In the American region, on a small beach in California.
Two men were standing on a rock pile extending out into the sea, not far from the sandy shore, casting their fishing rods.
Judging by their coolers—which contained nothing but water—their luck hadn't been great. This was partly due to the deteriorating global environment, which had led to a decline in fish populations.
"...What are we even going to bring back later?"
Driven by the "never go home empty-handed" mentality, one of the middle-aged men was already considering whether he should dive in to gather some shells.
"Patience, buddy. Fishing is all about patience."
The other man continued to flick his rod, dragging the lure through the gentle waves to simulate a small fish. "Besides, today is our day off. Don't be such a buzzkill."
Suddenly, a tug came from the bait. Although the force wasn't strong, the man could clearly feel that a fish had bitten his lure.
"See? I told you it takes patience!"
Feeling the tension in his hands, the man was overjoyed. He frantically cranked the spinning reel, bringing in the taut line.
However, the resistance he felt made him frown slightly. Finally, a tiny fish biting the lure appeared before the two men.
"...At least I actually caught something."
Looking at the small fish, the man sighed and tossed it into the water-filled cooler. At least he wasn't going home with nothing; he'd just throw this one into the aquarium at home later.
"Heh, it's so tiny... Just watch, I'm definitely going to catch something bigger than yours."
The other man, who was still empty-handed, grinned and cast his line once more.
As the man's lure hit the water, for some reason, the waves began to churn, the swells growing larger and more violent by the second.
"What's going on?!"
Seeing the scene before him, the man who had just caught the tiny fish looked at his friend. "Did you suddenly develop superpowers?"
"I have no idea!"
The man who had just cast his rod was also stunned, frozen in place, not daring to move an inch.
But soon, they realized it wasn't a case of anyone mastering a superpower to stir the waves.
A massive machine—scarred and battered, its arms destroyed, half of its head monitor shattered, and its armor warped and ruined—swept across the surface of the sea, heading straight for the beach where they stood.
Finally, as if reaching its absolute limit, the machine plummeted, carving a parabolic arc through the air. It tried its best to land upright on the sand, but it was clear that even with one leg intact, the other damaged limb could no longer support the weight of the combat unit.
Accompanied by the screech of tortured metal, the machine collapsed violently onto the ground.
Even though the thrusters and the Minovsky Flight craft had shut down, inertia continued to propel the massive machine forward, plowing the sand into high ridges on either side.
"...Holy crap."
Staring at the giant machine belching black smoke—its body still trailing what looked like buoyancy-enhancing inflatable bags—both men stood there in a daze.
After a moment, they scrambled to gather their gear and cautiously approached the motionless machine.
"Huff... huff..."
Inside the cockpit of the fallen Penelope, Lane forced himself to stay conscious. He reached out with trembling hands to unlock the connection between his pilot suit's backpack and the seat.
As he pulled the emergency release lever, he stumbled, falling against the internal display screens of the panoramic cockpit.
He struggled, eventually crawling out of the Penelope's cockpit.
Emerging from the dark confines of the cockpit, Lane stood in the sunlight once more, taking a few unsteady, phantom-like steps.
"Sir? Are you alright..."
The sound of a man's voice reached his ears, causing Lane to turn toward the source.
Looking at the men greeting him, Lane felt his consciousness begin to drift, his vision blurring into a haze.
As his body finally reached its limit and gave way to a blackout, Lane lost all strength and fell backward onto the sand.
"Quick, call 911!"
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Not sure how much time had passed, Lane felt the faint, ambient white noise of hospital equipment humming in his ears.
He slowly opened his eyes to see an unfamiliar ceiling.
"You're awake?"
A stern voice rang out from beside him. "I didn't expect you to be such a heavy sleeper."
Dazed, Lane shifted his gaze toward the figure who had spoken. It was a man in a Federation military uniform.
On the sleeve of his uniform, stretched tight by his muscular arm, Lane saw a familiar insignia.
"The Vulture Unit..."
Inside his clouded mind, Lane recalled the "elites" from the Vulture Unit who had been effortlessly kicked to their deaths by Roz's Penelope not long ago. He froze for a moment.
But he recovered quickly.
"Where is the Penelope?"
Lane braced himself against the bedframe with both hands, trying his best to sit up.
"You mean that wreck of yours? It's been recovered and sent to the temporary base that hasn't been disbanded yet. You'll see it later."
The brawny man before him sneered at the question. "However, the footage we recovered from the wreckage is what interests us more."
Before Lane could react, the Vulture soldier suddenly lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar with his left hand while clenching his right fist tight, as if ready to drive a heavy blow into Lane's head at any second.
"Why do those Federation traitors have a Penelope? Did you people leak the tech to them?!"
Without giving Lane a chance to clear his head, the Vulture Unit member barked a rapid-fire series of accusations. "I suspect you lot are just like Anaheim, supplying the enemy!"
"I don't know. I'm just a pilot."
Feeling the violent shaking of his body, Lane felt as though his barely-conscious mind was about to be rattled into another blackout. "We have never sold any parts of the Penelope."
"You'd better start telling the truth!"
The Vulture soldier slammed his fist into the pillow right next to Lane's head.
Lane felt that if that punch had landed on him, even in the best-case scenario, he would have been knocked unconscious with a severe concussion.
"And why didn't you return to the Pacific Theater? Why did you come here?!"
"Wait! The patient still has a concussion!"
At that moment, a doctor who had heard the loud noise and the shouting rushed in for rounds and yelled out.
"This is none of your business. Get out of here, doctor!"
The Vulture member fixed a savage glare on the doctor. "Otherwise, you'll be suspected of spying on national property and technology. I have the right to shoot you on the spot!"
Hearing the brawny man throw out such heavy accusations, the doctor had no choice but to retreat from the room.
"We detected enemy warships, and the battlefield was right in the middle of the Pacific. Returning haphazardly would have resulted in another encounter with them. I could only pilot the machine here to rendezvous with Colonel Kenneth Sleg."
Looking at the man before him acting like a fanatic, Lane felt a growing headache.
"As for the details regarding the Penelope, you can ask Colonel Kenneth Sleg."
Kenneth? That veteran who was currently locked in a detention cell and had already been interrogated several times?
Recalling the name and the fact that Kenneth was currently being held in confinement, the brawny Vulture Unit member couldn't help but frown.
Although he desperately wanted to continue interrogating this fellow who was closely associated with Kenneth, seeing as Lane looked like he might slip into a coma at any second, the matter would have to wait.
The man gave a cold snort and released Lane's collar, allowing him to fall back onto the bed.
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Meanwhile, at Von Braun on the Moon.
Kamille once again donned the pilot suit featuring his familiar color scheme and slipped through a maintenance tunnel directly into the Anaheim Electronics base.
"According to our intelligence... the Zeta you mentioned is still in the exhibition hall," Captain Corinth said from the bridge of the Ra Cailum. "Although it lacks propellant, its weaponry is on display right beside it. Furthermore, Anaheim has suspended operations due to the FBI investigation—this is the perfect opportunity."
"This will also be the start of us being hunted down by Federation forces."
Using the device in his hand, Kamille easily bypassed the security on the staff entrance and drew his pistol.
"It was bound to come to this eventually."
Corinth shook his head. "I've sent you the building blueprints, but we don't know if they've altered the corridor structures recently."
"I'll take it one step at a time."
After a quick glance at the map, Kamille continued in one direction.
The journey was smooth—too smooth, in fact. Aside from a few FBI agents, Kamille didn't encounter anyone else.
Clearly, the personnel who originally worked at Anaheim had been rounded up and detained by the FBI, leaving the facility in a state of paralysis.
Taking advantage of the situation, Kamille successfully reached the exhibition hall Anaheim had specifically built for Project Zeta.
A series of brief histories and various mobile suits from Project Zeta were on display, enough to make one's head spin, but Kamille's objective was clear.
He headed straight for the center of the venue, toward that classic machine—the origin of the entire Project Zeta.
"Zeta..."
Looking at the MS held fast by the Hangar framework, Kamille couldn't help but sigh as he whispered: "It's time to come back and fight once more."
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