The rhythmic, low hum of the ems-10 Zudah's systems was the only sound inside the bunker. The stale, recycled air felt cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the sweat and grime I'd accumulated in the recent fight. An hour ago, I was knee-deep in a tidal wave of Betas—those shambling, cannibalistic horrors that had somehow managed to survive the initial attack. My machine gun had run dry, its barrel smoking, and the suit's energy gauge was flashing red before I managed a fighting retreat.
Now, after plugging in and went to sleep, I felt rejuvenated, not exactly rested.
"Okay, let's check the damage report and inventory," I muttered, my voice echoing slightly inside the cockpit. The holographic menu of the [System] flickered to life. My current stash of [Points] was substantial, a direct result of the Beta slaughter.
"I can use my points to buy anything I need: Food, Water, Ammo, Fuel, Coolant… My reserves are topped off and I'm good on all necessities. Now, what I really need is information."
The world was an unrecognizable mess of oceans and scattered islands. The only way to survive was to know where the next resource cache, or the next major settlement—if such a thing even existed anymore—was located. Staring at the blank radar screen inside the cramped cockpit of the Zudah, I knew sitting here was a death sentence. Information was outside.
With a heavy clunk, the bunker's massive blast door groaned open, revealing a world of endless blue. I piloted the Zudah forward, its powerful magnetic boots detaching from the launch rails. A moment later, I was airborne. The Zudah, a sleek, deep blue machine with an unnervingly tall mono-eye sensor, cleaved through the atmosphere like a razor.
"Nothing so far," I grumbled, scanning the horizon. Just the vast, empty expanse of the ocean below. No land, no ships, no sign of life beyond the marine birds that occasionally swooped past the cockpit.
Then, the [System] lit up, a sharp, insistent alarm cutting through the quiet hum.
[ALERT: FOUR (4) INCOMING ENEMY SIGNATURES. IDENTIFICATION: TSF (TACTICAL SURFACE FIGHTER). ESTIMATED INTERCEPT: 120 SECONDS.]
TSFs. The clunky, angular mechs from the early 21st century. They are were just high-speed jets than actual mobile suits. They were nothing compared to the Zudah, but four of them meant a patrol, which meant a nearby nation or settlement.
"There's nowhere to hide," I sighed, glancing down at the endless water. Not a single reef or small island to duck behind. Running was an option, but my curiosity—and a growing need to make contact—won out. I maintained my course, letting the intercept happen.
The four TSFs—sleek, insect-like machines painted in a stark white and red livery—flashed into view, cutting perfect formations through the sky. They were definitely military. They braked hard, their thrusters spitting fire, and formed a loose, wary cordon around me.
A voice, crisp and professional, crackled over the emergency frequency.
"The unknown TSF spotted. Permission to bring them in?"
"Affirmative," a second, deeper voice replied, clearly the leader.
The TSFs stopped their maneuvering. The lead machine angled its cockpit toward me, and the voice returned, this time addressing me directly.
"This is the airspace of the Empire of Japan. You are in violation. We need you to surrender and come with us for questioning."
I paused, leaning back in the pilot's seat. The Empire of Japan. So, a surviving nation-state. Good to know. But surrender? To those scaps?
"You know what," I thought, a reckless grin spreading across my face. My internal monologue was already a shout. "I am in a Mobile Suit, and they are not. So screw it. We ball."
My hand tightened on the flight stick, and the Zudah's thrusters charged, bathing the cockpit in a hot, fierce glow.
"Again, surrender now and come with us!" the pilot insisted, his voice hardening with warning.
I didn't answer. With a roar that drowned out the TSF's comms, I stomped on the main booster pedal. The Zudah vanished, covering the distance to the nearest TSF in less than a heartbeat.
My target was caught completely off-guard. I didn't even bother with the custom Beam Machine Gun yet. The rapid-fire Zaku Machine Gun mounted on the Zudah's hip deployed, and I squeezed the trigger. 120mm rounds, accelerated to hypersonic speeds, stitched a brutal line across the TSF's main wing assembly. With a blinding flash of shrapnel and sparking wire, the machine tumbled, already a flaming coffin.
[1 TSF DESTROYED.]
The three remaining TSFs were sent into immediate panic. Alarms blared from their speakers, and they instinctively tried to backpedal and aim their cumbersome railguns.
"So weak!" I scoffed, keying the transmission to the public channel before cutting the feed. It was a taunt. It was a statement. You are outclassed.
I didn't wait for them to aim. I hit the main boosters again, a short, sharp burst, moving in a lateral zigzag that made a mockery of their targeting systems. The second TSF tried to veer away, but I was already on its tail. The Zudah's specialized Foldable Spike, a wicked, foot-long titanium blade, unfolded from the shoulder armor.
Clang!
The spike rammed into the TSF's cockpit section with the force of a battering ram, punching through its thin plating like paper. I didn't linger. I used the captured TSF as a pivot, spinning the Zudah and tossing the wreckage aside with a sickening crunch. The dying machine spiraled down, its pilot likely already a gory mess.
[2 TSF DESTROYED.]
"They really think they can chase a Zudah? Think again," I sneered, throttling the machine. The Zudah's rocket engines screamed, pushing the suit to speeds that would turn a TSF into unstable scrap.
"What is this TSF? Is it a new American model?" one pilot shouted, his voice thick with fear and disbelief.
"I don't know it k—" the other pilot started to reply, a panicked, cut-off scream of static following as I swung the Zaku Machine Gun around and opened fire. The third TSF pilot's machine was ripped to shreds in a hailstorm of high-velocity lead, its armor shredded into confetti.
[3 TSF DESTROYED.]
"Noooo!" the last pilot shrieked. He blindly fired his railgun, a desperate volley of tracer fire streaking toward me. The Zudah, designed to dodge far faster and more dangerous projectiles, effortlessly danced around the incoming fire.
I closed the distance in a rush, deploying the Heat Hawk—an axe with a superheated blade—from its storage rack. I loomed over the final, shivering TSF.
"Wait! Please don't!" he begged.
I brought the Heat Hawk down in a clean, practiced motion. The superheated blade cut the TSF's fuselage in half. A plume of hot steam and oil erupted from the wreckage.
[4 TSF DESTROYED.]
"Heh. Don't you think you can compete with a Mobile Suit?" I said to the dead air, my adrenaline starting to dissappear.
A familiar ping brought the [System] back to the foreground.
[POINTS ACQUIRED: 4,000]
"Nice. I get 1,000 per TSF kill, huh?" I mused, already turning the Zudah away from the battlefield. More signatures were popping up on the radar, the next wave of patrols already on their way. I had made my statement.
It was time to disappear into the clouds.
Imperial Command, 1st Tactical Monitoring Station
"What was that thing?" Commander Ishigaki breathed out, his hand instinctively gripping the edge of his command console. On the massive holographic screen, the last transmission loop showed four Imperial TSFs—elite pilots—being systematically, brutally dismantled by a single, mysterious deep-blue machine. The whole engagement had lasted less than ninety seconds.
"The sensor data is corrupted, Commander. It moves too fast. The only clean data point we have is... is its speed. It's impossible for any TSF model," the bewildered operator stuttered.
Ishigaki leaned back in his chair, running a weary hand over his close-cropped hair. "Call in the 56th TSF Squadron. Have them sweep the area and find any wreckage. I don't care how. But more importantly: I want intelligence on this thing.Find out where it came from, and what it wants."
He sighed, the weight of a world already buckling under the threat of the Betas now feeling the pressure of an unknown, internal enemy.