Gundam Fire Still

What happens if they catch you?

Once again, he focused on the panel where he could still enter the code.

It was the panel that belonged to the self-destruct mechanism.

He thought of his old friend, the guy had actually mentioned his name in the satellite before, it seemed he wasn't dead yet, it was probably true that someone as talented as he was probably wouldn't die very easily, ironically, he probably wouldn't live much longer now.

Be careful, Kira, you're being targeted by that guy too, that guy, but he's dangerous. Also, I'm so sorry, I haven't gotten around to apologizing to him yet, the whole firing at the satellite he lives in thing.

And your teammates, you must not have been tampered with, you'll make it back to the battleship, but don't come backing me up, get the hell out of here, out of here, this hellhole.

Ahead of the vision, something seemed to appear, probably part of that masked old man's plot, the one that appeared out of the void...

==============

Some sort of signal began to appear on the radar that was intensely monitoring the universe, and the main gun under radar control began to rotate.

But before anyone could do anything, two dazzling torrents of particles shot out from the newly emerged from the void, all over something dark grey.

The two particle beams were able to swipe past the red, slow-moving and unnatural ms, and then engulfed the four cautiously moving, constantly looking around ms that were approaching it.

"Broadsword 2, Broadsword 3, signal loss, Neutral Unit 1, Neutral Unit 2, signal loss."

An expletive rang out on the bridge of the Combine before anyone gave the order.

24.Tales of a Young Man - The End: Warrior

The young man knew very well that he would eventually recover from this semi-trance, he could not be lost forever just because he was born in a jar. But reason and emotion are two different things after all, and although he knew very well that it wouldn't change anything, this clear knowledge wouldn't help stop the pain and alienation he felt somewhere inside.

That picture, the one stuck in a file folder, of a woman holding two infant children in her arms, he felt some kind of familiarity at first, some kind of intuition that had been telling him before he'd started reading those words or hearing the guy's comments that the child was himself.

Then he recalled another location where he'd seen the photo, and he didn't want to believe it was real, but his excellent memory and powers of observation as an Adjuster - the strongest Adjuster, if that damned file was correct - wouldn't lie to him.

He had seen that photo before, in the Asha family mansion, old Asha's office, on the corner of the coffee table in the corner, with a few scattered files hiding the bottom half of it, but yes, in his camera-like memory, the top half of that photo was identical to the one in the folder presented to him.

So old Asha knew the truth, or at least part of it, and he didn't tell himself.

He didn't like the conclusion, and at the same time his brain was still working, still functioning, seemingly out of control, a new conclusion came to him, the other girl in the woman's arms, with blonde hair... And he happened to know a girl with blonde hair, if he wasn't mistaken, not too far from his own age...

--- "You've probably heard the rumors that she isn't my real daughter."

--- "Whether or not that's true, the Asha family needs an heir,"

The already aged and weary voice of the man who was holding ORB up alone echoed in his head.

--- "If, that child, Kagari, is feeling lonely and about to collapse, no, I'm sure she's a strong child, but, if she... You can tell her that she has brothers."

The truth seemed to be at hand, and his senses were still wondering if this was just him using himself, if getting himself adopted by his current parents was part of some kind of investment and preparatory plan - but the part of his brain responsible for emotions was being overwhelmed by indescribable emotions.

Worse, his body still needed to react, not stay there and not move.

In the last second's memory, he was still in that bullet-riddled control room, watching the fallen body of the tangled, white-clad foe - and the mask he'd left on the side - and the Union officer running madly towards the communications console, then shouting something wildly into the microphone, while he, for one, just wanted to get away and find some peace and quiet.

And then the next second, he had returned to where he had docked the machine, alone, still holding it in his hand, the gloves of his standard suit soaked in sweat. Obviously not a second had passed, but the memory didn't seem to be going to surface in his recollection for the time being, at least he was pretty sure there was no one watching or following him on this journey.

His own giant was waiting, white skeletal joints and a gold coated armored version with a high-energy beam cannon on its back and a particle beam at its waist, it was quiet and ready for battle at all times, unaware that something had changed in his pilot and it didn't care.

Worse yet, the battlefield itself didn't care what happened to someone either.

As he rolled into the cockpit with long-trained instincts, the flashing instrument panel was telling him silently that this was still the battlefield.

Then the silent warning became audible, and several disparate sirens began to sound.

He realized he had to get out of that trance as soon as possible and get it over with, which he should have been able to do if he really was the best adjuster he'd ever been.

In fact he did it faster than he had expected.

That was the moment he clicked on the comm panel.

"Colonel, no, Kira, are you alive, Kira," the familiar, cryptic female voice rushed into his ear drums for an instant, the girl's familiar voice freezing his confused memories for a moment to that crazy afternoon in Heliopolis, the seemingly endless, sound-reflecting corridors, the iron giant below at last from above, and the sobbing of the same girl.

It was then, as if he had no choice, that he began to become a warrior.

Then his reason heard what the girl was saying now.

"We have lost Mayura and Asagi."

Instincts in general, his hands had begun to dance across the body's operating panels.

The tide of emotions in his brain had begun to subside, the fact of his identity or the fact that he was born from the incubation chamber had become less important, as nothing he had done would change, and the faces of the two familiar girls gradually surfaced in his memory.

Those three girls had been his partners since he'd started testing Ob's ms, helping them program and debug by hand, and they'd helped him make the program more friendly to naturals, he'd given them training plans, remotely locking their bodies or taking over operations when they made dangerous moves; he'd also pretended not to hear them discussing the cold-faced boy with brown hair in the testing department or the The gossip of the boy in the tech department with the dark hair who always wore a headset, or was making fun of their superior or Kagali. They had gone through this whole process of gradual refinement of the airframe's performance, and had recently completed training in low orbit and low gravity programming and simulations, for the next airframe development or newcomer....

And then for two of them, the possibility of it all was over, gone, ashes to ashes, and all that was left was that red flashing icon of the LOST on the airframe dashboard.

And at a time like this, themselves, their commanders, their instructors, were not even in the field?

It took only an instant to recall or make a judgement, and only an instant for his pupils to become out of focus, the data from the battlefield records flowing through his pupils like a waterfall.

The fuselage had been activated, the ion tail flame of the auxiliary thrusters pulling a scorch mark across the ground as the gold and white colored fuselage quickly left the inner buildings of the colonial satellite before turning around and overcoming artificial gravity to fly in the direction of the nearest available exit from the satellite.

There was no need to inquire about the battlefield situation, the real-time synchronized star charts already showed the ship that had just left invisibility and fired a flush of main guns that could break the MS crash record in this war.

He felt he had no nonsense to say.

"I see the target, rules of engagement are?"

"Shoot freely, don't hit the Union or the PLANT."

He noticed that on the other side of the comm interface, the blonde girl had donned her helmet, and the source of the communication was also another ms rather than the bridge's battle station.

"You don't need to strike out, I can handle this."

The fuselage once again crashed through the outer wall of the satellite at the scar that had been repaired by the emergency gel just before, and he had visually confirmed the blue-gray, Union style ship before the radar caught the target. Heresy . The Dawn Outfitter raised his hand and fired his beam cannon, the crimson high-energy particle beam firing straight at the target until it was diluted by the green curtain of light that burst open before the direct hit.

"I just can't just stay here and watch..." The young woman's response wasn't unexpected, "I want to fight too."

He knew he didn't need to answer.

Then the fuselage disappeared from its previous position, tracing a twisting and elusive path through the void. The burst of beams pinpointed every exposed component of the ship, the radar antenna, the communications antenna, the optical system, the launcher, the ms outbound port.

The blue-gray battleship shuddered like the hands of an aged old man as it dodged, the green particle beam fired from the United gotfried directly ahead once again forcing it to fire a full blast of anti-beam blast to counteract this near-unavoidable attack, at the cost of the scorch mark on its hull belt from the particle beam hitting it from the side. In the shuddering evasion, the boy recognized the large blue Persian coat of arms on the side of the ship, and it seemed that the Unions were true on this point, they were indeed no longer on the same page as the Persians.

He also saw the red one that seemed to be drifting, which resembled the one his old friend had once flown, and combined with the hissed words of the joint officer at the Institute, he already had a clear idea of what it was carrying.

It didn't matter, though, he dealt first and foremost with the oncoming interceptor shells, relying on sight alone he could see the trajectory of the chubby cylindrical ones, then detonate several of them with an accurate, calculated particle beam and their explosion would detonate the rest; the lines of fire from the solid rounds kept flying around the fuselage, but none of them could cut into its twisted trajectory.

Then came the beam secondary cannon's intermittent particle beams, he could have easily avoided all of them, but he purposely let one of them graze the shoulder of the hull, and then let the opposing fire control officer watch as the beam twisted and flew apart on the gold-colored shoulder armor, leaving no trace on the anti-beam gel; and finally the main cannon, thick green particle beams grazed by, the hull unharmed, which was good news, a sign that the opponent was becoming impatient, or fearful, and then losing proper judgement, there were a lot of targets in this Urantia, many more appropriate targets for the beam primary cannon, and attacking himself wasn't the right choice, it couldn't hit it anyway.