The schism was no longer just a crack; it was a chasm running through the heart of the Defense Force.
Faction 1: The Radicals. Led by Vice-Captain Hoshina, this group was a cult of pragmatism. They saw Kafka's Kaiju form as the future—a power to be unlocked, weaponized, and replicated at any cost. They were scientists and soldiers who had seen the face of a god and decided that humanity's only path forward was to become a new kind of monster. They pushed Kafka to his limits daily, their methods growing more extreme, their "training exercises" becoming indistinguishable from torture.
Faction 2: The Pragmatists. Led by Captain Mina Ashiro, this faction was a coalition of the concerned. They were older officers, strategists, and even some members of Kenji Tanaka's team who saw the terrifying recklessness in Hoshina's path. They understood the value of "Numbered Weapon 8" but feared the loss of the man inside. They fought their war not with blades and bio-stimulants, but with paperwork, protocol, and political maneuvering. Every request Hoshina made for more extreme testing, Mina would counter with a mountain of regulations and psychological evaluations, trying to shield Kafka with bureaucracy.
The Tachikawa Base became a cold war battlefield. Two armies, wearing the same uniform, maneuvered around each other in the hallways, mess halls, and training grounds. Squads loyal to Hoshina would glare at those loyal to Mina. Every order was scrutinized, every report potentially a coded message. It was a war fought in whispers.
At the center of it all was Kafka, a living, breathing piece of disputed territory.
"Again," Hoshina commanded, his voice devoid of emotion.
Kafka, in his Kaiju No. 8 form, stood in a reinforced subterranean chamber. He was exhausted, his body aching. For the past three hours, Hoshina had been forcing him to regenerate. Small, controlled explosions would tear chunks from his monstrous body, and he would be ordered to focus, to consciously accelerate his natural healing.
"Your regenerative speed has decreased by 4%," Hoshina noted, reading from a datapad. "Your focus is waning. Psychological stress is impeding biological function. Pathetic."
"I need to rest," Kafka growled, his voice a low rumble.
"A Kaiju does not rest. It endures," Hoshina countered. "You are not a man who can turn into a Kaiju. You are a Kaiju that is trapped in the shell of a man. We must break that shell." He gestured to the technicians. "Prepare another charge. Higher yield."
Before they could comply, the chamber doors hissed open.
Mina Ashiro strode in, her face a mask of cold fury. In her hand, she held her own datapad. "Vice-Captain Hoshina," she said, her voice dripping with ice. "According to Regulation 47-B, Section 3, any experimentation on a Numbered Weapon asset requires a minimum 24-hour recovery period between sessions. Cadet Hibino's session is over."
Hoshina turned to face her, a thin, dangerous smile on his lips. "He is no longer a cadet, Captain. He is a weapon. And weapons do not get 'recovery periods'. They are sharpened."
"He is under my joint command," Mina shot back, "and my authority covers his well-being. He is done for the day."
Their eyes locked, and the tension in the room was so thick it was a physical force. It was the irresistible force meeting the immovable object. Hoshina, with his radical vision and the Director General's backing, against Mina, with the weight of protocol and a fierce, protective will.
"As you wish, Captain," Hoshina said finally, relenting with a chilling lack of concern. He knew he could not win this battle, but the war was long. He turned and walked out, his white coat swishing behind him. "We will continue tomorrow."
As Kafka reverted, weak and steaming, Mina rushed to his side, handing him a nutrient-rich protein drink. "Are you alright?" she asked, her voice tight with a concern she tried to hide.
"I'm fine," Kafka lied, his hands shaking. "Just... tired."
He was caught between a monster who wanted to perfect him and a friend who wanted to save him. Both of their efforts were tearing him apart.
The conflict, however, was about to escalate beyond the base's walls.
Kaiju No. 9 had not been idle. It had analyzed the failure of its last attack and come to a new conclusion. Humanity's greatest strength was not their weapons or their heroes. It was their organization. Their ability to work together, to follow a chain of command.
Therefore, the monster's cold logic dictated, the command structure must be broken.
It began a new campaign. It didn't send monsters to attack cities. It sent assassins. A high-ranking officer in the Fourth Division was found dead in his home, his body dissolved by a strange, acidic slime. A key scientist in Project Chimera suffered a "car accident" when his vehicle was swarmed by a horde of beetle-like biomechanical Kaiju that vanished as quickly as they appeared.
It was a campaign of decapitation strikes. Small, surgical, and terrifyingly effective. Kaiju No. 9 was systematically removing key figures, sowing paranoia and distrust throughout the Defense Force. Every leader was a target. Every soldier now had to watch their back, not just on the battlefield, but in their own homes.
This new wave of attacks culminated in a direct, audacious message.
Mina Ashiro was in her apartment, reviewing after-action reports, when a faint scratching sound came from her balcony window. She looked up, her hand instinctively going to the sidearm on her hip.
Etched into the reinforced glass of her penthouse, hundreds of feet in the air, were three words, carved with what must have been a diamond-hard claw:
YOU ARE NEXT.
The war in their own house was no longer just a cold one. The enemy had chosen a side to eliminate. Kaiju No. 9 had identified Mina Ashiro, the Symbol, the leader of the Pragmatist faction, as its next target. It was a move designed to break the Defense Force's morale and plunge the brewing civil war into hot, bloody chaos. The game board was set. And Mina was now the most important, and most vulnerable, piece.