The year is U.C. 0081. Despite the official peace declaration, neither the Federation nor the Zeon Remnants seem ready to let the war end. In Thunder Bay, Ontario, the atmosphere is as tense as a powder keg. A deep rift has formed within the Federation itself: the regular soldiers are arrogant and violent toward civilians, while the Federation Military Police (M.P.) side with the people, treating them with respect. This friction has caused the regular soldiers to loathe the M.P., especially since Zeon forces have occasionally stepped in to help the police.
After the recent Federation rebellion, I chose to side with the Zeon Remnants. I never wanted to return to the front lines, but Sergeant Major Bridget Rhodes recruited me after she witnessed me take down a Federation GM single-handedly. I'm not fighting for an ideology; I'm doing this to protect my family from Federation cruelty.
Because the Federation military and the M.P. maintain separate bases at a distance from one another, I can still work at the local food factory to support my family. Many Zeon Remnants do the same, living as ordinary civilians to avoid detection. We aren't working for war; we are working for survival. Those who couldn't return to space have no choice but to blend in. Their primary hiding spot is McKellar Island, where Bridget and her unit keep out of sight.
One afternoon, my supervisor ordered me to deliver supplies to Simpson Street. Hidden beneath one of the shops is a secret tunnel leading to McKellar Island, built by Zeon forces back in 0079. My factory maintains a good relationship with the Remnants because they protect us from marauding Federation squads.
Inside the tunnel, a Zeon officer met me. "No one tailing you, Markus?"
"No," I replied, glancing back. "The Feds aren't paying attention today."
"Good. Here is the payment for your boss," the officer said, handing over a stack of credits. "Notify us immediately if the Federation starts getting suspicious."
"I will. I'll contact Bridget if anything feels off."
After the goods were moved toward the island, I finished my shift and headed home to my wife and our son, Jennifer. My wife looked worried; she told me the Federation soldiers were getting even more out of hand—beating civilians regardless of age or gender. Even the local gangsters, usually the toughest guys in the neighborhood, have surrendered their weapons out of fear.
We want to leave, but we're trapped. We don't have the money to move, especially after spending our savings to repair the house after the rebellion. That night, after Jennifer was asleep, we spoke in whispers in the living room.
"Do you want to go back to Cuba?" I asked. It was her birthplace—a small place, though still under Federation control.
"I can't stand them anymore, Markus. They only respect the elites. Everyone else is dirt to them."
I took a deep breath. "I think we should go with the Zeon Remnants. Whether we like it or not, they're our best shot at getting Jennifer out of here." My wife finally nodded, her face pale with the weight of the decision.
The next day, during a delivery, I found a note from Bridget. She wanted to meet at a bar after work. When I arrived, the bar was dim. Bridget had changed her name to "Yvonne Montana" and was working as a singer to blend in. She met me in the dressing room, still in her casual clothes.
"You're here. Thanks for coming, Markus," she said.
"I got the note. What's the problem, Serg—"
Bridget quickly put a finger to my lips. "No ranks here. We're civilians, remember? Look at this." She handed me a surveillance photo of a group of Federation officers. "The military booked this bar two days ago. There are two people here we need to watch out for."
She pointed to a fat, cruel-looking woman. "Commodore Genevieve Chlomondeley. She's a monster. She tortures prisoners and refers to civilians as 'vermin.' She's responsible for countless war crimes, but she's clever enough to hide the evidence."
Then she pointed to a massive, muscular man. "And this is her right hand, Captain Nox O'Niel Nielson. He's a maniac who enjoys killing surrendered soldiers and 'rewarding' himself by taking women by force. They're the ones who wiped out my platoon in Alaska back in '79."
Seeing their faces reminded me of the Black Dog Squad—thugs who hid their crimes by claiming they were "clearing out Zeon hideouts." As I left the bar, I ran into Rudolf, an M.P. officer who had helped my family before.
"Markus? It's unusual to see you here," Rudolf said, looking over his shoulder.
"Just passing through. You okay, Rudolf?"
"Not really. Genevieve Chlomondeley arrived three days ago. It's bad news."
"I heard," I whispered. "Bridget told me about her and Nox."
Rudolf's face went white. "Nox? If he's here, we're all in danger. He has a 'fetish' for spotting spies. If he sees us talking too often, we're dead. Get out of here, Markus. Don't do anything stupid."
I hurried home. The city felt different—suffocating. Jennifer told me the soldiers had even gone to his school to arrest a teacher they suspected of being a Zeon sympathizer, hitting students who got in the way. That was the final straw. We had to escape.
On Sunday, after church, we made our move to McKellar Island. We were led to the Mad Angler, a massive submarine hidden beneath the surface. Inside, the hangar was impressive: ten Mobile Suits, including Acguys, Goggs, Z'goks, and Bridget's Prototype Dom.
Bridget met us in the briefing room. "The situation with the M.P. is deteriorating," she explained, cleaning her glasses. "Genevieve is trying to take command of the M.P. force. If she succeeds, the police won't be able to protect the civilians anymore."
"Can we leave now?" my wife asked.
"The Mad Angler isn't ready. The engine needs repairs and we're low on supplies. The M.P. were helping us fix it in secret, but that's gotten harder. Plus, I won't leave my people behind—the ones still working in the city. I won't abandon them like the old Zeon leadership abandoned us."
Bridget turned to me. "Markus, if we have to fight our way out, you'll be piloting the Zaku II FS. It's yours now."
"The FS? That was a commander's unit," I said, surprised.
I walked over to the machine. It was a high-end model, a refined version of the F-type with improved cooling and four Vulcan guns in the head. It came equipped with a Large Heat Hawk and a 175mm Recoilless Rifle—the "Magella Top Cannon." It was a versatile beast, capable of operating in space or on Earth.
"It feels weird," I told the mechanic. "I'm not a commander."
"Bridget saw what you did to that GM with an old Zaku I," the mechanic replied. "She knows your skill. Consider this an upgrade. You aren't just protecting your family anymore; you're protecting all of us."
I looked up at the brown-green steel of the Zaku. Life is strange. I started this war just trying to survive, and now I'm the pilot of a commander's suit, waiting for the signal to break out of Thunder Bay before Genevieve and Nox find us.
To be continued...