~ 💎 WEEKLY POWER GOALS 💎🔥 60→1ch | 100→2ch | 200→5ch ⏰ Resets Monday! Thanks!
June 25th, 2019. 2:40 PM.
Atlantic Ocean. Bermuda Triangle.
A flat, black carrier ship cut through a bruised overcast sky and descended toward Monarch's 54th Outpost, settling onto the helipad mounted above the surface of the sea.
The rear hatch opened slowly. The howling sea wind hit first. Dr. Ishiro Serizawa stepped out into it, black suit pressed and immaculate, followed by a tall, lean man in a floral shirt, and then Dr. Vivienne Graham, her expression carefully composed and heavy.
Waiting for them was a neatly dressed line of fully armed soldiers, rifles in hand.
"This way," one of them said, stepping forward to lead them in.
Serizawa watched the soldier's back as they walked and felt something knot in his chest.
He'd built this place. It was practically his home. And now he needed an escort just to get inside.
"At least nothing blew up while we were gone," Natsuki said, glancing around.
"That Godzilla guy is sleeping pretty soundly." They were standing directly above the temple. Natsuki could feel him down there , slow, deep, unbothered. Dead to the world.
They followed the soldier inside.
Passing through corridor after corridor of monitoring rooms, Serizawa saw what he'd been dreading: technician after technician replaced by military personnel sitting at instruments they'd never operated before. The weight in his chest got heavier.
They stopped at the central hall on the middle floor. The largest monitoring room in the outpost.
An old man stood at the far end, back to them, looking out through the massive floor-to-ceiling glass at the black water beyond. Military officer's uniform. Gray at the temples. Spine straight as a rifle barrel.
"Sir." The escorting soldier saluted. "They're here."
The hall's other technicians sat at their stations in careful silence, not daring to whisper. The only sounds were keystrokes and the low, constant groan of seawater pressing against the outpost's outer hull.
"It's been a while, General Derek McCarthy," Serizawa said. He'd recognized the old man the moment he saw the silhouette.
He should have. McCarthy was one of the senior officials who'd been pushing hardest to fold Monarch into the military for years. Rivers had been his plant. And now McCarthy himself was here, standing in Serizawa's hall , which meant he wasn't leaving any doors open. No chance for Serizawa to claw Monarch back.
"It has been a while," McCarthy said.
He turned slowly. His gaze landed on Serizawa with the comfortable weight of a man looking down from a height he'd long since gotten used to.
"I've always wanted to see you. You just never gave me the chance." The tone wasn't angry. It was worse , reproachful, patient, like a disappointed superior.
He hadn't expected Serizawa to simply ignore his messages.
"How was the Hollow Earth?" The old man's eyes moved briefly toward the memory of the South Pole deployment. "Planning to write a Journey to the Center of the Earth?"
In his reading of events: Serizawa had ignored his communications, gone underground, and abandoned Monarch. Fine. Then he could stay out of it. Go home. Write a memoir about his underground adventure and find a publisher. That was the future McCarthy had already decided for him.
"We went to the Hollow Earth to investigate an anomaly," Serizawa said. "And we did successfully prevent a disaster."
Giving up on Monarch was not something Serizawa was prepared to do. Not now. Not ever.
"Well." McCarthy's expression didn't shift by a single millimeter. "Then we owe you our thanks."
He clearly wasn't listening.
The military had already received the technology package from APEX Corporation. Mass-produced Hollow Earth aircraft were a matter of months away. After that, they could run their own exploration and extraction operations without Monarch's blessing or expertise.
Coexistence with the Titans wasn't a concept that existed in McCarthy's vocabulary. Decades at the top had ground him down to one operating principle: humanity is this planet's master. If the Titans under the earth ever decided to push upward, he would meet them with everything available, absorb the losses, and make them regret it.
Everything Serizawa had done was, to McCarthy, elaborate and unnecessary.
"Actually — I should also thank Mr. Natsuki for what happened in Mexico." The general's gaze shifted. A smile appeared on his face, calculated and practiced. "All of humanity is grateful for your selfless intervention."
He knew this alien wasn't someone you leaned on. He had no intention of making an enemy of him directly.
He just wanted to use him.
"Your gratitude is sending a battalion of soldiers to arrest me?" Natsuki looked at the old man and didn't bother being polite about it.
He'd saved a city. The military's response was to vector armed units at him. There was exactly zero reason to be gracious about that right now.
The hypocrisy oozing off this man's rank insignia was almost impressive.
"That was a misunderstanding, Mr. Natsuki."
"The officials responsible have already been referred to a military tribunal. You have nothing to worry about," McCarthy said, with the kind of conviction that suggested he genuinely considered himself a righteous man.
The part about Rivers was technically true. The man's recklessness had cost them significantly, and he was currently sitting in a cell waiting for his hearing.
"Is that right."
"Since you're putting him through the tribunal anyway," Natsuki said, keeping his voice light, "why not just hand him over to me?"
He was curious what the answer would look like.
"Well..." The general smiled. "Of course. We'd be happy to."
"Trading a favor from you for a man who's already proven to be a liability — I'd call that a very sound arrangement. It may take some time to process, naturally. Our legal system is thorough. There are procedures that have to be followed."
He could have the man.
Just not until the paperwork was done.
The art of bureaucratic delay, masterfully deployed.
Rivers still had uses. If they could avoid handing him over, they would.
"Fair enough," Natsuki said, nodding.
"A country needs rigorous law to function." The corner of his mouth twitched. "I understand that."
He did understand it. Rules existed for reasons.
This old man, though, was extremely good at the game of saying everything and meaning nothing.
Good.
The Ultraman old geezer had always preferred dealing with smart people.
Because only a smart person could truly appreciate the consequences when someone finally put down the winning hand.
"Thank you for your underst—"
McCarthy started to respond.
Natsuki spoke over him.
"These are all minor details. I won't get in the way of your procedures." A pause. "But when I need that man, and you're still in the way , I'll go through all of you to get to him."
"I won't touch anyone who isn't involved."
"Everything else, I make no promises about."
The hall went still.
Every keyboard stopped.
The fake smile on General McCarthy's face drained away like color leaving a wound.
The saying is true: without rules, nothing holds together.
But the rule that existed before laws were ever written has a different name.
The strong eat the weak.
➤ Next: The Lucky One Isn't Me
— .—— .—— .—— .—— .——
Enjoying the story?
📚Read 35+ chapters ahead on Patreon.
💎Join the free community tier for early access to the latest updates:
🔥patreon(.)com/DarkGolds