. We can't let the hive stay intact."
The voices fell silent, each one processing his choice in its own way. Then, almost as one, they responded with a single word: "Understood."
Takeru's grip tightened on the controls, his focus sharpening to a razor's edge. He activated the Gekishin's thrusters, the TSF surging forward with a burst of speed. The dual blades gleamed in the dim light, slicing through the air as he closed in on the nearest group of BETA.
The first blow was swift, clean—one of the larger BETA, a Grappler-class, fell in a spray of dark fluid, its body collapsing under the force of the strike. The others reacted instantly, their dormant state shattered as they turned toward him, their eyes glowing with a malevolent light.
But Takeru didn't stop. He swung the blades in a wide arc, cutting down the BETA in front of him with ruthless efficiency. The Gekishin moved with a fluidity that belied its size, its movements a deadly dance of steel and fury. He tore through the BETA ranks, the twin blades flashing as he cut down anything in his path.
The hive erupted into chaos, the BETA swarming toward him in a mindless frenzy. But Takeru was ready. He activated the S-11, the countdown timer appearing on his HUD as the bomb began its arming sequence. He had minutes, maybe less, to get out.
"Keep moving!" the veteran's voice barked inside his head, the urgency in his tone unmistakable. "We need to get clear before the S-11 detonates!"
Takeru didn't need to be told twice. He slammed the Gekishin's thrusters to full power, the TSF rocketing through the hive with reckless speed. The BETA were everywhere, their monstrous forms filling the tunnels, but Takeru didn't stop. He pushed the Gekishin harder, faster, the walls of the hive blurring as he tore through the swarms.
The voices in his head were silent now, their focus merged with his own, guiding his every move. The Gekishin's sensors screamed with warnings, the proximity alarms blaring as the BETA closed in from all sides. But Takeru ignored them, his mind locked on a single goal—escape.
The tunnel ahead narrowed, the exit to the surface just beyond. Takeru could see the light, faint but growing stronger as he approached. He was close, so close, but the BETA were closing in faster than he could clear them.
"Almost there!" the bratty voice shouted, its excitement tinged with fear. "Come on, come on!"
The countdown on the S-11 continued to tick down, seconds slipping away as the bomb prepared to detonate. Takeru pushed the Gekishin to its limits, the TSF's frame groaning under the strain as he barreled toward the exit.
And then, with a final burst of speed, he broke through the last of the BETA, the Gekishin bursting into the open air. The surface of the planet stretched out before him, the sky dark and ominous, but it was freedom nonetheless.
"Now!" the veteran voice ordered, and Takeru didn't hesitate. He slammed his hand down on the control, triggering the S-11's detonation sequence.
The explosion was instantaneous, a blinding flash of light that consumed the hive in a massive fireball. The shockwave slammed into the Gekishin, sending it tumbling through the air, but Takeru fought to regain control. He managed to stabilize the TSF just as the blast faded, the reactor reduced to a smoking crater behind him.
It was time to go to the surface.
Admiral Ozawa Hisaya stood at the center of the UN Combined Fleet's operations room, his eyes scanning the myriad of holographic displays that filled the air with a soft, flickering glow. The room was alive with activity, officers and technicians moving with purpose, their voices a steady hum beneath the quiet tension that permeated the space. Ozawa had been in countless command centers throughout his career, but there was something different about today—a feeling in the air, like the calm before a storm.
The large central display projected a map of the Sadogashima, overlaid with data points, troop movements, and the familiar red markers that denoted BETA swarms. They were clustered along the front lines — but something was off. Reports had been coming in sporadically, disjointed, and filled with gaps that left Ozawa uneasy.
Operation Iceberg was a failure.
An aide approached him, saluting crisply before handing over a datapad. "Sir, reports from the coastal defense forces," the aide began, his voice clipped, betraying a hint of urgency. "There was a sudden detonation detected underground, possibly nuclear. We're still awaiting confirmation, but the initial data suggests—"
"Nuclear?" Ozawa cut him off, his brows furrowing as he took the datapad and scanned the report.
"Yes, sir," the aide confirmed, his tone grim. "The signature matches that of a S-11 detonation, but the location doesn't align with any of our planned strikes. It could be… unauthorized, or…" He trailed off, the uncertainty in his voice palpable.
Ozawa's mind raced, the possibilities swirling in his head. An unauthorized detonation? Or was it simply a desperate measure taken by a unit cut off and out of options. But before he could fully process the information, another officer rushed to his side, her face pale, eyes wide with alarm.
"Admiral! We're receiving new intel on the BETA movements," she reported, tapping on her datapad to bring up a live feed on the central display. The map zoomed in, the red markers shifting in real-time. "They're… changing tactics. Several hives are mobilizing their forces, heading northwest to the direction of Heilongjiang. Others are redirecting toward the nearest bases, but… sir, they're moving fast. Faster than we've ever seen."
Ozawa's eyes narrowed as he studied the display. The BETA were indeed on the move, their swarms reorganizing with an alarming efficiency. It wasn't the mindless surge they had come to expect; this was something different, something deliberate. It was as if the BETA had been rattled, shaken from their usual patterns, and now they were converging with a purpose.
"This can't be a coincidence," Ozawa muttered to himself, his thoughts racing. "The detonation… it must have triggered something. But what?"
He straightened, his mind snapping into focus as he turned to his officers. "Get me a full analysis of the BETA movements. I want to know their trajectories, their likely targets, and what this means for our defensive lines. And someone gets in touch with our remaining ground forces in the area conducting the defense line.. I want to know if they've encountered anything unusual—anything at all."
The officers sprang into action, their fingers flying over consoles as they relayed commands and sifted through the incoming data. The room buzzed with activity, the tension ratcheting up as the implications of the BETA's new movements began to sink in.
Minutes passed, the atmosphere growing heavier with each update. Then, just as the operations room seemed to reach a breaking point, another signal came through, this time from the tactical communications team. The officer in charge looked up from her station, her face a mix of disbelief and excitement.
"Sir, we're picking up an IFF signal—friendly, coming near the Hive…. It's faint, but the identification code… it belongs to Lieutenant Shirogane Takeru, of Squad Oberon."
"Confirm that signal," Ozawa ordered, his voice steady but tinged with a note of urgency. "I want visual confirmation. Where is he, and what's his status?"
The officer's hands flew over her console, pulling up the data as fast as the system could process it. The central display shifted again, the map zooming in on a small, isolated dot moving at high speed through the northwest sector. It was indeed a TSF, and the IFF tag was unmistakable — Lieutenant Shirogane Takeru, Oberon-3.
"He's alone," the officer reported, her voice filled with a mix of awe and confusion. "Moving fast, heading toward… sir, he's heading straight for the BETA swarm that's converging on his location."
Ozawa felt a surge of adrenaline, his mind racing to keep up with the flood of information. This Lieutenant Shirogane was alive, but he was in the middle of enemy territory, surrounded by BETA. And if the intel was correct, he was heading straight for the largest concentration of the enemy forces.
"What's his condition?" Ozawa asked, his voice tight. "Is he engaged?"
The officer shook her head, her eyes scanning the incoming telemetry. "No signs of active combat, sir. His TSF is damaged but functional. He's been moving through the area at high speed, avoiding contact with the BETA. But… the BETA near his location are beginning to react. It's as if they've finally detected him."
"Damn it," Ozawa muttered under his breath, his mind racing through the possibilities. Shirogane was out there, alone, but he wasn't just running—he was heading directly into the path of the BETA swarm. What was he trying to do? Was it a suicide mission, a desperate attempt to distract the BETA from the main forces? Or was there something more at play?
"Get me a direct line to Shirogane," Ozawa ordered, his voice hardening with resolve. "I want to know what the hell is going on out there."
The communications team scrambled to establish a link, the operations room buzzing with renewed urgency. It was strange to him.. Against all odds,, a lone TSF navigating the heart of enemy territory with a purpose that only he could know.
The seconds ticked by, each one stretching into an eternity. Then, finally, the comms officer looked up, her face tense.
"We've got a signal from his data-link," she reported, her voice edged with tension. "It's weak, but it's him."
Ozawa nodded, stepping forward as the connection crackled to life. The audio feed was filled with static, the signal barely holding, but through it all, a voice came through — gravelly, strained, but unmistakably belonging to the pilot.
"This is Shirogane Takeru, Oberon-3," the voice rasped, the exhaustion clear but underlined with a steely determination and professionalism. "I've neutralized the reactor of the Sadogashima Hive. I repeat. I've neutralized the reactor of the Hive."
Ozawa, for a moment, could hear the gasp and then cheers of his officers, but remained stern, as he focused on the Lieutenant's words.
"The BETA are… reacting to it. I'm leading them away from the TSF units they are after. Do not, I repeat, do not engage the swarm. I will be be arming the S-11. I'll be drawing them out… I'll lead them northwest."
Ozawa's eyes widened as the implications of Shirogane's words sank in. The detonation, the BETA's sudden shift in tactics—it all made sense now. Shirogane had triggered something, something that had sent the BETA into a frenzy. And now, with an armed S-11, he was luring them away, leading them on a chase that could end in either their destruction or his own.
"Lieutenant Shirogane," Ozawa's voice cut through the static, firm and clear. "This is Admiral Ozawa. We have your position. What's your status? Can we provide support?"
There was a pause, the crackling of the connection filling the silence, before Shirogane's voice returned, remaining professional. "Negative, sir. The BETA… they're converging in response to destruction of the reactor. If you engage now, you'll only draw more to the base. I need to lead them further north, away from the retreat lines. If I can get them to them the S-11 will take care of the rest."
Ozawa clenched his fists, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. Shirogane was asking them to stand down, to let him continue this reckless, suicidal mission. But as much as it went against his instincts, Ozawa knew there was no other choice. The stakes were too high, the risks too great. Shirogane was right — engaging the BETA now could spell disaster for units trying to retreat.
"Understood, Lieutenant," Ozawa replied, his voice heavy. "We'll hold our position. But I'm ordering a recovery team to standby. Once you complete your mission, we'll bring you home."
Another pause, then Shirogane's voice, softer now, almost grateful. "Thank you, sir. I'll see you on the other side."
The connection cut off, the static fading into silence as the operations room fell into a hushed stillness. Ozawa stared at the map, the lone dot that was Shirogane's TSF moving steadily to the swarm of BETA, a single point of light in the midst of a storm of red.
The BETA were on the move, their patterns shifting in response to Shirogane's actions. He was leading them away, drawing them out like a moth to a flame, with the S-11s as the final lure. It was a desperate gambit, a high-stakes play that could either cripple the enemy or end the lone pilot's life in tragedy. Then again, what was life one to the many?
But a soldier who can do this… how could he dare leave him behind?
"Prepare a recovery team," Ozawa ordered, his voice firm. "And keep me updated on Shirogane's position. We're not losing him. Not after what he's done."
The officers moved to obey, the room buzzing with renewed energy and morale as the operation shifted gears. Ozawa remained where he was, his eyes locked on the map, his mind focused on the lone pilot out there trying to face an army of thousands on his own.
Takeru piloted his Gekishin across the Sadogashim's bombarded landscape, the terrain of the island now a desolate wasteland littered with the remains of fallen TSFs and BETA. The heavy overcast blotting out the sun, casting the world in a perpetual twilight. The wreckage of the offensive surrounded him, twisted metal and shattered armor strewn about like forgotten relics of a war that refused to end.
The voices in his head were quieter now, each one seemingly attuned to the weight of the moment. They were still there, guiding him, grounding him in the present as he navigated through the debris. Takeru's hands were steady on the controls, his eyes sharp, every sense on high alert. The air was thick with the stench of burnt metal and blood, a haunting reminder of the countless lives lost on this forsaken battlefield.
As he passed by the remains of a fallen TSF, the Eishi's voice spoke up, its tone measured and calm. "Structural integrity check: reactor is stable. Armor plating: intact. Weapons systems: fully operational. We are in optimal condition, Pilot. The Gekishin is performing within expected parameters."
"Good," Takeru muttered, his eyes flicking to the HUD, confirming the readouts. The Gekishin had been through hell and back, but it was holding up remarkably well. The dual blades at his sides hummed with lethal energy, and the Type-87 Assault Cannon was fully loaded, ready to unleash its fury at a moment's notice.
"You know this is insane, right?" the bratty voice chimed in, a mix of fear and incredulity in its tone. "We're walking right into the heart of the hive, alone, surrounded by BETA. This is how people die, man."
"And yet," the professional voice countered, cold and clinical, "it is precisely this level of calculated risk that has brought us this far. We have a mission, and it will be completed."
"We're not just completing a mission," the idealistic voice added softly, "we're buying time for the others. This is more than just survival—it's about making a difference, even if it costs us everything."
Takeru didn't respond, his focus entirely on the task at hand. The voices were right—what he was about to do was madness, but it was a madness born of necessity. There was no turning back now. The path he had chosen was one of blood and steel, and he would see it through to the end.
"We're getting close," the Eishi's voice announced, cutting through the haze of his thoughts. "BETA signatures increasing. Estimated swarm size: hundreds of thousands. All classifications detected."
Takeru's grip tightened on the controls as the first wave of BETA came into view, a seething mass of alien flesh and chitinous armor that stretched as far as the eye could see. The ground trembled beneath their weight, the very air humming with the vibrations of their movement. It was a sight that would have broken lesser men, driven them to madness or despair. But Takeru was beyond that now. He was a soldier, and this was his battlefield.
"You're doing something insane," the bratty voice whispered again, almost pleading now. "This isn't how it's supposed to end. There's got to be another way."
But the veteran's voice laughed inside his head, a deep, throaty chuckle that sent a shiver down Takeru's spine. "No, this is exactly how it's supposed to end. We've been fighting this war for so long, it's only fitting that if we do go out like this — taking as many of those bastards with us is always the right thing to do. We need to make our death count."
"Remember," the Eishi's voice reminded him, "the reactor is holding up well. No signs of critical damage. The Gekishin can handle this. We can handle this."
Takeru nodded, a grim smile forming on his lips as he accelerated into the swarm. The Gekishin surged forward, its dual blades flashing in the dim light, cutting through the first ranks of the BETA with brutal efficiency. The Type-87 Assault Cannon roared, each shot finding its mark with deadly precision, tearing through the larger classes with ease.
The battlefield erupted into chaos, the BETA swarming toward him in a mindless frenzy, but Takeru was unstoppable. His TSF danced through the horde, the dual blades carving a path of destruction as he moved with a supernatural grace, every movement honed to perfection through years of combat. He was in his element, surrounded by the enemy, but completely in control.
"They're coming at us from all sides!" the bratty voice shouted, panic rising in its tone. "There's too many of them!"
"Focus," the professional voice snapped, cutting through the fear. "We've been through worse. We know what we're doing. Stick to the plan."
And stick to the plan he did. Takeru's Gekishin spun and weaved through the swarm, the dual blades slicing through flesh and bone, the Assault Cannon sending bursts of deadly fire into the thickest concentrations of BETA. The ground was littered with the remains of his enemies, their blood and viscera coating the surface like a grotesque carpet. But still, they kept coming, an endless tide of death that threatened to overwhelm him.
"Now," the Eishi's voice cut in, calm and commanding. "Retrieve the S-11s from the fallen TSFs. We need to set the charges and get out before the BETA overwhelm us."
Takeru didn't hesitate. He ransacked through the fallen TSFs, tearing through the wreckage with ruthless efficiency. The Gekishin's manipulators worked quickly, extracting the S-11 charges from the mangled remains of the machines. Each one was still intact, their deadly potential just waiting to be unleashed.
He moved with purpose, placing the charges in key locations, forming a detonation line that would turn the entire area into a killing field. The detonator was configured to his Gekishin's systems, the signal ready to be sent at a moment's notice.
"It's done," the Eishi's voice confirmed. "Detonation line set. All charges linked to your command. We can trigger them remotely as we retreat."
But retreat was not yet on the table. The BETA were closing in, their numbers growing with each passing second. Takeru knew he had only moments before they overwhelmed his position. But he wasn't finished yet. There was still work to be done.
As he prepared to make his final stand, a sudden burst of static filled his comms, followed by a series of frantic voices. "Oberon-3, this is Falcon-2! We see your position! Thank you for the diversion! We're pulling back now!"
"Do you need support?" another voice called out, the tone laced with concern. "We can reinforce your squad if needed!"
Takeru felt a pang in his chest at the word 'squad.' He was alone, a single pilot in the midst of an ocean of death. But he didn't have time for sentimentality. He had a mission to complete.
"Negative," Takeru responded, his voice cold and professional. "Continue your retreat. I'll handle things here."
There was a brief pause on the other end, as if the other pilots were processing his words. Then came the acknowledgments, each one tinged with a mix of respect and sadness. "Roger that, Oberon-3. Godspeed."
The comms went silent, and Takeru was alone once more. But he wasn't afraid. The voices in his head were with him, guiding him, urging him forward.
"Here they come," the veteran voice rumbled, a dark satisfaction in its tone. "The main event. Let's give them a show they'll never forget."
The ground trembled as the BETA swarm surged toward him, a wave of alien monstrosities that stretched as far as the eye could see. Takeru's grip tightened on the controls, his mind focusing on the task at hand. He was surrounded, outnumbered a thousand to one, but he didn't falter.
"Steady," the Eishi's voice whispered, calm and steady. "Wait for it… wait…"
The BETA were almost on top of him now, their grotesque forms filling the air with the stench of death. Takeru's heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline surging through his veins. This was it—the moment of truth.
"Now!" the Eishi's voice commanded, and Takeru didn't hesitate.
He triggered the detonation, the signal sent in a microsecond to the charges he had placed. The ground erupted in a series of deafening explosions, the S-11s detonating with a force that shook the earth itself. The BETA closest to the blasts were vaporized instantly, their bodies torn apart by the sheer force of the explosions.
But Takeru wasn't done. The blasts had bought him precious seconds, and he intended to use every one of them. He launched himself into the heart of the swarm, the Gekishin's dual blades whirling through the air as he cut down the BETA in a flurry of steel. The Type-87 Assault Cannon fired with unerring precision, each shot punching through the thick armor of the larger BETA, sending them crashing to the ground in heaps of twisted flesh and metal. Takeru was a whirlwind of destruction, his Gekishin moving with an almost supernatural fluidity, a force of nature amidst the chaos.
The BETA swarmed him from all sides, their numbers overwhelming, but Takeru's focus was absolute. He moved through them like a blade through water, the Gekishin's dual blades slicing through anything that came too close. The Type-87 Assault Cannon barked in short, controlled bursts, each round finding its mark with deadly accuracy.
"They're closing in!" the bratty voice yelled, panic creeping back into its tone. "There's too many! We need to get out of here!"
But Takeru didn't retreat. He couldn't. He knew that if he fell back now, the BETA would overrun the island, and the sacrifices made here would be in vain. He had to hold the line, had to buy enough time for the others to escape, even if it meant his own death.
"Hold your ground," the veteran's voice growled, a steely resolve in its tone. "We've come too far to turn back now. We're not just fighting for ourselves—we're fighting for everyone who didn't make it this far."
"The detonations cleared a path," the Eishi's voice reported, its tone precise and calculating. "We can use the momentum to break through their lines. Stay focused, Pilot. We're not done yet."
Takeru's hands flew over the controls, pushing the Gekishin to its limits as he drove deeper into the swarm. The explosions had momentarily disoriented the BETA, and he intended to use that to his advantage. The dual blades hummed with energy, their edges glowing as they cut through the thick hide of the BETA like butter.
The air around him was thick with the scent of burning flesh and ozone, the ground slick with blood and viscera. Takeru's heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like fire. He was alive, more alive than he had ever felt, each movement of the Gekishin a testament to his skill, his will to survive.
But the BETA were relentless. For every one he cut down, ten more took its place. They were a tidal wave of death, their sheer numbers threatening to overwhelm him. But Takeru was undeterred. He had faced worse odds before, and he wasn't about to back down now.
"We're almost there," the professional voice encouraged, its tone calm and focused. "Just a little further, and we can trigger the final detonation. We're not fighting to survive—we're fighting to win."
The BETA surged forward, their monstrous forms blotting out the horizon. Takeru could feel the weight of their presence, the overwhelming pressure of their numbers, but he didn't let it break his concentration. He pushed the Gekishin harder, faster, every ounce of his skill and experience brought to bear in this final stand.
The ground beneath him shook with the force of the detonations, the S-11 charges going off one by one, tearing massive holes in the BETA's ranks. But still, they came. And still, Takeru fought.
The Gekishin's blades were slick with blood, its armor dented and scorched, but it held strong. The Type-87 Assault Cannon was nearly spent, the ammunition count flashing red on his HUD, but Takeru didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Not yet.
"This is it," the veteran voice whispered, a note of finality in its tone. "We're at the eye of the storm, kid. This is where legends are made."
"All systems are still green," the Eishi's voice confirmed, the data flooding Takeru's HUD. "The reactor is stable. We can do this."
Takeru gritted his teeth, his focus narrowing to a single point as he prepared for the final push. The BETA were closing in, a wall of flesh and chitin that threatened to swallow him whole. But he was ready. He had been ready for this moment since the day he first climbed into a TSF.
"Let's finish this," Takeru growled, his voice hard with determination.
The Gekishin surged forward, the dual blades spinning in a deadly arc as he cut a path through the swarm. The Type-87 Assault Cannon roared its last few shots, each one finding its mark with precision born of necessity. The BETA fell around him, their bodies piling up in a grotesque mound, but Takeru didn't slow down.
He was a blur of motion, the Gekishin moving with a speed and grace that defied its size. The BETA swarmed him from all sides, but they couldn't land a hit, their attacks sliding off the Gekishin's armor as Takeru weaved through their ranks. It was as if he could see every move before it happened, his reflexes honed to perfection.
But it wasn't enough. The BETA were endless, their numbers overwhelming. Takeru knew he couldn't hold them off forever. He had to end this, and he had to do it now.
He activated the final detonator, the signal sent directly to the charges he had placed throughout the battlefield. The countdown began, the seconds ticking away as the charges armed themselves. Takeru could feel the weight of the moment, the culmination of everything he had fought for, everything he had sacrificed.
"This is it," the professional voice whispered, a hint of pride in its tone. "The final act."
Takeru didn't respond. There was nothing left to say. He had made his choice, and now he would see it through to the end.
The BETA swarmed him, their bodies crashing against the Gekishin like a tidal wave. Takeru held his ground, the dual blades carving through the mass of flesh and bone. He could feel the reactor straining, the Gekishin's systems pushed to their limits, but he didn't waver. He was a wall of steel and fury, a force of nature that couldn't be stopped.
The countdown reached zero.
The final detonation rocked the battlefield, the charges going off in a massive chain reaction that tore through the BETA's ranks. The ground heaved, the shockwave sending the BETA flying in all directions. Takeru was at the center of it all, his Gekishin holding firm as the world exploded around him.
The blast was deafening, the light blinding. Takeru felt the heat wash over him, the force of the explosion threatening to tear the Gekishin apart. But he held on, his hands white-knuckled on the controls, his focus unyielding.
When the light finally faded, the battlefield was silent. The BETA were gone, their bodies reduced to ash and fragments. The ground was scorched, the air thick with smoke and the scent of burning flesh. But Takeru was still standing, his Gekishin battered but unbroken.
"We did it," the idealistic voice whispered, a note of awe in its tone. "We actually did it."
"Damn right we did," the veteran voice added, a hint of a smile in its tone. "That was one hell of a fight, soldier."
Takeru let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, his body slumping back into the seat as the adrenaline began to fade. He was exhausted, every muscle aching, but he was alive. For now at least.
The comms crackled to life, the voices of other TSF pilots filling the air. They were thanking him, praising him for the diversion, for the sacrifice he had made. Some asked if he needed support, if they could reinforce his squad, but Takeru brushed them off. He was alone, and that was how it needed to be.
"Negative," Takeru responded, his voice firm but tired. "Continue your retreat. I'll hold the line here."
The comms fell silent, the other pilots acknowledging his orders before fading away. Takeru was alone once more, the battlefield quiet, the voices in his head finally silent.
As Takeru stood amidst the scorched battlefield, his Gekishin battered and bloodied, but still standing. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning BETA flesh, the ground beneath him slick with the remains of the BETA he had slaughtered. The explosions had left craters and charred debris in every direction, a testament to the fury of the battle that had just taken place. And yet, as he surveyed the carnage, a strange feeling began to well up inside him—an inexplicable urge, a compulsion he couldn't quite understand.
The BETA on the island weren't all dead. Pockets of them remained, scattered in the distance, their grotesque forms lumbering aimlessly or congregating in the shadows, seemingly unaware of the devastation he had wrought. Something inside him whispered that his job wasn't done. He had to fight. He had to keep going, even though every fiber of his being screamed for rest.
"Why?" he muttered to himself, the question slipping out before he could stop it. "Why do I have to keep fighting?"
The Eishi's voice answered, calm and factual, cutting through his thoughts. "Pilot, the Gekishin is still intact, but the internal systems are strained. The reactor is stable, but continued combat at this level will push the TSF to its limits. The interior won't hold much longer under these conditions."
"It's madness," the bratty voice chimed in, a mix of frustration and fear in its tone. "You've already done enough, Takeru. We survived the hive, we set the charges—what more do you want?"
"We're Eishi," the veteran voice interjected, its tone resolute. "We fight because it's all we know. Because if we stop now, we'll have nothing left. We're still alive, aren't we? Then we fight until we can't anymore. We all know where this will take us. Death. It always does."
"It's dangerous to continue," the professional voice added, analytical as always. "The TSF has taken significant damage, and our endurance is fading. But… if you feel the need to continue, we'll support you. Just know the risks."
Takeru's grip tightened on the controls, his mind wrestling with the conflicting emotions inside him. He knew the voices were right. The Gekishin was on the brink, and so was he. But something deep inside him, some primal instinct, refused to let him stop. There were still enemies left to fight. Still BETA that needed to be destroyed.
"We fight," he finally said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "We fight until there's nothing left."
The decision was made, and there was no turning back. The voices fell silent, as if in agreement, leaving Takeru alone with his thoughts. He took a deep breath, drawing in the smoky, blood-tinged air, and then pushed the Gekishin forward, its thrusters kicking up clouds of ash as it surged toward the remaining BETA.
The blades gleamed in the dim light, their edges still razor-sharp despite the countless enemies they had cut down. Takeru's movements were precise, driven by instinct and muscle memory as he closed in on the nearest group of BETA. The Gekishin's reactor hummed with power, the cockpit vibrating with the strain of its systems, but Takeru didn't care. He was beyond pain, beyond exhaustion. All that mattered was the fight. His memories told him so. All that he had done through countless loops was to fight like a madman.
The first BETA fell easily, its head severed cleanly by the Type-74 PB Blade. The next one tried to lunge at him, its claws scraping against the Gekishin's armor, but Takeru was faster. He spun the TSF around, the second blade cutting through the creature's midsection, spilling its innards onto the ground.
The battle became a blur, a never-ending cycle of attack and counterattack. The BETA swarmed him, their numbers growing as more of them were drawn to the noise of the combat. But Takeru was relentless, his focus narrowing to a single point—the destruction of every last BETA on the island.
"Dude, you're pushing the Gekishin too hard!" the bratty voice shouted, its tone tinged with panic. "The interior is taking damage! We can smell the exterior! If you don't stop, the whole thing could collapse!"
"The reactor is holding," the Eishi's voice reported, though there was an edge of concern beneath the calm. "But the structural integrity is deteriorating. Continued combat will result in critical failure."
Takeru ignored them, his mind consumed by the battle. The Gekishin moved with a ferocity that belied its condition, its blades cutting through BETA after BETA with a mechanical precision. But with each swing, each burst from the Assault Cannon, the TSF groaned under the strain, the interior creaking as the stress mounted.
The BETA came at him from all sides, their numbers seemingly endless, but Takeru refused to give ground. He was a whirlwind of steel and fire, the Gekishin's dual blades spinning in deadly arcs, carving through the horde like a scythe through wheat. His HUD was filled with red warnings, the reactor temperature rising, the structural integrity dropping, but he pressed on.
"Soldier, listen to us!" the idealistic voice pleaded, a note of desperation in its tone. "You need to stop! You've done enough! You've saved so many lives already—don't throw yours away like this!"
But Takeru couldn't stop. Not yet. The fight had taken on a life of its own, the battlefield a blur of movement and violence. He was lost in it, lost in the rhythm of the blades, the roar of the Assault Cannon, the sickening crunch of metal and flesh as he tore through the BETA. The world outside the cockpit faded away, leaving only the fight, only the urge to destroy.
The Gekishin shuddered as another wave of BETA crashed against it, the impact jolting Takeru in his seat. The left arm of the TSF was nearly torn off, the armor plating shredded, but Takeru didn't flinch. He shifted his stance, compensating for the damage, and kept fighting.
Minutes passed, or perhaps hours — Takeru couldn't tell. Time had lost all meaning in the heat of the battle. All he knew was that he was still standing, still fighting, surrounded by the bodies of the BETA he had slain.
But even Takeru's seemingly endless determination couldn't hold out forever. The strain was beginning to take its toll, the Gekishin's movements growing sluggish, the cockpit filling with the acrid smell of overheating systems. His vision blurred, the edges of the HUD flickering as the TSF's systems began to fail.
And then, with a sickening crunch, the Gekishin's left arm was ripped away, torn off by the sheer force of the BETA's assault. The TSF staggered, its balance thrown off, and Takeru fought to keep it upright. The remaining BETA swarmed him but still he refused to give in and emptied his Type-87 Assault Cannon and threw them away, engaging them in a melee battle.
His mind was blurring it all.
The last thing Takeru saw before everything went black was the Gekishin's remaining arm, raised to the sky in a final act of defiance, its blade gleaming in the dim light. And then the darkness closed in, his vision fading, his mind slipping into unconsciousness.
As he slowly fell into unconsciousness, he caught a glimpse of something on the horizon—TSF jump units, their thrusters glowing as they approached.