Chapter 45: A Waltz Through the Shadows.

In the basement of the Pentagon, Penwood was trying to organize the next set of files for his ongoing report. He was still haunted by the tragic events of the last battle described in the case files. He was milling around, intentionally procrastinating. Penwood was simply not eager to begin again. He couldn't help but feel uneasy about what would come next.

As Penwood picked up a large folder of casefiles, a single page fell away from the bundle of paperwork onto the tile floor. Penwood noticed that the page contained numerous black bars all across it. They blotted out key information. Apparently, much of the data had been redacted from the official record. That struck Penwood as odd because most of the other documents he had sifted through earlier had removed very little information.

Penwood set down the heavy stack of paperwork and examined the wayward manuscript. As he read, it was difficult to piece together the narrative. The document described a covert mission of some kind. A seemingly important one. The who, what, where, and why, weren't very clear though. However, as Penwood got to the bottom of the page, he read something that shook him to his very core. In fact, he had to read it twice just to ensure that he didn't misunderstand it. But no, he had gotten it right the first time.

"Captain M. Ryan, K.I.A., promoted to the rank of Admiral posthumously." There was no mistaking it. That's exactly what the document said. Penwood's eyes darted around looking for a date, but there was none to be found. There was nothing on the page to indicate when this supposed mission took place. Penwood was stunned, suddenly unsure of everything Admiral Ryan had told him, and if he was even who he said he was. But if Admiral Ryan had indeed been killed, then who had he been talking to this whole time?

Penwood was eager to find the rest of the report. He wanted to try to piece together more of the story. Unfortunately, he wasn't certain where the wayward page had fallen out from. It could have come from anywhere within the giant stack of reports. Thus, Penwood's only recourse was to continue condensing the report down as planned and hope he would discover the truth of the matter in its own due course.

…

In California, Brock was driving a jeep up to the front entrance of a Naval hospital. During his drive, he had been reflecting on the events of the previous week. It had been a long and drawn-out ordeal of suffering. He and Marcus had been to hell and back, wallowing in the ruins of San Francisco for days after the attack on the city. They witnessed untold death and destruction during that time. Each day had started with renewed hope of finding Shauna and the children. A hope which was slowly ground into the dirt.

At first, the two of them had optimistically gone from hospital to hospital, hoping against hope to find some sign of Shauna and Marcus' children alive. However, after a couple of days, they resorted to going from morgue to morgue instead, looking for any Jane-Doe cases with children involved. In these desolate places, there were multitudes of desperate people, all yearning to find their loved ones. In most cases, the grieving families ended up discovering the worst had come to pass. The sheer amount of anguish Marcus and Brock encountered during this period was overwhelming. After a time, Brock eventually stopped going into rooms with Marcus to look at bodies. He just couldn't stomach it anymore. It was too emotionally straining.

Every day, Brock saw more of the light and life diminish out of his friend. The two of them were drowning in a sea of human misery, and a lot of it was their own. It was hard, endlessly sifting through makeshift hospitals and looking through the wounded, each time eager to find what they ultimately knew they wouldn't. It was beginning to exact a heavy toll on both of them. By the end of the week, each man was physically and emotionally exhausted. Marcus by far was the most affected though. He barely slept or ate the whole time. Eventually, he collapsed under the strain. The ongoing suffering had finally become too much for him to bear anymore. He had to accept the truth. His family was dead, and he was never going to find them.

Marcus was taken to Mount-Ridge Naval Hospital located nearby San Francisco and put on bedrest for exhaustion. That was where Brock was heading towards presently. Marcus had already been there for over a week, but apparently, he was not getting any better. He was not voluntarily eating on his own and getting weaker by the day. Something had to be done.

Brock arrived in the hospital lot and found a parking place for his jeep. As he walked inside the facility, he continued to reflect. The Archimedes Organization had failed its primary mission in dramatic fashion. They couldn't protect the world, and they certainly couldn't protect their own people. San Diego was in ruins. It would take years for the city to be fully rebuilt and stand as it once did.

Los Angeles was only partially devastated. Sizeable swathes of the metropolis were entirely untouched by King Ghidorah's attack. Between the Maser's assault, and the Archimedes' jets swooping in at just the right time, King Ghidorah simply had not been given much time to inflict significant damage to the city, though the financial district was entirely destroyed.

San Francisco was the least damaged of the three, but that was in large part thanks to Godzilla's intervention, and not due to any resistance that Archimedes had put up. The dock area around Fisherman's Wharf was trashed, along with a portion of the business district. Overall though, most of San Francisco was largely intact.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the Archimedes Organization. The whole branch had been decimated during King Ghidorah's assault on the United States. The organization's headquarters was demolished, and the command staff was dead. Her fleet was sunk. All her fighters were downed. Her Maser units were crushed. Only pockets of soldiers and sailors remained.

The organization was so badly decimated that there was only one recourse going forward. Archimedes as a fighting force was disbanded. All of its surviving members and resources were to be absorbed into other branches of the U.S. military, effective-immediately. Though the process of actually reassigning everyone was going to take some time. Perhaps weeks, if not months.

By that point, Brock was walking down the hospital's clean white hallways and nearing Marcus' room. He recalled the final moments before Marcus' collapse. They had gone to the location where the remains of people who had been killed in the burned field had been taken for examination. So many of the bodies had been disfigured beyond recognition. Unfortunately, there was no way to know for sure if Marcus' family was alive or dead. Dental records were employed, but even with those, it proved difficult to identify everyone. No positive matches for Marcus' family came up, but many of the victims had been essentially vaporized in the attack, leaving very little behind to recover. So, there was never going to be a clear answer.

The small hope Marcus had been clinging onto finally fell away. At last, he gave into what his instincts had been shouting at him for days. Brock understood Marcus' pain. Shauna and the children had been like family to him too. But the whole thing was far worse for Marcus. His future was effectively gone. All his hopes and dreams, crushed. Marcus came out of the morgue a shattered man. He began to walk down the hallway, though aimlessly meandering and off balance. He suddenly stopped, and then slumped down to the floor, leaning against the wall and weeping.

The worst thing about all of it was Marcus could never get a true sense of closure from the ordeal. There would always be a nagging doubt in the back of his mind without seeing Shauna and the children's bodies for himself. It was in fact worse than their deaths. At least if he knew for sure that his family had been killed, he could begin to move on from it. Without that knowledge, he couldn't properly start to mourn for them. As it stood, he would always be in a perpetual state of limbo on the issue.

Brock entered Marcus' room quietly and was instantly alarmed by what he saw. Brock had been informed how badly Marcus' health had been deteriorating since arriving at the military hospital, and yet, he was still not fully prepared for what he saw there. Brock nearly teared up, but his sense of pride as a man saved him. To Brock, Marcus looked dead already. His skin was pale, he had dark circles under his eyes, he'd lost at least ten to twenty pounds, and his muscles were starting to atrophy. It also looked as though his hair was starting to fall out from malnutrition. To see that his once healthy and vibrant friend had fallen so hard was a difficult sight to behold. He couldn't understand what happened.

As Brock got closer, he saw that there was an I.V. sticking out of Marcus' arm, feeding him nutrients. It was also clear that Marcus hadn't shaved for days, and despite his pale pallor, there was yet a grim darkness in his facial features. Brock touched Marcus' hand, and it felt cold. If he couldn't see the rising and falling of his chest with breaths, Brock might have feared that he was indeed dead already.

Brock just stood there, uncertain what to do next. He had come there because the medical staff thought a friend might be able to cheer Marcus up. But the situation seemed to have progressed far beyond that already. Brock didn't dare wake up Marcus at that point. He seemed so fragile. Instead, Brock turned and left to talk to someone who knew more about what was going on.

Marcus had been admitted to the hospital for what they called "Battle Fatigue." But he had been nearly catatonic for several days. He'd refused to eat or drink on his own. The staff had ordered the I.V. to rehydrate him and ensure he got at least some nutrients, but it wasn't enough on its own. They were talking about putting in an N.G. tube to better feed him, but the doctors and nurses didn't think that would be enough either. They didn't come right out and say it, but there was a sense amongst all of them that Marcus was intentionally starving himself. That he wanted to die. If that was the case, they could prolong his life, but it would always be a losing proposition unless Marcus acted on his own behalf. Upon hearing all of that, Brock put in a phone call to Admiral Malek to inform him of the situation.

"It's even worse than we've been told." Brock notified him, then paused while Malek asked him a question. "No, their bodies have not been found. But it's been over a week. If they were alive, surely they would have turned up by now." He paused again, listening to the Admiral's response. "I don't think so. I've seen men with broken hearts before, this is more than that. Something more serious." He waited for Malek's reply. "I understand, but what do you say to a man who has suddenly lost everything that was good in his life? It seems as though he's just given up, and I honestly don't blame him. I don't have the aptitude to find the right words to change how the man feels sir." Malik cut in sharply. "Yes sir, I understand." The line clicked. Brock sighed and hung up the phone.

Brock felt ten years older. He had a very unique outlook on the situation. He would have referred to it as "The Trap of Love". The basic principal, the inescapable fact of it was, the more you love someone, the worse it would wound you when you inevitably lost them. So, an intense enough love could crush a man's very soul. Perhaps it was for that very reason that Brock had always hesitated to get too close to anyone himself.

Brock returned to Marcus' room to see if he was awake yet. Upon arrival, he could see that he was not, so Brock went back over to his bed to stand by his side.

"You don't deserve this. Any of it." Brock muttered. "Don't let this tragedy drag you down brother. Don't give in." He fought off tears again, feeling the seriousness of the situation. "If only for my sake, don't give up."

Brock couldn't help but feel responsible for Marcus being in the sorry state he was in. It was he who had encouraged Marcus not to give up when he had discovered the fate of his dog amongst the ashes of the killing field. Brock felt that finding the dog was hardly conclusive. He suggested that they try to keep looking for Shauna and the children elsewhere. Without bodies, there was no way to be certain of their fate. In hindsight, it was a bad call. It would have been better to let Marcus give up then and there, instead of lingering in a prolonged state of false hope when he had already been prepared to start coming to terms with what happened.

Given Marcus' condition, Brock decided he needed to contact his mom. If anyone could possibly help him through this unbearable tragedy, it would be his mother. There was no one else. As if losing his wife and children wasn't bad enough already, the only other people who could fully share his burden of their deaths had also been killed in the attack on San Francisco. Marcus' father and mother-in-law were slain as well. They were in their home which had been destroyed. In their case, the bodies were found and easily identified. For Marcus, their passing kicked out just one more leg of support that he might have found some comfort in, and only served to deepen his grief.

Brock left the room again to start making phone calls. As he did, Marcus stopped pretending to be asleep. Though he understood Brock was there to help him, he simply did not want to talk about what happened anymore. His mind was already made up. He was ready to die. He was numb to the core on the inside and had lost his will to live. Marcus had been trying to starve himself, but with Brock there now, that wasn't likely to happen going forward. He'd have to do something more direct.

Up until that point, Marcus couldn't quite bring himself to take his own life. This was for various reasons. First, on religious grounds. Though he was not catholic, he had heard time and time again that suicide was a cardinal sin and would earn a man's soul a one-way ticket to Hell. Marcus was never quite sure how much he bought into all of that, but if there was any truth to it, he'd be taking an awful risk. If there was any justice in the world, Shauna and the children would be waiting for him in Heaven. He wanted so desperately to believe that was true, but he simply didn't know. He had lived with terrible doubts for the entirety of his adult life.

The second reason was his mother and brother. How much would it hurt them to know that not only had he died, but by his own hand? Could he really put them through that anguish and heartache? What would they do when they found out? Tough questions. And no easy answers.

Marcus had inherited an obscene amount of money due to the death of both of his rich in-laws. He now possessed a small fortune. That money could not buy him any happiness though. No amount of money ever could now. But it might soften the blow of his death for his mother and brother if they inherited it from him afterwards. Would it be enough for them to forgive him though? In the case of his mother, it was unlikely. He had always managed to disappoint her in one way or another. This would just be one more thing. And she was going to be hurt enough by the loss of her grandchildren. For her, their loss was about the only thing that might trump his own demise.

Such as it was, Marcus found himself in a terrible crucible. Not able to find the strength to go on living, but also not able to do what he felt was necessary. Was there a difference between letting yourself die and committing suicide? And if there was, where was the line drawn between them? Did God make that rule, or was it simply men? Did God really want mortals to live on when they were suffering so terribly? These were the questions that haunted Marcus, and no answers were forthcoming.

Marcus had no rest in the waking world, and no rest while sleeping either. He was tormented by terrible nightmares of that day in San Francisco. The only respite he got was in that brief time between being awake and R.E.M. sleep. All other times, his grief consumed him from the inside out like a cancer.

Marcus couldn't just pretend that everything was going to be alright. Because it wasn't. Nothing would ever be okay again for him from that point forward. Marcus' world was falling apart around him, along with his mental state. He could see Shauna and his children every time he closed his eyes. He didn't have the willpower to bear it anymore and he found that he had very few reasons to go on living.

The things Marcus told himself he would do to change everything back to the way things were. If only he could. He had an ocean of regrets. So much guilt and sorrow. He blamed himself for not being fast enough to save his family. He had put his fist through a wall while searching through the various hospitals for them. His hate for King Ghidorah kept him going for a time. It helped him to keep moving, but even that was not enough on its own. Marcus had denied the inevitable for so long, not wanting to believe or accept it. But now he had plunged into the deepest depths of despair, and there was no way out for him.

While progressing through his inner turmoil, Marcus noticed that a scalpel had been left sitting on the counter within his room. He eyed it keenly, thinking just how easy it would be to seize the blade and then open up one of the arteries within his wrist. After one quick and painful cut, he could just lay there and bleed slowly until he fell asleep one last time. A perfect crimson escape. How long would it be until someone came to check on him though? He wondered.

With renewed strength, Marcus sat up and pulled out his I.V. line. He let the tube flop to the floor, ignoring the blood that was dripping out of him, not particularly caring about the trail he was leaving behind. Marcus shut off the machine to ensure that no nurses were alerted to his movements. The device would beep if it detected a problem, and he couldn't have that. Marcus had been lying in bed for so long that his muscles had begun to wither. His movements were slow and difficult. He took the scalpel and then made his way to the door.

The hallway of the hospital was dark and quiet. Evening had set in, and most of the facility had settled down for the night. Marcus had an irresistible urge to go outside. He couldn't quite understand why though. None the less, he wandered down the corridor and no one spotted him. He avoided the nurse's station where Brock was still trying to place a call, and then found his way to a nearby fire exit.

Marcus was barefoot and felt the soft grass caress his feet as he made his way out into the courtyard behind the hospital. It was dark and peaceful. Not a soul to be seen. As Marcus continued to walk away from the building, he noticed a cliffside nearby. The very one Mount-Ridge Hospital was named after. He came right up to the edge, and lingered there, staring down. There was a time when Marcus' fear of heights would have kept him as far away from the threshold as possible, but he was well past that now. He couldn't help but wonder if a fall from that high up would be enough to kill him. It might be faster than using the scalpel he still had concealed on him, though less clean.

The great aching within Marcus' heart dared him to let himself fall. He had never felt so alone and was at a great precipice. He was at the very edge of discovering what lay beyond death. It could simply be the end of everything, but Marcus was beyond caring by that point. If that was the great twist of life, that things simply stopped and faded to black, then he was ready to meet that fate. At least he could be at rest. He was finally ready and started to tilt forward.

Before Marcus fell, there was a disturbance in the sky above him. Through the clouds, golden shards of light began to rain down through the dark clouds like snow. Marcus stared up at them, his fragmented mind uncertain if they were really there or not. One of the falling yellow orbs touched Marcus' face, and he immediately felt like he was falling. He drifted downward for what seemed like forever. It just went on and on.

Marcus' descent was suddenly halted, as though he were caught gently by some unseen force, and then brought to rest on the ground. He found himself in the ruins of San Francisco at night, inside of a crumbling building which lacked a roof. He did not specifically recognize where he was though. The place held no special meaning to Marcus. It was perched high enough to where he could see the devastated city landscape from the battle that had taken place.

'Is this the beginning of the afterlife?' Marcus found himself thinking uncertainly. If so, had he fallen from the cliff, and been sent to this miserable place for his sins? That might explain why he had been brought to this Hellscape where his life had effectively ended. It would be an ideal place for any demon to begin torturing him for the rest of eternity.

Before Marcus had time to give in to despair, he was showered in a white resonating light from above. It was so bright, and yet, it did not hurt his eyes to stare at it. Was this perhaps Heaven instead? From within the stream of light, the perfect visage of Shauna emerged with long red locks of hair hanging down. She looked Angelic, wearing a flowing white gown. Was it fabric, or strands of light though? Marcus truly could not tell. Shauna's eyes were closed, and she hung in the air, floating just a few feet in front of him. Soon after, two smaller pillars of light materialized and flanked the ethereal version of Shauna on either side. They were formless, and yet, their nature was no mystery to him. Shauna's eyes opened and she stared back at Marcus serenely for a time.

"Is this real?" Marcus asked, confused, breaking the silence. He couldn't seem to center himself. Shauna and the children had inhabited his dreams all week, but this felt very different. It was calming and put him at peace. It was a far cry from the maelstrom of raw emotions and heartache that he had been experiencing. By comparison, this was clear, focused, and serene. Marcus also felt like he had agency. As if he had some level of control here. Rather than just experiencing what he was seeing, he could actively interact with the things around him. That elevated this experience beyond just a normal dream.

Shauna's voice began to speak to Marcus, and every muscle in his body tightened up. She gripped his attention on a profound level. It shook him to his very soul. Many burdens inside of Marcus' heart began to lift. What he heard was undoubtably Shauna's voice, though her lips did not seem to move. He couldn't quite understand what she said. He strained to get closer and listen harder. In return, she reached to him with a welcoming outstretched hand.

Marcus wasn't quite able to reach Shauna though. Even in this strange place, the weariness of his body seemed to persist. He was so worn out now. He was always tired anymore. Marcus had to catch himself from stumbling. Afterwards, he paused to remain steady on his feet.

"I failed you." Marcus lamented, regaining his balance. "I should have been there to protect you, and I wasn't."

"You couldn't control everything." The spirit replied back to him.

"I still need you. And so very badly." He went on, tearing up. "I'm lost without you. Only half-alive, and half a man."

"You must go on." She encouraged him.

"It's too much though." Marcus replied. "How do I bear this? Denying the hopelessness building up in me. I have nothing left, and all that I feel is this cruel wanting. I don't think I belong here anymore. Not without you and not without the children. Without your love, I can't will myself to live anymore. It's like I'm missing pieces of myself, and there's not much left of me anymore."

"You will always have our love." The spirit assured him sweetly. "It has not ended. Love can see us through in death. You're not alone. We'll be right beside you, forevermore."

"I simply wish to join you." Marcus protested wearily. "Why would you deny me that? What remains in life when all that is good about it has gone?"

"You're looking for something to die for. Why not look for something to live for?" The spirit countered. "Don't give into the pain of sorrow's hold. We will be waiting for you for as long as it takes. You still have a purpose to fulfill." That statement struck Marcus as odd. It didn't feel like something Shauna would normally say. He didn't linger on that thought for very long though. The spirit beckoned him, and he could not refuse her anything.

Marcus limped the last couple of steps, which closed the gap, and then he embraced the light. The small pillars closed in around him, and he could feel their warmth filling him up, as though they were physically pouring life back into his body. His vitality seemed to return to him, at least in some capacity. The energy that surrounded Marcus felt oddly familiar, as though he had encountered it before. He put aside that feeling though. He could not resist the pleasant sensation that he was engulfed in. For the first time in a long time, he experienced a pure feeling of serenity, and he wasn't about to give that up. Marcus tried to hold on to that perfect moment, but he could already sense it beginning to fade and pull away from him. And so it was, he ultimately had to find the strength to say goodbye.

"I love you." He heard Shauna's voice say as he was pulled out of his trance.

Marcus suddenly found himself lying on his back in a wet field being rained on. Apparently, he had collapsed and had been laid out on his back all night. The sun was just starting to rise in the morning sky. Marcus wasn't sure if what he had seen was actually real or not. It sure felt genuine though, and he even had more energy now. Marcus was still weak, but not the shadow of a man that he had been just the night prior. His despair had also lessened considerably, though not entirely extinguished.

Marcus was suddenly afraid. If what he saw was real, then Heaven might actually exist. And that could lead to some serious ramifications if he carried out his suicide. He knew he would have to reevaluate his position on that. Suddenly, Marcus was having difficulty remembering the details of his vision. Like a dream, it was fading all too quickly. The only thing that really mattered though was that it filled him with a newfound resolve. He would carry on the best he could. If only to fulfill the last wishes of his wife.

As Marcus lay there staring up at the blue sky, a woman came into the edge of his vision. At first, he thought it was Shauna. His heart skipped a beat. Perhaps all of it had just been a bad dream. But then, Marcus realized it was one of the nurses from the hospital, and his enthusiasm quickly died away. Brock also stepped in above him, frowning down at Marcus, and shaking his head disapprovingly. He didn't say a word, but hoisted Marcus up, and then flung him over his shoulder to carry him back inside the hospital. Marcus played possum and allowed Brock to carry him. He took out the scalpel from his pocket and then let it drop to the ground before they re-entered the facility.

The nurse followed close in toe, but she had not noticed Marcus' deception play out. The poor woman had been responsible for Marcus' care the entire time he had been there, and he had not made it easy for her. He had thwarted her every attempt to turn his health around.

Marcus was taken back to his room and had to be stripped out of his wet clothing. Brock retreated, allowing the nurse to tend to that delicate duty alone. Neither of the men would have wanted to live with the awkwardness afterwards if Brock had remained. The nurse was quite strong and capable though and was well up to the task. She fetched a fresh gown that had just been taken out of a dryer, so it was particularly warm. Marcus allowed himself to enjoy the sensation. It immediately reminded him of his pleasant vision.

While the nurse was re-dressing Marcus, she noticed his inexplicable improvement. His muscle tone had increased, and he wasn't just dead-weight in her arms anymore. He was actually moving and working with her, which made her labor all the easier. Here was a man who was on the verge of dying just a day earlier. She didn't understand the rapid turnaround, but it was still welcome. While Marcus was still far away from being fully revitalized, he had taken a large step away from death's door. His life was no longer in immediate danger. The nurse didn't even see the need to put an I.V. back into him.

Once Marcus was cleaned up and changed, he settled back into bed. The nurse turned on the television in the room, and then left him to rest. Marcus was tired but stayed awake to watch. He saw images on the screen of Godzilla moving somewhere dry and dusty, most likely a spot in the southwestern portion of the United States. Apparently, Godzilla had returned to land again. A camera was recording him from the side of a helicopter. There didn't seem to be any settlements where Godzilla was. It almost looked like a desert. Wherever he was going, the military wasn't trying to stop him, at least not at the moment. Though Godzilla had not been directly responsible for the death of his wife, Marcus still couldn't help but feel resentment towards him. He had been involved in the incident, and that was enough.

The picture on the screen returned to a news anchor inside of a studio. The sound on the tv was too low for Marcus to hear what the newsman was saying, but there was a banner at the bottom of the monitor which indicated that Godzilla was moving through Arizona. He had landed near the upper tip of the Gulf of California the day before and had crossed over the border into the United States. He was presently headed east towards New Mexico.

"He's got to be the worst illegal alien this country has ever seen." Brock said snarkily, coming back into the room with a tray of food for Marcus. He smirked, waiting to gauge Marcus' reaction to his comment.

Marcus didn't speak but nodded in agreement. Brock set down the tray and sat to watch Marcus eat. He was prepared to lob harsh words and threats at his friend if he refused. But as it turned out, that wasn't necessary. Marcus immediately took a bite of what generally passed in the hospital for mashed potatoes. Brock looked both surprised and relieved. He had obviously been expecting resistance.

Both of them turned their attention back to the tv screen. The news moved onto a different story, though it was still somewhat related. Up in Canada, a new Kaiju had appeared. A gigantic bat-like creature. Two miners deep in the Sunblood Mountain Range nearby the infamous Nahanni Valley had discovered it. The news was interviewing the big burly men. The two friends were in a dispute about what to name the monster. One of the men wanted to call the creature Bagorah. The other preferred simply calling him 'The Giant Bat'. Since Bagorah was more specific and creative, it won out in the end.

The news anchor gave a brief history of the remote Nahanni Valley or, as it was sometimes called, the "Headless Valley". It had garnered that reputation because of six grisly murders that had taken place in the area where the victims had all been ritualistically decapitated. In all, forty-four people had gone missing or been killed there since 1906. Over the years, the explanations got pretty wild. Some believed that a species similar to bigfoot roamed the area. Others blamed an evil tribal spirit for the deaths. One myth speculated that an entire race of giant cannibals inhabited the land. A Waheela, a sort of man-wolf creature was thrown into the realm of possibilities as well. Even prehistoric creatures were considered, though not very seriously. The only thing that was certain was the area was mysterious, and very dangerous for modern man.

However, the most probable explanation of the many deaths in the area over the years was a particularly aggressive tribe of indigenous people called the Naha, who likely just slaughtered any trespassers who came into their territory. In fact, the Naha were so feared, that even other tribes of Indians were afraid to venture into their territory. By modern times, the Naha people had largely been wiped out by settlers or absorbed into other tribes.

It wasn't clear how long Bagorah had been active. He wasn't likely involved with any of the decapitations over the years, but he was certainly making his presence felt now and expanding the already colorful reputation of the Nahanni Valley. The Canadian Airforce had sent out a squadron of BAC-Lightnings to drive away or kill the monster, but Bagorah had a very unique defense mechanism to counter the jets. Much like a common bat, Bagorah was able to emit a concentrated ultrasonic soundwave. While this ability was most likely meant to be used as a hunting tool, like echolocation, it turned out that the extremely high frequency of the sound had a considerable degree of destructive potential as well. The sounds were projected at such an overwhelming intensity, that they were easily able to jam and even damage the electrical circuits of the aircraft, causing all of them to either crash, or explode mid-air.

The Canadian pilots didn't even get a chance to fire a shot at Bagorah. The fight was over before it even began. The monster was now freely roaming the skies over the Sunblood Mountain Range and the Nahanni Valley entirely unopposed. The news anchor was at a loss trying to explain how the Canadians were going to counter this new kaiju threat and its sonic blasts.

"Huh, maybe the Canucks can trap him with maple syrup or something?" Brock joked sarcastically to lighten the mood. Marcus didn't laugh though.

"I doubt that would work very well, Sargent." Admiral Malek announced dryly from the doorway of the room. Brock stood at attention. Marcus just lay there, unmoved by the Admiral's presence. "At ease." Malek put up a hand. "Well gentlemen, I'm glad to see that you are both alive and well."

"That's still debatable." Marcus rasped out a response. It was not a joke. Admiral Malek was surprised by how curt and straightforward Marcus' words had been. It was very unlike him. Even when he had disagreed with him in the past, Marcus was never so confrontational about it. It didn't bother Malek though. In fact, he was happy to see that there was still a little fight left in Marcus. That would suit his purpose just fine.

The news program flickered to a camera shot of King Ghidorah retreating from San Francisco following his battle with Godzilla. He had flown up into the sky and disappeared. No one knew what had become of the three-headed dragon. Everybody was referring to him as the first 'Space Monster' now, so most people simply assumed that he had withdrawn into deep space. But for all anyone knew, the golden dragon could have been lurking in orbit, just waiting for another opportunity to attack again.

Marcus bristled when he caught sight of Ghidorah. While he might have been angry with Godzilla, he absolutely despised King Ghidorah. He owed him a substantial blood debt. The display of contempt had not gone unnoticed by Admiral Malek.

"Brock, would you mind giving us the room?" Malek asked. Brock looked over to Marcus for his consideration. He nodded in approval, and Brock walked away without a word.

"I can see that you are not in a mood to mince words Marcus, so I'll come straight to the point." Admiral Malek began. "How would you like revenge?" He asked blatantly, sitting in the chair across from Marcus. "I know you are mere days away from leaving the service, but it seems to me like recent events might have compelled you to change your mind. The military might just have more to offer you now."

"Archimedes is over." Marcus replied coldly. "Even from the confines of this bed, I can see that. You don't have any instruments at your disposal to allow me to carry out any type of meaningful revenge Admiral. So what are we talking about here?"

"Yes, Archimedes has been disbanded, and I am no longer in command." Admiral Malek agreed. "But that does not mean the fight is over. There are several important R&D projects in the works, and I'm still supervising those. The need to fight Kaiju has not suddenly come to an end. For public relation reasons, I am being demoted, and our special branch is being rebranded to wash away the stink of defeat and dishonor. If you are patient with me though, I will soon be able to offer you something better than wasting away in a hospital bed dreaming of better days." The Admiral noted, presenting Marcus with a short stack of paperwork to review. Marcus looked down and examined the first page carefully.

"Are you serious?" Marcus asked cynically.

"New and improved Maser units are being rushed into production as we speak, and much better things are on their way. I promise you that much." Malek said with a steely resolve. "We may still be on the losing end of things for now, but we'll stand a fighting chance in the future. All of Archimedes' resources are being rolled into this."

Marcus could see that Admiral Malek was trying to maneuver and manipulate him the way he always did, but the simple fact of the matter was, he didn't care anymore. Malek was offering him just what he needed at that moment, an honorable way out of his predicament, and perhaps, an opportunity for vengeance as well. If Marcus were to be killed while participating in this new project, it would satisfy his longing for death with no risk of damnation required. Malek had given him an obvious path forward.

"Fine." Marcus grabbed a pen from the front pocket of Admiral Malek's shirt and signed the paper on the front page.

"Wait, don't you want to read through all of the pages first?" Malek asked, perplexed.

"This is going to be pretty dangerous, right?" Marcus asked.

"Yes…" Malek began to answer.

"Good, I'm in then." Marcus cut him off, shoving the paperwork back into his hands.

Admiral Malek just stared at Marcus, stunned. He was disturbed by just how easy that was. In fact, he was a little unsure that he had made the right decision to call upon Marcus altogether now. He was unquestionably too eager. He wanted the assignment too badly. Without saying another word, Admiral Malek collected himself and walked out the door. He ran into Brock coming down the hallway and stopped to speak with him.

"Yesterday, you asked me what you should say to a man who has lost as much as Marcus has, Sargent." Malek began. "What words could possibly be used to convince him to live for another day? Well, it's really quite simple. You just offer him a chance at revenge."

Brock took the paperwork from Malek to inspect it. Aside from Marcus' signature on the document, one word caught his attention. It was written in big bold letters: G-Force.

"You might regret this decision someday, Admiral." Brock replied, looking up at him. "When a man has nothing left to lose, I think you'll find he's very hard to control. Such a man is truly capable of anything, because you simply can't threaten him when he's not afraid of losing anymore."

…

Several days later, as Marcus was discharged from the hospital, he apologized to the nurse who had been taking care of him. She was delighted, thinking she had won some great moral victory with his outstanding turnaround, but it was a sham. Nothing more than a delaying tactic. Despite everything, Marcus was still looking for a quick way out. He only wanted it to be an honorable death, in battle if he could manage it. If he could earn some measure of vengeance in the process, that would be all the better.

Marcus had been having further dreams about Shauna every day since the initial one during his close call near the cliffs, though none of them were quite as vivid as the first. They felt like pale imitations by comparison. And yet, they were still comforting to him in their own way. They kept his spirits high enough to continue on as a soldier.

"Are you sure about this?" Brock asked, meeting Marcus at a waiting car. "I can still claim you signed that document while you were out of your mind. You don't have to commit yourself to this course."

"No." Marcus replied coldly. "I'm doing it. This is what I want."

…

Marcus and Brock traveled to San Francisco, where the battered city was under reconstruction. A monument was underway to honor those who had died in King Ghidorah's attack, and in particular, for those whose bodies could not be found. Marcus had brought three white roses to leave at the sight. At that moment, it was his only option. He did not have a gravesite to visit, and there were no remains of his family to be put to rest. Just a burned field and bad memories.

…

In the hills on the far side of the Golden Gate Bridge, two cloaked figures were assessing the damage inflicted upon the city. An older man and a younger woman.

"The arrogance of them." The woman spoke in a whisper. "They thought they could conquer this whole planet with just one of their monsters? The fools…" The older man looked over to her and nodded slightly.

"Yes, they've underestimated the surface dwellers." The old man noted. "I doubt they will make that mistake a second time though. We need to start preparing for what comes next."