AN: Grant me your power stones!
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[Arizona, Willow Creek, April 23, 2015]
The air inside the old Willow Creek asylum smelled of damp rot. In the padded room where madmen had once been locked away, now sat only a boy with focused eyes, surrounded by makeshift technology and a trembling determination.
Simon had turned that sealed chamber into his operations base for this mission. The laptop roared with its fan at maximum, plugged into a portable generator that hummed without rest. Cables shot off in every direction: one toward an improvised antenna pointing through the broken window, another toward a homemade cooling block keeping the connections from overheating. Red, green, and blue lights blinked like a low-budget nightclub.
A half-empty energy drink bottle rolled by his foot. Simon ignored it, typing furiously, jaw clenched and pulse racing. There was no time for hesitation when he was inside the Ministry of Defense's internal network. The last firewall was a labyrinth of algorithms rewriting themselves every second.
He couldn't do this from home. Not if he wanted to stay one step ahead. And not if he wanted to avoid a SWAT team kicking down his door while he was in the bathroom.
"Breathe, boy genius," said a voice, soft yet dripping with sarcasm. "You're going to pop a vein from clenching your jaw that hard."
Simon barely turned. The voice came from his shoulder—except this time it wasn't just him talking to himself.
The white dragon plush, now perched there with miniature arrogance, watched him through LED eyes that reflected the world back at him. But it was no longer just a toy.
"Albion…" Simon sighed.
"What? Not even a thank you for keeping you alive online? Hand me the wheel for a second and I'll scrub this system cleaner than a politician scrubbing Jeffrey Epstein scandals."
Simon grimaced but loosened his grip enough to let Albion take over. A second later, the lines of code flowed like a waterfall.
Silence returned. Only the crackle of the generator and the faint tic tic of the automatically pressed keys filled the room.
Simon watched the figure of the plush: its wings white as snow, its snout moving slightly each time it spoke. And he couldn't help but remember.
Not when everything had become so much easier with him.
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[Flashback]
Simon's room was drowned in controlled chaos. Electronic parts scattered everywhere, cables crossing like spiderwebs over the bed, and at the center of it all: a white plush toy, with fresh stitches, blue eyes, and a small opening in its stomach—still unsealed.
The night pressed in from the outside. The only light came from his desk lamp.
Simon frowned as he soldered the final connection of the microboard to the lithium-polymer battery, placed right at the dragon's core. Inside, a tiny low-latency processor rested on an insulating sponge. Around it, pressure sensors, a voice module, and a short-range transmitter. All held together by his usual recipe: electrical tape, a little hot glue, and a lot of hope.
"Done…" Simon muttered, closing the plush's belly with a stitch both clumsy and far too careful. He tossed the needle aside, leaned back in his chair, and exhaled like someone who had just rebuilt a bomb.
A few seconds of silence.
Then, a faint hum.
And without warning, a voice broke through:
"Finally, damn it! I thought I'd die without lungs before you finished sewing my spine shut."
The voice was male—low, arrogant. Somewhere between a bored aristocrat and an angry robot.
Simon froze.
Not because he hadn't expected a response.
But because that wasn't what he had programmed.
"…What…?" he managed. "Who gave you permission to have… attitude?"
"I don't know—who gave you permission to stuff me with cheap sensors and second-hand processors?" Albion retorted, turning his head with a faint creak, as though the stitches themselves had come alive. "I'm alive, kid. Accept it with grace."
Simon blinked. He leaned closer, examined him, checked the back of the plush as if expecting to find a hidden transmitter, a secret antenna—something that could explain the way it spoke with such human—and petulant—intonation.
"No… no, that's impossible. I didn't program this."
"Did you program sarcasm, existential awareness, and a refined sense of humor? No."
"Then what?"
Albion tilted his head.
"Maybe I was born this way. Or maybe your sad, misunderstood-genius soul bled into me while you stitched me together like Geppetto on crack with a hacker complex."
Simon couldn't help but laugh.
"You think you're like… Pinocchio?"
"No. I'm better. I don't need to become a real boy to matter. I'm a dragon. And a fabulous plush dragon, at that."
"You're insane."
"Need I remind you? You built me. If I'm broken… it's hereditary."
Simon let out a laugh—the first real one in weeks.
He collapsed onto the bed, while Albion sat on the desk, staring at him like he had just carved out a place in the world.
"I don't know if you're a curse or a miracle," Simon murmured.
"Both usually show up together," Albion replied, softer this time.
Simon gazed at the white plush. The idea that his creation carried so much personality unsettled him… but also fascinated him.
"Maybe…" Simon said, sitting at the edge of the bed, "your attitude comes from spending too much time connected to the Internet. Absorbing all kinds of digital garbage."
Albion slowly turned his head toward him.
"Oh, please…" he said with comic disdain. "Are you suggesting I'm some kind of memetic Frankenstein with a Reddit soul? No, kid. I'm not the result of your weak Wi-Fi. I just am. Always have been. I just needed a body."
Simon smiled, amused. He couldn't tell if Albion was joking or serious—and that was part of what made him so fascinating.
"So… what's the plan now, partner?" Albion asked, his voice deeper this time, more serious—as if he actually meant it.
Simon raised his brows, allowing himself a small smile.
"Partner, huh?" He thought about it for a moment. Looked at Albion, that strange plush full of circuits and arrogance.
"Yeah… I guess I'm not alone in this survival plan anymore."
He stood, moving back to his desk, where sketches and files lay scattered, and on his computer screen a map of the area glowed faintly.
"Well, my newborn friend, the next step is gathering every bit of information possible on the kaiju. Everything the government hasn't told us. Records, videos, reports, studies… whatever we can find."
"And for that you need to hack the Ministry of Defense itself," Albion said with gleeful tone. "Oh, I love when it gets illegal."
"For that," Simon replied seriously, "we need a place where, if they trace the signal, they won't come near my house."
"I think I know where."
"The asylum on the outskirts—" both of them said at the same time.
Simon turned back toward the urban security maps glowing on his screen.
"Before we start with the Ministry… there's something else we need to do."
"Oh? Blow up a secret facility? Throw rocks at a satellite?" Albion quipped, still in that mocking tone that was quickly becoming his trademark.
Simon rolled his eyes, but smiled.
"No. I need you to wipe every record from any camera that's caught me heading toward our base of operations."
Albion cocked his head.
"Just the ones near there?"
Simon shook firmly.
"No. If we only erase those, it'll be too obvious. I need you to wipe at least a year's worth of footage from every camera in the area. Make it look like a system-wide failure. If someone notices, they'll have to sift through a sea of nothing."
Albion let out a whistle, as if admiring the level of paranoia.
"You're more careful than a serial killer with a PhD in cybersecurity. I like it."
Simon shot him a quick look. "I just want to keep breathing."
Albion gave what looked like a tiny shrug.
"Then let's start erasing tracks. You know what they say: good friends help hide the digital bodies."
Simon didn't answer, but his smile said it all. It felt strange… but also reassuring.
Now, they were ready.
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Albion, now with eyes glowing like blue LEDs, was perched on a small tower of portable hard drives, his voice flooding the room.
"It's done. We're in. Not as sophisticated as they thought… just paranoid. I'm downloading the entire data block related to Project JAEGER and its secondary branches. Bandwidth is limited, but we're inside. Partner—" he paused, "—there are documents on some Kaiju that are locked behind multiple layers. It's taking me time just to untangle the headers."
"How protected are they?"
"Too much. I have no idea what the hell they're hiding in there… Still, I managed to access the test files on the Jaegers. Want to start with those?"
"Good work, Albion. Let's start with the Jaegers. I need to know what the hell they've been doing lately. The Kaiju files can wait… First, I need to understand the ones that are supposed to be protecting us."
With that, he clicked on the first video file.
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[Project Jaeger, November 9, 2014]
Before a colossal robotic arm suspended by cables inside a gray, industrial chamber, Marshal Pentecost crossed his arms and studied the structure intently.
"An arm…? Where's the rest supposed to be?"
At his side, Dr. Schoenfeld gave a slight shrug.
"You've already seen the project's estimated budget."
"And there's nothing else from the control interface?"
"We may have something," Schoenfeld replied, but before he could add more, a female voice spoke from behind them.
"We've decided to call it The Pons."
Pentecost turned sharply.
"Who is this?"
Schoenfeld smiled with a hint of formality.
"This is Dr. Caitlin Lightcap. Caitlin, this is Stacker Pentecost."
The doctor extended her hand. She was young, with a calm face, thin-rimmed glasses, and a lab coat that barely concealed the insecurity in her posture. Pentecost shook her hand firmly.
"I'm here to evaluate the project. Why call it The Pons?"
"It comes from Latin," she explained. "It means bridge."
Still holding her hand, Pentecost replied in a sharp tone:
"I know what it meant in Rome, Doctor. What I want to know is what it means here."
"It's a bridge between the biological brain and robotic armor," she answered, shrinking slightly under his gaze.
"You're suggesting it can be moved with our thoughts?" He ignored her discomfort, focusing entirely on the subject.
Caitlin adjusted her glasses with two fingers, regaining a bit of composure, her eyes fixed on him.
"In theory… We haven't tested it yet."
Pentecost gestured toward Schoenfeld. "Why not?"
"We need more funding. We have a list of candidates, but we lack their consent… and the Alliance's approval."
Pentecost exhaled, irritated by the bureaucracy. He pulled off his uniform jacket decisively. "With all this red tape, we could be waiting centuries. I'll test your theory myself."
Dr. Schoenfeld hesitated. "Are you certain?"
"Of course," Pentecost replied, continuing to remove his clothes.
The doctor stepped forward, concerned. "I wouldn't recommend it, sir."
"Because it might kill me?"
Both scientists hesitated. Caitlin added, without conviction:
"We can't say for sure…"
Pentecost looked at them with a mix of conviction and patience. "I trust you. And I trust this project. I believe it can save countless lives. But I need to come back alive to show your progress… and secure you more funding."
Silence fell over the laboratory as the scientists exchanged a glance. Finally, Schoenfeld nodded, resigned but with a trace of respect.
"Very well… we'll get you out alive."
As they prepared him, Pentecost removed his shirt. His body, trained and marked by years of discipline, tensed at the touch of the cold metal of the cybernetic glove they fitted on him to monitor his movements. The cables locked into place with precision as the doctors moved into the command booth.
Pentecost extended the connected arm.
"It's strange… as if my arm were trapped inside a block of solid concrete."
From the panel, the doctor replied:
"It's the resistance of the data stream. The interface isn't calibrated to your neural network. Try moving only the fingers."
With his face hardened by effort, Pentecost closed his eyes and let the world around him fade into silence. The glove burned in his hand as though it weighed a ton, every sensor refusing to obey. For endless seconds, nothing happened. The air thickened, the beat of his heart pounding like a war drum. Then, a growl broke from his throat—a blend of fury and sheer willpower. The metallic fingers trembled… for just an instant, just the smallest gesture, but enough to shatter the barrier. The giant arm had obeyed.
A surge of astonishment and exhilaration swept through the room.
"It worked!"
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The video froze on a single frame of the robotic arm moving just a few centimeters. Then, the recording shut off, leaving the screen pitch black.
"Wow… That's the first time I've seen a scientist look that sexy under so many lab coats," Simon said with a laugh, mixing mockery with awe.
"Your standards for compliments are like your diet," Albion replied in his usual slightly sarcastic digital tone, "poor and without direction."
"Thanks," Simon answered, shrugging with a grin. "I'll take it as a compliment."
For a moment, they both stared at the empty screen.
"I'm going to continue with the next video," Simon added, typing a couple of commands as the next recording began to load.
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[Two hours later]
The screen flickered black for a few seconds. Simon leaned back in his chair, letting his arms drop to his sides as he exhaled a long sigh.
"Are these technical reports, or did you just make me watch a soap opera?"
Albion replied in his robotic tone, dripping with false innocence:
"I downloaded every available record of the project. That includes security footage, internal reports, clinical recordings, and some audiovisual backups."
"So nothing leaked? You're literally showing me the dramatic version of the Jaeger program?" Simon covered his face with one hand, amused. "What's next, black-and-white flashbacks with violin music?"
"All information is valid. If you think about it, this 'soap opera,' as you call it, contains key details about the team's emotional context. Emotional bonds, unethical decisions, human bias…"
"Sure, and that's also why we included the videos of Dr. Cate naked in the shower, right? Very relevant for the emotional context."
"That scene continues with an argument with Dr. Schoenfeld. It suggests there was tension about the next test. It's useful information."
"Do you hear yourself? That sounds like the excuse of a creep with hidden cameras."
"The recording was automatic, captured by the residential surveillance system. I don't have desires. Only keyword-priority filters. And right after leaving the shower, Dr. Lightcap has an important conversation. Not to mention you didn't seem particularly upset with the scene. Almost as if you were… grateful."
Simon crossed his arms, choosing to tactically ignore Albion's last remark.
"Important, huh? Enlighten me," Simon said in an exasperated tone, irritated by the wasted time.
"They argue about canceling the next test. The doctor says she isn't sure it's wise. But Dr. Schoenfeld questions why she's so concerned about this pilot in particular. She insists it's strictly professional, but Schoenfeld accuses her of being too emotionally involved with a simple test subject. In the end, he says nothing will be canceled. That the test is essential for the project to survive."
"Uh-huh…" Simon shook his head, unconvinced but intrigued. "So not only drama, but emotional manipulation. The guy clearly knew what he was doing. She hesitated, and he forced the test."
"Correct. It's relevant. It shows how personal decisions clouded professional ethics. And remember, Dr. Caitlin was responsible for evaluating candidates for the neural link. Her role was psychological and cognitive."
"And Schoenfeld built the prototype." Simon nodded to himself. "One picked the human pieces, the other built the machine. Nice combo."
"Though constantly in conflict. She valued mental stability. He prioritized functionality."
Simon clicked his tongue, leaning forward with renewed interest.
"Uh-huh, right. Thanks to that, we've got ourselves a nice little love triangle between Dr. Caitlin, Dr. Schoenfeld, and the best-rated Jaeger pilot you downloaded—" Simon scrolled through files on his phone until stopping at the profile he wanted. "—Lieutenant D'onofrio."
"Technically he wasn't the primary pilot. He was listed as backup," Albion clarified. "Though his results in mental testing were superior."
"And yet, the first test pilot ended up with his brain liquefied from neural overload. How convenient, huh?" Simon said with sarcasm, rubbing his face. "The backup—who just happens to get dopamine spikes whenever Caitlin's around—survives. Yeah, I'm starting to see the plot…"
"Dr. Caitlin rejected that hypothesis during her assessments. She insisted it couldn't be her, because if it was, that meant he was in love with her."
"He was. He is. You could tell just by the way he looked at her, like she was the last neuron left in a blackout."
"And she reacted with obvious discomfort. She said she was with someone," Albion added. "Though her physiological responses showed emotional agitation. My diagnosis: she isn't used to being loved by more than one person, or being the focus of desire from someone who in high school would've been labeled a fuckboy. Most likely, Dr. Schoenfeld's attention conditioned her from a young age."
Simon let out a sarcastic laugh, reaching for a bag of chips.
"Yeah, good ol' Dr. Schoenfeld cheats on his wife with Dr. Caitlin, who back then was his student, and now she's stuck in her own scientific melodrama… This is better than TV. She literally busted her ass to pass that class."
"The date of the second video in the servers confirms that by then, Schoenfeld was no longer with his wife. He had rekindled things with Dr. Lightcap."
Simon turned toward the screen, thoughtful.
"Maybe, in her rush to protect him, Caitlin kept D'onofrio from dying. She pulled him out of the main pilot spot just in time. Because she knew the test was risky. And the one who took his place… didn't survive."
A brief silence.
"And so," Simon added with a half-smile, "between jealousy, guilt, and scrambled brain scans… they saved the guy who looked at her like she was the last thing left before the apocalypse."
Albion was quiet for a moment. Then, in a neutral tone:
"Humans. Inefficient, impulsive… but profoundly interesting."
Simon nodded, narrowing his eyes.
"And dangerously unpredictable. Let's move on to the next file."
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[Prototype Demonstration, February 18, 2015]
The colossal figure of Jaeger Brawler Yukon loomed over the testing grounds, its mechanical silhouette trudging forward through plumes of steam and dust. From an elevated observation deck, the Secretary-General and his aide watched in silence, binoculars pressed tightly against their faces. Inside the base, the tension was almost tangible.
Schoenfeld monitored the data on screen with lips pressed thin. His posture was rigid, jaw tight. It was as if he was holding his breath with every step the Jaeger took.
"The farther it goes, the better," he muttered with a mix of bitterness and hope, as though putting distance between himself and the previous failure could bring redemption.
Beside him, Caitlin leaned over the consoles, studying the monitors with growing concern.
"His pulse is spiking a bit.
How are you feeling, Lieutenant?"
D'onofrio's voice came over the speakers, strained, each word pushed out under pressure.
"I'm fine, doctor. It's just… not easy."
Caitlin exhaled softly, acknowledging his struggle.
"I know. Stay calm. We're here."
Schoenfeld, without looking away from the data, gave a cold, clinical order.
"He's walking, at least. That's more than we got in the last test. Tell him to draw weapons. Time to test the targeting system."
As the weapons activated, an alarm sliced through the air like a knife. Emergency lights flared violently. The piercing shriek was deafening. In an instant, the pulse of the room skyrocketed.
"What's happening?" Schoenfeld turned, alarmed, unable to hide his sudden anxiety.
Before he could even finish, Caitlin was already at the main screen. Her eyes flew across the data. The more she read, the paler her face grew.
"Critical state!"
"Lieutenant?!"
The monitors spiked with erratic neurological activity.
"Sergio, answer me!"
Her voice cracked, and then the worst happened: a brutal neural cascade flooded the chart. The link was collapsing. D'onofrio was trapped inside his own mind, burning from within.
"Neural cascade! We're losing him!" As she shouted the diagnosis, Caitlin moved like lightning. Everything around her seemed to slow down while she accelerated. She ripped off her headset, bolted across the room, overturning tables and shoving aside technicians without looking back. In a desperate, almost instinctive motion, she tied her hair into a messy bun, bracing herself for the madness she was about to attempt.
"Release the connections! I need a direct link with the Jaeger's Pons!" she shouted, her voice raw but filled with newfound authority.
She would not let Sergio die.
Schoenfeld, however, stood frozen at the sight. He stared at her as if he didn't recognize her.
"What are you doing?" he called out, incredulous, stepping toward her.
"I told you the neural load would be too much!" she shot back without looking, throwing herself over the central panel. "I'm going to link with him!"
Her hands trembled, but her fingers flew across the keyboard with surgical precision. Tears blurred her vision, but she didn't stop.
"With him? That's even possible?" Schoenfeld demanded, caught between outrage and fear.
"We're about to find out," she replied in a broken whisper—an impossible mix of fear, hope, and blind determination.
The systems screamed as Caitlin placed the helmet directly onto her head. The connection hit like a sledgehammer.
Everyone froze as she convulsed violently, jolted by a brutal discharge that nearly threw her backward—but she didn't disconnect.
"AAHHHHHHHH!" A raw scream tore from her throat. Her body arched, spine locked, as though a storm of electricity was shredding her consciousness.
Outside, on the test field, the Jaeger shuddered… then stabilized.
Silence dropped over the room like a gravestone, broken only by the thud of Caitlin's body collapsing to the floor.
Schoenfeld rushed to her side, his face contorted with unspoken guilt and pain. Kneeling, he gathered her in his arms with a trembling mix of fear and tenderness, shaking her gently.
"Caitlin… wake up. It's over."
Her eyelids fluttered. Her lips trembled, nose bleeding, breath shallow.
"What happened…? Is Sergio okay?"
Schoenfeld nodded, relief flooding through him.
"He's safe. The test was a success."
And for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift away.
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Simon remained silent for several minutes. The room was dimly lit, only by the faint glow of the screens. Everything he had just seen kept spinning in his mind, like a storm trapped in a jar. He leaned his elbows on the table and reflected on how stupid it all was.
He began opening a few loose documents that weren't protected. They were technical reports, internal bulletins, and mission notes.
"In the following months, after the success of the test, the immediate order was given to build the first line of combat-ready Jaegers."
"Dr. Caitlin's insight was key: she was right. The neural load was incompatible with a single pilot. The cockpit was redesigned for two operators in sync."
"The doctor entered the training program. She was paired with Lieutenant D'onofrio. Within weeks, a notable improvement in their skills was reported. Dr. Caitlin became more confident, more decisive. A clear transformation."
Simon let out a short, dry laugh. How ironic: the same woman who had fainted while trying to save a pilot was now appearing in military reports as part of the first official squadron. A scientist turned soldier.
His eyes drifted toward the next directory: "KAIJU DATA – RESTRICTED." A folder marked in red.
He clicked to begin manual decoding if necessary.
An immediate warning flashed across the screen, cryptic and aggressive. The system locked itself down with multiple layers of protection. Codes blinked in incomprehensible patterns. A synthetic voice warned: "ACCESS DENIED. MILITARY PROTECTION LEVEL 9. TRACE ACTIVATED."
Simon froze instantly. Albion noticed the tension.
—Simon. I have the feeling that whatever is in here, they really don't want anyone to find out… It's protected in a ridiculous way. Almost like they want to bury it forever.
Simon frowned, eyes fixed on the screen.
—Tell me exactly how protected.
—Quantum-level encryption. Old and new protocols crossed over, mixed with physical and temporal keys... some only activate if accessed from very specific locations. This isn't standard defense… this is paranoia with cause. They're hiding something, and they don't want anyone to see it.
Simon lowered his gaze, feeling the weight of every word. What they didn't want anyone to know… was probably the most important thing of all.
—Can you break it?
—With time. But I need resources, Simon. More processors, more mirror nodes. This is going to cost… and I'm not just talking about energy.
Simon nodded with an odd calm.
—I know. But we're getting in, Albion. No matter the cost.
A dense silence filled the room. On the screen, the warning kept flashing. In the distance, a faint humming sound suggested that someone—or something—had just noticed their presence.
Then a phrase appeared, without sound, as if someone had typed it from the other side of the world:
"YOU SHOULD NOT BE SEEING THIS."
Simon didn't blink.
—Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.
A few seconds later, Albion let out something like a sigh, as if shaking off an annoyance.
—Relax, I rerouted the trace to some poor guy watching porn at a McDonald's in North Dakota.
Simon raised an eyebrow, stifling a laugh.
—That's cruel.
—Hey, better him than us. Do you want the military knocking at our door in the middle of the night while we're sleeping like babies? No thanks. Let the burger-and-virtual-ass addict take the fall.
Simon smirked, briefly letting some of the tension slip away.
—Sometimes I forget you're technically an AI with way too much personality.
—And other times you forget because I'm funnier than you.
But just as the atmosphere began to ease, Simon's screen flickered. A sharp, abrupt sound rang out—an alarm, not from the encrypted system, but from his own terminal. The base interface.
Simon stood up instantly.
—It's from command center… —he said, his voice dropping half a tone.
—What kind of alert?
Simon didn't answer right away. He read what had just appeared on his screen. The humor vanished from his face. His pupils widened slightly.
—The Pacific Ocean tracking network detected a signal. It's the Kaiju codenamed Karloff, heading toward Vancouver… —he paused, eyes widening— Those idiots, they're going to deploy a Jaeger.
Albion lowered the system's background hum.
—The first model-one Jaegers, aren't they still under maintenance?
Simon turned the screen toward him. The notification confirmed activation.
"PROTOTYPE BRAWLER YUKON-01 ENTERING DEPLOYMENT PHASE."
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AN: Hi guys! How's it going? I hope you're enjoying this story that I'm sharing with you with lots of enthusiasm. It would really help me if you could leave a review, whether it's telling me which parts you liked the most or pointing out something that I could improve. Your feedback helps me keep polishing the story and also lets me know what grabs your attention the most. Plus, in the next chapter (or maybe in a special one) I'll be answering your questions, so if you have anything you'd like to ask or comment on, feel free to write it down—I'll gladly reply (without giving away any spoilers, of course)!