The cavernous hangar at Granada echoed with the metallic whir of machines and the muted chatter of technicians. Jason Arkadi stood off to one side, hands in his pockets, watching with the detached stare of someone who was both engineer and outsider. Before him loomed the silhouette of a Mobile Suit unlike any he had seen outside schematics. Its form was sleeker than a Zaku II, more balanced than a Dom, sharper than a Gouf. It stood tall, gleaming under the harsh overhead lights, as if announcing the arrival of a new era.
Jason let the question slip before he could stop himself. "When was this even created?"
The scientist beside him, an older man with silvered hair and round glasses, chuckled with barely restrained pride. "You're looking at the Gelgoog Psychommu Type. This is the future of Zeon's forces. Designed to replace the outdated Zaku II. In base performance alone, it can rival the Federation's Gundam."
Jason's heart lurched. Gelgoog—already here? In the history he remembered, this machine was supposed to come far later, well into the war's endgame. And Psychommu? He had never seen a record of such technology being applied to Gelgoogs this early. "Comparable to the Gundam…" he muttered, his voice tight, masking his disbelief.
From across the hangar, a pair of footsteps approached. Char Aznable, the Red Comet himself, turned sharply at those words. His mask gleamed faintly under the dim light, concealing his face but not his sudden interest. "A unit that can rival the White Devil? Bold claims," he said evenly, though his tone carried both suspicion and curiosity.
The scientist straightened, almost smug. "Not just bold, Commander. This is the natural evolution of Zeon's military might. The Gelgoog surpasses Zakus in every metric. With Psychommu integration, its responsiveness and precision are beyond human limits. In the hands of the right pilot, it could very well be unstoppable."
Char folded his arms, listening carefully. His crimson mask tilted slightly toward Jason, who had gone unusually silent. Char's instincts whispered that the young mechanic knew more than he let on. "Interesting," Char said smoothly. "If this is true, then perhaps the Federation's so-called Gundam will finally have an equal."
Jason tried to focus, but his thoughts were already spiraling. If Zeon has a Gelgoog now, and with Psychommu no less, then history is unraveling faster than I thought. They're skipping steps… rewriting the timeline with every new development.
His inner storm was broken by a harsh, metallic laugh that carried across the hangar. "Enough chatter. I'll test it myself."
The figure who spoke drew every eye in the room. Griveous, tall and imposing, strode forward with the confidence of someone who believed every machine was already his by right. His presence unsettled even the hardened mechanics; his yellow eyes glowed faintly under the light, feral and predatory. Without waiting for clearance, he gripped the ladder and scaled the side of the Gelgoog.
"General, wait—" one of the engineers began nervously, but the protest was wasted breath. The hatch hissed open, and Griveous disappeared into the cockpit.
Jason exhaled sharply. "Oh no."
The cockpit lights flared to life, the machine responding instantly to its pilot. In the control room above, data streams lit up across monitors. "His neural response—perfect synchronization," a scientist gasped. "But he's no Newtype. How… how is he controlling it with such efficiency?"
Jason clenched his jaw. He knew the answer. Zeon believed they had engineered a weapon, but Griveous wasn't their creation. He was something else entirely, something this world's logic couldn't fully contain.
The Gelgoog stirred. Its thrusters roared, and the massive frame moved with terrifying grace. Where Zakus lumbered, this machine glided. Griveous drove it across the test range, movements sharp and violent yet precise. He drew the beam naginata in one fluid motion, the twin blades igniting with a hiss of light.
"Targets," Griveous barked.
Automated dummies rose across the range. The Gelgoog surged forward, cutting them down in sweeping arcs. Each strike melted steel, each motion calculated and merciless. He spun the naginata once, almost playfully, before cleaving three targets in a single pass.
The control room erupted in excitement. "Ninety-eight percent precision! Synchronization stable!"
Griveous wasn't finished. He leveled the beam rifle, firing in controlled bursts. Each shot tore through armored targets, exploding them into showers of molten debris. His voice crackled through the comms, amused and harsh. "Your weapons sing beautifully. At least this world remembers how to build tools worthy of war."
Jason watched in tight silence, his system overlay flashing technical data directly into his vision. Beam rifle schematics, Psychommu feedback, energy curves. He was absorbing every byte, every breakthrough. The Gelgoog's performance eclipsed Zaku II in almost every way: durability, firepower, precision. Only in raw thruster acceleration did the Zudah still hold a slim advantage. A hollow comfort, Jason thought grimly. Speed means nothing if you're dead in one strike.
Char observed with a controlled demeanor, though his thoughts simmered beneath the mask. He admired the machine's strength but felt an instinctive unease at the way Griveous piloted it. It wasn't skill—it was hunger. Like watching a beast wearing a soldier's uniform. "So this," he said aloud, "is to be Zeon's new weapon."
The chief scientist's chest swelled. "The Gelgoog will become our mainstay. And with pilots like General Griveous, the Federation's Gundams will be outmatched. He is the predator, built to hunt Newtypes themselves."
Jason flinched at the word predator. He glanced at Griveous, still moving in the cockpit, every motion resonating with lethal intent. Of course Zeon saw him as their perfect weapon. The strange words he sometimes muttered—about Jedi, about wars no one here remembered—were dismissed as scars of experimentation.
The test ended in a roar of thrusters. The Gelgoog settled into its dock, hydraulics hissing as the machine cooled. The hatch opened, and Griveous emerged slowly, descending with deliberate steps. His eyes swept over the hangar, and every mechanic froze under his gaze.
"This machine," he rasped, voice low and metallic, "feels alive in my hands. Finally, something with weight. If the Federation's champions are as strong as you claim, perhaps they will not bore me."
The hangar erupted with applause and cheers. To the scientists, this was proof of success, a culmination of years of theory and experimentation. To Jason, it was something else: the unveiling of a predator that could tilt the war's balance.
Char lingered near the edge, his unease sharper than before. He couldn't articulate why this man unsettled him so deeply, only that his instincts screamed in warning. It wasn't the Gelgoog that disturbed him—it was the one piloting it.
Jason exhaled slowly, his thoughts heavy. Zeon believed they had succeeded in creating a weapon. What they had really done was unleash something that had no loyalty to worlds, causes, or ideals. Griveous was no soldier of Zeon. He was war itself, given a cockpit and told to dance.
As silence fell, Griveous let out a low chuckle that echoed like a blade drawn across steel. "I was born to kill. At least this world hasn't forgotten how to make monsters like me."
Jason's blood ran cold.