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The wall breaking in Sydney started a firestorm.
Critics who'd been waiting for their moment to say "I told you so" came crawling out of every media outlet. Jaeger supporters who'd watched their program get gutted suddenly had ammunition - See? You need giant robots, not concrete. We were right all along.
But the PPDC wasn't interested in admitting mistakes. Their internal analysis was clear: the wall hadn't failed, the calculations had failed. Two laser pulses would have killed Mutavore before it touched the barrier. The design was sound. The execution just needed work.
What did concern them was how ineffective the plasma cannons had been. Sure, they'd wounded the creature, but at long range a smart Kaiju could dodge fatal hits. And these things were getting smarter every time.
The PPDC Council chairman rubbed his temples, staring at reports that all said the same thing: one breach was survivable, two or three would be catastrophic. They needed to reinforce the walls, upgrade the weapons, recalculate everything.
His thoughts drifted to Dr. Ryan and whatever the hell was happening in Bay Three. Three years of complete radio silence. Three years of monopolizing resources that could have kept Jaegers operational. Three years of nothing.
He remembered the day Ryan had submitted his proposal. The list of materials had been staggering - rare elements measured in tons, experimental equipment that cost more than small countries' GDP, resources that would completely drain the Jaeger manufacturing budget.
The chairman had almost refused on the spot. But then Ryan had looked him in the eye and said five words: "This will end the war."
Not "might help." Not "could be useful." Will end the war.
The Council had voted to approve it, partly because they believed Ryan could deliver, partly because they'd already decided to abandon Jaegers for the wall project anyway. Why not let the genius have his toys?
"I hope to God you're working on something worth all this," the chairman muttered, turning back to wall reinforcement proposals.
Striker Eureka arrived at Shatterdome like a trophy being delivered to a museum. The Mark-5 was placed in Bay Five, engineers immediately swarming it for assessment.
Striker Eureka - Mark-5
Built: Sydney, November 22, 2019
Height: 76 meters
Weight: 1,850 tons
OS: Navigator 12 Tactical Control Module
Power: Earth Lifeline Reactor Gen-2
Pilots: 2 (side-by-side configuration)
Combat Style: Underground boxing techniques
The specs read like poetry to anyone who understood Jaeger engineering. Two-pilot integrated conn-pod that doubled as an escape system. Amber-faced platinum armor shield with photochromic imaging that gave pilots visibility beyond human capability. T-16 "Angel Wings" stabilizers for balance and mobility that made it dance where other Jaegers lumbered.
Chest-mounted energy pulse weapon. Wrist-deployed Sting-Blades that could punch through Kaiju hide like tissue paper. And those Brass Knuckle fists - copper-steel composite fingers backed by 4211-series shock systems that could stun a monster with a single hit.
Eleven confirmed kills, including Mutavore. More combat missions than any Jaeger in service. The newest, the best, the last one built before the program died.
Crimson Typhoon had nine kills. Gipsy Danger had five before its near-destruction. Cherno Alpha had six. Together, the four Jaegers at Shatterdome represented humanity's greatest weapons, and they were all officially "retired."
Marshal Pentecost didn't care about official designations. He was planning something desperate - load three Jaegers with thermonuclear bombs and send them to destroy the wormhole in the Challenger Deep.
One problem: Gipsy Danger still didn't have pilots. But Pentecost was working on that, tracking down Raleigh Becket, the sole survivor from Gipsy's last disastrous mission.
February 2025
Something was wrong with the timeline.
The forecasters had predicted a Kaiju emergence this week. Their models had been getting more accurate for years, tracking the acceleration pattern with mathematical precision. But the Challenger Deep sat quiet. No seismic activity, no dimensional disturbances, nothing.
Either their data was completely wrong, or the Precursors were changing tactics.
Most people bet on the latter, which was terrifying in its own way. It suggested the aliens were thinking, adapting, preparing something worse than regular attacks.
The PPDC worked frantically to reinforce the Wall of Life while facing uncomfortable questions: What if Category-5 Kaiju show up? What if two or three hit simultaneously? Can the walls hold?
To prevent mass panic, they finally leaked information about Bay Three. Not much, just enough: Dr. Ryan is developing a weapon that will eliminate the wormhole threat. Once deployed, the war will be over.
The public response was immediate relief. Three years ago, when the Lifeline Reactor was new, people hadn't fully grasped its importance. Now, after years of clean energy revolutionizing their lives, they'd seen what Ryan could do. If he said he could end the war, they believed him.
Which put enormous pressure on Aidan to actually deliver.
Shatterdome Cafeteria
Mako Mori walked in with a guy who looked like he'd been living rough for a while. Yellow hair that needed cutting, leather jacket that had seen better days, eyes that carried the kind of haunted look that came from losing someone in your head.
Aidan recognized him immediately from Ryan's memories. Raleigh Becket. The pilot who'd watched his brother die in their shared neural link.
"We've got a new face," Aidan said, finishing his meal and sliding over with genuine curiosity. "First new arrival in months."
"This is Raleigh Becket, former Gipsy Danger pilot," Mako made introductions with careful formality. "Raleigh, this is Dr. Ryan. He's in charge of Bay Three, and he invented the Lifeline Reactor."
Raleigh's eyes went wide. He stood up fast, extending his hand. "Holy shit, you're that Dr. Ryan? I thought you'd be... older."
Aidan shook his hand, grinning. "I'm pushing thirty. Practically ancient."
Raleigh stared at his face for a solid five seconds. "You look maybe twenty-two. What's your secret?"
"Good genes and better coffee," Aidan replied, which was a complete lie but easier than explaining consciousness evolution and cellular optimization.
"He's getting younger somehow," Mako said with obvious envy. "I swear he looked older three years ago than he does now."
That would be the evolutionary equation rebuilding me at the cellular level, Aidan thought, but let's not open that can of worms.
Looking at Raleigh, Aidan's mind went to the original timeline. This was the guy who'd piloted Gipsy Danger straight into the wormhole with a nuclear payload, sealing the breach from the inside and presumably dying in the process.
Except now Aidan needed that wormhole to stay open. He had plans for it that went way beyond just closing the door and hoping the Precursors gave up.
Going to need to change how this story ends, he thought, studying the broken pilot across from him. Sorry Raleigh, but the dramatic sacrifice play isn't happening this time.