The passing days shifted and melded with each other, resembling a shapeless, timeless blur of seemingly random sounds and pictures both vivid and indefinite. Equally clear and distorted. It wasn’t for no reason – the last few weeks were filled with work and preparations… But also, with boredom so extreme Peter struggled telling one day from the other. All because he was ultimately unimportant.
No rank, no clearance, no authority, no… nothing, really, which left him with damn all to do – his role amounted to a forgettable attachment and observer. Sure, he had spent a few days in and around the house, caught up with family and the few neighbours he knew passingly but… There was not much to do there. And more importantly, he could only stomach so much of Andrew, and the feeling was mutual.
And so the days went, filled with the logistical blur, news of the coming apocalypse, and most importantly, an unhealthy amount of beer Gregory regaled him with. All in all, with both of them spending most of their time on folding chairs talking about nothing, locked in a slow but brutal race to yet another hangover day after day… All they missed were fishing rods. Then again, the lack of sticks, or even water hadn’t impacted their catch in the slightest.
The strangest thing was that they’ve continued to do this even after arriving at the dig site.
Peter’s eyes wandered until they’ve hit the major’s wrinkled face, bearing expression of both certainty and being lost at the same time. Considering the fate of his unit… no wonder. How do you come back from losing everyone?
Looking a bit closer, there was deep, undeniable sadness in the man’s eyes – just carefully hidden below the sunshades and layers of wrinkles so that no one would glimpse it. Someone with a lot of past… but barely any present. And no future.
A thought drilled into Peter’s head… What exactly was Gregory’s purpose here? Why did he come… was even allowed here? As far as he knew, the major didn’t have any function here, he just… sat around. Just like Peter, who – for all it was worth – at least functioned as a ‘bridge’ between humans and dragons. But Gregory… did he ask to participate? Was it possible he somehow… latched onto Peter? Trying to fill in some hole by hanging around?
Peter’s eyes narrowed. There was also another explanation…
“What? You want something?” the major asked, finally noticing his unsubtle stare.
“Nah nah…” Peter shook his head, adjusting hair. “I think I might be finally getting a heatstroke though.”
Gregory nodded before making extra sure he had something to sweat out. Discarding the thought of… honestly, Peter didn’t even remember what, he returned to staring at the mess otherwise known as the dig site.
And what a beautiful mess it was. Dozens of lorries coursing between the ever-expanding piles and the mother of all holes. The spare material slowly formed rings around the area, preventing the tide from flooding them.
Clouds of dust and smoke so dense they dimmed the sun formed above the hole, which combined with the endless cacophony of excavators, drills and explosives working in an effort to breach the seal of earth and stone.
Yet against all odds, the hum of blood behind his eyes was proving to be the dominant sensation… Well… maybe except one thing.
“Come on man! Come on!” Ni mumbled with the same enthusiasm in her eyes.
Continuously jumping from one foot to another in an attempt to mimic a boxing stance. Peter didn’t know a thing about fighting but she seemed… surprisingly competent, at lest at maintaining posture. Especially in the face of her opponent.
A monstrous, impossibly huge machine towering over the titan dragon about as much as a man would tower over a woman. The mech stood in place perfectly still, dual blades extending from its forearms, with only an occasional hiss of actuators counteracting the gusts of wind betraying it was not dormant.
No, blaming it on the wind was disingenuous – Ni’s earth-shattering footfalls were the more likely culprit of imbalance. Peter’s subconscious just removed them from perception after spending nearly a year exposed to them.
“Come on man! Just one fight!” she repeated, throwing fake punches that stopped just short of the mech’s surface.
To no response – the pilot decided to ignore her long ago and wasn’t keen on changing his mind, no matter how many laps Ni made around him.
Peter’s eyes wandered towards the two kaiju carcasses spoiling the water. They were visible even above the dirt wall, which said a lot about their size… even after they got thoroughly slashed to pieces. After witnessing just how precariously the dragons had to fight even a single kaiju, seeing a Jaeger wiping the floor with two at once made it…
Well, what exactly? Unimpressive? Casual? The pilot certainly did think so. Maybe that’s why Ni got so obsessed with the thought of fighting it – to prove she was still the toughest one around.
“Fight me, you pussy-ass, bitch-ass coward!” she shouted, getting a myriad of annoyed sighs and glances from the workers.
Funny how quickly people accepted their presence when there was a bigger threat at hand.
On second thought, it might have been because she craved recognition after her recent near defeat at the hands of the blackscale. A few weeks later, she still bore scars, with the bite marks on her neck being especially visible, but was otherwise perfectly functional again, just like Ichi’s leg. Crazy how used he was to seeing them brush-off injuries.
Peter searched for the water bottle to at least pretend he wasn’t slipping into alcoholism and found it empty. Of course. With a tremendous sigh, he stood up and began a long trek towards the field cafeteria. He passed by a supply dump, squeezed past a line of workers waiting for laundry, and finally walked into the… well, it wasn’t a building, merely an area covered by white plastic plates with rows of tables and benches beneath. And a field kitchen of course.
The place wasn’t empty, but with a few hours until break, it wasn’t exactly crowded either. And wouldn’t you know it, a bunch of eggheads decided to have their meals early, while the blue collars were out ‘doing the real work’. Certainly more enjoyable without the stench of a hundred sweaty bodies pressing against each other.
Or maybe they were just done hearing the vicious insults and promises of ‘getting beaten up’, ‘robbed and mugged’, or ‘the swiftly approaching end of the bourgeoisie’. That last one was getting suspiciously common.
He marched between the benches to get to the source of the all-encompassing stench of grease, opened up the fridge, and grabbed a fresh bottle right in front of the cook who didn’t bother to spare him even a passing glance.
Divine blessing poured down his throat, granting him a fleeting reprieve of the horrific heat and cleansing it of dust and the bitter aftertaste. Just now did he realise how warm his last beer actually was. A crime against humanity.
Finishing the bottle, he grabbed a second one, this time getting a side eye from the cook – not a condemnation yet, something on the verge of it. After briefly considering what to do next, Peter decided he really didn’t have the strength to queue for a shower, but also that dumping the water bottle onto his head would probably get him executed. With nothing better to do, he decided to ruin the perfectly fine lunch the scientists were having.
Five silhouettes hunched over a table, all wearing glasses and overall resembling a group of nerds who never separated after high-school and were still brainstorming broken builds for RPGs. The same type of faces, the same intensity in their eyes, and the same scrawny body types. All except for Micheal.
“Hey.” Peter waved his hand, getting their attention.
Their hushed mumbling subsided and he was greeted by expressions ranging from annoyed to contemptuous.
“Yes? What do you want?” the blonde one asked.
“Just how things are going.” Peter shrugged.
“The meteorite hasn’t magically moved upwards, if that’s you’re asking.”
Peter shot him a tired glance, before changing the object of his pestering. “I asked if there are any delays or is it going as scheduled.”
“Work is always behind schedule,” Michael replied bluntly. “And everyone plans for it, so… I guess everything is going according to the actual schedule.” He laughed.
“Alright.” Peter nodded. “Do you need any help?”
“Yeah, you can bring us coffee,” the blonde one replied. “Double latte for me.”
“I meant actual help.” Peter’s brows furrowed.
“No offense.” Michael raised his hand before his colleague could throw another insult. “But I don’t think there’s realistically anything you could help us with… unless you’re a geologist that is.”
“I have a bachelor’s in physics and master’s in engineering.”
“Uuuuu, look at him, he has a ‘master’s’,” the blonde one mocked, waving his hands. “Better make way for mister highly educated.”
“Henry, fuck off,” the Asian man scoffed, before turning to Peter. “We do appreciate the offer, but what we could use is another geologist. You see, we got assigned a paleontologist instead and…”
Henry slammed his hands against the table. “So I’m useless now?!”
“For what we’re doing right now?” the man replied, drilling him with his eyes. “Yes, you don’t really add much. Just as Michael.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Michael replied sourly. “But he is correct. You could get into servicing excavators but…” He spread out his arms. “I don’t think that’s what you had in mind.”
Peter didn’t respond – just shook his head. Deciding the grudge wasn’t worth following, he turned around to walk away.
“Hold on, one question,” the Asian man stopped him. “Are you really…uhh…”
Stolen novel; please report.
“Really what?” Peter asked, already anticipating the question.
“Are you… Are you the one that… You know, the one to…”
“Christ, Leeroy,” the brown-haired woman scoffed, before turning to Peter. “You’re the one who smashed a titan, yes?”
And there it was, the ONLY question he was ever asked in this godforsaken place. Was it really the only interesting thing about him? The only one worth talking about? His personal life?
He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was, in fact, the first and most likely the last human in history to… manage it. Unless of course Ichi’s sisters get similar ideas, or… or Ichi takes someone else after he’s gone.
A wave of shivers went through his spine when an image of him being the first link in an endless chain of partners appeared in his mind. Each a heartbreak waiting to happen. Each causing her to become ever more detached. Each sliding further and further into petdom, until they are nothing but mundane routine for her – pick one, have him for a while, watch him die, repeat the process. After a while, he would also be remembered just as her first pet…
He shook his head, reminding himself not to overreact to idiotic bullshit they might not even live to see.
Leeroy relaxed a bit, visibly disappointed. “You’re not? Forget I as…”
“No, it is me,” Peter cut him off. “The one guarding the dig site if you really want to know.”
Everyone rapidly shifted to look at the titan towering over the hole. A golden silhouette facing away in search of threats, a larger-than-life spear in her hand. With sunlight reflecting off her golden scales, she resembled a gleaming beacon shining upon the smoky murkiness of the hole.
“How?” Leeroy asked the second most common question.
“Figure it out,” Peter scoffed. “Or ask her, she’ll surely be stoked to answer.”
With that, he left the unfortunate company alone, swearing to never offer anyone help ever again. At least he confirmed that they were moving roughly at the expected speed, which meant the hole was about two hundred meters deep already. With the estimates that the asteroid began roughly a kilometer or so below them, it would take them at least another two weeks of constant work to reach it… and who knows how long until the government got what it wanted out of it. Hell if he knew what it was, but… he had his suspicions.
“Just a quick fight! Or a wrestling match, eh? A few punches and it’s over,” Ni continued her endless tirade.
“You don’t throw punches in wrestling,” the pilot responded, his voice dripping with exhaustion. “And no, there’ll be no fight.”
“Just a quick one! I won’t get another chance to fight you!”
“You won’t get this one either, woman.” The mech’s head actually moved for extra effect. “Get lost.”
Ni froze for a second, thrown off guard by the bluntness. The sudden end of tremors made a lot of people around sigh with relief, finally able to walk normally.
“The fuck did you call me?” Ni asked incredulously.
“You’re a man then? Apologies, couldn’t tell.”
Oh boy, here we go. If only Peter had some chips to enjoy the shitshow…
Ni grabbed the robot by its shoulder and turned it towards her. No, she didn’t turn it – it did so on it own.
“Hands off.” The pilot shoved her, making her stumble backwards and fall on her ass.
She stared at her opponent, flabbergasted, her cheeks turning red from anger… or excitement. “You piece of shit…” Ni drawled, jumping back to her feet.
With a maniacal grin, she charged at the mech and delivered a mighty punch straight into its chest. A loud, metallic clang resonated in the air, silencing all other sounds. And yet, the mech remained motionless… just like her. That is, until a tiny welp was heard.
Ni collapsed to her knees, straight into the sludge-like water. She squealed, unable to take a proper breath, cradling her trembling hand, tears forming in her eyes.
“What did you think was gonna happen?” the pilot asked incredulously, knocking on the mech’s chest. “This thing’s made of metal.”
Ni looked up at him like a beaten dog, still unable to produce a coherent sound despite trying to. In the meantime, Peter laughed. Laughed like he hasn’t in a long time… in the middle of a suddenly silent camp. Ni’s head slowly turned towards him, and he noticed everyone cautiously moving away from him.
Guess he’d have to live through yet another revenge of hers.
***
“Are you sure it’s the right place?” Peter asked, sitting down on Ichi’s snout.
“Ni’s certain about the place,” she replied.
“I’m asking you, not her.”
Gusts of air erupted around him as she exhaled. He felt slight twitches when she restrained herself not to move. A conscious effort dictated by his precarious position.
“I don’t know. It looks a bit familiar but…” she hesitated. “It’s more like ‘I’ve seen this in a dream’, not an actual memory.”
“Hmmm…” Peter looked around, taking in the landscape. It didn’t look very dreamlike to him, unless someone’s brain was trash at worldbuilding – just greyed-out, dead coastline of the toxic sea. Apart from the steadily expanding hole resembling a strip mine, there was nothing of note. “I don’t know, love. I don’t think I would dream of this shithole.”
“Very funny,” she scoffed. “You do know that…”
“I know, I know,” Peter cut her off. “I do trust her… in that regard,” he quickly added that last part.
Dreams… There was something with them that he couldn’t help but ponder. His own were getting weird lately. Sometimes, he couldn’t tell them from reality, which was beginning to screw with his mind.
“Do you ever dream of floating in the endless dark?” Peter asked, recalling shreds such a dream. “Like, not flying or anything, just being in darkness with nothing to do? With nothing but fear for company?”
He waited for a response that would never come. Once the silence grew unbearable, he turned to look at her, worried he had offended her somehow or…
Eyes. Her big, orange eyes. Frozen in place, transfixed on him. Unblinking and motionless… like the rest of her.
“Ichi? Did something happen?”
Only then did he realise that the sound of breathing had also stopped. Putting his hand against her nostril confirmed it.
“What’s going on?!”
The lorries and excavators, the waves and the wind – everything was frozen in time, set in stone and unmoving. Grains of sand suspended in air mid-fall, forming cascading sculptures of modern art. What was this?!
Panic began setting in. Increasing perception of being trapped and paralysed… How can he help them? Anyone? Ichi at least? And… why couldn’t he remember his birthday? Any of them? And what was the name of his mother? Or father? They had faces, but no names? No, they did have names, right?!
Even his own sweat proved frozen in time.
“…surprised.” Ichi’s mouth moved, punching through the deafening silence.
“W-what?” he snapped, terrified she would get frozen again.
“My reaction too. But she insisted on staying home, so… why not?”
“And you just let her? You?” Peter said, compelled to do it by some unknowable force.
“I mean… she has company now. And that laser thingy is keeping an eye on the island, so she is safe.”
“You forgot to say this place’s far from home,” he was again railroaded, though the feeling was rapidly evaporating. Kendall… They were talking about Kendall.
“I guessed that was the real reason,” Ichi sighed. “Am I a bad person for saying it’s liberating not having to care for her all the time?”
“That’s like asking if you’re a bad person because Ni doesn’t have a boyfriend.”
“Hah! Maybe you’re right.” Ichi petted him over the head.
The feeling of wrongness disappeared alongside the memory of it.
***
The cold water splashed against his face, freeing parts of it from the inescapable dust. Actually, scratch that – it just turned it into grime instead. Getting rid of it would take him a few more cycles of rinsing and scrubbing. In the end, after just a bit of a struggle, he managed to wash at least his torso in the sink, leaving his lower body to stink for the night. There was no way he was spending four hours queuing for an actual shower. A change of clothes had to suffice.
Outside, the full-time work continued, undeterred by such trivial things as it being 2:00 AM. The smoke and dust were too dense to see the starts… On the other hand, it could have been regular clouds. The kaijus haven’t taken away that just yet.
“Nice work with the harness,” a tired voice to his right commented.
Peter turned and… witnessed something that might have been human… once. Its arms and legs replaced with complex prosthetics mimicking the human form but not following it precisely. Less fingers, wrong length to height ratio… wrong leg structure… and above all else, no eyes.
Those, along with everything that surrounded them, were replaced with dark, cold metal tubes protruding out of the skull about as much as his nose did. Peter saw those implants a few times before – wounded anti-terrorists sometimes received those eyes. Full spectrum, adjustable vision, shielded from blinding. The man could probably zoom-in to observe singular cells in Peter’s skin… Or see his blood circulate. All at the cost of looking like a living nightmare.
And the inability to blink too.
“What?” Peter asked, unable to stop staring.
“The harness. The one your big friend used to kill the blackscale,” the man stated matter-of-factly, before pulling in smoke from his cigar. “Good work.”
“Ah, that. Thanks… I guess.”
As the pilot shifted, Peter came to a realisation that the man’s legs were shaped exactly like the mech’s – pseudo-digitigrade, with only two elongated ‘toes’. A setup optimised for sprinting and jumping. On second glance, his entire body was modified to resemble the machine as closely as possible. For all intents and purposes, he was piloting his Jaeger all the time, which most likely eased the transition between piloting and day-to-day functioning.
“An older design.” The man nodded. “The plasma fist. They’ve tried to push it into my own mech, before someone sobered up enough to make the mantis.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly have the means to build the…” Peter glanced at the patrolling mech’s forearms. “Mantis.”
“I know.” He huffed out the smoke. “Hence why I’m commending you.”
The specific, floral tang it left in Peter’s nose informed him that the cigar was very much not tobacco.
“But the… titan girl.” The man waved in Ni’s direction. “She could use some actual training. And a cooler head.”
Peter laughed and leaned against the wall next to him. “Good luck convincing her to ‘calm down’… ever.”
They’ve observed the still sulking – but adamantly pretending not to – dragon. Ni was still throwing petty glances at the Jaeger, no doubt plotting revenge. In a weird way… she was like a younger sister. Not the little sister – that was Kendall’s job – but Ni definitely fit a lot of the mental criteria he would associate with a slightly younger than him sibling. It was kind of strange to think, especially after what they’ve almost done back in the forest… but it felt right to categorise her like that.
“For what it’s worth, the rig was meant for Ichi.” Peter gestured at the sleeping dragon. “She’s better at fighting.”
“She does carry herself better at least.” The pilot nodded before passing the cig. “Want some?”
Peter accepted and quickly confirmed his suspicions of it being a weed joint. What did surprise him though was how many ‘extras’ he could taste in it – some of them he couldn’t even name. An entire drug trip neatly rolled into a bite-sized package meant to optimise the rate of passing out.
“Bwah…” Peter huffed out the toxic smoke, before handing it back to the pilot. “No offense, but should you be smoking that?”
“With the amount of shit they pump into me?” The man glanced at him. “It doesn’t make a difference. I won’t live past forty regardless.”
Despite the constant noise, an eerie silence befell them. Peter got uncomfortable with the declaration or… no, it was the casualness of it that unnerved him. Brushing off his imminent death as if it was nothing while they had spent so much effort on trying to live even a day longer…
He shook his head and decided to switch the subject to something more comfortable. “I’m Peter Smith.”
“I know. Jacob Lloyd.”
They shook hands, making Peter aware Jacob’s weren’t metal – he sensed mostly polymers.
“Tell me… how it feels? Piloting a god-machine?” Peter asked, trying to sustain the conversation, despite knowing how played out this particular subject must have been.
“After a while, it’s like driving a car.” Jacob shrugged. “You get in, do what you have to and get out. It loses its charm after the fifth time.”
Peter hesitated, considering the next question. “And does it…”
“Yes,” Jacob cut him off. “This never changes. Every time they plug you in, it hurts.” His head turned to look him in the eye. “Every nerve in your body screeches and whirls in pain I can’t compare to anything. Your nervous system is remade to fit the machine, strained to fit something too vast and complex for you to comprehend. For your body to comprehend.” He huffed a large cloud of smoke. “And when all is done and they take you out, the opposite happens – your consciousness contracts and pushes itself into something smaller than a fingertip.” He raised one of his mechanical fingers. “And then you walk outside, get pats on the back, and smoke crack until you pass out.”
“Sorry, sorry…” Peter raised his hands. “I didn’t want to upset you.”
Jacob took a deep, shaky breath, but aside from that, he didn’t look shaken in the slightest. “You did not. I just get that question a lot.”
“Sorry, I get you,” Peter assured, trying to relate his own experience with repeating questions.
“No, you do not. But it’s no matter – the only ones who do are my colleagues…” He stretched, more out of habit than anything else. “And they’re all salty assholes.”
Peter let out a deep chuckle, before an unintended sentence escaped his mouth. “Birds of the flock.”
Jacob paused, pressing his lips tightly in a grimace that was extraordinarily hard to read. Just as fresh sweat began undoing Peter’s recent bath, the pilot scoffed with amusement and shook his head. “I guess so. Nice talking, but I have to catch at least six hours of sleep before my shift.”
With that said, Jacob graced him with one last gesture, before venturing towards his barrack, the sockets lining his spine visible even under the shirt. Did it mean he couldn’t sleep on his back? Or even sit properly? So many questions…
Could have been worse. Probably.
***