Screw Them All

After taking the medicine, the dizziness in Rosen's head finally began to fade. He started trying to assess his current situation.

Rosen first looked around. Aside from the burly man in black, everything was pure white. This was probably Shatterdome's dedicated hospital.

Rosen only remembered controlling Kunlun out of the smoke. He had no memory of anything that happened afterward. From the looks of things, Jiang Tianzheng had probably ordered his rescue, then assigned people to keep a close watch on him—this was what so-called house arrest looked like.

In Rosen's original plan, once Kunlun had finished starting up, he would blend back into the mechanics' crew. No one would notice; it would have been flawless. But no one had expected this mess to happen.

Three mech hangar doors... repairs to the base grounds... repairs to Shandong and Kunlun...

Rosen silently calculated the losses caused by this riot. For all he knew, these might be the standards used to sentence him.

In the end, Rosen simply gave up thinking.

Maybe he really would not be able to get away so easily this time, but Rosen did not regret it.

He wanted to become a pilot. That was his greatest wish, more important than anything... And in the end, Kunlun had fulfilled that wish for him. Nothing in this world could have made Rosen happier.

Raleigh had once told Rosen—

When you truly pilot a mech, beyond the simulator, in the real world, behind you lie ten miles of the Miracle Line and millions of civilians praying for you to save them. In battle, you must make choices and decisions, and bear every consequence of your actions.

Now it was time for Rosen to bear the consequences.

He would take it one step at a time. With that thought, Rosen leaned back against the bed again.

But waiting was always unbearably boring.

"What's your name?" Rosen asked the burly man in black beside him.

"..."

But the man in black apparently had no interest in answering Rosen. He merely glanced at him, then continued staring straight ahead—and gripped the gun in his hand even tighter.

"Don't... I don't mean anything by it," Rosen hurriedly explained. "I just wanted to ask how long I've been asleep."

The soldier looked at Rosen again, his eyes narrowing slightly as though he were observing whether Rosen's expression was natural. Then he said, "Twenty-nine hours."

Based on the soldier's answer, Rosen estimated that it was around five in the afternoon on June 15.

"What about Kunlun and Shandong?" Rosen continued. "I mean, is Kunlun still parked outside Victoria Harbour?"

"They were recovered this morning." The soldier's voice was calm and even.

"Then where did Mike Kane go?"

The soldier seemed annoyed by Rosen's string of questions. He lifted the muzzle of his gun slightly, and Rosen wisely shut his mouth.

This guy looked hard to deal with.

Rosen thought to himself.

At that moment, Mike Kane—the man Rosen had been thinking about—was suffering inside.

Perhaps Jiang Tianzheng had intentionally helped him. He had been found not guilty in yesterday's riot and was still a mech test pilot. He even seemed to be gaining momentum over Tigre.

But just because his superior did not pursue the matter did not mean it was over. By now, rumors had spread through every corner of Shatterdome.

Rebellion rumors, accident rumors, kaiju-spy rumors, rumors that he had tried to kill Lin Yin... All kinds of rumors had replaced kaiju intelligence as people's everyday topic of conversation.

And those rumors were incredibly vivid. Take the kaiju-spy rumor—it described in detail how miniature kaiju had entered Rosen and Mike's brains and controlled the two of them into attacking the Shatterdome base. It was full of twists and punchlines—how Rosen and Mike Kane had been despicable villains, and how Lin Yin, who saved the world and stopped their plot, had been so noble, and so on...

Mike Kane had nearly begun wondering whether he really had been controlled by miniature kaiju. He sincerely admired the people capable of making up such stories out of thin air.

And those rumors had clearly affected Mike's life as well.

Just like now. The instant Mike Kane stepped into the cafeteria, he felt that yesterday's failure had completely overturned the image everyone had of him.

Before this, Mike had test-piloted nearly every mech in the Hong Kong Shatterdome. Every mech work crew had acquaintances he knew, yet today, not a single person was willing to greet him.

He picked up a tray and stood at the back of the line. The entire line immediately fell silent as the grave. Even the kitchen worker lowered his head and said nothing while serving food onto Mike's tray.

Mike walked past row after row of tables. Those facing him raised their heads one after another and glared straight at him, their expressions plainly saying, Just try sitting here.

A bunch of fair-weather bastards. Mike thought. They changed their faces faster than turning pages.

Mike carried his tray and casually sat at a table. The table's original occupants scattered like birds and beasts.

At least it was quiet. Mike picked up his spoon and began enjoying his meal.

But...

Clearly, not everyone was afraid of getting dragged into trouble—on the contrary, some people loved stirring things up.

Smack!

A set of utensils slammed heavily onto the table. Mike's table welcomed its second diner.

"We shouldn't let a piece of trash ruin our mood, should we?" an ear-piercing voice said.

Mike did not even need to look up to know who the rude bastard was. It had to be Seti Andrews. He had already driven off several new pilots using this method, and even called it: testing new pilots' mental resilience.

That was complete bullshit! Mike thought, his spoon never stopping. Seti was just indulging his twisted need for attention. In his eyes, no one else mattered. Putting others down while boosting himself up—that was the way people like Seti thought.

"I'm starting to wonder if the commander has gone senile. Why keep someone like this around? To use as cannon fodder? Or as an example? As an example of a loser, someone's doing quite well."

Laughter erupted from all around.

A loser? Mike could not help thinking back to the time he piloted Noisy Max and faced two kaiju alone.

Los Angeles had been hit by a cold wave then, with thick snowflakes blanketing the ground. Yet it had not dampened the people's enthusiasm. They still braved the freezing weather to celebrate Christmas in the streets. And then—the kaiju came.

Two of them.

They advanced on Los Angeles in a line, baring their fangs and claws. But the Shatterdome in Los Angeles had transferred out two mechs just the day before. The only one available was the sixth-generation mech, Noisy Max, and its pilot, Mike Kane, was still a green kid with a Sync Rate of only seventy percent. But in the end, Mike withstood the pressure. He held on bitterly in the freezing wind, keeping the two kaiju pinned in the waters west of Los Angeles for three and a half hours.

Mike had forgotten how he finally won. He only remembered that the kaiju had torn a hole in front of the cockpit, and the freezing wind pouring in had nearly turned him into an icicle.

By the time Mike's memories ended, Seti was still rambling on to the crowd.

Mike had heard enough. When he had been a hero, Seti had not even touched a Pilot Suit—so why should he keep putting up with some brat like this now?

"Hey, buddy," Mike called.

"Hm?" Seti finally turned his smug face toward him.

Mike grabbed his meal tray and smashed it straight into that expression.

"You fucking want a fight? Fine. I'll fight you to the bitter end!"