When the soldier first heard from his comrades that they were launching an invasion of Orb, his voice was thick with exasperation.
"Invading Orb? Why the hell are we hauling ourselves out there just to deal with some tiny, backwater nation?"
"You heard what happened at Panama, didn't you? Every Mass Driver the Allied Forces had left was wiped out. Orb's is the only one left standing."
"Right, so that's why we're hitting them. Still, wouldn't they just surrender the moment we show up?"
It was a logical conclusion to him. He was a soldier of the Atlantic Federation, the dominant faction within the Earth Alliance. No matter what a speck like Orb tried to do, it was nothing more than an ant attempting to topple an elephant.
"Word is, the Orb crowd brought in some... strange reinforcements. Apparently, they actually intend to pick a fight with us."
"Hah! I don't care what kind of ragtag unit they've got helping them. There isn't a pilot alive who can stand up to a Strike Dagger."
His words were heavy with a confidence that bordered on delusion. But to him, it was simply a statement of fact. Even for a mass-produced mobile suit, the Strike Dagger was equipped with beam weaponry; its offensive power was leagues beyond the ZAFT GINNs they had been facing.
At that moment, the man believed—without a shadow of a doubt—that the Allied Forces would trample the nation of Orb with overwhelming, irresistible force.
"Wait, wait, wait... What the hell are those?"
Time had passed, and the soldier was now within Orb's territorial waters. Sitting in the cockpit of his beloved Strike Dagger on the deck of a Spengler-class assault carrier, he stared in mounting horror at the enemy force.
At first glance, they looked like insects. In terms of sheer scale, these Mobile Armor units were significantly smaller than a Mobile Suit. But it was the sheer volume that was the problem. They swarmed the horizon, their numbers clearly dwarfing the Allied MS forces. There were twice as many as them—maybe more.
And then...
"The Archangel? Is that... the real thing?"
He had heard the rumors. A legendary ship that carried the prototype units developed at Heliopolis. Since his own Strike Dagger was a mass-produced descendant of those very machines, he couldn't help but take a grim interest in it. But that ship was supposed to have vanished at Alaska, consumed by the Cyclops system.
"What is this, a damn ghost ship? To hell with this!"
While the man spat curses, the negotiations between the fleet commander and the Archangel's captain broke down. The peace was over. The slaughter began.
"All units, commence attack! Swat those damn flies into the sea!"
The commander's voice crackled over the comms. The soldier leveled his beam rifle at the swarm of insectoid MAs closing in.
But as he pulled the trigger...
"Die! Just die! Why won't I hit you?!"
He screamed, firing wildly, but every beam from his rifle streaked harmlessly into the empty air.
What the man didn't know was that these "insect" MAs—the Megi-rots—were controlled by combat AI that had already butchered countless enemies. To an advanced AI, dodging the panicked shots of a pilot with only two weeks of training was child's play.
"Damn it! How can I keep missing?!"
He refused to give up, firing shot after shot, but the distance between him and the swarm closed with terrifying speed.
"Tch! This piece of garbage rifle's sights must be off!"
In a fit of desperation, he threw the rifle into the ocean and drew the beam saber docked on his machine's back.
"DIEEEEEEEEE!"
He swung the glowing blade down at the head of the nearest Megi-rot, but the machine moved with an erratic, jerky grace, slipping through his guard before he could even aim. And then—
"Let go! Get off me!"
The Megi-rot clamped its mechanical jaws onto the Dagger's right arm, the one holding the saber, and began to drag the machine upward into the sky.
"Crap!"
The soldier fought back, aiming the Igelstellung 75mm CIWS mounted in the Strike Dagger's head. At this point-blank range, he was certain he couldn't miss. He jammed his finger onto the trigger.
"Take this, you disgusting bug!"
His aim was true; nearly every round from the head-vulcans slammed into the Megi-rot. But the result only dragged him deeper into the abyss of despair. The insectoid machine showed no sign of damage at all.
As he stared in shock, more of the swarm began to converge on his position from every direction.
"Stay back... STAY BACK!"
The machine he had trusted with his life was systematically dismantled. First, the legs were torn away. Then the arms were ripped from their sockets. Finally, the head was wrenched off.
The Megi-rots swarmed the remaining torso, their metallic mandibles seeking the cockpit.
"Ah... Aaaah... Somebody... help... Mom..."
Those were his final words. The Megi-rots tore into the Strike Dagger's battery, and the machine vanished in a violent explosion, taking the pilot with it. The man's consciousness flickered once, then went dark forever.
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