Emergency reinforcement for Sri Lanka! Alarms were blaring nonstop at the Singapore base, especially in the pilots' dorms—those alarms were the loudest of all. In Singapore, it was barely 2 a.m., and two pilots struggled out of bed, hurriedly suited up in their combat gear, ready for anything.
"The folks in Sri Lanka are getting crushed. We need you to save the day." A supervisor joked while strapping their gear on: "There aren't many who can take on a Level 3 Kaiju except for the fifth-generation Mecha Hunters—and you're one of them. Go get 'em, Beckett Brothers! Time to hunt your sixth monster!"
"You got it!" The brothers exchanged a grin and entered the neural link.
The base gates swung open. Outside, a storm was raging—lightning flashed through the black night, torrential rain and crashing waves looked absolutely terrifying. Sometimes, humans are powerless against nature or the gods. But when you’re piloting a Mecha Hunter, you feel like you can do anything. You feel like you can win.
With that kind of bold ambition, the Wanderer Mecha Hunter strode into the sea, its nuclear reactor powering through the waves, heading for the distant horizon. Mecha Hunters have a huge stride—when they run flat out, their speed is wild. The Beckett Brothers were grinning; they were ready to be dazzling heroes, making a grand entrance in a crisis to save the day!
But as the Mecha headed west out of the Malacca Strait, ten kilometers beyond the strait, on a 'small island,' a man sitting cross-legged suddenly opened his eyes and muttered in English, "They really came... All right, everyone up, get ready! Time to finish off the movie protagonists as planned!"
Another person chuckled quietly, "Relax. Isn’t everything going according to plan? The other side’s plan is moving smoothly, the Berserker can’t make it, so the Beckett Brothers are doomed today!"
A third person sighed, "But we’re gonna suffer again…"
The first man snapped, "Quit whining! Get to work—prep the water shield and shock dampeners!"
The next moment, the 'small island' started moving—and picking up speed.
At the mouth of the strait, the Beckett Brothers’ mecha was charging full speed ahead. Over at the Singapore base, the staff who’d been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night were still yawning and chugging coffee. The mecha was in good shape, plenty of juice in the tank, and everything was right on schedule. Sri Lanka checked in too—battle over there had stabilized, they could hold out for another three hours, no sweat.
Watanabe, the big boss at Singapore base, kicked back on the sofa with a sigh of relief. In an hour and a half, the Wanderer would drop in on the Sri Lanka battlefield like a superhero and wrap up this circus. If the Beckett Brothers really went all out, maybe they’d bag two Kaiju at once! As their old supervisor, he’d get some glory too.
Just as he was basking in his own brilliance, the big screen started buzzing with alarm signals. One of the staff rubbed his eyes, then yelled, “Report! Emergency! Kaiju sighting!”
“Where?” Watanabe tensed up immediately. If another Kaiju made a beeline for Sri Lanka right now, they’d be in deep trouble.
But the staff’s answer was even worse: “It’s... right next to the Beckett Brothers!”
Watanabe felt his brain buzz—an awful suspicion crept in. This setup, this feeling… wasn’t this what the Chinese called an ‘encirclement and reinforcement ambush’?
No way, Kaiju couldn’t possibly be that smart, right? If they were, humanity would’ve been toast ages ago! “Quick, get the Beckett Brothers on the line—tell them to engage! And send every mecha in the hangar to back them up—wait, sweep the base perimeter before sending reinforcements!” Watanabe couldn’t help but play it safe, even if he didn’t want to believe the Kaiju were masterminds.
What if this whole thing was just another ambush aimed at the Beckett Brothers? Better safe than sorry.
Besides, the Beckett Brothers weren’t just some rookies—a single Kaiju, even a Level 3, couldn’t take them down. They were the real MVPs, the top pilots before the Berserker burst onto the scene!
Sure enough, the comms came alive with the Beckett Brothers’ reply: “Oh, trying to sneak up on us, huh? Ha, that’s a big one, but we’ve got this!” The comms officer chimed in with a battle update: “The Beckett Brothers have engaged the enemy—mecha’s left arm is damaged, but it’s nothing serious!” Another staffer shouted, “Sir, we’ve identified the Kaiju: Level 3, codename ‘Blade Head,’ weighs in at 2,700 tons!”
Watanabe let out a breath. Two thousand seven hundred tons—smaller than the Giant Elephant. Should be a piece of cake.
With Watanabe glued to the action, good news kept rolling in from the Wanderer’s side—the Beckett Brothers seemed to have the Kaiju pinned, and things were looking up. “Commander, Wanderer is prepping the plasma cannon for the final blow—plasma cannon fired!”
Watanabe nodded, finally relaxing. The Wanderer’s plasma cannon packed a serious punch—firing it while they had the upper hand was sure to seal the deal. The Beckett Brothers really were gold-star pilots. If only the electromagnetic field from the plasma cannon didn’t scramble comms, Watanabe would be singing their praises right now.
Three seconds later, the comms came back. Watanabe was grinning: “Beckett, you guys—”
He hadn’t finished when a bloodcurdling scream blasted through the speakers, followed by a roar of disbelief: “How is this possible! You—” Bzzzt. The comms cut out. Watanabe’s face went pale as he sprang to his feet, barely able to react before the staff started frantically reporting: “Sir, Wanderer’s cockpit took a direct hit—cockpit separation—pilot vitals flatlined, neural link severed!”
“How could this happen…” Watanabe collapsed into his seat, then snapped hysterically, “Quick, get headquarters—I want Gen 5 mecha reinforcements! Send a rescue team to the site, I need answers! Recorder, give me the last five minutes of Wanderer’s logs!” The data was printed in a flash, and Watanabe scowled as he pored over it. After a moment, he tossed it aside and muttered under his breath, “No, something’s seriously off here…”
An hour later, Watanabe was circling the crash site in a helicopter. The storm was raging, but he ignored the cold and leaned out the door to look below. Floodlights cut through the dark, illuminating massive metal wreckage sinking into the seabed. The water wasn’t even that deep—parts of the mecha were still poking out above the waves.
But the wreck was unrecognizable—just a heap of shredded parts.
Four salvage ships were working overtime, while three mecha stood guard nearby in case a Kaiju tried to pull a fast one. Watanabe directed the salvage from above, desperate to get to the bottom of this mess. He wasn’t some clueless desk jockey—years of command had honed his instincts, and today just reeked of something fishy. Figuring out what really happened here was even more important than the Sri Lanka battle.
“Report, sir!” crackled the radio. “Third sweep complete—still no sign of the pilots’ bodies, and no black box either!”
“Keep searching!” Watanabe barked, then slumped back into the cabin, seething. The gloom wouldn’t lift—he was more anxious than ever. No bodies, no black box—felt like something was deliberately covering things up. He decided to escalate this, warning every base to stay sharp.
Meanwhile, across the ocean in a fancy mansion in Washington, D.C.
The middle-aged man from the bar was standing by a huge window, with a tall, buff young white guy whispering to him. Just then, the sound of hurried footsteps—an old, skinny white man rushed in and started chewing them out: “What’s wrong with you people? Can’t handle a simple job? Word’s out—the Hunter Organization is already getting suspicious! What are your people even doing?”
This was the same old guy who’d put Kostner on the spot during that televised conference.
The middle-aged man didn’t bat an eye, didn’t even turn around. “Relax. The Wanderer’s combat power was wild, but it could only ever beat Level 3 Kaiju. Against a Level 4, that kind of mecha is out of its league.”
“Level 4 Kaiju?” the old man snorted. “Easy for you to say, but who knows when we’ll see one. And mecha are always getting upgraded—by the time a Level 4 shows up, there might already be Gen 6 mecha in play!”
“That’s exactly why we have to destroy the Mecha Hunter program.” The middle-aged man fixed the old guy with a deep stare. “We handle the outside, you handle the inside. Once we wreck the Mecha Hunters, with our Kaiju in hand, the whole world’s ours.”
“The world…” The old man’s eyes flickered, his tone a bit hesitant.
“What, getting cold feet?” The middle-aged man’s tone was flat, but the old man quickly shook his head. “No, not backing out—but you guys make me nervous. You’re the ones who can control the Kaiju, not me. How do I know you’ll give me what you promised after the Mecha Hunters are finished?”
The middle-aged man just smiled—a smile that sent a chill down the old guy’s spine.
“Don’t be silly, old pal. We’ll succeed with or without you. What, you wanna be king of the world now?” He stepped closer, face shadowed. “Listen up—we’ve got the real power, so the rulers will be us, not you. Play ball and I’ll toss you a few perks. But if you get greedy—think your bodyguards can save you?”
The old man’s face went red, then white, but finally he just sighed and nodded. “I get it. I’ll stall the Berserker…” But deep down, his eyes gleamed—clearly, he had plans of his own.
“Good. See that you do.” The middle-aged man waved him off, dismissing him without a second thought.
The young man whispered, “Captain, you really planning to be king here?”
“Just blowing smoke. Let him think I’m some lucky idiot he can use—it’s better than him always making trouble for us. The movie protagonist’s dead, so that’s one big obstacle gone. But even the slowpokes at the Hunter Organization will catch on soon, so we’ve gotta move faster. Get everyone moving—I want what we need in a week!”