"Major Ederich! We've got the clear images of the Federation mobile suits!" The operator, Chuck, burst into the briefing room, a flurry of hurried movement, clutching photographs like precious relics.
"Hoo, put it on the table, Engsin," I instructed, my voice a low, expectant purr. The photos, spread across the table, revealed the Federation's latest heresy: a new line of mobile suits, secretly developed by an organization they dub Grave.
These machines arrived at a random, yet deeply significant, moment. The situation was already volatile, involving Captain Nimbus Schterzen's grim pursuit to eliminate Chlust Moses, a traitor connected to Nimbus's terrifying machine, the MS-08TX[EXAM] Efreet Custom. That Efreet bore the EXAM SYSTEM, a mechanism designed to surpass Newtype abilities, yet one that tragically trapped the soul of the Newtype pilot Marion Whelch within its cold circuits. Moses, originally a Zeon operative, had defected to the Federation, bringing his dark knowledge to forge a new EXAM SYSTEM for them.
The images before me revealed the audacious scale of the Federation's hubris. Four distinct mobile suits, a grotesque homage to the Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
* The White Rider, the king of conquerors, a white machine carrying a bow, mounted on a phantom steed.
* The Red Rider, the harbinger of war, a blood-colored menace wielding a giant sword.
* The Black Rider, the agent of plague, its black form distinguished by a backpack resembling scales.
* And finally, the Pale Rider, the chilling specter of death, the last horseman, signifying the end.
Four machines, each a terrifying monument to destruction, and all of them equipped with a successor to the EXAM System: the HADES SYSTEM. This new system promised the power of a Newtype without the messy complication of a trapped soul.
"This is interesting," I mused, a slow, predatory grin stretching across my face. The Federation, playing at divinity, crafting their own apocalypse. "Well… I want that kind of mobile suit. I want one, too. I would make myself the Fifth Rider, the new horseman."
Chuck looked at me, a flicker of genuine fear in his eyes, unsettled by the intensity of my laughter. "Major, why are you laughing so hard?"
"You know, Engsin Chuck," I leaned back, savoring the moment. "When I see this, the Federation has just become play as god. They are manufacturing the horsemen of apocalypse. This is both fascinating and utterly laughable."
"Um, Major Ederich. I don't understand but... What do you mean?"
My eyes locked onto the photos, the glow of the machines already reflected in them. "We should become a god-slayer and the devil-slayer. But if we can capture one of these mobile suits, or at least procure their system—just like Captain Nimbus has—I intend to make it the ultimate vessel for the Fifth Horseman."
My objective was now crystal clear. "Yes, capture or secure their system, Lieutenant. I want that kind of mobile suit or the System."
"But Major," Chuck countered, a note of confused concern in his voice. "That System is built for Oldtypes, like Captain Nimbus. You are a Newtype, Sir. You don't need these."
I laughed again, a sharp, dismissive sound. "But of course, when a Newtype pilot is using a Newtype system, it will become the ULTIMATE WEAPON." The logic was impeccable, undeniable. "Now go. Tell the others. If we cannot get the mobile suit, get their System out then."
I am a person who always aims to become the highest, above the top people, above the very gods and above the devil itself. I am not an atheist; I am perfectly religious, yet I bow to no one. My goal is to become the perfect one, above god and above devil. I aim not for a meager grade A+ or 100, but for the impossible, the grade S+ and 1000. My perfect body, my brilliant mind, they are meant for the highest dominion.
The Hades System, which gives these Federation machines glowing red eyes and yellow body armor, is their attempt to surpass Newtypes. I cannot afford to simply take Nimbus's Efreet—that machine is burdened by the trapped soul of Marion Whelch. No. I will create my own masterpiece: the Fifth Rider, the Platinum Rider, the horseman of the New God and New Devil, or simply, Fear and Hunger.
My grand plan was momentarily interrupted by the brutal realities of war. The Federation had attacked the Tir Na Nog, destroying the Noisy-fairy base, forcing them to detonate it and flee to the California Base. Worse, Jaburo, the Federation's main fortress, was under massive Zeon assault, drawing in commanders like Colonel Char Aznable.
"For the glory of Zeon, I hope for their winning," I proclaimed, but my attention quickly snapped back to the Federation's move in San Bernardino, heading toward Los Angeles to retake their base.
The time had come. I ordered all personnel to the briefing room. This time, I would participate. I had to meet one of those Rider units. The Federation forces were predictable: mostly GM Ground Types, Guncannons, with Saberfish and Type 61 tanks. No sign of the Black Dog squad or Witch-hunt, yet I knew my prize was within reach. We launched, riding the Dodai Ys sub-flight system. My team—a Dorn, a Zaku Cannon, and my Kämpfer—flew with Dopps and other Dodai YS units.
Upon arrival in San Bernardino, the prey was visible: four GMs, two Guntanks, three GM Cannons, five Saberfish, and five Type 61 tanks. A mere handful of small fry, though they technically outnumbered our four Doms, four Zaku Cannons, and nine air units.
"All flight unit, destroy the Saberfish and their tank to prevent them from entering Los Angeles! The ground unit, let's clean this thing up until that Rider unit appears! Sieg Zeon!" I roared the order through the open channel.
I plummeted from the Dodai YS, my Kämpfer hitting the ground with a thunderous impact. I unleashed a barrage from my two Giant Bazookas, followed by the Doms' supporting fire and the Zaku Cannons' long-range shots. The Guntanks, far in the back, were a constant, irritating threat, but my air units were already dealing with the Saberfish and tanks. The battle was intense, but my Kämpfer's speed was overwhelming; the Federation forces were already scrambling in fear.
Disappointment gnawed at me. No Rider unit arrived. When a Guncannon lunged at me, I charged, slammed it to the ground, and demanded to know the Rider unit's location. When the pilot pleaded ignorance, I shot him down without a second thought. I wanted that mobile suit; I wanted the challenge of killing a god. The small fry began to retreat—just one GM and one Guntank left. My team was alive but heavily damaged.
Then, the pathetic reinforcements arrived: the Black Dog Squad. Three units: one GM Spartan carrying a beam rifle and two GM Commands with bullpup machine guns. More small fry. I sensed no smart pilot, only brainless fodder. I ordered my damaged team to step back. I would take this insult on my own. I didn't even need to release my limiter thruster for this.
I discarded my empty bazookas and armed myself with my shotgun. The Black Dog Squad opened fire, but I dodged their attack without even a flinch. The GM Spartan, in a pathetic display of command, halted the retreating GM and Guntank, forcing them back into the fray. Their desperate counterattack was useless. I walked slowly towards them, and not a single shot connected.
I closed in on the GM, whose machine gun ammo ran out before it charged me with its beam saber. I fired the three Missile Pods from my left leg, critically damaging the GM until it exploded. Four units left.
The Guntank's cannon fire was evaded easily with my blinding speed. The pilot was too slow, too dull-witted to realize I was already perched on the machine's shoulder. I shot the cockpit, the Guntank's head, and killed the pilot before the machine exploded beneath me. Three units left—the Black Dog Squad. The two GM Commands opened a disorganized, wild volley of fire. I put the shotgun away and fired my right leg's missile pod. One dodged; the other barely guarded with a shield. Distraction achieved. I was already in motion, armed with both beam sabers, charging the one that had evaded the missile. I stabbed its cockpit, then cleaved its body in half. Two units left.
The remaining GM Command, screaming uselessly over an open channel, fired its bazooka. Its surprise was my victory; I moved too fast, too close, and cut the entire machine in half. Only the GM Spartan remained. I assumed a challenging posture. This pilot was different, a mere soldier, not the ace I craved. It fired its Wired-missile—an amateur move, easily destroyed by my head Vulcans. The Spartan then charged, firing its bullpup machine gun and brandishing a heat knife—reckless, brainless. It sought only a tombstone. I cut off both its arms, disarming the foolish dog. Then, I pulled my shotgun and emptied the clip, tearing the GM Spartan apart.
"Tsk, this battle is nothing but a small fry that I'm facing," I spat in disgust. I wanted the Rider unit. I wanted to kill a god. "CAN ANYBODY PROVIDE ME A DECENT CHALLENGE?!" I screamed the challenge into the air, mocking the Federation's pathetic showing. Mission success, my forces alive though damaged, and the Rider unit remained a ghost.
The good news was short-lived. The next day, the Jaburo invasion failed, and Zeon forces were routed. Colonel Char Aznable and other survivors retreated to California Base to pursue the Trojan Horse. With our heavy damage and staff shortages following the Jaburo debacle, our current base was a liability. I ordered the base emptied, destroying all equipment and data to prevent leaks. We moved toward the California Base, joining a convoy of warships.
Upon arrival, I found the base preparing for space launch—likely chasing the Trojan Horse or heading to A-Boa-Qu, the main Zeon fortress. I met with other key figures: the Midnight Fenrir team, Nimbus Schterzen, and Major Killy Garrett, who was now in charge of the base's defense. We faced defeat, but I would not accept it. After the meeting, Gein led me to the hangar and showed me my favorite weapon from my space career: the ARS-78 Anti-ship Rifle. This sniper rifle, designed to launch specialized rounds that penetrate a warship's armor before splitting into submunitions to destroy it from within, was devastating against bridges and engines. I had never used it on a mobile suit before.
"Gein, replace my mobile suit missile pod with the rifle ammo," I commanded.
"Are you going to use this anti-ship rifle, Major?"
"Absolutely. This weapon is my favorite when I take down many Salamis-class in space. I want to use it to take down Federation warship and mobile suit on Earth."
Gein complied, ordering the mechanics to replace both leg missile pods with the anti-ship ammo. I can barely contain my anticipation. Come to me, Black Dog Squad. Come to me, Ace Federation forces. Come to me, Newtypes.
"I'll take you all down, I will take your Rider unit to become mine," I vowed, looking out at the sky. Even if Zeon must surrender at this base, I will not accept defeat. I will devour all gods and devour all devils to bow down to me.
To be continue.