At the southernmost tip of Honshu, off Cape Shionomisaki, stood a great tower of concrete and stone. The Kashinozaki Lighthouse loomed tall even in the cold mists above the water, a vigilant guardian who eyed the lonely ships off the coast of Kii Ōshima, both to warn them of the dangerous rocks ahead in their journey, and to reassure them. To reassure them that they, so far from land, had not been abandoned. That the cool light of the great lantern would always be there for those who lived upon the sea.

And if the light could not pierce the thick mists, then the throaty cries that belief forth from the tower stomach would. The great voice of Kashinozaki, its fog horn, shuddered through the rags of mist, startling and scattering the gulls that flocked too near and turning the waves to foam. As long as its lantern remained, its voice unceasing, then it would allow no vessel to sail into danger. The tragedy of the Ertuğrul would not be repeated, and in the years since the tower arose from the devastation of Nankai, no ship had ever been lost to the rocks.

On this misty November night, the horizon blotted by endless grey, the tail of Kashinozaki flickered to and fro, in two hundred directions. Every once in a while, the tower would cry, its horn bumbling free of its great maw. It was a lonesome task. The people of Kii Ōshima, in their two thousand-fold, were deep in slumber. Rare few ships floated out in that long stretch of cold water. Only the fish lying on the bay, trembling and staring up at the light of the tower with their funny, freakish eyes, were there to witness the lonely watch of Kashinozaki, to listen to the mournful, monstrous voice of its horn.

And when the morning came, they were gone.

When the sun's rays cut through the mist, Kashinozaki itself was rubble.

Its horn had been silenced.

But here, at Honshu's lonely southern tip, there were none to witness its passing.

---

---

Another day, another fallen monster to analyze. And it just had to appear real early in the morning, nicely disturbing her beauty sleep.

Yaaaaaawn.

She groggily looked at the display in front of them. All complicated, sciency stuff that the average joe wouldn't be able to comprehend. Of course, as a genius, she understood all of it, even in a half-awake state like this.

But her brain still refused to really "turn on", so to speak, which added to her grumpiness.

"I need coffee. Now."

She looked around the lab. No one else was there except for her, naturally, as it hadn't entered official work hours yet for the rest of the lab researchers and staff. She had come here early on her own volition.

"Bah, what a lazy bunch."

She now had to walk to the break room's espresso machine. What a waste of her time.

This was going to be a long day.

MAX FIRE was the first, and last, line of defense for all humanity against the monsters that had risen up against it. Its founder had the ear of every leader in the world, no piece of equipment was too expensive, no material too sensitive for his use if he decreed that it was needed.

But it was still fundamentally a civilian organization, albeit a paramilitary one, and that meant that its workers required certain amenities. For their comfort. Personal living quarters, recreational activities, fresh food. And most importantly, fresh coffee. Not necessarily good coffee. If you wanted good coffee, you needed to head over to the real sciency parts of the enormous complex. In the 24/7 standby parts of the fortress, housing Promethion's pilots, mechanics, and other support staff, the presence of coffee was more important than its quality.

In other words, you learned to like the powdered creamer if it was there, and drink your black mud anyway if it wasn't. If you couldn't stand a spoon straight up in it, it isn't fresh anymore. Make a new pot.

But it meant that Hazel Ada Stoll could roll out of her bed, pull on some clothes, and walk down the hall to get a cup of coffee in the morning.

Most people weren't up yet, so Hazel could make her way to the break lounge in sweatpants and a t-shirt largely unimpeded. The headphones hanging around her neck, their cord trailing down to the Walkman clipped at her waist, blared their soundtrack faintly. She only had them off of her ears to listen for the hourly announcements, in case there was something she needed to know. Otherwise her responsibilities for the day were pretty clearcut. But that'd wait until after coffee.

The night dispatcher was already in the lounge, presumably just clocking out of his shift. She gave Hazel a nod over her paper, but otherwise didn't say anything.

Neither did Hazel.

Ha ha.

<Morning.> She signed quickly, offhandedly. Her coworker'd get the sentiment, if not the message. Hazel wasn't completely certain of her name, but she saw the night dispatcher a bunch. As one of Promethion's more nocturnal pilots, she was pretty familiar with the night support staff by sight. The Commander probably knew their names. Hazel might, if she really thought about it. But frankly, she hadn't had coffee yet. She was firing on a single cylinder. It wasn't high on the priority list.

So she poured her own cup of mud (no creamer at all this morning, she noted, she'd have to put in a supply request) and sat down at one of the little tables. The taste, as much as anything, helped her wake up. One hand ran through her hair, helping to at least tame it a little, and the other slipped her glasses onto her face. Then she settled into her routine. Read her notes, sip coffee, read, sip, read, sip, read, sip. Nothing too eventful was on the docket today. Some pilot drills. There were a couple of things she wanted to go over with the mechanics. The biggest issue on her list was the supply shipments coming in. As a consultant, it was up to her to double check security policies and practices regularly. Whether or not any of the bureaucrats at the top listened wasn't her problem, she just had to advise. End of the world and people still wanted to steal things.

...

Maybe pointing that out was a little hypocritical.

She took another long sip from her mug and sighed. Today actually looked really boring. Maybe she'd finally get around to bringing some of the authentication protocol updates she'd been thinking about up with the boss.

In the meantime, she settled in and decided to do a little people watching. Never knew who'd come through that door in search of an early cup of coffee, no matter how shitty it was. Here in Vaucanson's nerve center, adjacent to the core personnel quarters, hangar, and command center alike, you never knew who'd stop by.

Murmuring softly, Autumn slowly crawled out of her bed, rubbing her eyes before stretching her arms with a yawn. The young pilot followed the same routine she always did after joining the team: Get into some new clothes, brush her teeth, make a quick slice of toast with jam, and pop it into her mouth before rushing off to rendezvous with the rest of the team.

Arriving at the briefing room, Autumn looked up at the display and sighed, chewing up her toast all the while. It happens every day, it seems, the young girl thought to herself. We'll likely have to scramble soon to take care of the problem before it gets any worse.

"Ohayooooooooou!"

Pajamas were for those who feared their own nude flesh. If one was truly human, they would be truly flummoxed by the human need to hide the naked form underneath a set of even warmer clothes. The human body was already protected from cold and discomfort by blankets; wearing pajamas was for those who felt that blankets were not enough to cover their shame, and for those who did not grasp that there was no shame in having the same basic human form as everyone else. It made attraction less of a hangup when one imagined a body almost exactly like their own underneath someone else's clothes.

Pajamas were also for people who slept, so there was reason twice over for the glorious, notorious, and always victorious commander of MAX FIRE to spurn them.

"Cori-nee in the houuuuuuse!" She was still wearing what she had worn into the city that night, when she had clocked out - her mask hung from her neck along with an anaconda-length train of tickets that wrapped around her throat like a necklace and wrapped around her shoulder down to her right hand, where she gripped it tightly between her palm and a large beer-flavored kakigori. Her bright red jacket was stuffed with lollipops in the pockets, stickers on the shoulder pads and lapels, and a moderately-sized trophy that jutted out, in the shape of Pac-Man's head, from the jacket's insides to nurse on her left boob. "I have defended my homeland with fury and honor, as always! You! Otaku!"

nuh uh. no you don't. The fingers flew before latching onto her coffee mug.

"Yuh uh, Hazel Ada! You are looking at not just the glorious commander of Promethion, but also the proud damiyo of Yokohama's Inaugural Pac-Man Expo!" She pulled the trophy from her jacket, away from her breast, and rested it on one of her jacket's protruding shoulder pads. It balanced there perfectly, and she beamed as she hooked the golden v-fin on her belt buckle with pride. "I vanquished twenty-three lesser Wak-men - as my Pac-Man peasants call themselves - all night long at my childhood arcade, just to bring this prize to the ops center! May it never lose its luster from its perch there! And may Yokohama stand strong until I defend my title next year!"

Corinne nodded vigorously twice. Mm hmm!

"Now sit!" she exclaimed proudly to the sitting girl. "Take a sip! It is shaved ice with beer, a perfect blend of the East and West! Just like the bonds of our sisterhood! Drink to my victory with me until the sun rises!"

...

"Wait, was the sun already out when I got here? My beauty and shiny new trophy must have taken all its shine!" the commander asked bewildered. "Are the kids up yet? They need to learn from nee-san's valor!"

If she was tired or suppressing a yawn, she did an amazing job hiding it, for no sounds of exhaustion had slipped out of her mouth during her boasting.

---

---

When she arrived there, dressed in her usual short coat over micro dress getup, to her displeasure, there were already other people there, wanting a cup of coffee of their own.

First there was Hazel. Thankfully, she already got her coffee so she wouldn't have to line up behind her.

And then, there was Corinne bugging her.

She never liked her much. Too loud and rambunctious for her taste.

So she decided to ignore the two, only giving them a glance before going straight to the coffee machine.

No cream. Great.

I think I'm just going to drink it back at a lab, regulations be damned. I'm not a child who'll spill coffee on highly expensive equipment.

Victor quickly ran the towel over his face, eager to wipe away the droplets of sweat that clung to his head. He was pretty lucky, all things considered - he got into a position that dozens, if not hundreds had applied for on accident, and he was making more money than he ever could as a janitor. Not to mention, he got free room and board, health insurance, and access to the gym whenever he wanted. That was where his first visit in the mornings was, and the reason he started waking up at 5 AM. A hard hour long workout, a long and relaxing shower, some time to steal some food from the mess hall, and still having a bit of extra time to hit on the ladies!

It didn't hurt that most of his companions were morning people. Victor always enjoyed having company.

When he finally got back to his room, he started his shower - he finally got to the point where he didn't feel like dying when the cold water hit him. Apparently, cold showers were healthier for you, according to the free health magazines they leave in the lobby. And anything was better than going back to steroids. By the time he finished his shower and checked himself out in the mirror, Victor was feeling ready to start his day right!

First up, going to the mess hall. Protein is best used as soon as you finish your workout, so Victor wanted to load up on all he could for breakfast. Not to mention, burning off the extra calories meant he could splurge a little, maybe have a few extra eggs. If he was lucky, he could find Ms. P and try his hand at wooing her again - 32nd times the charm! Unfortunately, no one of interest was in the mess hall by the time he got there.

Interest meant chicks, there were no chicks there this early in the morning.

Resigning himself to a solitary lunch, Victor quickly collected a meal fit for two men before sitting at an abandoned table. The speed with which he began to wolf it down was only rivaled by the nonchalance everyone else was treating him with - to them, this was a daily occurrence. Given the size of his plate, as well as the obvious fact that he needed to get seconds, it appeared like Victor was going to be there for a while.

Michel woke up when his alarm went off. The first thing he did was look at the training schedule that the scientists had given him. Remembering today's task, he slipped on the 'Etherion radio-control helmet', waking up a small, ball-like robot with extending hands and feet. Michel spread his arms slightly and commanded the robot with his psycho-etherion interface to pick up the straight jacket and dress him, securing his arms. His task for the day was simply to go about, interacting with the environment and people as much as possible, with his arms restrained, using the remote-controlled bot to carry out all of his actions. Thus, it took him significantly longer to brush his teeth and get dressed, as some of the finer movements were difficult to pull off with the robot's clumsy fingers.

Done with his toiletries, Michel decided to get breakfast, and headed over to the mess hall. He waited in line and got his breakfast. Seeing Victor, a fellow pilot, Michel headed over slowly, the platter of food clattering dangerously in the robot's grip. "Good...morning...Victor...!" Michel called out, though the robot lurched slightly, threatening to drop the platter with every word the boy spoke. Though it might seem insane, given this level of control, that Michel used the same system to control ten autonomous Beamstar Blades of the Promethion, the significantly larger equipment was of much higher quality thanks to its size; the miniaturization of the technology was still in its infancy, so Michel was being used as a test-bed, though it was also a good way for Michel to continue to perfect his control. At some point, Michle managed t osit down next to Victor and began using the robot hold the utensils to feed himself.

Ryoma’s alarm rang through the room but he was already wide awake and out of his room by then. He instead was at the hangar, looking at the Promethion’s individual parts to ensure they would be in the optimal conditions in case they would need to be deployed in this instant. What had begun as a mere way to pass time one day he had a bad case of insomnia had become a daily habit of his. In a way that helped him to evaluate how the team of mechanics was working with his creations and reassured himself that someone wasn’t trying to hijack one of the parts of the Promethion while he was sleeping, again. Thinking about that incident started giving him a migraine so Ryoma decided to end his inspection early and get something to drink.

The lounge sounded particularly active at this hour, much to his dismay. Quietly entering he noticed that commander Shourichi was making everything lively as usual. Alongside her was Hazel who he still was conflicted about having her as a pilot, but it was frankly too early to worry about, and lastly he noticed Dr. Meredith on the cofee machine. He had never really understood how someone liked the cofee they served here, instead he preferred buying one of the energy drinks in the vending machines at the back of the room, where he quietly made his way to.

Back in New York, Jack had been a night owl, but since he joined MAX FIRE he had learned to adjust a more morning-focused schedule. He wasn't crazy enough to get up at 5AM every day like Victor, but it was still an improvement over spending weekends and breaks waking up at 1PM. Thus, when Jack's alarm rang, he woke up and immediately set about his routine. While some part of him continued to wake up and marvel at the fact that he was going to fight giant monsters today, and the next day, and the next, those thoughts were dashed as he headed to the lounge.

He had spent a good portion of last night at a local arcade, playing some rounds of Galaga, 1943, Final Fight, After Burner, the works. But he also remembered that Corinne had gone to the SAME arcade that SAME night. Apparently there was a Pac-Man contest there. Jack was one of the few people in the world who wasn't really a fan of Pac-Man. He was more of a shooter, beat 'em up, or platformer guy.

Which was why, as he headed down to the lounge, he was flabbergasted to see Corinne not only still in the clothes he had seen her in last night, not only being obscenely loud, but also holding the trophy from the Pac-Man competition. He had left before the contest kicked into high gear (partly to get away from Corinne, because he KNEW that if he revealed his presence to her there, without any other teammates to back him up, he'd regret whatever followed), but he didn't imagine that she'd WIN THE WHOLE THING! Hell, had she even SLEPT since then?! That said, he found her antics sort of endearing at the same time. Perhaps a bit unprofessional, but it wasn't like they were on giant monster duty yet. She could take some time to cut loose. He just hoped that she didn't pop a blood vessel with how high-strung she was.

But whatever. Time for food. Jack eagerly got in line, and when it was his turn to pick, he piled his plate high with calories. Three pancakes with syrup and butter, a spinach/cheese/mushroom omelette, homefries, two beef sausages, a cup of coffee, and a glass of water. This was an ordinary breakfast for him.

He saw Victor and Michel parked at the same table, and decided to head over there. Then he noticed Michel was in a straitjacket. He knew the world was at stake, but the idea of child soldiers still rubbed him the wrong way. Still, it wasn't like complaining to the higher-ups would get him anywhere, and, well, Prometheon was already built. It wasn't like he could just undo that.

So he decided to stay friendly. "Hey guys," he said to the pair as he sat down across from Victor, with his plate piled high with food. He looked to Michel and asked, "Another test?" As was usual, he fidgeted from time to time over the course of the conversation. This time, his feet were shifting under the table, as if unsure where they should go.

Were it not the end of the world, Hazel doubted that Corinne Shourichi would be let anywhere near a project like this.

No wonder the JSDF sent her to MAX FIRE.

Keeping up with the commander usually required either more caffeine or another drink, depending on the situation. More illicit substances might do the job more efficiently but they were frowned upon for a reason. Caffeine sufficed. At this point, Hazel wasn't at all surprised that she wasn't tired. She doubted, frankly, that Shourichi could get tired. She'd yet to see any evidence of it. And the mute certainly wasn't quite caffeinated enough to keep up, not yet.

But despite her protests, a faint smile tugged at the edges of her lips. It wasn't quite morning until the commander came along.

<Haven't seen them yet.> She signed, dutifully leaning in to take a sip of the proffered drink. That was about the time that Ryoma, one of the people with a bigger paycheck than her, wandered in.

The good doctor(?) had never entirely been comfortable with Hazel's presence. Not that it was something they had discussed, Hazel felt no particular need to explain herself. But no doubt the engineer had raised protests about allowing a thief, swindler, and would-be-hijacker onto the team. He did seem to check on the machines every day. Maybe he thought she would steal one for real this time?

A wider smile crept onto the mute's face, and she quite intentionally locked eyes with the engineer.

And pickpocketed the commander for a couple of lollipops, while she was leaned in taking a sip. Well, to call it pickpocketing greatly overstated the difficulty of the theft, seeing as they were all but spilling out of her jacket, but she doubted Ryoma would care about the semantics. The candies disappeared into Hazel's pocket under the table as she leaned back, looking innocent.

<They might be getting breakfast,> She added, transitioning smoothly into a small wave at the scientist presently attacking the coffee pot. The mute wasn't totally bereft of manners. She spied Jack, briefly, on his way past. There was a coworker she hadn't quite puzzled out yet. Nevertheless. <I doubt they're still sleeping. I'm glad to hear of your victory, Commander.>

<Is it just me, or does the support staff keep getting younger?>

There was a phone call. Priority.

The woman on duty, the sole operative present in the morning, answered.

"Vaucanson here, what happened?" she asked.

It was an emergency, the other end replied.

"Shionomisaki?" she repeated.

Where it had happened, the other end explained.

"On its way here?" she said, horrified.

Long before even dawn, the other end confirmed.

Another calamity was coming. The woman frantically sought the last known sightings. Her face grew weary with each piece of news. The fax to headquarters was made. An answer returned minutes later. She scurried for the intercom. And her voice, urgent but clear, rang out across every inch of the Great Fortress of Vaucanson.

"This is Piloqutinnguaq! We have a Code Red! A monster is currently on its way to Tokyo! I repeat, a monster is on its way to Tokyo! Its arrival time is very soon! All MAX FIRE operatives must attend to their stations! Deployment has been approved! Command has been transferred to Drs Meredith and Kougami! All MAX FIRE operatives must attend to their stations!"



The waters of the inner sea were foaming.

Long ago, in a more naive time, those who made their living off the shores of Edo would have found such an occurrence merely strange. The rippling of the great blue bay could have been chalked up to the sunlight, an illusion brought about by interactions between the life-giving rays and the water. The frothing nothing but the migratory birds, the churning of the water a result of their wingbeats as they hunted for food. The bubbling would not have been noticeable, not by vessels on the surface of such a large gulf. But together, in this terrible time for humans, it was clear what their presence spelled.

A disaster.

From the surface of the cold sea came a head - large, dark-coloured and with immense, reptile eyes - and then a neck, dripping with streams of saltwater. And then, not a body, but more neck. And more! The head rose and rose and rose, ascending towards the Japanese sky on a slender, beautiful neck. Only at a full forty feet did it stop, and only then did the body, a great island of obsidian scales, dead white coral and shells and rotting fish, burst free of its subterranean home. Its tail thrashed. The seas were parted. Vessels were crushed and sunk beneath its weight.

From tip to tail, swimming slowly through the bay with the bearing of a king, it measured two hundred feet and more.

And like a king, its monster eyes bore upon the Capital. A silent, dinosaur-like beast from the tribes that lived in a time immemorial. A creature from the Deeps, hidden deep down in the coldest, darkest parts of the world. A king of the dead, called by Gaia to judge her wayward children.

They met it with planes.

And the king answered.

A scream that crossed millennia of fog and darkness. A violent, furious scream that shuddered across all of Kanto. It screamed at the planes. The planes fired. The beast screamed again. The planes fired. The king opened its gaping maw, the weapons of the planes plinking uselessly off its forest of great teeth. And it screamed again.

It was the sound of the ocean depths. Of twenty thousand fathoms of water weighing upon its shoulders for eternity.

Not only the sea, but the air churned.

And the planes churned with it.

With eyes of fire and ice, the king had made its verdict.

It proclaimed us guilty.

---

---

When the alarm blared, she was right in the middle of sipping her coffee, as she analyzed an image of a DNA structure on the display in front of her.

It made her spit some of it out with a cough, landing on the keyboard.

"Gah! I'm in the middle of something here!" she proclaimed angrily.

She didn't pout for long though. She quickly put her jacket back on before scurrying towards the command centre. Technically, her job description didn't make her have to be there, but to satisfy her personal curiosity, she watched every single battle MAX FIRE engaged in.

Once there, she immediately sat on her seat, crossed her legs, and began issuing orders to the other staff members.

"Show me every single data you got on the monster!" she told them. If we're lucky, I could find its weaknesses right away!

In front of the room was a giant monitor, linked to the cameras that just happened to be in the correct position to watch the monster. MAX FIRE had the authority to redirect the feed into their base right away. It wasn't perfect but it was enough that she could tell just how the monster looked.

Let's see... With that kind of neck length, it should be pretty fragile in the middle. More detailed data aren't available yet to make an actual scientific conclusion, but we don't have any time for that now.

She then leaned over to the microphone in front of her, having to raise her butt slightly from her chair due to the setup being more designed for an adult than a teenager like her. She pressed the button to connect her to the pilots' channel before saying, "Alright, everyone! Let's start by attacking the middle of the neck!"

"I'm awake!"

Rubiana Starfeather's head snapped up from where it had been resting on a set of blueprints, the short 19 year old springing to her feet and blinking rapidly to get the sleep out of her eyes. Her hands patted over her jumpsuit--spanner, check; power wrench, check; interface, check--she quickly tied her hair back, then rushed to the walkway overlooking the mech bay. She went over her mental checklist for every relevant mech to the oncoming battle, even though she already knew the answer to her questions.

Of course they'd all been seen to. She wouldn't exactly be a good mechanic if she went to sleep before finishing her work. Still, a failure at a critical time would get her a fate worse than death. She might be fired.

Might as well hurl her lucky spanner into the jaws of a kaiju and swan dive after it at that point.

The mechanic stretched, her back popping as she stood on her tiptoes and her arms extended to her sides, then started down toward the stairs toward the main maintenance hub. The bays would already be prepped when the surviving warriors returned, her job at this point was to watch the status readouts on each mech and warn the crew what tools and preparations would actually be needed.

Her role in the battle was an observatory one, but necessary nonetheless.

He saw Victor and Michel parked at the same table, and decided to head over there. Then he noticed Michel was in a straitjacket. He knew the world was at stake, but the idea of child soldiers still rubbed him the wrong way. Still, it wasn't like complaining to the higher-ups would get him anywhere, and, well, Prometheon was already built. It wasn't like he could just undo that.

So he decided to stay friendly. "Hey guys," he said to the pair as he sat down across from Victor, with his plate piled high with food. He looked to Michel and asked, "Another test?" As was usual, he fidgeted from time to time over the course of the conversation. This time, his feet were shifting under the table, as if unsure where they should go.

@Duoya

"Yeah!" Michel replied, as if there was nothing wrong with a child attempting to have breakfast in a straight-jacket. A few moments further into breakfast, an alarm rang out, calling all members to their stations. Michel shot up out of his seat, only to lose balance and tip over, hitting the ground, hard. "Ow-uh!" he called out complaintively, as he commanded the drone to undo his restraints. Once freed, he ran over with Victor and Jack towards the hangar and headed into Sumarbrandr, firing up the helicopter. Openeing comms he announced, "I'll launch first and scout it out, maybe harass it a bit and keep it occupied." With that, Sumarbrandr lifted off and flew in the general direction to intercept the monster's path.

"Decapitate early. Understood."

The auburn-haired girl was not one much for words even on her best day. With an alarm blaring in her ear and a kaiju rampaging in the wild, she had neither place nor time to be anything but succinct. She stayed just long enough to get a good look at her opponent, to burn its horrible visage into her mind's eye, and hear Regina's preliminary gameplan.

Then, she did what any girl would do.

Autumn ran. She fled. She sprinted out of the briefing room like her very life depended on it.

She ran to the safest place she knew.

The one realm where the beast's great claws, its vicious teeth, nor its horrible roars could rend her life open again. Somewhere where she could hold back the night its vengeful eyes promised.

That all-too-important difference between here and the disaster of San Francisco. Here and Oakland.

It was that place. The one she'd spent years calling home, so that nobody else had to lose theirs.

Aleksandr.

"Clear out! Taking off!" she yelled, high voice somehow cutting above the maelstrom kicked up by Sumarbrandr's rotors. Or perhaps it was her frantically waving hands that did it?

Either way, the team of round-the-clock technicians that worked tirelessly to keep her avatar of retribution in peak form got the message— Pilot coming through, please get away from the treads. The guys were quick to heed that warning, packing up equipment and leaving her with wishes of good fortune and good hunting. They knew her as well as anyone on the base could claim to— she had spent many hours of downtime quietly shadowing them as they worked on her machine.

Autumn knew that the pre-launch checks would be smooth and short. Those guys were good at more than just roasting each other and dirty jokes. Everything was in more than working order.

"COFFIN system online. Welcome back, Pilot."

As it should be.

The world flared into new, crystal-resolution life as Aleksandr's chassis fed camera feed in 360 degrees to her cockpit. Fingers dancing across the controls in familiar patterns, she swiveled her coaxial turrets, each autocannon responding immediately and precisely. A minor main barrel adjustment next— shifting the angle in minutiae to account or hangar space, but it all the same proved itself good and ready. Magnification systems, working. She could zoom down to a penny beneath her if she wished. Comms, open. Already, both the bridge and Michel were sending her real-time info.

She'd done VR missions with a less forgiving system... Only one thing left.

She turned the proverbial key.

The hangar filled with sound and fury, as Promethion's Etherion heart roared to life. The strongest engine ever produced had awakened, and set itself to work upon the tens of thousands of tons of armor, tread and gun that Max Fire had deemed appropriate to cull this foe and all others like it. A promise of annihilation in response to a threat of extinction.

Never again.

"Aleksandr, LAUNCH!"

Mankind's Mobile Fortress once again carved a path with biting steel into the Earth, as Autumn Hanneman, age 13, marched to War.

As Victor managed to finish his second overwhelming plate of food, Micheal decided to lurch on over in... a straight jacket. Victor personally would never be caught dead in something so appalling, and the struggled movements and voice coming from the young man seemed to support the idea that the robot was hard to control.

"Hey bud - no offense, but that is not a very good look for ya."

That was what Victor intended to say. However, with the eighth sausage in his mouth, it sounded more like.

"Ha bu - noh offese, bu tha is no a vry goo look fo yoo."

Another person came shortly after Michael arrived, but unfortunately, they were not a cute girl. Instead, Jack walked by and started up some friendly conversation. Nice of him to do that, but Victor was still focused on stuffing his face. He was tired after working out in the morning, so refueling was his excuse for eating as much as the cooks would give him. The consumption of his last egg was stopped, however, by the sudden blaring of an alarm.

"This is Piloqutinnguaq! We have a Code Red! A monster is currently on its way to Tokyo! I repeat, a monster is on its way to Tokyo! Its arrival time is very soon! All MAX FIRE operatives must attend to their stations! Deployment has been approved! Command has been transferred to Drs Meredith and Kougami! All MAX FIRE operatives must attend to their stations!"

Cold fear ran through Victor's body. Goddammit... That was the one bad part about the job. The monsters that stalked and slaughtered mankind, which he was supposedly one of the last forms of defense against. There was a reason Victor wanted the lower module - it could go underground, and Victor rarely directly fought a monster. Victor made his way to the holding bay for the Lower Module, moving perhaps a little slower than his other Operatives. When he climbed in the familiar, comfortable interior, he finally allowed himself to break the calm demeanor.

"Shit, shit, shit, it's okay, it's okay. You're cool, you're the best around... That's right, you're an awesome dude, Victor... sigh"

The Sharur moved faster than it's size would suggest, and it was even faster once it drilled into the earth outside the hanger. Sharur was one of the slowest modules, but the security of being able to dig under threats was more than a good tradeoff for Victor.

This was the part Hazel lived for.

It was frightening, of course. To stand toe to toe with creatures of such proportions, mythological in scale, was foolish in the extreme. It took a sort of madness to do that. She had seen them before, without the comfort of her Shrike. Been powerless before them. But she wasn't powerless now. It was the end of the world, but this? This was the duty for which Hazel was born, and she took to it with vigor. If it required madness to fight the kaiju then she was truly insane, and relished it for the chance to be part of something so astounding. Awe inspiring.

Her feet carried her easily towards the hangar, eager but calm amidst the chaos. She downed the remainder of her coffee and pawned the mug off on a random technician, along with her glasses. She was eager, and it showed in the silent gleam in her eyes. The grin on her face.

The Shrike was a thing of beauty, and she paused long enough to run her fingers over the nose-art emblazoned on its side at her insistence. Her grin widened a little as she took the last few steps up to the cockpit, and sank into the chair within. She felt at home immediately. The seat contoured to her form, the controls adjusted with precision to her reach. But there was no time to marvel, the threat was present now. So she began her preflight checks immediately. Engine, controls, weapons, the abbreviated list that she ran through in times of emergency.

And how could she forget, popping her mix of choice into the tape deck she had also insisted upon.

The opening notes intermingled with the roar of MAX FIRE v3 Etherion Engine, perhaps the second most powerful such power sources in existence, as both reverberated through her chest. She had worked for this. She had beaten out a dozen other contenders to command this very machine, even when sometimes they might have seemed like a better choice. One of the last to wash out, a pilot of the then-state-of-the-art Blackbird, had imparted to her a certain phrase when he left; "Though I walk through the valley of death, I shall fear no evil for I am at eighty thousand feet and climbing."

The Shrike did not reach eighty thousand feet, and her pilot certainly was not safe.

But that was the thrill.

This powerful machine was not built to observe, it was built to attack. It was built to charge the enemy and rip it apart with its very body if that was required, and it was not built for the timid. The Shrike was built to blaze a path into hell itelf, and it demanded a pilot certifiable enough to do the job.

All things considered, Hazel probably counted.

"I've got the skies. Launching." A tinny voice stated in the ears of her comrades, an electronic acquiescence to the occasional necessity of auditory communication. To the young, tank-bound girl she sent some additional text to appear on her HUD; Take care, midget. Stay focused.

Then the roar intensified, lifting the Shrike from its position as the landing gear retracted. Maintenance technicians had been clearing her takeoff route from the moment her checks began, and it was unobstructed. The engine howled, propelling her through the upward facing tunnel dedicated to her machine. In seconds, she was in the wide open sky.

Actually reaching the combat zone did not take very long at all. And with an appropriately gleeful snarl on her face, she took the Doc's advice.

And fired an exploratory shot from her right cannon straight at the beast's neck.