Chapter Text
The dust had not yet settled atop the thick plastic sheeting which covered every fixture in the empty Anchorage LOCCENT, but in time—it wouldn’t be long before the Shatterdome reeked of abandonment. Their days were numbered, and their nights were growing long.
It had been five years since they lost Lady Danger to Oblivion Bay. Her amputated carcass lay buried amongst unrecognizable heaps of mangled metal, rusting in the coastal storms which passed over her corpse, indifferently.
They were the first shatterdome to lose a Jaeger.
They were not, however, the last.
Marshal Dick Winters stood on the command deck, ever the sentinel, staring upon a bank of glowing monitors. Each displayed the face of a different member of the Pan Pacific Breach Working Group, a subcommittee of Kaiju Defense and Security—and the source of his doom. Darkness lurked behind the set of his burdened shoulders. A lifetime of effort, of hardships, of war decorated the left breast of his jacket, but the ribbons which laid over his heart meant little in the end.
He knew he wasn’t going to enjoy the conversation. The Working Group was frightened, and when bureaucrats were frightened, they fled.
Marshal Dick Winters was not a bureaucrat.
“We are losing Jaegers faster than we can build them, Marshal,” the Working Group’s designated speaker began. “Cities as well,” he said— “Lima. Seattle. Vladivostok.”
He placed calculated pauses between the names, which had begun to lose their meaning. Repeat a word enough times in one’s head, and it became nonsense. It became nothing.
Lima had taken a Jaeger down with it. Seattle had claimed two, in its terrible collapse. Every member of the Working Group gazed at Winters from their monitors, an ocean away, diplomatic masks of regret held in place by shaking hands and sweaty palms.
LOCCENT was silent.
Everything was silent.
The only other soul present was Lewis, his husband, who stood safely in the darkness behind him, out of view and undetected. Still, there were the emotions flickering in the Drift between them, like a haunting. Like a ghost. They would breathe together, and they would blink together, and when Dick clenched his jaw, Lew’s would ache.
“The Kaiju have evolved.” The British representative said, as if Winters never bore witness to the Pan Pacific Defense Corps’ first loss. The memory drew blood. He could still hear the twin howls of agony. The steady tone of Lipton’s flatline. “Category Four Kaiju are now coming through the Breach, and I believe even you can see, Marshal, that this is no longer a sound strategy. The frequency of the attacks has increased. The Jaeger Program is no longer the most viable line of defense.”
“I am aware.” Winters started before he paused, briefly—not in hesitation, but to dig even deeper into the wound. “Those are my Rangers that die, every time a Jaeger falls, which is why I am asking you for one last chance,” the bureaucrats broke into violent unrest, “one final assault,” the British representative called him by rank, addressed him as something which meant nothing, “with everything we’ve got—”
“The Jaeger Program is dead, Marshal.” The Australian representative cut deep enough to stop him. Winters’ jaw ached. “On the other hand, the coastal wall is a promising option.”
“The world appreciates all that you and your men have done, Marshal, but it’s over.” The American representative said. One final nail in the coffin. “We have prepared to fund you for the next eight months, until the construction of the coastal wall has been completed. After that, you will receive no further support.”
The representative disconnected. Another spoke in his place. They were all the same to him—they had all packed the dirt over his grave. “You have your answer, Marshal.”
The monitors went dark.
LOCCENT went dark.
Winters’ reflection stared back at him, a lone silhouette, before Nixon’s shadow bled into his. Here they were again, at the precipice.
“Suits and ties and flashy smiles,” Lewis’ hand brushed over his arm, gently squeezing his bicep. He felt it, he felt everything—the sickening dread in Dick’s gut, the frustration, the anger. It was a poison, spread by the bloodstream, moving from the wound to the heart. “That’s all they are.”
Dick met his eyes. He didn’t have another war in him. He could taste defeat like he tasted iron on his tongue, all those years ago, radiation tearing him apart in the iron hull of a Jaeger.
Lewis’ grip tightened around his bicep, but his voice was softer, his head softly shaking. “ We don’t need them.”