Char watched the Zorin Soul as it was gradually assembled into its final form. He couldn't help but float down to get a closer look at this machine crafted by a "former Zeon remnant."
Even with the Zorin Soul merely lying on its assembly rack, Char could still feel the raw power of a steel giant forged by human hands.
The sections where the armor had not yet been fitted, leaving the internal frame exposed, carried a distinct industrial beauty.
'However, I am sorry. Even though you are the lifeblood of these old men, I must hand you over as material to forge my own, even stronger sword.'
As Char thought this, his expression remained perfectly calm.
At some point, Xiaochuan, who now served as the dedicated liaison for Mafty, arrived at Char's side.
"Everything is prepared. Now we're just waiting on this Zorin Soul."
Xiaochuan looked at Char, who seemed to be staring blankly at the machine. "But your plan is truly bold... the Board of Directors was shocked when I reported it up."
"Evacuating at the same time as detonating the hangar—the risk is too high."
Recalling the plan Char had proposed, which could only be described as simple and crude, Xiaochuan felt a headache coming on. "Even if we prepare a remote-controlled shuttle loaded with some of the parts, it's hard to guarantee safety. Besides, the execution plan is far too rough."
"I still suggest you consider our proposal: sending it to Earth via a carrier rocket, just like the plan for the Xi Gundam."
"The more detailed an action plan is, the more likely it is to deviate from the original intent due to various changes."
Char smiled and adjusted the sunglasses on his face. "Using your plan and shifting the risk of such a vital resupply onto my comrades on Earth? That won't do."
"Besides, my plan allows you to balance your books perfectly, doesn't it?"
Char looked toward Xiaochuan and gave a thumbs-up.
"Well then, we really ought to thank you."
Upon hearing Char's words, Xiaochuan shook his head. "But your timing is off. If you had used this trick before the Federation Bureau of Investigation showed up, we could have at least written off a massive amount of stock and wouldn't have been fined so heavily."
With that, Xiaochuan shouted toward the old man who was the head of the project.
"Hey! How much longer until the Zorin Soul is finished?"
"Three days! We can load it for shipping once the preliminary tests are done!"
The old man, who had just been complaining to Char about the leg design, shouted back with a voice full of vigor. "It would be even faster if I were allowed to swap them out for thrusters or treads!"
Watching this scene, Char chuckled.
He seemed to finally recognize who this greatly changed old man actually was.
"Exactly the same as back then, old man."
Having said that, Char turned and left the hangar.
Inexplicably, as Xiaochuan heard Char whisper those words, his eyes subconsciously widened—as if he had seen a shadow of the high-spirited Char from the past.
-----------------------------------
On the shuttle Haunzen, everything seemed so peaceful. People enjoyed their champagne or red wine, conversing with one another in their luxurious seats.
If one were to exclude the discussions regarding that blonde girl and the cold-blooded decisions about Earth's politics from their topics, it would undoubtedly be a very warm and harmonious atmosphere, much like a social cocktail party.
In this tranquil—and for Hathaway, quite tedious—environment, Hathaway, having already finished his airline meal, glanced at Kenneth.
The man appeared to have successfully defeated the other competitors to monopolize the seat next to the blonde girl.
Hathaway then opened a book titled Aerial Plant Environmental Science and began flipping through its contents.
On one hand, this was one of the props he used to disguise himself; on the other, it was essential study material for the examination he needed to pass for his identity as a "Plant Inspector."
"Would you like something to drink?"
A flight attendant with short blonde hair, a beauty mark at the lower-left corner of her lips, and a blue uniform pushed a small cart toward Hathaway.
'This flight attendant must be the person Kenneth mentioned earlier,' Hathaway thought as he leaned back against his seat to provide enough space, watching the attendant skillfully clear the utensils from his table.
"Please give me a different kind of fruit juice," Hathaway said with a smile.
In the environment of the Haunzen, Hathaway did not dare let his mind be numbed; he had to remain sufficiently alert.
"On the way here from the Moon, you're the only one who has finished every meal," the flight attendant remarked. She leaned down slightly and placed a glass of fresh-squeezed juice on the table in front of him.
"My father taught me not to waste food."
Hathaway picked up the juice and brought it to his lips. "Besides, it's a rare opportunity to ride on the Haunzen."
Just as Hathaway was about to take a sip, he saw Kenneth sitting in his seat behind the flight attendant, his left hand hidden behind his back giving Hathaway a thumbs-up.
'What is that guy thinking now?'
Hathaway drank the juice in his glass and intended to go back to his book to pass this lonely stretch of time.
Getting closer and closer to Earth... that familiar gravity, the force that drags one down, was gradually making itself felt.
"…You're likely going down there to deal with Mafty, and those newly appeared Zeon remnants, aren't you?"
The blonde girl's voice suddenly grew louder, causing the once-bustling cabin to fall silent. "To be able to ride this shuttle specifically arranged for the Adelaide Conference, your rank must be quite high. I'd guess… Colonel?"
"…I've been seen through, it seems."
Looking at the girl who had nearly guessed his exact identity, Kenneth frowned slightly.
He had almost been played like a puppet in the palm of her hand. It seemed he had misjudged the situation; this girl before him was a "pro" not much different from himself.
"After all… I saw the pistol you're carrying."
The girl gestured toward Kenneth, pointing out where a pistol and two magazines were tucked into the shoulder holster hidden beneath his suit jacket.
"I didn't expect… Miss Gigi to have such sharp observational skills."
Kenneth offered a smile as he glanced at the spot where his pistol was stowed. At this moment, because his plan had been disrupted, he felt a flicker of irritability.
However, he couldn't let that irritation show; after all, others shouldn't have to pay for his moods—except for the enemy.
"It's just everyday attentiveness…"
Sensing the trace of annoyance flashing through Kenneth's mind, the girl named Gigi spoke with keen interest. "But, I happen to have a question I'd very much like to ask you, Colonel Kenneth."
"Regarding Mafty and the Zeon remnants—what is your view on them?"
Gigi swiped through the tablet in her hand, displaying a flood of reports on Mafty and a smaller number of reports concerning the Zeon remnants.
"They..."
Recalling the various combat reports he had recently received—reports of defeats at the hands of both groups, particularly the Zeon remnants—Kenneth paused for a moment. "They are a group of dangerous elements. They have disrupted the order of the Federation."
"Eh... just a simple, standard answer?"
Gigi, who had been so interested moments ago, seemed to lose her enthusiasm. She sat back in her chair and gazed at the cosmos outside the window.
A silence fell between the two. Kenneth didn't know what had happened on Gigi's end to cause the "pickup" phase of their interaction to be cut short.
"Please excuse me for a moment."
Feeling that they had hit a stalemate, Kenneth took his glass of champagne and headed toward the lavatory.
As he passed by Hathaway, facing Hathaway's silent gaze, Kenneth shook his head helplessly. With his free left hand, he gave Hathaway a gesture indicating a "high level."
This girl named Gigi was in a league of her own; even he was having a hard time keeping up. It was better if Hathaway didn't get mixed up in this.
-----------------------------------
The Haunzen shuttle's entry into Earth's atmosphere was remarkably smooth. Hathaway watched the scenery outside the window constantly shift, feeling only a slight vibration.
"That's the sensation of wind friction against the hull," Kenneth's voice sounded in Hathaway's ear. "On Earth, when you pilot a vehicle, you're at the mercy of the wind."
"You've piloted a Jegan before, so you should understand—that feeling of losing control due to the wind after coming from space to Earth."
Kenneth sat down next to Hathaway, glancing at the scenery outside which was gradually brightening as they crossed time zones.
"Many pilots, especially MS pilots, complain about this very issue."
"I don't have experience piloting an MS on Earth... but I can probably imagine it," Hathaway remarked as he closed his book.
"I knew you'd get it..."
Kenneth shrugged, his peripheral vision catching sight of Gigi, who was currently being harassed by a new Federation official. It seemed he wasn't ready to give up yet and intended to try one more time.
"Planning to try again?" Hathaway asked after a glance at Kenneth.
"Well... it is Kenneth, after all," the flight attendant who had replaced Hathaway's juice earlier said in a low voice.
She arrived before the two with a tray carrying a glass of red juice and a glass of plain water. "Like a hound, he won't give up until he's caught his quarry."
Clearly, this flight attendant knew Kenneth, and they shared at least a somewhat deep relationship.
"At least let me save some face in front of the kid, alright?"
Kenneth shrugged and took his plain water from her. He looked out the window again, pondering what topic to use for his second approach.
While Hathaway might not be able to handle someone like Gigi, a battle-hardened master of the ladies like himself could not possibly lose!
Just as Kenneth was thinking this, a dark shadow flashed past the window, causing his instincts to spike into immediate alertness.
He pressed himself against the window, scanning the exterior with lightning speed. He quickly locked onto a dark shadow that was peeling away.
"A Gaplant?!"
As a technical officer who had supervised the Penelope, Kenneth was naturally intimately familiar with a vast array of mobile suits.
That specific silhouette and the distinct structural profile of the dark shadow belonged unmistakably to a Gaplant equipped with additional boosters!
Bang... bang-bang-bang...
Dense gunfire erupted from the direction of the spiral staircase.
The high-ranking Federation officials sitting in the cabin, after a momentary stunned silence, suddenly became as noisy as a rowdy wet market.
In that instant, Hathaway suddenly felt that these "superior" individuals were seemingly no different from ordinary people.
Boom...
A muffled explosion echoed from the nose of the shuttle. Clearly, the intruders were breaching the cockpit door.
The jolt from the explosion caused the flight attendant familiar with Kenneth to lose her footing, sent tumbling onto Hathaway.
"Are you alright?" Hathaway asked, looking at the attendant who had fallen against him.
"Damn it... a hijacking?"
Kenneth vaulted out of his seat and stood by the spiral staircase in the center of the cabin, drawing his pistol.
Click-clack.
After checking the rounds in the magazine, Kenneth pulled back the slide to chamber a round.
Right now, the available combat strength in the cabin amounted to maybe 1.5 people—he counted as one, and Hathaway counted as half, since the boy had only ever practiced shooting at terrestrial firing ranges.
But just as Kenneth prepared to move, a hand clamped down on his gun.
"Stop right there, Colonel Kenneth!"
A bearded man in a black suit glared sternly at Kenneth. "Are you trying to drag us all into a firefight?"
Arrogance... As Hathaway watched the performance of this black-suited Federation official, for some reason, that was the only word that came to mind.
Upon hearing those words, Kenneth's already fraying patience snapped like a dry twig caught by a spark. With a backhand motion, he shoved the old man in the black suit aside.
"We are being hijacked! Open your eyes and look at reality!"
Kenneth didn't even bother with titles anymore. His only goal now was to eliminate the hijackers as quickly as possible; he just hoped this flock of "Federation high officials," currently acting like panicked chickens, wouldn't get in his way or stumble into a death sentence while he moved.
"The only ones with the resources to pull this off are Mafty. Do you want to just sit here and wait to die?"
At the mention of Mafty, the "Federation officials" in the cabin erupted into a chaotic symphony of debate, complaints, and incredulous retorts.
But in that split second, Kenneth spotted a figure at the rear of the cabin—a man wearing a skull mask and clutching a rifle.
Bang...
Without a moment's hesitation, Kenneth pulled the trigger.
The bullet streaked over the heads of the passengers and buried itself precisely into the rifle-wielding hijacker.
The man slumped lifelessly to the floor, blood beginning to pool and stain the luxurious carpet of the Haunzen.
"AAHHHHHH—!"
Almost instantly, the sight of the corpse triggered a chorus of piercing screams from the elderly noblewomen in the cabin.
One of the worst-case scenarios had manifested. Kenneth felt a wave of helplessness; these people were reacting like they'd suffered a collective mental breakdown.
Their relentless screaming completely drowned out the sound of the enemies' footsteps—they were the ultimate "dead-weight teammates."
"Bots." That was Kenneth's private assessment of these "screamers." He could feel his blood pressure spiking.
Rat-tat-tat...
Vaguely, he heard the frantic clatter of high heels coming from up ahead. Kenneth reached out and yanked the black-suited man out of his line of fire once more.
Another man, wearing a mask, a knit cap, and a green uniform, stepped into the cabin leveling a gun.
Now!
Kenneth aimed and fired in one fluid motion. Propelled by the expanding gases, the bullet spiraled out of the rifled barrel and struck the hijacker squarely in the head.
A mixture of red and grayish-white fluid splattered against the cabin wall, sending the "bot-like" women into even higher octaves of terror.
In sharp contrast, the flight attendants—also women—were huddled in the corners, keeping as quiet as possible.
They displayed a level of composure that sat in stark opposition to the hysteria of the high-society passengers.
But before Kenneth could catch his breath, a searing pain tore through his body.
Bang, bang, bang...
A man wearing a pumpkin mask—similar to the one used by Mafty—stepped out from behind the hijacker Kenneth had just headshotted and pulled the trigger on him.
"Ugh..."
Kenneth's right shoulder was struck. The intense pain forced a gasp from his lungs, and the sheer kinetic force of the bullets slammed him to the floor. His pistol was knocked loose, skittering across the deck.
The handgun clattered against the base of a seat, bounced once, and came to rest right at Hathaway's feet.
Kenneth gasped for air, two bleeding holes blooming on his right shoulder, his pristine white suit rapidly being stained by blooming crimson.
Looking down at the pistol that had slid to his feet, Hathaway froze for a split second.
Tap... tap... tap...
Footsteps steadily approached Kenneth as he gritted his teeth, struggling to push himself up. But without a weapon, what could he possibly do?
The intruder didn't seem in a hurry to execute Kenneth. Instead, he turned and pulled the trigger on one of the "bot-like" noblewomen who was screaming so loudly it seemed her lungs were her only functioning organ.
Bang, bang, bang...
The bullets tore into her torso, blood spraying instantly. In a heartbeat, her expensive garments were soaked through with gore.
"Shh... quiet. If you keep screaming, I might get 'triggered'."
The Pumpkin Head man raised his free left hand to the jagged mouth of his mask in a mocking "hush" gesture. Then, he stepped over to Kenneth, leveling his submachine gun at him.
"You actually killed two of my comrades... looks like you're a Federation officer."
There was a playful, mocking lilt in the Pumpkin Head's voice. "Tell me, should I keep you for ransom, or just finish you off?"
"Heh, sorry. 'Surrender' isn't in my dictionary." Kenneth spat a mocking laugh, staring death in the eye as he glared at the Pumpkin Head. "And there's no way in hell I'm surrendering to a terrorist like you!"
"Oh... well, that's a shame."
With that, the Pumpkin Head tightened his finger on the trigger. "Please, just die."
"When you get to hell, remember to tell them my name: Mafty Navue Erin."
Hearing that name, Hathaway was stunned.
Mafty? That was his title.
And he knew for a fact that there was no such hijacking plan in the organization's schedule!
Could it be a new, unknown so-called "branch" committing a robbery?
As he watched Kenneth being held at gunpoint, Hathaway subconsciously picked up the pistol at his feet.
Should he act? For the sake of these so-called, arrogant "high officials"?
"…Finish them off!"
At that moment, the voice of the young girl, Gigi, rang out. Hathaway couldn't detect even a hint of fear in her tone. "He isn't Mafty at all; he's just an impostor!"
Gigi stood up, looking toward Hathaway and the "Mafty" with a serious expression.
Hathaway saw the pumpkin-headed man calling himself "Mafty" turn his head toward the source of the voice.
Gigi stood there by her seat, seemingly completely indifferent to the muzzle of the gun that "Mafty" began to swing toward her.
Bang...
Almost instinctively, Hathaway pulled the trigger. The bullet struck "Mafty" in the right shoulder. The searing pain caused him to lose his grip on the submachine gun's handle.
Bang, bang...
Immediately after, Hathaway fired two follow-up shots, accurately hitting "Mafty" in the waist and abdomen.
"Mafty" collapsed weakly to the floor. Seizing the opportunity, Kenneth delivered a sharp kick to "Mafty's" head, knocking him unconscious.
"Wait!"
Kenneth saw Hathaway dash out from the seats, snatch up a rifle from one of the hijackers he had downed, and charge toward the cockpit.
Hathaway rounded the corner of the connecting passage and found two hijackers with their backs to him, clutching rifles.
Bang, bang, bang...
Hathaway pulled the trigger without hesitation. The bullets streaked from the muzzle, striking the two hijackers and slamming them to the ground.
Click, click, click...
It wasn't until the magazine was empty that the tension-wracked Hathaway allowed himself a small sigh of relief.
But a second later, he saw a hijacker wearing a clown mask rise from the pilot's seat. The hijacker let out a strange cackle and leveled a pistol at Hathaway.
In a flash of reflex, Hathaway hurled the empty rifle at the clown-masked hijacker's hand.
Following through, Hathaway leaped, his hands locking onto the hijacker's gun arm while his legs wrapped around the man's neck.
With a powerful twist of his waist, he spun his entire body in mid-air.
Caught in Hathaway's momentum, the hijacker was yanked out of the pilot's seat, and both men slammed violently onto the floor.
"Ugh..."
The impact of his lower back hitting a small step forced a cry of pain from Hathaway. The hijacker he had tackled also cried out in agony, his right hand losing its grip on the pistol as he was thrown aside in the struggle.
"Huff... huff... huff..."
Hathaway gasped for air, wrenching the hijacker's arm with all his might to keep the man from breaking free. The hijacker let out a muffled groan of pain, his left hand thrashing wildly in a desperate attempt to escape.
He felt an object—hard, and carrying the lingering warmth of his comrade's blood.
The hijacker raised the object in his hand; it was a pistol taken from his fallen partner. He racked the slide against his thigh to chamber a round, leveling the muzzle directly at Hathaway, who was still pinning him down.
"What?!"
Seeing this, Hathaway's eyes widened instinctively.
Bang...
A shot rang out, but it wasn't Hathaway who was hit. Instead, the hijacker under his control let out a cry of agony.
A bullet had struck his right shoulder; the handgun round tore into the muscle and the deformed slug lodged firmly against the bone.
The hijacker's right arm fell limp, and the pistol clattered to the floor along with it.
"Phew... you've got to be more careful, Hathaway."
Kenneth's voice echoed in Hathaway's ear.
He turned his head toward the hatch where the voice had come from.
There stood Kenneth, clutching the submachine gun taken from the hijacker named "Mafty."
The entire right side of his body was soaked crimson with blood, yet he held the weapon steady with his left hand, aiming precisely at the man Hathaway had pinned.
.....................