Deep within the dense, emerald canopies of South America, buried under layers of ancient rock and sophisticated thermal dampeners, a heartbeat of iron and oil pulsed in the dark. This was a place the Space Colonies didn't know about—and a place the Earth Federation's central government had long since tried to forget.
While the high-ranking politicians in their ivory towers played a passive game of "wait and see," watching the Colonial Kings carve up the planet like a birthday cake, a remnant of the old guard remained. These were the survivors of the South American Sector, military hardliners and engineers who still remembered the sting of the "Color Knight Project" massacre fifteen years ago.
Inside the sprawling underground hangar, the air was thick with the scent of recycled oxygen and ozone.
"Commander, the power coupling for the main reactor is holding at 98%," a young technician shouted over the roar of heavy machinery. "We're ready for the first ignition sequence."
Commander Salia Bernekin stood on the observation deck, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She was a striking figure—short, fiery red hair that looked like a flickering flame in the dim light, and sharp, maroon eyes that seemed to burn with a permanent sort of frustration. Her Federation uniform was worn but immaculate, a symbol of a pride she refused to let die.
Salia watched as robotic arms danced around a skeletal frame. To any outsider, it looked like a mess of wires, but she knew better. This was the legacy of her best friend.
"Fifteen years," Salia whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. "Fifteen years of hiding in the dirt like rats while those bastards in the sky took everything."
Her mind drifted back to Friday night. She had been off-duty, sitting in her dark quarters with a glass of cheap whiskey, when an encrypted, untraceable signal hit her private terminal. It was a ghost frequency—one she hadn't seen since the fires of the Color Knight Project facility.
Then, she had heard the voice.
"Salia? If you're listening... it's been a long time, old friend."
Airi Kimeza.
Salia had almost dropped her glass. She had spent a decade and a half mourning Airi and Klaus, thinking they were ash. But Airi's voice was steady, older, and filled with a resolve that reignited Salia's own fire. Airi had told her everything—about the Alliance, about Neo-Verdia, and about the fact that the "White Bird" everyone was talking about was actually her own blood.
"The Federation has lost its way, Salia," Airi had said during the call. "They've given up. But the people of Earth haven't. We're building something here. Join us. Let's finish what we started before the world actually ends."
Airi had even sent over the refined blueprints for the G-Knight unit—the "missing link" of the Color Knight Project. She had told Salia, "Use this, or don't. It's your choice. But Earth needs a sword that isn't broken."
"Commander? You're staring again," a voice interrupted her thoughts.
Salia blinked, turning to see her lead engineer, a grizzled man named Hobs.
"I'm not staring, Hobs. I'm calculating," Salia snapped, though there was no real heat in it.
"Right, sure. Well, calculation or not, the unit is ready for its skin," Hobs said, gesturing to the hangar floor. "Airi Kimeza really did a number on these specs. It's leaner than anything the Federation ever produced. It's built for one thing: killing Mobile Suits."
Salia walked down the stairs to the hangar floor, her boots clanking against the metal. She stopped in front of the machine. It was sleek—dangerously so. Unlike the bulky, tank-like suits the Federation usually favored, this one had a predatory, lithe frame. It was painted a deep, aggressive crimson, like dried blood.
"The Red One Gundam," Salia said, testing the name on her tongue. "Finally. Something that can actually keep up with a White Ghost."
"It's got it all, Commander," Hobs explained, pointing to the various weapon racks. "A high-accuracy long-range beam rifle for the opening move. Two beam pistols tucked into the waist armor for close-quarters skirmishing. Two beam sabers mounted on the rear skirt for easy reach. And look at that backpack—dual short cannons. It's got the bite of a heavy type with the speed of an interceptor."
Salia ran a hand over the cold metal of the leg armor. "It has to be perfect, Hobs. The world is a mess. Half the population thinks the Colonies are gods, and the other half are rebels who are so blinded by hate they'd blow up a school just to kill one Colonial soldier. The Federation is a joke. If we don't show them that Earth still has its own teeth, we're done for."
"Are we really going to do it, Salia?" Hobs asked, his voice dropping. "Are we going to side with the Kimeza Alliance? The Federation brass will call it desertion. They'll label us traitors."
Salia looked up at the head of the Red One Gundam. Its "eyes" were still dark, but she could imagine them glowing to life.
"The brass are already dead, Hobs. They just haven't stopped breathing yet," Salia said bitterly. "They sat by and watched while Airi was hunted. They sat by while the Colonies built their empires. I'm done taking orders from men who are afraid of the sky. Airi reached out her hand. I'm taking it."
She turned back to the monitors, her eyes scanning the global news feeds. She saw the reports from Neo-Verdia, the celebrations, the "White Bird" craze. She didn't know about the "Zero Hour Protocol" yet—Airi hadn't mentioned it, likely because Airi herself didn't realize how truly insane the Kings had become after the Arancia's defeat. Salia only knew that the pressure was building.
"We can't just be another rebel group," Salia muttered. "We have to be the official arm of the Earth. If the Federation won't fight, we'll become the Federation people actually believe in."
"What's the first move then?" Hobs asked.
Salia gripped the handle of her sidearm, her knuckles turning white. "We finish the mass-production G-Knight units. I want a full squadron ready by the end of the week. And I'm going to pilot the Red One myself. We're going to Neo-Verdia. I've spent fifteen years feeling guilty for not being there when the fires started. I'm not missing the finale."
Suddenly, the hangar alarms began to blip—not a combat alert, but a notification.
"Commander, we're getting a ping from the Northern Sector," a communications officer called out. "Rumors are flying. There's massive movement in the Canadian wilderness. High-energy signatures, totally masked. It doesn't match Saturn or Jupiter's typical patterns."
Salia's eyes narrowed. "Mars? Or Mercury? They've been quiet lately. Too quiet."
"Whatever it is, it's big, ma'am."
Salia looked back at her crimson Gundam. The "Red One" stood there, a silent promise of vengeance. She felt a shiver go down her spine—the same feeling she had right before the Color Knight facility was hit all those years ago. The air felt thin, like the calm before a hurricane that was going to sweep the entire planet clean.
"Hobs, accelerate the schedule," Salia ordered, her voice cracking with an emotional edge she couldn't hide. "Double shifts. Triple shifts. I don't care. If Airi and Klaus are out there fighting with their kids, then they aren't doing it alone anymore. Tell the men to pack their gear. We're moving out to join the Alliance."
"Understood, Commander!"
Salia stood alone for a moment as the hangar erupted into a fresh wave of activity. She pulled a small, crumpled photograph from her pocket—a picture of her and Airi during their academy days, laughing in the sun.
"I'm coming, Airi," Salia whispered, her maroon eyes misting over for a second before hardening into steel. "And this time, I'm bringing a hell of a lot more than just a blueprint."
The Red One Gundam's sensors flickered for a brief second, a faint red glow appearing in its visor as the systems began to sync. Earth was finally waking up, but as the shadows deepened in Canada and the Kings prepared their final solution, the question remained: would a Red Knight and a White Bird be enough to stop the sky from falling?
To Be Continued....