The nightmare was a recurring, grinding horror. Within my mobile suit, the machine was an extension of a savage will, not mine, but indistinguishable from it. I hosed down running civilians with concentrated fire, the screams a dull, wet sound in the cockpit. Buildings dissolved into dust and fire. There was only me, a solitary engine of destruction in this desolate world.
Suddenly, a laughter—a sound that could tear the linings of a mind—shredded the silence. The Dom I'd supposedly killed was back, its spectral, corrupted laughter a hook sinking into my consciousness. My minigun spat a torrent of depleted uranium, but the Dom was impossibly fast, a phantom blurring through the smoke. It unleashed its Zaku Machine gun, a brutal fusillade I barely managed to dodge. I scanned for it, but the Dom was already upon me, a sickeningly close apparition, leaving no room for defense. The impact jarred my very bones, and a spike of blackness lanced through the cockpit. I didn't wake up; I clawed my way back from the suffocating darkness, drenched in cold sweat, the memory of the impact still vibrating in my nerves. It was morning.
After a brief, sterile stay in the infirmary, the siren of duty screamed us into the briefing room. The target: Tir Na Nog, the hidden lair of the 'noisy-fairy', the 'Witch', nestled deep within a forested, hill-ringed valley. Lilith's previous "Witch-hunt" was an abysmal failure, a humiliation that now fueled the feverish excitement of the Black Dog team. We were the carrion birds, and I was one of them, driven solely by the cold, necessary calculus of clearing my criminal record.
The mandate was clear: capture the base, investigate the facility. An informant had sold out the 'noisy-fairy' location, and the anticipation for the coming slaughter made my pulse throb. This was a grinder of a mission, deploying Federation mobile suits—GMs, GM Cannons, GM Light Armors, and Guntanks for necessary long-range bombardment. The remnants of the Witch-hunt would be dragged into the fray, united with the Black Dog squad. I was in, but without the thin comfort of Mark, Sam, or even Alleyne's remote presence.
After the briefing, Mark and Sam approached me, eyes drawn to the band-aid on my head. I told them it was the eerie laughing sound from the last mission, a sound that had split my concentration and left me vulnerable. Mark confessed to a nightmare where the woman and her Dom killed him with that awful sound ringing. Sam's hell was a heat saber slicing him open, the laughter a constant, sleep-robbing torment. The last mission was a shared, profound nightmare for us all.
Before moving to the hangar, the encrypted phone from Aaron buzzed. I hadn't messaged him. I spat out a quick lie about being busy with missions. He called. I found a secluded, quiet place to answer.
His voice was a strange, sudden balm, a shield. For a few precious minutes, the eerie laughter was drowned out by the easy cadence of his speech. We talked, we even laughed. Then, the grim reality of the mission dragged me back. As I prepared to hang up, he delivered a line that cut through the psychological grime: "Be careful Lydia, those Noisy-fairy are strong. But I know you can handle them when I saw you first time." His words were a momentary cure, a fragment of sanity in the approaching madness.
The hangar was a chaotic shrine to destruction. GMs and GM Cannons were being armed with predictable machine guns and bazookas. The Black Dog squad units bristled with bullpop machine guns. Renato's suit had the bullpop and a damning 'beam hand gun' strapped to its back. I reached my own machine. I opted for my brutal minigun as the primary weapon, bolting on extra ammo for sustained, necessary fire. Bazookas were for the Federation drones; I needed the kinetic, close-range carnage the minigun provided. Then, the beast appeared: Renato, flanked by his thugs.
"So, you join this operation too eh Lydia," Renato sneered, closing the distance.
"So what, Renato? My aim is to clean my criminal record. Why the hell are you always such a total dick about me?" I shot back, meeting his predatory gaze.
"Because you're the only woman, and a dangerous One at that," he growled. "I won't allow you to get rank up."
"Whatever, Renato. I don't care what you are. My aim remains the same," I retorted, the coldness in my own voice surprising even myself.
One of his squad members, a fool, dared to chime in: "Oy-Oy look here Renato, Lydia got a personal customize who is better than you."
The sound of metal on bone was sickening. Renato cracked the man's skull with a wrench, drawing blood. "Are you blind?! Just different eye color and replacing part like that is better than me?! Mine is better than her you Dumb fuck!!" He continued the brutal, manic assault until the mechanics and personnel had to physically restrain his frenzy.
The hangar had become a slaughter pen. I left immediately. The Black Dog squad was true to its name—a pack of rabid animals tearing at each other. I found Mark, Sam, and Alleyne. I explained Renato's madness: how an offhand comment had triggered him to attack his own men. The truth was a black hole: the Black Dogs weren't merely problematic. They were discharged soldiers rife with bad records: disobeying orders, killing civilians, a cesspool of criminality.
Once Renato's psychotic episode was contained, we advanced toward Tir Na Nog. Mark, Sam, and Alleyne stood on the sidelines, their final warning a grim prophecy: "Renato is more like a dog and he just like a Hyena." We trudged in our mobile suits; the terrain allowed no other route.
The Federation soldiers—the cannon fodder—took the front. The Black Dog squad and the defeated Witch-hunt lagged behind. I was positioned behind Barry Abbot and Lilith Aiden.
Over the comms, Renato's voice was a low, guttural snarl. As the GM units entered the dense forest, one of his Black Dog Spartans questioned their retreat. Renato's reply was pure malice: "Y'see, these guys we're up is reaaaly strong." He'd planned to "let this chumps get in first," his tone becoming wet with anticipated violence. "Then we come in and 'lap up' the leftover. Capiche?"
He openly humiliated Lilith and Barry, rubbing their failure to deal with the 'Noisy-fairy' into their faces. Lilith and Barry remained silent, absorbing the blow of his words, which were as sharp as a blade. Renato then ordered the Black Dog squad, myself included, to follow him into the forest.
The GM units walked directly into the maw of the trap. The 'Noisy-fairy', the 'Witch', made their first, brutal move. The forest's dense growth turned into an abattoir, the GM suits struggling against the ambush and the terrain. Federation comms filled with the desperate cries of pilots as their GMs were torn apart like small fry.
A GM Cannon pilot, front and center, suggested a regroup and a change in approach to stem the heavy losses. Renato's immediate, psychotic response was to aim his bullpop machine gun directly at the allied unit. "I gave you lot of orders.... if there is a trap, then just feed yourself to it," he spat. He screamed, a rabid, choking sound: "Y'want to get this smoke over it?! I've told you little shits what to do! Or would'ya prefer me to kill you where you stand for insubordinantion?" "DO YA!?"
The threatened GM Cannon pilot had no choice but to charge into the maelstrom. The forest floor drank the blood of the Federation forces, the GMs and GM Cannons annihilated in a cascade of destruction.
Then, a sickening, dark tide rose within me. The sound of people being killed over the comms—the feared pilot, the screaming pilot ambushed and murdered—didn't horrify me. It brought a rush of climax ecstasy. I was wet. I couldn't hold the desperate, awful burst of feeling. Renato, oblivious to my psychological collapse, was reveling. "Ahaha! Now ain't that some fancy fireworks! I'd expect nothin'less from you witches!" With explosions blooming everywhere, he claimed the massacre was bait: "Look's like the bait did it's job! Y'must be feelin' pretty tired by now witch! Better yet, we now have less trap and mines to worry about. Now It's safe for our real forces to advance!"
He ordered the Witch-hunt to remain put. I glanced at Lilith's Gundam Pixy and Barry's Armored GM, then followed Renato into the charnel house. I heard a hushed exchange between the two: Lilith was confused, the Federation was not supposed to fight like this. Barry warned her she could still turn back, escape the fate of becoming the new Lilith. He stated the terrifying truth: she was becoming like Renato and the Black Dog squad. They were not soldiers; they were monsters in soldier skin, homicidal maniacs using the war to justify their killing for killing sake.
The realization slammed into me: Barry Abbot was trying to save me. Mark's warnings were true. I was a criminal in a soldier's outfit, a burgeoning homicidal maniac. And Aaron, for XiangLei's sake, was also offering a lifeline.
I understood. I was already falling. But a few still saw a ghost of my former self. Yet, the immediate, cold objective—clear my record—was paramount. I needed to do what was necessary, but I reached out to Barry.
"Captain Barry Abbot, Sir," I spoke, the words low, edged with hesitation.
"What is it Lieutenant Lydia?"
"Um... If you want to help me to back as previous me... I... I happy to accept that."
His relief was palpable. "Of course, Lydia. You can talk to me any time. Now go with Renato before you got into trouble."
With that fragile hope clutched, I dashed toward the Zeon forces. The 'Witch' machines were here: the MS-08TX[NF]Efreet Jaeger (the sniper), the MS-09[NF]Dom Gnomides (the Cannon), and the terrifying MS-18NF Titania (the speed machine), all decked out in purple and white. The Titania was the most dangerous, a blur of impossible velocity, looking like a demonic Kämpfer. I tried to halt it, to protect the slow Guntank's, but it dodged me with a sickening ease, a blur of motion, and took the Guntank's down instantly.
Renato engaged the Titania. I went to assist my teammates against the Efreet and Dom. Their attacks were strange, disjointed, and then—they fled. After a sudden, decisive burst that downed several Black Dog units (I sustained only minimum damage), the Efreet and Dom retreated back toward the base, ignoring me entirely. It was a profound violation of combat logic. Were they resupplying? Setting a worst weapon?
A visceral instinct, a paralyzing dread, seized me. Run. I veered away from Tir Na Nog as Renato and the others plunged headlong after the Titania. I saw Barry and Lilith moving into the area. Barry contacted me: "Lydia, what's wrong?"
"Something is not right with those Zeon," I gasped. "They fled after attacking. I've got a bad feeling."
"I see. We'll take it from here," Barry affirmed, moving with Lilith toward the base.
The communication crackled with Renato's dog-like growling as Barry and Lilith attempted to intercept his madness. The mission was capture and investigate, not the wholesale slaughter and destruction Renato desired.
Then, the ground bucked. The earth itself seemed to shatter. Tir Na Nog exploded, a roaring, final punctuation mark. A Zeon Aerial transport vehicle clawed its way into the sky, vanishing into the unknown. I reached the epicenter. Tir Na Nog was a burning ruin. The mission was a catastrophic failure. The Witches had escaped, burning their base to prevent any investigation.
Renato, his face contorted in a mask of homicidal rage, aimed his gun at me. He blamed me for the failure. I had endured enough. My own minigun rose to meet his. I blamed him—the leader who had caused the massacre of Federation forces and four of his own men. He called me a failure for my flight from the Efreet and Dom. Before the crossfire could erupt, Barry and Lilith inserted themselves between us. Barry ordered Renato to knock it off and stalked away toward the smoldering wreckage.
"Are you OK Lieutenant?" Barry asked.
"I'm fine, Captain. This is my first time dealing with the Noisy-fairy, and I must say... they really are strong," I admitted.
"...They indeed a fairy than a witch. Come on, let's return to base,"
Barry said, the grim finality in his tone a mirror of the failed mission. On the long, silent walk back in the twilight, Lilith finally broke the silence. She noted my lack of fear when Renato pointed his gun at me. She called him a total homicidal maniac. Lilith, who had once been so desperate for blood, was changed. Witnessing the Black Dog squad's unhinged rampage had done something to her.
We returned to the home base under the shadow of evening. I parked my GM Spartan. As I emerged from the cockpit, I saw the minimum damage on the suit—the only scratch I had taken when the Titania flew past and the others shot at me. Barry Abbot approached. He knew I could change, like Lilith. He offered his help, a promise of support should I fall further.
I retreated to my room, shedding my uniform for the uniform of an ordinary woman. Then, the phone rang: Aaron. He wanted a status report. I told him the failure: the blow-up, the escape. But mostly, he was just glad I was alive. Hearing his voice was the only thing that kept the eerie laughter from returning. I was truly, desperately glad he called. He told me to rest. I promised him we would meet again for the next date. It was a fragile promise.
To be continued.