We hunt the weakest

The dusky horizon of R22 swelled with a quiet fury. The storms from the night before had subsided, but the air remained thick—metallic, sharp, and oddly charged. There was a new kind of silence across the wasteland. Not peace, but the hush of predators watching one another.

Inside their mobile command structure, the new Unit 404 stood huddled around a shifting topographical display. This wasn't just a mission briefing.

It was war preparation.

Kael's Voice of Command

Kael stood still, his hand resting on the edge of the holographic projection table, eyes scanning the terrain of the Northern Dune Wastes—the zone believed to contain one of the three Origin Kaiju. His lips parted, voice cold but steady.

"We go for the weakest one. First blood. It'll send a message."

His words echoed in the temporary command structure like a blade slicing through doubt.

Tyren leaned forward, rotating the 3D projection of the Kaiju map. "The centipede. It's faster than the others but doesn't hold territory. It moves too much. Doesn't stick to ambush zones. That makes it vulnerable."

Ryssa furrowed her brow, arms folded tight across her chest. "That also makes it unpredictable."

Ziya, standing just behind Tyren, hesitated. "And intelligent. Its movement patterns… they're not random. It's avoiding confrontation. As if it understands the cost of engagement."

Kael's finger traced a looping path from the suspected Kaiju den to a ravine edge. "That's where we intercept. Open terrain. Plenty of space for maneuvering."

"And for dying," Tyren muttered, smirking, though it didn't reach his eyes.

The Plan Takes Shape

They pulled up all the past sensor data. Thermal imprints, residual radiation flows, seismic signatures. Every reading told them the same thing.

The Kaiju were changing.

This wasn't the R22 they had barely survived a few months ago.

Tyren tapped the screen again. "We'll use the drone prototype. Emit modified Kaiju pheromone pulses. Lure the centipede out into the open."

Kael nodded. "And we hit it fast. Relentless pressure. No retreat."

"Divide and crush?" Ryssa asked.

"No," Kael said firmly. "Divide and bleed. Then crush."

Preparing the Mecha

The preparation was grueling. Ravager's systems were recalibrated for terrain stability, its joints reinforced with flexible metallic compounds scavenged from last mission's carcasses. Kael replaced its traditional long-range cannon with a retractable plasma drill—a tool made specifically for burrowing deep and destroying biological armor from the inside.

Tyren's Brawler had been re-outfitted with dual mag-hydraulic boosters, allowing burst dashes in mid-air. Both his fists now bore retractable drill-spikes, designed to punch through even an Origin's carapace.

Ziya kept a sharp watch over Brawler's recharge nodes, while Ryssa sat in front of her terminal with her lips pressed into a tight line.

Every mechanical whir, every click of loading armor, every beep of drone diagnostics—it all painted a picture of something bigger than just another mission.

It was vengeance layered in steel.

Doubts in the Dark

That night, the air outside the cave was unnaturally still.

Ziya sat under the projection glow, checking Ravager's diagnostics again, though everything already read green. Tyren appeared, holding two cups of synth-tea, and handed her one.

"You've read that same line for ten minutes."

Ziya glanced at him, eyes tired. "You're not nervous?"

Tyren sipped from the cup, shrugged. "Terrified."

She blinked. "You hide it well."

He chuckled softly. "Not hiding. Just focused. Besides… I've got to look brave for someone."

Her cheeks darkened, but before she could respond, he leaned forward, eyes serious.

"We'll be fine. Kael's not letting us die on this planet. Not again."

Inside his own chamber, Kael stood alone, hand resting on the side of Ravager. He didn't speak, didn't move. Only when Ryssa entered, quietly, did he lift his eyes.

"I know you want to protect everyone," she said, voice gentle, "but don't forget, we're fighting beside you—not behind you."

He didn't respond with words. Just a nod.

But that nod was all she needed.

Into the Wastes

The next morning, they moved out. Four mechas. A drone scout. One impossible mission.

The wastelands were barren, littered with old Kaiju bones and melted steel. It looked like a battlefield carved into stone—a testament to every failed mission before them.

Ryssa scouted high, her mecha's wings tucked close to its frame. Ziya followed Tyren, eyes sharp on her sensors.

Kael moved ahead, leading.

At precisely 1400 hours, the drone was deployed. Its low-frequency hum echoed like a whisper to death.

Ten minutes.

Then—

The ground cracked.

Seismic waves shattered the ravine.

The centipede Kaiju exploded from the earth, more monstrous than they'd imagined. Its body was over 130 meters long, covered in molten, scale-like plates, and each of its legs bore razor hooks that dug through rock like paper.

"There!" Kael shouted. "Engage!"

The First Blow

Tyren boosted forward, slamming Brawler's left fist into the Kaiju's midsection. Sparks erupted. The beast screamed, whipping its tail like a whip. Kael activated Ravager's boosters, leaping to intercept—driving the plasma drill into the centipede's fourth segment.

"Ziya, right flank!" Ryssa barked. "Give them an opening!"

"I'm on it!"

Flashes of light lit the canyon. Explosions roared. One of the centipede's legs detached—but it didn't slow down. Instead, it coiled and began climbing the cliff walls.

"Now it runs?" Tyren growled.

Kael narrowed his eyes. "No. It's setting a trap."

The Origin was smarter.

Much smarter.

Retreat and Regroup

After fifteen full minutes of relentless combat, dodging acidic sprays and narrowly avoiding collapse from exhaustion, Kael gave the order.

"Fall back. It's adapting too fast. We need another plan."

No one argued.

As they climbed the ridge, Ryssa called in a short burst to her internal log, "Origin Kaiju is more reactive than estimated. Neural pattern spikes show it may… learn mid-battle."

Back at camp, silence fell. No one spoke. No one joked.

Even Tyren looked drained.

Kael sat with both fists clenched.

He had never intended to lose this round.

But maybe this wasn't a loss.

Maybe this was the beginning.