Scars, Wheel and War cries

The corridor leading to the veterans' ward was quiet, far removed from the buzzing energy of the main battleship decks. Each step Kael took echoed against the metallic walls, his thoughts louder than his boots.

He hadn't been here in years.

Not since the last time he'd snuck in just to see the only man who'd ever truly believed in him.

His uncle—Commander Alric Vale.

A decorated war hero.

A man bound to a wheelchair but never broken by it.

As Kael approached the wide arch leading into the ward, a familiar voice—gravelly and dry—cut through the silence.

"Well, well. I thought I'd have to die to get you to visit me again, boy."

Kael's lips twitched into a smirk despite himself. "Still not dead?"

"Only in the lower back. The rest of me's still loud and judgmental." Alric spun his wheelchair toward him with one powerful motion. "Come here, lad. Let me see what being a ghost did to you."

Kael stepped forward, and Alric's sharp, storm-gray eyes examined him like he was made of glass.

"You've lost some weight. Got that quiet look again. What happened?"

Kael hesitated—then pulled out a small holodrive and placed it in his uncle's palm.

"Play it."

Alric inserted the drive into his screen console. What followed was raw footage—Kaiju towering over forests, mutated forms, the heavy breathing of the Lugger's audio feed, Ziya's anxious whispers, Tyren's sarcasm, Ryssa's warnings... and finally the footage from the last squad to vanish.

When the video ended, silence fell.

Alric's face had grown pale, lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. His eyes lingered on the last freeze-frame—the towering mutated centipede Kaiju lording over a pile of metal wreckage that used to be mecha.

And then…

"Well, f**k."

Kael leaned back against the wall. "We didn't file a report."

Alric's eyes narrowed. "Smart. Because they'd silence it. You. Me. Everyone."

Kael nodded. "I don't care about medals. Or speeches. I care about ending what's coming."

His uncle leaned forward in his chair. "And Ryssa?"

Kael blinked. "What?"

"You care about her too, don't lie. That girl's got her hooks deep. Pretty. Sharp. Stubborn."

Kael rubbed the back of his neck. "She's… something. She's lost a lot. Fought a lot harder than most I've seen. But that's not what this is about."

"Oh?" Alric grinned. "Because I heard the rumor mill say she cried in your room."

Kael's eyes flared. "Who told you that?"

"Old men gossip harder than teen girls. Get over it."

Kael rolled his eyes. "Not the point."

"Then what is the point, Kael?"

Kael met his gaze, voice like iron.

"That the battleship command is blind. That R22 isn't a field—it's a ticking bomb. And we're the only ones who know. Tyren, Ryssa, Ziya… we've all seen it. Those Kaiju aren't animals anymore. They're changing. Evolving."

Alric stared at him in silence.

Then slowly… he sat back in his chair, face grim, and tapped a button on his console.

"I still have clearance. Enough to stir some dust."

Kael tilted his head. "What are you doing?"

Alric's voice was low. "I've sat in this chair for ten years, boy. Watched this system rot. Watched cowards parade as heroes while good soldiers like you were cast aside like trash. But you—"

He turned his chair toward Kael fully now.

"You're the storm coming. And this chair? These scars? They bought me rank no one dares question. It's time I spend that currency."

Kael's eyes narrowed. "You'd risk everything?"

Alric's voice dropped.

"I've already lost everything. But I won't lose you."

---

Later That Day…

In a secure transmission line buried beneath bureaucratic encryption, messages began bouncing through the battleship's internal network.

Commander Alric Vale requesting activation of Protocol 9-Shadow.

Requesting permission to form an independent investigation squad on R22.

Lead recommendation: Kael. Secondary: Tyren.

Command pushback came fast.

Too risky. No threat confirmed. No need for panic.

And yet, with every denial, Alric pushed harder—dropping old mission credentials, war records, survival percentages, Kaiju kill logs, and a chilling warning:

> "Either you send Kael with my blessing—or he goes without it. But know this: when R22 explodes… your medals won't shield you from fire."

A pause followed. Then:

Authorization Approved: Shadow Unit 404

Status: Black-flagged. Off-Record. Independent.

---

Meanwhile, back in Kael's quarters…

Kael stared out of the window as the artificial dusk of the station fell. The stars outside blinked in silence. R22 lingered in the distance, now marked in red on every restricted map he'd ever seen.

He heard the soft knock on his door.

When it slid open, he turned—only to find Alric wheeling in with a strange glint in his eyes.

"You're deployed."

Kael blinked. "What?"

"Shadow Unit 404. Reinstituted. You're not part of their politics anymore, Kael. You're off record."

Kael stepped forward, stunned. "How—?"

"Because I'm old, I'm broken, and they think I'll die in two years." Alric grinned darkly. "They underestimated a cripple."

Kael stared at him. Then slowly, for the first time in a long time, his lips twitched.

"Thank you."

Alric patted his shoulder with a strength that hadn't faded. "Go burn down the monsters. And maybe f

lirt with that girl while you're at it."

Kael rolled his eyes, but this time, he didn't argue.

Because now… they had a war to finish.