The Iron Serpent drifted into the massive shadow of Solomon, its hull battered from atmospheric reentry and space debris. Tanya von Zehrtfeld stood at the bridge window, arms crossed, watching the sprawling fortress rotate slowly against the dark. Her reflection in the glass looked tired — eyes sharp, but edged with exhaustion. The crew saluted as the ship's docking clamps latched onto the station's metallic veins.
When the ramp lowered, the bitter metallic air of Solomon rushed in. The docks were alive with noise — engineers shouting, mobile suits being refitted, sparks cascading from repair torches. Tanya adjusted her officer's cap and stepped onto the platform, boots ringing against steel.
"Major von Zehrtfeld, welcome to Solomon!" a young officer greeted, stiff as a statue.
"Spare me the formality," she replied dryly. "Just show me where to bury the dead."
The officer blinked, unsure if she was joking. Tanya wasn't.
She made her way to the command deck, passing a line of damaged Zakus and half-assembled Gelgoogs. The scars of battle were everywhere — shattered plating, burned-out thrusters, scorched paint. The smell of coolant and blood lingered faintly in the recycled air.
Her private office was small, functional, and far too quiet. She sat, pulled up the roster on her datapad, and scrolled down the list of her old unit — the GED Squad. Fifteen names. Eleven now marked deceased. Only Mila Ratzinger, Zhou Wei, and Ritcher Krones still active.
Tanya leaned back and exhaled slowly.
"Congratulations," she muttered bitterly to the empty room. "Survivors of the most decorated meat grinder in the Zeon military."
She updated the roster, assigning Mila as temporary second-in-command. The irony gnawed at her: she had joined the military dreaming of stability, strategy, and logistics — not leading a dwindling squadron in a war that refused to end.
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the faint blue light of the comms console. Lelouch. Her twin brother, buried in the logistics corps, far from the front lines. He directed supplies and strategy from the rear while she faced Federation fire in a cockpit. Tanya gritted her teeth.
"He plays chess while I mop blood," she murmured. "How fair."
The console beeped sharply, interrupting her thoughts.
INCOMING TRANSMISSION – PRIORITY: KYCILIA ZABI
Tanya's spine straightened at once. Kycilia didn't call for pleasantries. Tanya fixed her uniform, pulled her cap low, and accepted the transmission.
The hologram materialized — Kycilia Zabi, tall, poised, her gaze cutting through the screen like a blade.
"Major von Zehrtfeld," she said in that smooth, commanding tone. "I have reviewed your last combat report. Your squad performed admirably despite… unfavorable attrition."
Tanya fought the urge to scoff. Unfavorable attrition was a polite way of saying everyone died except you.
"Thank you, Lady Kycilia," Tanya replied crisply. "We performed our duty."
"Yes," Kycilia continued, "and you will do so again. I am assigning two new recruits under your supervision. Both are from Side 3. They possess promising potential — one might say, unique potential."
Tanya blinked. "Recruits, ma'am? My unit is operational, but—"
"They will be yours to guide, Major," Kycilia cut her off smoothly. "Treat them as extensions of your command."
Before Tanya could protest, the call split into two feeds. A new face appeared beside Kycilia — a man with calm eyes and dark hair, his expression unreadable.
"This is Chalia Bull," Kycilia said. "He will brief you further."
Tanya's jaw tightened. The name was familiar — a pilot from Jupiter, survivor of an annihilated team, rumored to possess strange intuition. Some whispered Newtype. Tanya didn't care for rumors, but the man's presence carried weight.
"Major von Zehrtfeld," Chalia greeted. His voice was low, polite, steady. "I've read your reports. It's an honor to meet the Iron Serpent's commander in person."
Tanya raised an eyebrow. "Flattery from Jupiter's ghost pilot? You must be desperate."
He smiled faintly. "No, just curious. It's rare to meet a soldier who survives so many fatal odds."
Kycilia's voice sliced through the small exchange. "You two will cooperate closely. Chalia, you are to escort Major von Zehrtfeld to the restricted hangar and ensure her readiness for the new personnel transfer."
"Understood," he said with a crisp nod.
"Major, I expect your efficiency to continue. Zeon's survival may depend on it," Kycilia finished.
Her image flickered, then vanished.
Tanya exhaled and leaned back, rubbing her temples.
"'Survival depends on it,'" she muttered. "Wonderful. More work. I just wanted a desk job."
The door opened slightly. Mila peeked in. "Was that from Central Command, Major?"
Tanya's tone was bone-dry. "Promotion disguised as punishment."
"Oh," Mila said softly. "So… bad news, then."
"The worst kind," Tanya replied, standing. "It comes with responsibility."
Moments later, a knock echoed on the metallic door. Tanya opened it to find Chalia Bull waiting, dressed in Zeon uniform, posture calm but unreadable.
"Major," he greeted again. "Lady Kycilia instructed me to show you something before you meet your new recruits."
Tanya glanced past him toward the bustling corridor, then back at his composed face. Something about his presence made her instincts hum.
"Lead the way, Bull," she said curtly, stepping forward. "The sooner I finish this, the sooner I can start regretting it."
He chuckled softly, guiding her through Solomon's labyrinthine halls. Soldiers stepped aside as they passed — whispers following Chalia like a shadow. That's the Jupiter survivor… the one who reads the battlefield like a mind-reader…
As they entered the elevator, Tanya folded her arms, staring at the dull reflection in the polished metal doors.
"So," she said, breaking the silence, "these 'special recruits'… any reason Kycilia's sending me more headaches?"
Chalia's answer came quiet, almost amused. "Perhaps she trusts your ability to survive them."
Tanya snorted. "Trust is just another way of saying I'm expendable."
He didn't respond — just smiled faintly as the elevator descended deeper into Solomon's restricted levels.
When the doors slid open, Tanya stepped into the cold, dim-lit corridor. Rows of sealed hangar doors lined the walls, machinery humming faintly behind them.
She frowned. "This better not be another experimental unit."
"Not this time," Chalia replied. "You'll understand soon."
Tanya sighed, adjusting her gloves. Her mind churned — new recruits, special mission, Chalia Bull, Kycilia's interest…
Every piece felt like the start of a bigger trap.
"Hard work," she whispered under her breath, "is the devil's favorite joke."
Chalia glanced at her. "Something wrong?"
"Just remembering why I hate being good at my job," she said, following him forward.
And with that, Tanya von Zehrtfeld — soldier, survivor, and reluctant commander — stepped deeper into Solomon's core, unaware that her next assignment would draw her closer to the storm gathering around both Zeon and her brother.