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"With all due respect, Marshal, no one's going to be my primary pilot," Aidan said flatly, shaking his head.
Before Pentecost could respond, Raleigh jumped in. "If Dr. Ryan's compatible enough, I'd take co-pilot. No problem."
"And no one's going to be my co-pilot either," Aidan added, wondering how this situation had spiraled so far out of his control.
Mako stepped forward, tablet still in hand. "Dr. Ryan has a record in our files. He completed the simulation test in five minutes."
"That's impossible." Raleigh's skepticism was immediate and total. "Five minutes is barely enough time to establish the neural handshake, let alone complete a full combat scenario."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Even the Wei Tang triplets—who rarely showed emotion about anything—looked skeptical. Chuck Hansen's expression clearly said bullshit without him having to open his mouth.
Aidan considered for a moment, then shrugged and walked toward the platform. Might as well use this to test how much the Life Evolution Equation had actually changed his physical capabilities. He slipped off his shoes and jacket, took the staff from Mako, and stood there in a white dress shirt that did absolutely nothing to suggest physical prowess. Without his glasses—removed by the automated scanner earlier—he looked more like a graduate student than a fighter.
Across from him, Raleigh stood in his tank top, every muscle defined and visible. The contrast was almost comical. Several spectators exchanged doubtful glances. This wasn't going to prove anything about drift compatibility.
"Jaeger pilots need more than neural sensitivity," Raleigh explained, settling into a ready stance. "Physical compatibility matters. You need the strength and reflexes to—"
He blinked.
When had Aidan moved?
The tip of the staff was touching his throat, held steady in Aidan's one-handed grip. The whole thing had happened faster than Raleigh could track.
"One to zero," Aidan said pleasantly, like they were keeping score in a friendly game.
Raleigh's Adam's apple bobbed against the wooden staff as he swallowed. Aidan withdrew the weapon and rested it casually across his shoulders, waiting.
The casual stance made it worse somehow. Like this was easy. Like Raleigh wasn't a veteran Jaeger pilot with thousands of combat hours.
Raleigh took a long, controlled breath. The man in front of him had transformed—that harmless academic veneer stripped away to reveal something predatory underneath. Something patient and dangerous.
Don't underestimate him again.
Raleigh tightened his grip and attacked—a full-commitment strike with everything behind it.
The sound that followed was like a machine gun burst of wood on wood. Crack-crack-crack-crack! Raleigh's staff became a blur, raining down strikes from every angle he could imagine—high, low, diagonal, reverse. Pure aggressive offense, the kind that had overwhelmed dozens of sparring partners.
But he couldn't land a single hit.
Every strike was intercepted, redirected, neutralized. And Dr. Ryan hadn't moved his feet. Not once. He stood in the exact same spot, staff moving in minimal, precise arcs that seemed to predict each attack before Raleigh even committed to it.
The spectators' expressions shifted from skepticism to shock. Chuck Hansen's smirk vanished. Herc leaned forward, suddenly paying full attention.
Then the noise stopped.
Raleigh stood frozen, chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face. The staff was at his throat again. He hadn't even seen the counter.
"Two to zero." Aidan pulled back, completely unbothered by the exchange. Not even breathing hard. "Want to continue?"
Raleigh stepped back, drawing in oxygen. His arms trembled slightly from the exertion. "Yeah. Yeah, let's go."
I need to see it this time. Just once, I need to see how he's doing this.
He gave up any hope of scoring. This wasn't about winning. This was about understanding what the hell he was up against. Raleigh shifted to a low guard, staff held like a katana at his hip, eyes locked on his opponent with desperate focus.
Aidan tilted his head—that same infuriating casual gesture—and walked forward. Not prowled, not advanced tactically. Just... walked. Loose and relaxed, like he was approaching a colleague to chat about paperwork.
Raleigh didn't retreat. He'd learned that much. He waited, coiled tight, ready to react the instant Aidan entered striking range.
When the distance closed to half a meter, Aidan's staff moved.
Raleigh's reflexes took over—draw and block in one motion, muscle memory from ten thousand repetitions. Contact! He'd stopped the attack! Now follow through, use the momentum, strike while—
What?
His staff hit Aidan's weapon exactly as intended, should have knocked it aside, created an opening. Instead, the other staff rotated with the impact, flowing around Raleigh's block like water around a stone. The movement was fluid, almost gentle. The staff spun in a full circle, and Aidan caught the opposite end mid-rotation.
The point touched Raleigh's throat before his brain finished processing what had happened.
"How is that even possible?" Raleigh stared at the staff, then at Aidan's face, looking for some explanation that made sense. The angle had been wrong. The physics didn't work. Raleigh's strike should have connected with Aidan's body, but somehow the man had turned an incoming blow into a perfect counter using nothing but circular motion and timing.
It was like watching street magic. Except this was combat, and that staff could've been a blade.
"I don't think we need to continue," Aidan said gently, posing it as a question.
Raleigh nodded numbly, still trying to replay the exchange in his head.
"Thanks for the match." Aidan handed the staff back to Mako, then turned to her with something that might have been sympathy. "I think the Marshal will approve you as a pilot. Don't look so disappointed."
"I hope you're right," Mako said, her expression complicated as she glanced between the young doctor and her adoptive father.
"Alright, we're done here." Aidan rolled his shoulders, testing how his body felt after the workout. Looser, more responsive. The Life Evolution Equation was definitely working. He pulled his jacket back on. "I'm heading out."
Pentecost opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then winced—a brief flash of pain crossing his face. He turned and left without a word.
Aidan watched him go, recognizing the signs. The Marshal's old injuries were flaring up again. The man was literally dying by inches, and still trying to hold this whole operation together through sheer stubbornness.
"Raleigh," Aidan called to the pilot, who was still standing in the ring looking shell-shocked. "Rest for two hours. Then report to Gipsy Danger's maintenance bay. Your co-pilot will meet you there."
"Okay," Raleigh said distantly, then shook himself and started gathering his things.
Aidan was halfway to the door when he paused, turned back to Mako. "If you become Gipsy's pilot... when you drift, don't get lost in your memories. You'll only get one shot at this."
Mako blinked, confused. "I'm not even sure I'll be selected."
"You will be." Aidan's smile was knowing, like he could see the immediate future playing out. "But if the neural handshake fails during the connection test, you won't be cleared for the next Kaiju engagement. Just... remember that. Stay present."
Then he left, heading straight back to Bay Three and the project that was almost, almost finished.
Two days crawled past.
Every monitoring station in the Pacific Rim had eyes on the Challenger Deep, watching the breach like hawks watching a mouse hole. The predicted Kaiju attack was overdue. Way overdue.
Morning turned to afternoon turned to night. A full day passed. Then another. The breach sat silent—that massive dimensional tear glowing faintly at the bottom of the ocean, utterly still.
Nothing came through.
The silence was worse than an attack.
Suspicion spread through the Shatterdome like a virus. Then suspicion curdled into something closer to panic. Dr. Ryan had confirmed it—on the other side of that breach was an entire planet belonging to the Precursor civilization. These attacks weren't random. They weren't natural disasters. This was an invasion, premeditated and strategic.
Which meant the sudden silence meant something.
The Precursors were planning something. Adapting. Waiting.
Pentecost wanted to strike immediately—load up the Jaegers with thermonuclear weapons and blow the breach before whatever was gathering on the other side could come through. Scorched earth. End it now.
But Aidan and Newton blocked him.
"We need the memory data from the Kaiju brain first," Aidan insisted. "Going in blind is suicide. Give me five more days. Once we have concrete intelligence about what's on the other side, we can plan properly. We'll have a strategy instead of a kamikaze run."
Pentecost didn't like it.
But he agreed to wait.
Five more days until Aidan's memory extraction technology would be ready. Five more days until they could peer into the Kaiju's mind and see what nightmares were waiting on the other side of the breach.
Five more days to prepare for whatever the Precursors were planning.
The clock was ticking.