Shadows in the smoke

The winds of R22 had changed.

The air, always heavy with radioactive dust and scorched ozone, now carried something else. A tension. Like the planet itself had opened its eyes.

As Unit 404 navigated the fractured basin toward a previously mapped out ridge, the world seemed still. Too still. Even the Kaiju—those grotesque monsters of muscle, teeth, and mutation—were absent, their usual territorial howls swallowed by a dead hush.

"Ravager reading seismic tremors," Kael announced, fingers dancing over the control panel inside his cockpit. "Twenty clicks southwest. They're large. Controlled."

Tyren grunted. "Controlled? Since when do Kaiju walk in straight lines?"

Kael didn't respond. He didn't need to. R22 was evolving—faster than any of them had predicted.

Ziya sat quietly in her mecha, her gloved hands trembling slightly against her controls. Her sensors kept pinging invisible signals—fluctuations, anomalies, irregularities she couldn't categorize. But more than anything, it was her instincts that screamed: Something's wrong.

"Something's… off," she muttered to herself.

"What was that, Ziya?" Tyren's voice buzzed into her comms.

She hesitated, then exhaled. "I said something's off. The terrain's shifting under us, the Kaiju are quiet, and—"

"And you're overthinking it." Tyren chuckled. "Come on, Z. We've danced through worse. Besides, if we fall, I'll carry you bridal style back to camp."

Ziya groaned but smiled despite herself. "You're an idiot."

"Yeah," Tyren said, with a smirk, "but I'm your idiot."

---

The Unexpected Encounter

Their navigation systems led them directly into a dead canyon surrounded by jutting cliffs. That's when their scanners picked up multiple transponders.

"Friendly signals?" Ryssa asked from her mech.

Tyren's tone soured. "Yeah. Familiar ones."

As the dust thinned, Oris's team came into view—battered, exhausted, and clearly defeated without even drawing blood. Makeshift defenses were scattered around a temporary ridge base, most of which had already been burned or trampled.

Kael's eyes narrowed as he spotted Oris, standing by a half-damaged mech, his face drained of color. Vireya stood nearby, scanning the horizon like a spooked scout.

Oris waved. "Unit 404! Kael! Tyren! Ziya! Ryssa! We weren't sure if you were coming!"

Kael's voice cracked through the comms with ice in his tone. "We weren't."

Tyren let out a slow laugh. "Funny how things come full circle. You left us on this rock. Now we find you crawling back into it."

Oris raised both hands in a non-confrontational gesture. "We had no choice. We underestimated it."

"It?" Ryssa questioned. "Define 'it.'"

Vireya spoke up then, voice shaky. "We thought it was a normal mid-tier Kaiju. We followed the seismic trail, mapped its territory—and then it appeared. Not like the others. Taller. Intelligent. It watched us."

"Watched you?" Ziya repeated. "You mean it didn't attack?"

"No," Oris said. "It didn't need to. Just stood there. Observing. We lost three mechs anyway—corrupted terrain and trap-laced paths. It let us fall without lifting a claw."

Kael looked at the horizon. The air shimmered faintly at a distance—heat? Radiation? Or something more dangerous?

Ryssa opened a private channel. "That's not normal Kaiju behavior. This isn't territorial. This is tactical."

Kael didn't say a word. His silence was answer enough.

---

Plans in the Firelight

Back at their camp, 404 gathered around the data holograms. The mutated Kaiju towered over the digital terrain, glowing weakly in reds and oranges—a grotesque titan hunched with jagged plates growing from its back and luminous eyes embedded throughout its skull.

"This is a breeder class," Ziya whispered. "But not like before. This one's changed. Its energy signature is... irregular."

"Like it's absorbing from the planet itself," Ryssa murmured. "Like the radiation, the heavy metals, the organic wreckage—it's adapting. Learning."

Tyren sat on a rock, arms crossed. "If this thing really is what it looks like, then sending anyone unprepared is suicide."

Kael leaned against Ravager, quiet for a moment. His mind was racing—but not with fear. With fury. With calculation.

Ryssa turned to him, brows furrowed. "What's the plan?"

"We don't engage," he replied. "Not yet. We study it. We outthink it. If it's learning, we learn faster."

Oris's team, now patched and repowered, stood awkwardly near the edge of the group. The tension was heavy.

Oris cleared his throat. "We're too damaged to help with recon. But maybe we could coordinate perimeter—"

"No." Kael's voice was sharp. "You'll stay back."

Oris blinked. "We can still contribute—"

"I said stay back. You do not move forward. Not unless you want to be the next names on a gravestone."

Tyren didn't hide his grin. "Permission to laugh at them when they try to help again?"

"Granted," Kael muttered.

---

The Storm Beneath Their Feet

Later that night, the wind screamed against the camp like a thousand whispering voices. Ziya was huddled near her tent, still reviewing the data. Her eyes were heavy, but sleep never came easy on R22.

Ryssa stood nearby, her arms folded, eyes staring up into the black sky. "He's changed, hasn't he?"

Ziya didn't have to ask who. "Yeah," she said. "But I don't think he's broken."

"Not broken," Ryssa said softly. "Forged."

At that moment, Tyren emerged from his mech, his hair damp from cleaning sweat and oil off his skin.

"You both talking about me?" he smirked.

Ziya rolled her eyes. "You wish."

Ryssa turned, lips twitching. "Kael wants all of us up in four hours. We'll follow the ravine trail and map the Kaiju's path. Minimal noise."

"Sounds like fun," Tyren muttered, leaning against his mech.

Ziya nudged his elbow. "You su

re we're ready?"

Tyren gave her a rare serious look. "We're never ready. But we're Unit 404. That's never stopped us."