The hangar floor gleamed like a mirror beneath the lights. Technicians moved like clockwork, carrying tools and recalibrating modules. A low mechanical hum echoed as the spacecraft's fuel bay sealed with a hiss. This wasn't the rusted, half-broken crate they had limped around R22 in.
This was a high-spec, combat-equipped dropship—Orion-X, polished white armor, reinforced belly, and detachable cargo modules for carrying Kaiju corpses. A gift—no, a calculated investment from Ryssa's faction.
At the center of it all stood Kael, dressed in his matte black exosuit, his hand resting on the cool metal flank of his restored Ravager Mk III.
But this Ravager… it was not the same.
It looked forged in vengeance.
Smooth but brutal—its frame rebuilt with rare composite metals scavenged from R22 and retrofitted with top-tier boosters. It had lost none of its primal intensity and now carried elegant precision. Like a beast in a suit of royalty's armor.
On the side of its shoulder plating, painted by Kael himself in jagged lines:
"Rust doesn't rot loyalty."
---
Across the hangar, Tyren stood proudly beside his new mecha—Brawler.
If Ravager was a blade, Brawler was a wrecking hammer. Thick plating, reinforced forearms designed for close-quarters devastation, a powerful energy knuckle system, and back-mounted shock absorbers to take on the largest Kaiju charges.
"Not as fast as Ravager," Tyren said, grinning as he watched Kael approach, "but it'll smash through a Kaiju's skull like it's soft bread."
Kael looked at it once and smirked faintly. "It suits you."
A short silence passed between them—not awkward. Just battle-ready calm.
---
Later, in the command prep room, Ryssa stood in front of a holographic map of R22.
"You'll deploy to Sector Delta-7, near your previous cave," she said, voice crisp. "Satellite scans suggest no major Kaiju activity in that zone recently, but don't trust that—it shifts daily."
Kael folded his arms. "And our return schedule?"
"After every confirmed kill or significant harvest, you come back," Ryssa replied, gaze sharp. "Preferably with carcasses. The scientists here want samples."
Tyren muttered, "Of course they do. But do they want them diced, frozen, or gift-wrapped?"
Kael ignored him, eyes still on Ryssa. "And if we stay longer?"
Ryssa hesitated, then looked Kael straight in the eye. "Then don't die."
A thin smile played across his face.
---
The briefing ended.
As the crew left the room, Ryssa caught up to Kael near the armory hallway, her footsteps silent but certain. She stepped close, too close for protocol.
"I want to give you something," she said under her breath, then slipped a small object into his palm—a black, flat comm chip.
"It's encrypted," she said. "Private. Just you and me. If anything happens, or if you…" her voice dipped, "…if you need to talk."
Kael looked at the chip, then at her, expression unreadable.
"You trust me?" he asked.
Ryssa smiled. "I don't trust anyone. But I'd rather it be you than anyone else."
He didn't answer. Just nodded once and pocketed the chip without a word.
---
Inside the Orion-X, the last pre-launch checks were running.
Brawler and Ravager stood locked in place inside the internal mech bay, towering side by side.
Kael entered the cockpit of Ravager and strapped in, fingers moving swiftly over the controls.
The seat, the harness, the view—all familiar. All home.
Tyren's voice crackled over the internal comms.
"Ready to stomp on some bugs?"
Kael's voice was calm but focused.
"We're not just stomping. We're building hell from the bones up."
---
As the countdown started, Ryssa watched from the upper platform, arms folded. But her gaze remained on one person only.
Kael didn't look back at her.
But she knew—he felt her watching.
She whispered under her breath, unheard by anyone:
> "Don't die on me, Kael. Not now—not when you've just come alive again."
The bay doors opened.
And like thunder falling from heaven,
Orion-X launched—carving through space like a bullet, descending into the shadows of R22 once more.