Out of the haze of unconsciousness, her mind slowly began to clear.
A sharp pain in her shoulder pulsed with every heartbeat, dragging her further back into reality.
"Ugh…"
The woman in the orange mechanic suit groaned as her eyes fluttered open.
Through her blurry vision, she saw a figure tearing open the sleeve of her uniform near the shoulder — doing something to her wound.
"Who are you? What are you doing?!"
"You're awake? Don't move — I'm taking the bullet out."
Beside her, Roz Links, wearing a red-and-white pilot suit, worked calmly under the anxious stares of several young bystanders.
"Murrue Ramius, right? I saw your name tag," Roz said, glancing briefly at her dazed face before grabbing a roll of gauze from the medkit.
He quickly twisted it into a wad and stuffed it into her mouth.
"Bite down. We don't have anesthetics here."
Seeing her obey, Roz took a pair of forceps, disinfected them with alcohol and flame, then pressed them into the wound without hesitation.
"Mmmph—!!"
Murrue's muffled cry filled the air as pain surged through her body.
"You're lucky," Roz said evenly, "the bullet didn't shatter. If it had, digging out fragments in this condition would be impossible."
With a small metallic click, Roz withdrew the forceps — a bloody bullet clamped between them.
He set the tool aside, grabbed a canister, and sprayed the wound.
"Emergency healing spray. ZAFT issue. Expensive stuff."
In truth, it wasn't ZAFT-made at all — it was one of Roz's own improvised creations. But with Murrue in her fragile state, a believable excuse was safer than the truth.
When the bleeding finally began to slow, Roz bound the wound tightly with a fresh bandage.
"T-thank… you…"
The few minutes of agony had left Murrue pale and exhausted.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted two curious young men examining the white-and-gray Gundam nearby — their faces full of excitement.
Instantly, her training took over. With her left hand, she reached for the pistol holstered at her side.
Her movements were sharp and practiced — the reflex of a soldier, even while injured.
Bang!
Gunpowder smoke curled from the barrel as a bullet struck the Gundam's armor.
"Wha—!"
The two young men flinched, stumbling back from the machine.
"Step away from that mobile suit!"
At her command, they quickly backed off.
"I appreciate you saving my life," Murrue said firmly, "but you've seen classified Earth Forces technology. I can't allow you to just walk away."
She kept the pistol trained on them.
Roz didn't intervene — truthfully, he couldn't. His cover as a space salvage operator was thin enough already, and he knew he wasn't getting out of this situation easily either.
Watching the standoff unfold, Roz's expression suddenly shifted.
Something… strange.
Far off, he could sense two strong brainwave patterns, locked in conflict.
"Then what about him?!"
One of the young men — with curly brown hair and a blue jacket — suddenly pointed toward Roz.
"He saw everything too! And he's piloting a machine just like yours!"
Roz snapped back to the moment and looked around.
"…A three-way standoff, huh."
Now the picture was clear:
— Murrue on one side, gun in hand.
— The group of students on another.
— Roz standing opposite them both, the triangle of tension complete.
Roz slowly removed his helmet, revealing his face.
Before coming to this world, his friends had often joked that he looked a lot like Amuro Ray. After arriving here, that resemblance had only grown stronger. Lately, Roz had even caught himself thinking of dyeing his hair red — just for the irony.
"I'm a space salvage operator," Roz said finally. "Technically neutral. But running into military secrets like this… yeah, that's not something you just walk away from."
He looked toward the ceiling — or rather, through it — staring at Heliopolis's massive orbital spine, the structure that held this colony together.
"I can tell Heliopolis is acting as a manufacturing site. But ZAFT doesn't care what you call yourselves — the moment you deal with the Earth Forces, you're a target. Even Orb isn't safe."
Roz's eyes hardened as he turned back to the others.
"For now… if you want to survive, I suggest you do exactly as Murrue Ramius says."
-----------------------------------
Although the group of young people were reluctant, they knew that survival came first — and so they followed orders.
"Thank you for your help," Murrue said at last, finally able to properly address Roz after the chaos.
"You're welcome," Roz replied calmly, his voice steady through the comms built into his helmet. Even as they spoke, he was connected to Christina at their private shelter, exchanging short bursts of encrypted data.
"I haven't asked yet… what's your name?"
"Roz. Roz Links," he answered simply.
When Roz heard that the supply team was on its way, he turned to glance at his Jegan.
"This mobile suit—where was it built?" Murrue asked curiously, her gaze drifting between the half-kneeling Jegan and the Strike Gundam nearby, which was being fitted with its Aile pack. Originally, she'd planned to equip the Strike with the Launcher pack, but Roz had convinced her that the Aile unit would be more practical in their situation.
"RGM-89D, Jegan D Type — I built it myself," Roz said with a hint of pride.
His voice grew brighter as he continued, sounding almost like a college student proudly showing off a custom-built model kit.
"Every piece of armor, every frame segment, every screw — all handmade."
Something about his tone, so out of place in the middle of a battlefield, made Murrue's tense nerves ease for a moment. She couldn't quite understand what he meant by "handmade," but she guessed it meant he'd designed and built the whole thing on his own.
"You're quite an extraordinary man," she said softly, glancing at the dark blue Jegan.
The Earth Forces had poured vast resources into developing just five prototype units — and even then, some of their OS systems were incomplete. Yet this man, this so-called "space junk dealer," had built a machine by himself that could match their cutting-edge suits.
She didn't realize how absurd "handmade" truly was in this context; she just assumed Roz had paid a heavy price for his creation, given his connections as a scavenger.
Just then, the sound of a truck horn echoed in the distance.
"Christina! Over here!" Roz called out, waving his arm toward the approaching vehicle.
The truck screeched to a halt behind the Jegan. In seconds, the Haros aboard began their precise, coordinated work — refueling, recharging, and resupplying the mobile suit without any human direction.
"…Hello, I'm Christina — Roz's assistant."
Christina stepped out of the truck, her white coat fluttering. Her sharp eyes immediately caught sight of Murrue, who was holding her injured arm. Christina frowned slightly.
The two women had only just met, but Christina didn't like how close Murrue stood to Roz. Maybe it was just because he was the only reliable man around.
She glanced at the nearby group of young people still working on the Strike Gundam. Two of them had noticed the Haros busily maintaining the Jegan and were loudly exclaiming over its automation.
"Murrue Ramius, Earth Forces. I'm sorry for dragging you into this," Murrue said, extending her left hand.
"Spare me the pleasantries," Christina replied curtly, shaking her hand. "Our probes show two ZAFT warships haven't withdrawn. Another battle's coming soon."
Her gaze shifted toward the still-gray Strike Gundam.
"As for ZAFT's real objective — I'd say it's your machine."
Murrue's brow furrowed deeply.
By the time Christina finished speaking, the Jegan's resupply was already halfway done. That was the advantage of a mass-production unit — repairs and rearming could be completed quickly by swapping out parts. And with the Haros handling the process, the speed was nothing short of impressive.
"I'll head back to the cockpit," Roz said, glancing toward his machine. "Christina, once the armor replacement is complete, return to the private shelter."
He could already feel it — two powerful brainwaves, rapidly closing in. Narrowing his eyes, Roz climbed up toward the Jegan's cockpit.
"Murrue," he called out over his shoulder, "tell them to hurry up. I've got a feeling they'll be here any second now…"
-----------------------------------
Inside the central shaft of the satellite, a gray-white GINN was locked in fierce combat with an Earth Alliance mobile armor — the Moebius Zero.
"Hmph… a cramped battlefield like this won't stop me, Mu," sneered the masked blond pilot inside the GINN, firing his rifle recklessly, ignoring the structural integrity of the satellite's core.
"Damn you, Creuset," growled Mu as he maneuvered the Moebius Zero with precision, trying to make up for the difference in performance between his MA and the enemy MS.
"Time's up. You've lost, Mu," Creuset said with a chuckle, grinning beneath his mask. With one well-placed shot, the GINN blasted through the shaft wall and escaped into open space.
"Oh? So that's the target."
Creuset narrowed his eyes at the scene before him — two mobile suits now visible on his radar. One was unmistakably the Strike Gundam. The other… a deep-blue Jegan, its left shoulder bearing a crimson unicorn insignia.
"Another prototype? Secretly developed, perhaps?" he mused. "No matter. I'll destroy them both."
Dodging a counterattack from the Moebius Zero, Creuset drew his sword and sliced through the last cannon on Mu's unit before turning toward the Strike.
"Get those weapons equipped, now!"
Murrue shouted urgently as she sprinted toward the still-preparing Strike Gundam.
"Let's test your PS armor, then," Creuset said with a cold grin. He swapped magazines, loading special armor-piercing rounds, and aimed straight for the unarmed Strike.
But before he could fire, a missile streaked in from the side and exploded midair — its timed fuse detonating a shower of dense metal shards that formed a deadly conical barrier.
"What—?!"
Creuset yanked the controls hard, but the GINN's right leg was shredded before he could escape. He glanced at the status panel — the right leg indicator blinked red: Offline.
Following the missile's trajectory, Creuset spotted the Jegan — the very one he'd dismissed moments earlier. Smoke still drifted from the rocket launcher in its hand.
"So, you're my opponent then? Fine — let's see what your 'Earth Forces secret project' can do."
Instead of retreating, Creuset adopted a bold stance, intending to bait the unknown machine into a close fight and test its limits.
"Finish prepping the Strike. I'll handle him," came Roz's calm voice over the shared comms channel.
"Roz Links, Jegan — launching!"
The Jegan's thrusters roared to life, blue flames erupting as it shot toward the sky, intercepting the GINN.
"Hmph… you're not preserving your only suit — you're charging me head-on?" Creuset smirked. "Fine by me!"
Inside the cockpit, Roz's hands tightened around the controls. His feet worked the pedals in rapid rhythm as he adjusted the Jegan's vernier nozzles.
"No problem… no problem. I've simulated this fight countless times. I can do this."
It was his first real battle against an ACE pilot — his heartbeat quickened.
"If you can't hit, even an ACE means nothing."
Roz zigzagged through incoming fire, dodging each shot by inches while occasionally firing back with his rocket launcher and head-mounted Vulcans — deliberately presenting himself as clumsy, trying to lure Creuset in.
"Yes… now!"
Once Creuset's attention locked fully onto him, Roz slammed the throttle forward. The Jegan's high-performance backpack kicked in, tripling his speed as he rocketed straight at the GINN.
"What?! He was baiting me all along!" Creuset realized too late — the engagement had been too brief for him to catch on.
The Jegan's last four missiles launched in a rapid salvo, then Roz discarded the empty launcher.
Even with its reinforced armor, the GINN couldn't withstand the cone-shaped burst of fragmentation rounds and was forced to evade.
Watching the GINN twist and roll through the storm of debris, Roz's eyes narrowed. The Jegan's left hand deployed a beam saber; the right hand, moving on instinct, caught the hilt.
Then — a thrust straight into Creuset's path.
"Perfect timing!"
Creuset jerked the controls, tilting the GINN backward just enough to block the beam saber with his rifle. Sparks scattered between them.
"Now!"
Ignoring the GINN's disabled right arm, Creuset drew its physical longsword with the left and swung at the Jegan's waist.
But the next instant, a powerful kick sent his controls jolting out of alignment.
He couldn't see it, but Murrue and Mu — still fighting in the Moebius Zero — saw it clearly: the dark-blue Jegan had kicked the GINN square in the waist, sending it flying. Then Roz cut the throttle and let gravity pull him down, narrowly dodging Creuset's counterattack.
A split-second later — BOOM! — a red-and-white warship burst out of a nearby explosion, soaring through the debris field.
"Tch… didn't finish him," Creuset muttered, steadying his crippled GINN.
The right arm and leg were offline, and the lower torso had sustained serious damage from that kick. Continuing the fight was pointless.
"Didn't expect the Earth Forces to have such a skilled pilot… I'll withdraw for now."
He glanced once more at the Jegan charging toward him, then pulled back toward the satellite's core.
Missiles from the newly emerged warship streaked toward him, but even in his damaged state, Creuset dodged them with practiced ease.
Roz watched the GINN retreat until it vanished from radar. Only then did he exhale and relax into his seat.
"Well done, Roz," said the red Haro from the console, its eyes blinking as it took over manual control. "I'll handle the landing sequence."
The Jegan's thrusters eased, beginning a slow descent back toward the surface.
It seemed the battle was finally over.
But… was it really?
.....................