Lynxara
Nice post!!
This is not really a "new" story idea, but I was always curious what HJU might make of it, and this thread seems like a good place to post it. This is my years-long Gundam crossover, loosely inspired by Marvel's 1985 Secret Wars mini-series (in that it's a very similar plot).
To paraphrase the FF.net summary: "A handful of heroes and villains from throughout the Dark History are abducted by a mysterious, seemingly omnipotent being called the Beyonder. Placed on a simulacrum of Earth, they are divided into teams and ordered to fight in a deadly war game."
I'm going to post excerpts of Chapters 1 and Chapter 7, which introduce groups of characters. If you like it, you can go read the whole thing here. Chances are the more of a Gundam fan you are, the more you'll like it. If you're wondering where characters from your favorite show are... they may have been saved for a future story arc. For instance, Gundam Wing stuff is absent from arc 1, but is at the center of arc 3.
Chapter 1:
***
The Beyonder had little concept of time. He was a quantum being, for whom probability, possibility, and actuality were effectively the same. To his immortal eyes, the Dark History and its sprawling, cyclical wars happened in a searing flash. From his conception, he was absorbed in it. Yet as his momentary dream of stellar conflict wound to a close, the Beyonder found himself in a curious position.
Somehow the universe had gone from the multiplicity of beings that existed at the beginning of time, to only himself. He felt stars dying within him; he felt sub-atomic particles sing within the elemental structures they formed. The vastness of the universe was as nothing to the Beyonder's mind-- truly, it was inseparable from the Beyonder's mind. There were no other sentient thoughts within its emptiness. No more battles, no more lost causes or surging hopes. Emptiness, filled only with himself.
The Beyonder did not understand how this possibility had made itself manifest, why the roaring cacophony of the Dark History had slimmed itself into his expansive solitude. He hated it. He yearned for symphony of other minds breathing and dying around his. It seemed like a brief memory now. Perhaps he could re-create the dream of glory that he was born in.
The Beyonder's memory was the full extent of the Dark History, everything that ever was or could have been. It was as tangible and real as his own cosmic being. To reach into it, crystallize it, and give it form within the stifling emptiness of the Present was nothing. All great things could be easily understood by reducing them to their simplest components.
The Beyonder would understand the Dark History by breaking it down into what seemed its most essential component: combat. He needed only aggressors, protectors, ships to bear them and exceptional men to lead them. Inspiration guided him to selections that seemed, of all the possibilities open to him, most right and perfect.
***
Christina MacKenzie had found that only a few hours of systems testing in the NT-1 Alex was enough to leave her eyes sore and her head throbbing. She constantly recommended throttling the combat computer's output, and was constantly reminded that the NT-1's designated pilot would be able to handle it. To Christina, who had never given the paranormal rumors of Newtypes even a moment's serious thought, it seemed a perfectly ridiculous waste of money. Still, orders were orders, so she reported for her weekly dose of headaches and frustration regularly.
Her head hurt right now, but it was not the internal throb of a feedback overload. It was a splitting pain from the back of her head, like piloting without a helmet on. Christina abruptly realized that her eyes were closed, and her head was resting against some flat surface. She could feel the familiar weave of her standard-issue Federation uniform rubbing against her skin. That seemed odd; hadn't she been in a normal suit for her systems test, just a second ago?
Christina opened her eyes to try and reconcile her sensory feedback with her idea of where she should be at the moment. Shock washed over her body as she realized she was most definitely not where she was before. She was in some sort of long, sterile hallway; a metal hallway, all grays and whites, perhaps two meters wide and three meters high. Lights ran along the ceiling, filling the hallway with a bleary fluorescent glow. Like the lighting on a military ship. The hallway certainly had the cramped, boxy quality that Federation starships usually had.
"Nnn... Sochie, what..."
Christina started, body jerking stiffly to let her face the unfamiliar and unexpected voice. She saw someone deeply at odds with the sterile military surroundings. He was a teenager, perhaps even an adolescent, with dark skin like an African and shoulder-length hair that was straight and white as a grandfather's. His clothing was simple and rough, perhaps even homespun, complete with folksy suspenders to hold up his green trousers. He looked like a farmer, complete with a certain rustic simplicity in his face.
The young man rubbed the back of his head, wincing at the pain, then took a good look at his surroundings. Then his eyes met Christina's. She could see terror begin to cross his face; the terror of the unknown and unexpected.
"It's all right," Christina said. She raised herself to her knees and extended her hands toward him: empty, palms up. Harmless.
"Wh-who..." the young man stammered.
Christina suspected he was younger than she had initially thought. There was a lingering boyishness in his movements. "My name is Christina. What's yours?"
"Loran." He kept staring at her-- no, at her uniform. Maybe he didn't like soldiers?
"Don't worry. I won't hurt you. Can you tell me where we are right now?" The sweetness she forced into her voice seemed to have the desired calming effect upon Loran.
"No. I... I don't know what this place is..."
"We can find out together. Come on, Loran." Christina stood, then extended a hand to help her new friend up.
"Okay," Loran smiled a little, his suspicion easing.
"I don't guess you two would mind a third?"
The new voice seemed to come from behind Christina, and she whirled to face the speaker. Loran's soft gasp indicated that, somehow, he too had failed to notice the man in the hallway with them.
"Don't panic, don't panic, I'm as lost as you two..." The new man was also dark-skinned, though not quite so dark as Loran. His wavy hair and the fine rime of stubble about his chin suggested a Latin origin to Christina's mind. He seemed old, definitely a good ten years older than herself at the least. He was wearing some sort of military uniform, though Christina could not quite place the colors. It seemed more like a Federation variant than a Zeon one, but that wasn't comforting in this strange environment. He wore a bomber jacket over his clothing, an icon shaped much like South America emblazoned over his heart.
The newcomer gave Christina a wide and apologetic smile. "I don't guess I drank too much and followed you home last night, huh?"
"No such luck," Christina said. She could tell he was trying to be ingratiating, but she hardly felt charmed.
Loran stepped forward a bit, his slender frame letting him edge just in front of Christina. "What's your name, sir?" he asked.
"Call me Ed, kid," he replied. "You know what's going on?"
"No. I don't think any of us do. This is obviously some kind of kidnapping," said a fourth voice.
Somehow it came from behind Ed, but she hadn't seen anyone round the corner at the hallway's end and approach. A second glance revealed a man slumped against the wall behind Ed. Christina's heart caught in her throat as she watched him rise to his feet.
He was tall and broad-shouldered without seeming like an unflatteringly large or muscular man. No, his build was fit and lean, his posture straight and unyielding. His face was positively photogenic, with icy blue eyes and immaculate blond hair. He carried himself with quiet pride, and presented the very model of Teutonic perfection. His red officer's uniform, emblazoned with theatrical gold and black, only enhanced his dramatic good looks. He was not just Zeon; he could have stepped out of their recruitment poster.
Loran shrank from the Zeke's piercing gaze, flattening against the wall. Ed seemed confused.
Christina felt terror coil into the pit of her stomach. Her hands flew toward her duty sidearm. The Zeke pulled a gun from the smart black holster attached to his belt just as fast.
Ed futilely tried to throw himself against one wall and out of the line of fire. "What the hell--!" he shouted.
"Zeon!" was all Christina could manage. It was a warning and an accusation.
"Can it, Feddie." The immaculate Zeke's brusque tone shattered the illusion of otherworldly perfection about him. "Too many civilians for a firefight. Shall we find out what's going on instead?"
"How do I know..." Christina began, trying to put steel in her voice. "... how do I know you aren't responsible!"
"I could ask the same thing. The circumstance leads me to think otherwise," the Zeke replied. "But if it makes you feel better, I'll swear upon the Lady Kycilia's honor that I am not responsible for this, and that I will not hurt any of you."
Christina was not much convinced by an oath sworn on a Zabi's honor.
Still, the Zeke lowered and holstered his pistol, even though Christina still had a bead drawn on him. His eyes met hers without fear. "Major Johnny Ridden, Zeon Mobile Assault Forces."
"Zeon?" Ed asked. The syllables sounded stiff and unnatural in his voice, as if saying them for the first time.
"What's Zeon?" Loran asked. His sincerity was jarring.
Christina lowered her gun, bewildered. Major Ridden seemed as startled by Ed and Loran's responses.
"Ow, my head..." said another voice. It cut heedlessly through the awkward silence. This man had somehow appeared behind Christina. Like all the others, he rose from the ground, apparently stiff and in pain. He had a strange, wild look to him, brown hair barely held back by thick headband. He wore a vest that seemed like a workman's, matched with baggy, worn pants stained with grease.
"Okay, what's going on? Professor?" He paused as he realized that the others were staring at him, and he began to feel the tension in the room. "... okay, this is so not the ReHOME..." His eyes darted toward Ed, as if seizing on something recognizable. "... hey, Alliance? What's going on? I'm not in trouble, right?"
Ed laughed. "Not from me, I'm just glad to hear someone talking sense. I'm Alliance, but I'm with the South Americans. What are you, mercenary? Civilian?"
The man seemed pleased enough to utterly ignore Christina and the others. "No, Junk Guild! Name's Lowe, Lowe Gear... what's going on? I mean, if this isn't an Alliance ship..."
Christina felt a wave of despair wash over her, as Ed and Lowe had a conversation that seemed, to her, to consist of nothing but gibberish.
"I don't even know what the Alliance is." Loran seemed even more disturbed than Christina was feeling. "You can't be Militas or Diana Counter... I don't know what any of this is! This is all wrong, I shouldn't be here..."
"I'm beginning to think none of us should," Major Ridden said.
"You two act like soldiers," Ed began, helpfully, "but there's no army called Zeon, and... well, I don't even know what army you're with, MacKenzie."
"Lieutenant MacKenzie," she sighed, holstering her gun for now. "And I'm with the Earth Federation." She saw Ed and Lowe exchange a curious glance at that, but couldn't begin to think of what it actually meant.
"Federation? Like... O.M.N.I., right?" Ed asked. Christina simply shook her head no.
"I'm no soldier," Lowe continued. "And neither is the kid there, either, right?"
Loran shifted uncomfortably in place. "Not exactly. I haven't heard of anything you've talked about, though. I've never been in a place like this."
"You're from Earth, aren't you?" Major Ridden asked.
There was, again, something furtive about Loran's response. Christina had the feeling his answers were mere half-truths. "Well, yes..."
"That's probably it. Being in a warship would have to seem disorienting to an Earthnoid civilian," Major Ridden said. "But there's no mistake, this is a warship."
"A warship?" Ed sputtered. "Come on, just look at this thing's insides! Who'd take this into a fight?"
"Yeah, it's gotta be some kind of antique," Lowe agreed. His eyes got misty. "Man, I've never seen anything like this before..."
"Still, we can agree it's a ship, can't we?" Christina said. "So that means we just need to find the bridge to find out where we are. Once we know that much, I'm sure we'll find out there's a rational explanation for what's happened to us."
"Okay, but only if you guys tell me who the heck you are," Lowe said. Despite his good-natured grin, Christina's heart sank. She had a sudden nightmare of strangers arriving until the hallway was clogged full, each demanding her name and staring with goggle-eyed incomprehension when she mentions the idea of the Earth Federation.
Ed seemed more content to repeat himself, since Lowe at least seemed to be from the same general sort of "place". "Edward Harrelson. Call me Ed."
Lowe did a sudden double take, which meshed poorly with his attempt to begin walking at the same time. "... serious? Ed the Ripper?"
"Hey! You've heard of me!" Ed laughed. "Don't let the name scare you, though, I'm not so bad as all that anymore."
As Ed and Lowe talked, Loran began conspicuously trying to get away from them and back to Christina's side. Major Ridden seemed utterly unperturbed by Ed's rather macabre nickname. Christina, for her part, suspected it was merely an ace nickname, one that happened to be infamous in whatever place Ed was originally from. Loran seemed legitimately bothered, but if he was indeed a civilian, then it probably sounded like a gang name to him.
Major Ridden slowly pulled into the lead of the impromptu formation, with Lowe and Ed in the center, and Christina and Loran at the rear. She was a bit annoyed with herself after a few paces, as it occurred to her that she had no idea where Johnny was going, or why she hadn't demanded to know, or why it was so easy to follow him around when he was the enemy.
She nearly bumped into Lowe's back as their column came to a sudden stop. She opened her mouth in protest, but then saw Johnny gesturing toward the rest of the column for silence. Ed was wary; Lowe and Loran seemed to be trying not to breathe. Christina's eyes spotted what had probably caused Major Ridden to bring the column to a halt up ahead, where the hallway came to a T-shaped intersection.
One of the shadows curved, in that fashion that was unique to the human silhouette. Someone was lying in wait for them behind the corner. There was no telling how long he or she had been there. Major Ridden drew his sidearm and approached the unknown, slowly, silently.
Christina suddenly felt a perverse sense of relief; somehow she felt safer knowing that Johnny was handling the situation. She would probably be angry with herself over it later.
The silhouette's outline did not change. Whoever was lying in wait for them didn't realize how close Major Ridden was drawing to his position. There wasn't even a sign of a weapon being drawn. In a swift, decisive motion, Johnny rounded the corner with his gun out and pointed. "Freeze!" he shouted.
***
TO BE CONTINUED...
***
Chapter 7...
***
As the recording shut off, the eyes of the others in the room turned toward Scirocco. He smiled back at them, clearly awaiting reactions.
Garma's was predictable. "Paptimus Scirocco? The Jupiterian?" He sneered in Scirocco's face. "You surely don't expect a son of the Zabi family to take orders from some Federation dog."
Likewise, so was Olba's reaction. He leaned back in his chair and seemed more interested in watching the others than saying anything for or against the prospect of Scirocco's leadership, or the Beyonder's challenge to them.
Flay's first thought was self-preservation. "There's been a mistake! I'm not a pilot, I shouldn't be here. It must've been... Kira, he must have wanted Kira, he'd belong here..."
"Our host made a lot of mistakes, it seems," Garma snorted.
Michelo was typically brusque. "Huh! Zabi, Federation... whatever, I don't care! That crap about "order for the people" was pure cheese. Someone wants these other guys' skulls cracked and wants to bribe us to do it."
Scirocco seemed to take everything said in, digesting it thoroughly, before he began his own responses. "Garma Zabi, if I remember correctly... I believe it would do you well to leave that kind of reasoning behind." Scirocco seemed to have more to say, but Garma had little interest in letting him finish.
"What exactly do you mean by that, Scirocco? Even with the White Devil on your side, Zeon won't surrender!" He shouted defiantly.
Michelo rolled his eyes. "Keh. Calm down, Zabi. Nobody here gives a damn about Zeon or whatever."
"Exactly," Scirocco smoothly picked up the line of argument and began developing it. "This is a new world. This is no place for old vendettas here, not with a more immediate threat before us. For now, we should work together."
Garma sputtered. "Dammit, Scirocco... you almost sound like Char." Something about that statement almost seemed to make Scirocco twitch, but Garma was oblivious to it. "Fine, you've half a point... for now."
The moment Garma backed down, Michelo went on the offensive. "Working together is one thing. Don't get too comfortable with this 'Beyonder'
declaring you leader, though." He poked Scirocco in the shoulder with a long finger to emphasize his point.
Scirocco seemed to be composing a reply when a new voice that emerged from the doorway. "Still, we must put our differences aside for now, don't you agree?" the speaker said as he strode into the room.
The voice was deep and masculine, and matched the strong features and tall, well-built frame of its owner. His dark purple hair was cut short, and arranged with great artifice to appear slightly mussed and casual. Both the cut of his jacket and something about his face reminded Flay, curiously, of Olba.
In fact, Olba seemed to be the only person in the room not surprised by the newcomer's abrupt entrance. Instead he smiled widely. "Brother." There was something like adoration in his voice as he spoke.
Scirocco watched the exchange with a quick glance, then moved to capitalize on it. "Then we are all in agreement! Aren't we, Mister...?" Scirocco trailed off artfully, indicating that it was time for the newcomer to introduce himself.
"Shagia Frost," He nodded. Now that Flay knew of the formal connection between the two, she couldn't stop seeing eerie similarities in their faces and mannerisms. It grew worse when Shagia went to his brother's side, standing slightly behind him. "Good work finding them so quickly. I managed to get myself... lost."
Olba's eyes trailed to the room's entrance curiously, and Shagia's followed with a certain hint of smugness. Flay hadn't been able to stop herself from watching them, and followed with a glance of her own. Sure enough, it opened a moment later, and another stranger entered the room. Her eyes flew wide in surprise. How much else did the Frosts know about the situation, without being inclined to share?
"Peacemaker, Scirocco? Unusual role for you," the newcomer said.
Scirocco jerked his head up noticeably at the voice, unpleasant surprise breaking his facade of refinement. "... you."
The latest addition to the Dogos Gear's motley crew was commandingly tall, in the way of Shagia and Scirocco, but perhaps with a more perfectly formed, handsomer build. His chiseled features radiated charisma and health, as did the blond hair that fell in locks to frame his dark glasses. He was wearing what appeared to be a red uniform jacket, customized by tearing the sleeves off, over flatteringly tight black pants and heavy boots. He reminded Flay of her father, in a way she couldn't quite make sense of.
"Isn't this quite the cabal," he muttered, as he strode toward the center of the room.
"Quattro Baijinas." As Scirocco spoke the name, a strained grin spread across his face. "I should have expected you."
Garma, like most everyone else in the room but Olba, had taken to his feet as the Beyonder's shocking message played on the forward screen. Now he twisted to face the newcomer, blinking in confusion and surprised. "That voice..."
The selection the Beyonder had made conspired to leave Garma Zabi the shortest adult male in the room. Surrounded as he was by Michelo, Scirocco, and Shagia, his body must have become invisible from the door. Only after taking a few steps into the room and hearing him speak did Quattro look in his direction, his face suddenly draining of color as he glanced Garma's way.
Garma's reaction was quite the opposite. His face lit up with joy. "Char!"
"Garma..." Quattro muttered, voice mechanical.
The two of them had suddenly become the center of attention in the room. Shagia's eyebrow seemed to raise fractionally with each name uttered. Michelo appeared on the verge of laughter.
"So many names," Olba said, with stiletto-sharp innocence in his voice. "Which ones are we to use?"
Quattro struggled to compose himself. "...Quattro. Quattro Baijinas... He knows me." He gestured at Scirocco with one gloved hand.
"Indeed I do," Scirocco grinned wolfishly, as his eyes traveled from Garma to Quattro.
"It seems everyone does," Shagia observed dryly.
"Quattro?" Garma tested the name on his tongue and did not seem to find it to his liking. "Char, what are you saying?"
"You've... mistaken me for someone else, Zabi," Quattro spoke quietly. "Char Aznable is dead... just like you're supposed to be."
Garma stared at Quattro in utter disbelief. "Char, this is preposterous! Just because you're not wearing your helmet doesn't mean I can't recognize you! We went to the Academy together-- we just talked a few ours ago! You're not dead and neither am I, and I wish you would end this ridiculous farce and tell me what was going on!" The indignity in Garma's voice rose with new exclamation.
Flay found herself having to stifle a little laughter. Garma had seemed slightly ridiculous to her from the start, but now he sounded like nothing so much as a jilted girlfriend.
Scirocco also seemed to be finding great amusement in the situation. "But Garma, this is a Federation uniform, if you have not yet noticed. When did Char Aznable ever favor the Federation?" Flay could not quite picture Scirocco addressing a small child, but if he did, he would probably use the tone he was using with Garma at the moment.
This jibe was obvious enough that it was not lost on poor Garma. "I'm not stupid, Scirocco!"
Scirocco strode toward Garma and laid a hand on his shoulder, a perfect mockery of a comforting gesture. His face became soft and suspiciously sympathetic. "No, not stupid at all, my dear Garma Zabi. You're just... behind the times. You see, Captain Baijinas and I are from the year UC 0087, where it is widely known that both Garma Zabi and Char Aznable died during the One Year War."
Quatrro watched suspiciously for a moment, but then began playing along. He noded grimly. "Both killed in action, as I recall."
Scirocco continued elaborating, obviously enjoying himself. "Yes, by the Federation's infamous White Base. I could hardly believe that Char Aznable would fall before the White Devil, but that is what history records for us."
Garma began to look faintly like he might cry. What Scirocco told him was impossible in a conventional sense, and even in light of the Beyonder's bewildering speech he seemed unable to accept it. "Y-you're lying! It has to be a lie... a trick! Char and I would never lose to... those Federation dogs..." He wound one finger in his hair savagely, with a trembling hand.
"Now, now," Olba said soothingly. "Do remember what our host told us. There are so many worlds... and our host's power is infinite. It is not impossible that Captain Baijinas and Mister Scirocco are indeed from your future, or at least a world very like yours." Although Olba simply told the truth, so far as anyone could comprehend it at least, his gentle tone made the facts somehow more cruel.
Scirocco nodded, his expression going sensitive. "I'm afraid it's the truth. I know it must be difficult to accept knowledge of such a terrible fate... I'll give you a moment." Scirocco turned his hand on Garma's shoulder into a pat on the back, and discreetly began to move away from him. Scirocco grinned broadly at Quattro as he moved across the room, and Quattro did not grin back.
Michelo gave a snort of amusement, as the soap opera brought itself to a close at Garma's expense. "Cute, but... Baijinas, you know the score?"
"Largely," Quattro responded with a twitch.
"Anyways, I believe you we should examine our Mobile Suits and determine our fighting strength. Shall I lead everyone to the hangar?" Scirocco asked, Garma now apparently invisible to him.
"An excellent suggestion," Shagia agreed, hands deep in pockets.
Garma was too caught up in his own personal trauma to move past it just yet. "White Base... the Trojan Horse. They killed Char and... and..." He looked up toward Quattro and Scirocco, voice plaintive. What about my sister? And brother Dozel? They had to--"
"They're dead, Garma!" Quattro shouted, his voice suddenly vicious. "All dead!"
Even Shagia seemed surprised by that sudden outburst. He took a step forward, eyes narrowed. "Calm yourself, Mr. Baijinas. We're all allies here."
Quattro inhales sharply, and then nodded to Shagia. "For now."
Scirocco glanced from Garma to Quattro, and then nodded in agreement with Shagia. His own face had reverted to the calm porcelain of earlier in the day. "Indeed. One must not let their emotions rule them."
Quattro adjusted his shades and changed the subject. "Come on. I need to check on my Hyaku Shiki... if our host through to bring it, anyway."
"Mobile Suits?" Michelo sniffed in disdain. "Let's see what we've got." He didn't sound hopeful.
Scirocco started toward the doors, with Michelo, Quattro, and Shagia in tow. He paused for a moment at the door and glanced back at the others who weren't following him. Garma was lost in his own mind, Olba remained placidly in his chair, and he seemed to be noticing Flay's presence for the first time.
"My brother is a capable pilot, but he takes little interest in Mobile Suits otherwise," Shagia said. "I would appreciate it if you let him remain behind."
"Very well," Scirocco said, sounding slightly distracted. He turned a bit at the door, to better address Flay. "And what about you, Miss Allster?"
Flay's self-defense instincts kicked in. Walking into the hangar alone with that group of men seemed to be roughly as wise as wandering into a pack of wolves. She allowed her voice to take on a suitably feminine softness. "Someone should stay here with poor Mr. Zabi."
Scirocco's dubious expression became a wry smile. "Yes, perhaps they should. I may have questions for you later, though... do take care."
With that the group of older men left them behind, with little more from a leering glance from Michelo as he departed. Shagia was calm, and Quattro seemed ready to turn rising ire on Scirocco as they exited the door.
"You own Mobile Suits older than her," Quattro said once they were in the hallway.
"That's rich coming from you," Scirocco replied.
The only sound that followed that was Michelo's snigger.
***
TO BE CONTINUED...
***
To paraphrase the FF.net summary: "A handful of heroes and villains from throughout the Dark History are abducted by a mysterious, seemingly omnipotent being called the Beyonder. Placed on a simulacrum of Earth, they are divided into teams and ordered to fight in a deadly war game."
I'm going to post excerpts of Chapters 1 and Chapter 7, which introduce groups of characters. If you like it, you can go read the whole thing here. Chances are the more of a Gundam fan you are, the more you'll like it. If you're wondering where characters from your favorite show are... they may have been saved for a future story arc. For instance, Gundam Wing stuff is absent from arc 1, but is at the center of arc 3.
Chapter 1:
***
The Beyonder had little concept of time. He was a quantum being, for whom probability, possibility, and actuality were effectively the same. To his immortal eyes, the Dark History and its sprawling, cyclical wars happened in a searing flash. From his conception, he was absorbed in it. Yet as his momentary dream of stellar conflict wound to a close, the Beyonder found himself in a curious position.
Somehow the universe had gone from the multiplicity of beings that existed at the beginning of time, to only himself. He felt stars dying within him; he felt sub-atomic particles sing within the elemental structures they formed. The vastness of the universe was as nothing to the Beyonder's mind-- truly, it was inseparable from the Beyonder's mind. There were no other sentient thoughts within its emptiness. No more battles, no more lost causes or surging hopes. Emptiness, filled only with himself.
The Beyonder did not understand how this possibility had made itself manifest, why the roaring cacophony of the Dark History had slimmed itself into his expansive solitude. He hated it. He yearned for symphony of other minds breathing and dying around his. It seemed like a brief memory now. Perhaps he could re-create the dream of glory that he was born in.
The Beyonder's memory was the full extent of the Dark History, everything that ever was or could have been. It was as tangible and real as his own cosmic being. To reach into it, crystallize it, and give it form within the stifling emptiness of the Present was nothing. All great things could be easily understood by reducing them to their simplest components.
The Beyonder would understand the Dark History by breaking it down into what seemed its most essential component: combat. He needed only aggressors, protectors, ships to bear them and exceptional men to lead them. Inspiration guided him to selections that seemed, of all the possibilities open to him, most right and perfect.
***
Christina MacKenzie had found that only a few hours of systems testing in the NT-1 Alex was enough to leave her eyes sore and her head throbbing. She constantly recommended throttling the combat computer's output, and was constantly reminded that the NT-1's designated pilot would be able to handle it. To Christina, who had never given the paranormal rumors of Newtypes even a moment's serious thought, it seemed a perfectly ridiculous waste of money. Still, orders were orders, so she reported for her weekly dose of headaches and frustration regularly.
Her head hurt right now, but it was not the internal throb of a feedback overload. It was a splitting pain from the back of her head, like piloting without a helmet on. Christina abruptly realized that her eyes were closed, and her head was resting against some flat surface. She could feel the familiar weave of her standard-issue Federation uniform rubbing against her skin. That seemed odd; hadn't she been in a normal suit for her systems test, just a second ago?
Christina opened her eyes to try and reconcile her sensory feedback with her idea of where she should be at the moment. Shock washed over her body as she realized she was most definitely not where she was before. She was in some sort of long, sterile hallway; a metal hallway, all grays and whites, perhaps two meters wide and three meters high. Lights ran along the ceiling, filling the hallway with a bleary fluorescent glow. Like the lighting on a military ship. The hallway certainly had the cramped, boxy quality that Federation starships usually had.
"Nnn... Sochie, what..."
Christina started, body jerking stiffly to let her face the unfamiliar and unexpected voice. She saw someone deeply at odds with the sterile military surroundings. He was a teenager, perhaps even an adolescent, with dark skin like an African and shoulder-length hair that was straight and white as a grandfather's. His clothing was simple and rough, perhaps even homespun, complete with folksy suspenders to hold up his green trousers. He looked like a farmer, complete with a certain rustic simplicity in his face.
The young man rubbed the back of his head, wincing at the pain, then took a good look at his surroundings. Then his eyes met Christina's. She could see terror begin to cross his face; the terror of the unknown and unexpected.
"It's all right," Christina said. She raised herself to her knees and extended her hands toward him: empty, palms up. Harmless.
"Wh-who..." the young man stammered.
Christina suspected he was younger than she had initially thought. There was a lingering boyishness in his movements. "My name is Christina. What's yours?"
"Loran." He kept staring at her-- no, at her uniform. Maybe he didn't like soldiers?
"Don't worry. I won't hurt you. Can you tell me where we are right now?" The sweetness she forced into her voice seemed to have the desired calming effect upon Loran.
"No. I... I don't know what this place is..."
"We can find out together. Come on, Loran." Christina stood, then extended a hand to help her new friend up.
"Okay," Loran smiled a little, his suspicion easing.
"I don't guess you two would mind a third?"
The new voice seemed to come from behind Christina, and she whirled to face the speaker. Loran's soft gasp indicated that, somehow, he too had failed to notice the man in the hallway with them.
"Don't panic, don't panic, I'm as lost as you two..." The new man was also dark-skinned, though not quite so dark as Loran. His wavy hair and the fine rime of stubble about his chin suggested a Latin origin to Christina's mind. He seemed old, definitely a good ten years older than herself at the least. He was wearing some sort of military uniform, though Christina could not quite place the colors. It seemed more like a Federation variant than a Zeon one, but that wasn't comforting in this strange environment. He wore a bomber jacket over his clothing, an icon shaped much like South America emblazoned over his heart.
The newcomer gave Christina a wide and apologetic smile. "I don't guess I drank too much and followed you home last night, huh?"
"No such luck," Christina said. She could tell he was trying to be ingratiating, but she hardly felt charmed.
Loran stepped forward a bit, his slender frame letting him edge just in front of Christina. "What's your name, sir?" he asked.
"Call me Ed, kid," he replied. "You know what's going on?"
"No. I don't think any of us do. This is obviously some kind of kidnapping," said a fourth voice.
Somehow it came from behind Ed, but she hadn't seen anyone round the corner at the hallway's end and approach. A second glance revealed a man slumped against the wall behind Ed. Christina's heart caught in her throat as she watched him rise to his feet.
He was tall and broad-shouldered without seeming like an unflatteringly large or muscular man. No, his build was fit and lean, his posture straight and unyielding. His face was positively photogenic, with icy blue eyes and immaculate blond hair. He carried himself with quiet pride, and presented the very model of Teutonic perfection. His red officer's uniform, emblazoned with theatrical gold and black, only enhanced his dramatic good looks. He was not just Zeon; he could have stepped out of their recruitment poster.
Loran shrank from the Zeke's piercing gaze, flattening against the wall. Ed seemed confused.
Christina felt terror coil into the pit of her stomach. Her hands flew toward her duty sidearm. The Zeke pulled a gun from the smart black holster attached to his belt just as fast.
Ed futilely tried to throw himself against one wall and out of the line of fire. "What the hell--!" he shouted.
"Zeon!" was all Christina could manage. It was a warning and an accusation.
"Can it, Feddie." The immaculate Zeke's brusque tone shattered the illusion of otherworldly perfection about him. "Too many civilians for a firefight. Shall we find out what's going on instead?"
"How do I know..." Christina began, trying to put steel in her voice. "... how do I know you aren't responsible!"
"I could ask the same thing. The circumstance leads me to think otherwise," the Zeke replied. "But if it makes you feel better, I'll swear upon the Lady Kycilia's honor that I am not responsible for this, and that I will not hurt any of you."
Christina was not much convinced by an oath sworn on a Zabi's honor.
Still, the Zeke lowered and holstered his pistol, even though Christina still had a bead drawn on him. His eyes met hers without fear. "Major Johnny Ridden, Zeon Mobile Assault Forces."
"Zeon?" Ed asked. The syllables sounded stiff and unnatural in his voice, as if saying them for the first time.
"What's Zeon?" Loran asked. His sincerity was jarring.
Christina lowered her gun, bewildered. Major Ridden seemed as startled by Ed and Loran's responses.
"Ow, my head..." said another voice. It cut heedlessly through the awkward silence. This man had somehow appeared behind Christina. Like all the others, he rose from the ground, apparently stiff and in pain. He had a strange, wild look to him, brown hair barely held back by thick headband. He wore a vest that seemed like a workman's, matched with baggy, worn pants stained with grease.
"Okay, what's going on? Professor?" He paused as he realized that the others were staring at him, and he began to feel the tension in the room. "... okay, this is so not the ReHOME..." His eyes darted toward Ed, as if seizing on something recognizable. "... hey, Alliance? What's going on? I'm not in trouble, right?"
Ed laughed. "Not from me, I'm just glad to hear someone talking sense. I'm Alliance, but I'm with the South Americans. What are you, mercenary? Civilian?"
The man seemed pleased enough to utterly ignore Christina and the others. "No, Junk Guild! Name's Lowe, Lowe Gear... what's going on? I mean, if this isn't an Alliance ship..."
Christina felt a wave of despair wash over her, as Ed and Lowe had a conversation that seemed, to her, to consist of nothing but gibberish.
"I don't even know what the Alliance is." Loran seemed even more disturbed than Christina was feeling. "You can't be Militas or Diana Counter... I don't know what any of this is! This is all wrong, I shouldn't be here..."
"I'm beginning to think none of us should," Major Ridden said.
"You two act like soldiers," Ed began, helpfully, "but there's no army called Zeon, and... well, I don't even know what army you're with, MacKenzie."
"Lieutenant MacKenzie," she sighed, holstering her gun for now. "And I'm with the Earth Federation." She saw Ed and Lowe exchange a curious glance at that, but couldn't begin to think of what it actually meant.
"Federation? Like... O.M.N.I., right?" Ed asked. Christina simply shook her head no.
"I'm no soldier," Lowe continued. "And neither is the kid there, either, right?"
Loran shifted uncomfortably in place. "Not exactly. I haven't heard of anything you've talked about, though. I've never been in a place like this."
"You're from Earth, aren't you?" Major Ridden asked.
There was, again, something furtive about Loran's response. Christina had the feeling his answers were mere half-truths. "Well, yes..."
"That's probably it. Being in a warship would have to seem disorienting to an Earthnoid civilian," Major Ridden said. "But there's no mistake, this is a warship."
"A warship?" Ed sputtered. "Come on, just look at this thing's insides! Who'd take this into a fight?"
"Yeah, it's gotta be some kind of antique," Lowe agreed. His eyes got misty. "Man, I've never seen anything like this before..."
"Still, we can agree it's a ship, can't we?" Christina said. "So that means we just need to find the bridge to find out where we are. Once we know that much, I'm sure we'll find out there's a rational explanation for what's happened to us."
"Okay, but only if you guys tell me who the heck you are," Lowe said. Despite his good-natured grin, Christina's heart sank. She had a sudden nightmare of strangers arriving until the hallway was clogged full, each demanding her name and staring with goggle-eyed incomprehension when she mentions the idea of the Earth Federation.
Ed seemed more content to repeat himself, since Lowe at least seemed to be from the same general sort of "place". "Edward Harrelson. Call me Ed."
Lowe did a sudden double take, which meshed poorly with his attempt to begin walking at the same time. "... serious? Ed the Ripper?"
"Hey! You've heard of me!" Ed laughed. "Don't let the name scare you, though, I'm not so bad as all that anymore."
As Ed and Lowe talked, Loran began conspicuously trying to get away from them and back to Christina's side. Major Ridden seemed utterly unperturbed by Ed's rather macabre nickname. Christina, for her part, suspected it was merely an ace nickname, one that happened to be infamous in whatever place Ed was originally from. Loran seemed legitimately bothered, but if he was indeed a civilian, then it probably sounded like a gang name to him.
Major Ridden slowly pulled into the lead of the impromptu formation, with Lowe and Ed in the center, and Christina and Loran at the rear. She was a bit annoyed with herself after a few paces, as it occurred to her that she had no idea where Johnny was going, or why she hadn't demanded to know, or why it was so easy to follow him around when he was the enemy.
She nearly bumped into Lowe's back as their column came to a sudden stop. She opened her mouth in protest, but then saw Johnny gesturing toward the rest of the column for silence. Ed was wary; Lowe and Loran seemed to be trying not to breathe. Christina's eyes spotted what had probably caused Major Ridden to bring the column to a halt up ahead, where the hallway came to a T-shaped intersection.
One of the shadows curved, in that fashion that was unique to the human silhouette. Someone was lying in wait for them behind the corner. There was no telling how long he or she had been there. Major Ridden drew his sidearm and approached the unknown, slowly, silently.
Christina suddenly felt a perverse sense of relief; somehow she felt safer knowing that Johnny was handling the situation. She would probably be angry with herself over it later.
The silhouette's outline did not change. Whoever was lying in wait for them didn't realize how close Major Ridden was drawing to his position. There wasn't even a sign of a weapon being drawn. In a swift, decisive motion, Johnny rounded the corner with his gun out and pointed. "Freeze!" he shouted.
***
TO BE CONTINUED...
***
Chapter 7...
***
As the recording shut off, the eyes of the others in the room turned toward Scirocco. He smiled back at them, clearly awaiting reactions.
Garma's was predictable. "Paptimus Scirocco? The Jupiterian?" He sneered in Scirocco's face. "You surely don't expect a son of the Zabi family to take orders from some Federation dog."
Likewise, so was Olba's reaction. He leaned back in his chair and seemed more interested in watching the others than saying anything for or against the prospect of Scirocco's leadership, or the Beyonder's challenge to them.
Flay's first thought was self-preservation. "There's been a mistake! I'm not a pilot, I shouldn't be here. It must've been... Kira, he must have wanted Kira, he'd belong here..."
"Our host made a lot of mistakes, it seems," Garma snorted.
Michelo was typically brusque. "Huh! Zabi, Federation... whatever, I don't care! That crap about "order for the people" was pure cheese. Someone wants these other guys' skulls cracked and wants to bribe us to do it."
Scirocco seemed to take everything said in, digesting it thoroughly, before he began his own responses. "Garma Zabi, if I remember correctly... I believe it would do you well to leave that kind of reasoning behind." Scirocco seemed to have more to say, but Garma had little interest in letting him finish.
"What exactly do you mean by that, Scirocco? Even with the White Devil on your side, Zeon won't surrender!" He shouted defiantly.
Michelo rolled his eyes. "Keh. Calm down, Zabi. Nobody here gives a damn about Zeon or whatever."
"Exactly," Scirocco smoothly picked up the line of argument and began developing it. "This is a new world. This is no place for old vendettas here, not with a more immediate threat before us. For now, we should work together."
Garma sputtered. "Dammit, Scirocco... you almost sound like Char." Something about that statement almost seemed to make Scirocco twitch, but Garma was oblivious to it. "Fine, you've half a point... for now."
The moment Garma backed down, Michelo went on the offensive. "Working together is one thing. Don't get too comfortable with this 'Beyonder'
declaring you leader, though." He poked Scirocco in the shoulder with a long finger to emphasize his point.
Scirocco seemed to be composing a reply when a new voice that emerged from the doorway. "Still, we must put our differences aside for now, don't you agree?" the speaker said as he strode into the room.
The voice was deep and masculine, and matched the strong features and tall, well-built frame of its owner. His dark purple hair was cut short, and arranged with great artifice to appear slightly mussed and casual. Both the cut of his jacket and something about his face reminded Flay, curiously, of Olba.
In fact, Olba seemed to be the only person in the room not surprised by the newcomer's abrupt entrance. Instead he smiled widely. "Brother." There was something like adoration in his voice as he spoke.
Scirocco watched the exchange with a quick glance, then moved to capitalize on it. "Then we are all in agreement! Aren't we, Mister...?" Scirocco trailed off artfully, indicating that it was time for the newcomer to introduce himself.
"Shagia Frost," He nodded. Now that Flay knew of the formal connection between the two, she couldn't stop seeing eerie similarities in their faces and mannerisms. It grew worse when Shagia went to his brother's side, standing slightly behind him. "Good work finding them so quickly. I managed to get myself... lost."
Olba's eyes trailed to the room's entrance curiously, and Shagia's followed with a certain hint of smugness. Flay hadn't been able to stop herself from watching them, and followed with a glance of her own. Sure enough, it opened a moment later, and another stranger entered the room. Her eyes flew wide in surprise. How much else did the Frosts know about the situation, without being inclined to share?
"Peacemaker, Scirocco? Unusual role for you," the newcomer said.
Scirocco jerked his head up noticeably at the voice, unpleasant surprise breaking his facade of refinement. "... you."
The latest addition to the Dogos Gear's motley crew was commandingly tall, in the way of Shagia and Scirocco, but perhaps with a more perfectly formed, handsomer build. His chiseled features radiated charisma and health, as did the blond hair that fell in locks to frame his dark glasses. He was wearing what appeared to be a red uniform jacket, customized by tearing the sleeves off, over flatteringly tight black pants and heavy boots. He reminded Flay of her father, in a way she couldn't quite make sense of.
"Isn't this quite the cabal," he muttered, as he strode toward the center of the room.
"Quattro Baijinas." As Scirocco spoke the name, a strained grin spread across his face. "I should have expected you."
Garma, like most everyone else in the room but Olba, had taken to his feet as the Beyonder's shocking message played on the forward screen. Now he twisted to face the newcomer, blinking in confusion and surprised. "That voice..."
The selection the Beyonder had made conspired to leave Garma Zabi the shortest adult male in the room. Surrounded as he was by Michelo, Scirocco, and Shagia, his body must have become invisible from the door. Only after taking a few steps into the room and hearing him speak did Quattro look in his direction, his face suddenly draining of color as he glanced Garma's way.
Garma's reaction was quite the opposite. His face lit up with joy. "Char!"
"Garma..." Quattro muttered, voice mechanical.
The two of them had suddenly become the center of attention in the room. Shagia's eyebrow seemed to raise fractionally with each name uttered. Michelo appeared on the verge of laughter.
"So many names," Olba said, with stiletto-sharp innocence in his voice. "Which ones are we to use?"
Quattro struggled to compose himself. "...Quattro. Quattro Baijinas... He knows me." He gestured at Scirocco with one gloved hand.
"Indeed I do," Scirocco grinned wolfishly, as his eyes traveled from Garma to Quattro.
"It seems everyone does," Shagia observed dryly.
"Quattro?" Garma tested the name on his tongue and did not seem to find it to his liking. "Char, what are you saying?"
"You've... mistaken me for someone else, Zabi," Quattro spoke quietly. "Char Aznable is dead... just like you're supposed to be."
Garma stared at Quattro in utter disbelief. "Char, this is preposterous! Just because you're not wearing your helmet doesn't mean I can't recognize you! We went to the Academy together-- we just talked a few ours ago! You're not dead and neither am I, and I wish you would end this ridiculous farce and tell me what was going on!" The indignity in Garma's voice rose with new exclamation.
Flay found herself having to stifle a little laughter. Garma had seemed slightly ridiculous to her from the start, but now he sounded like nothing so much as a jilted girlfriend.
Scirocco also seemed to be finding great amusement in the situation. "But Garma, this is a Federation uniform, if you have not yet noticed. When did Char Aznable ever favor the Federation?" Flay could not quite picture Scirocco addressing a small child, but if he did, he would probably use the tone he was using with Garma at the moment.
This jibe was obvious enough that it was not lost on poor Garma. "I'm not stupid, Scirocco!"
Scirocco strode toward Garma and laid a hand on his shoulder, a perfect mockery of a comforting gesture. His face became soft and suspiciously sympathetic. "No, not stupid at all, my dear Garma Zabi. You're just... behind the times. You see, Captain Baijinas and I are from the year UC 0087, where it is widely known that both Garma Zabi and Char Aznable died during the One Year War."
Quatrro watched suspiciously for a moment, but then began playing along. He noded grimly. "Both killed in action, as I recall."
Scirocco continued elaborating, obviously enjoying himself. "Yes, by the Federation's infamous White Base. I could hardly believe that Char Aznable would fall before the White Devil, but that is what history records for us."
Garma began to look faintly like he might cry. What Scirocco told him was impossible in a conventional sense, and even in light of the Beyonder's bewildering speech he seemed unable to accept it. "Y-you're lying! It has to be a lie... a trick! Char and I would never lose to... those Federation dogs..." He wound one finger in his hair savagely, with a trembling hand.
"Now, now," Olba said soothingly. "Do remember what our host told us. There are so many worlds... and our host's power is infinite. It is not impossible that Captain Baijinas and Mister Scirocco are indeed from your future, or at least a world very like yours." Although Olba simply told the truth, so far as anyone could comprehend it at least, his gentle tone made the facts somehow more cruel.
Scirocco nodded, his expression going sensitive. "I'm afraid it's the truth. I know it must be difficult to accept knowledge of such a terrible fate... I'll give you a moment." Scirocco turned his hand on Garma's shoulder into a pat on the back, and discreetly began to move away from him. Scirocco grinned broadly at Quattro as he moved across the room, and Quattro did not grin back.
Michelo gave a snort of amusement, as the soap opera brought itself to a close at Garma's expense. "Cute, but... Baijinas, you know the score?"
"Largely," Quattro responded with a twitch.
"Anyways, I believe you we should examine our Mobile Suits and determine our fighting strength. Shall I lead everyone to the hangar?" Scirocco asked, Garma now apparently invisible to him.
"An excellent suggestion," Shagia agreed, hands deep in pockets.
Garma was too caught up in his own personal trauma to move past it just yet. "White Base... the Trojan Horse. They killed Char and... and..." He looked up toward Quattro and Scirocco, voice plaintive. What about my sister? And brother Dozel? They had to--"
"They're dead, Garma!" Quattro shouted, his voice suddenly vicious. "All dead!"
Even Shagia seemed surprised by that sudden outburst. He took a step forward, eyes narrowed. "Calm yourself, Mr. Baijinas. We're all allies here."
Quattro inhales sharply, and then nodded to Shagia. "For now."
Scirocco glanced from Garma to Quattro, and then nodded in agreement with Shagia. His own face had reverted to the calm porcelain of earlier in the day. "Indeed. One must not let their emotions rule them."
Quattro adjusted his shades and changed the subject. "Come on. I need to check on my Hyaku Shiki... if our host through to bring it, anyway."
"Mobile Suits?" Michelo sniffed in disdain. "Let's see what we've got." He didn't sound hopeful.
Scirocco started toward the doors, with Michelo, Quattro, and Shagia in tow. He paused for a moment at the door and glanced back at the others who weren't following him. Garma was lost in his own mind, Olba remained placidly in his chair, and he seemed to be noticing Flay's presence for the first time.
"My brother is a capable pilot, but he takes little interest in Mobile Suits otherwise," Shagia said. "I would appreciate it if you let him remain behind."
"Very well," Scirocco said, sounding slightly distracted. He turned a bit at the door, to better address Flay. "And what about you, Miss Allster?"
Flay's self-defense instincts kicked in. Walking into the hangar alone with that group of men seemed to be roughly as wise as wandering into a pack of wolves. She allowed her voice to take on a suitably feminine softness. "Someone should stay here with poor Mr. Zabi."
Scirocco's dubious expression became a wry smile. "Yes, perhaps they should. I may have questions for you later, though... do take care."
With that the group of older men left them behind, with little more from a leering glance from Michelo as he departed. Shagia was calm, and Quattro seemed ready to turn rising ire on Scirocco as they exited the door.
"You own Mobile Suits older than her," Quattro said once they were in the hallway.
"That's rich coming from you," Scirocco replied.
The only sound that followed that was Michelo's snigger.
***
TO BE CONTINUED...
***
It's called Kamen Rider Unleashed, Unleashed referring to the amount of awesomeness you will get as this is my re-imagination of Kamen Rider Kuuga and Kamen Rider Agito, with hints and little details like homages towards other series. You will see iconic moments and morals replayed, but in my vision, which I might be boasting to much about, is what I want to share with you. There are grammatical errors, sue me, I'm not a real writer. 
