Sisyphus; or, How Nobody Died in the Biggest War in History [Godzilla]

[Thuktun Flishithy]

A/N: Much like The Christmas War, this is a sidestory to Leviathan that doesn't require prior reading. This was spawned by an idle thought I had more than two years ago- that when you consider the sheer amount of munitions used, the secret conflict where the US tried to kill Godzilla with atomic testing in the 50s as described in the 2014 film would make it more destructive than WWII by an order of magnitude, yet the death toll would probably be in the range of 0.

Of course, this is more than just a story that consists of "we nuked him and he ignored it". This is a story of the fears and madness borne of the Nuclear Age. It is a story of humanity's relationship to the world we live in, and of the joys of discovery.

And it is also a story of one man's ACME-esque attempts to destroy a particularly stubborn reptile.

Enjoy.

==/*\==​

Perhaps the biggest lie in the world was the Pacific Ocean.

It was right in the name, after all. Pacific. Tranquil, serene. It brought to mind cloudless skies and bright sunshine, gentle waves lapping at pristine beaches. Quiet nights with only the wind in your ears, and countless stars above.

It did not bring to mind the countless corpses and wrecks that lay at its bottom, relics of the bloodiest naval battles in the history of the world. Nor did it bring to mind typhoons, more plentiful and powerful than anywhere else, that could leave thousands of dead clogging the water. The ocean was certainly not being Pacific when it surged against the coastline in massive tsunamis that washed away entire villages, pulling the land itself into its hungry maw.

And to the crew of the Titania oil rig, scattered across the angry waves in lifeboats and inflatable rafts, the word pacific did not describe the rows of bone-white spines the shape of maple leaves, slicing through the water as their owner left the twisted remains of the rig behind.

Perhaps it was not the ocean itself that was the lie. Rather, it was all the countless fabrications and denials and fibs sequestered beneath the waves, big and small, that combined to form the greater falsehood.

As a hard rain came down from the dark night sky and drenched them further, the marooned men would slowly realize that they had found the greatest of those falsehoods contained hidden within the Pacific- that this world belonged to Man.

Little did they know, there would be more lies to come.

==/*\==​

Oahu

As soon as he saw the man step into the ring, Gordon already knew how he was going to win.

McQuayle was a big enough man, sure, but it was clear he didn't know how to hold himself in a proper fight. He stood as stiff as a board as he held up his bandage-wrapped firsts, as if hoping that his height advantage would scare Gordon off. His eyes darted back and forth, from Gordon to the small throng of screaming sailors and aviators around them, wavering too much in focus.

For his own part, Gordon simply rolled his shoulders and stretched his haunches, then got into a low-hand guard. He kept his footwork simple, just as he did back when this was his life, and had to repress the urge to grin as McQuayle looked down and began to half-assedly copy him.

Then the bell rang, and the beefy ensign immediately bullrushed forward. He swung wildly, like he was in a schoolyard scuffle, and Gordon simply ducked under, giving McQuayle a quick jab to the ribs with his right fist. As expected, there was a low grunt as the ensign backed away, letting his guard down as he tried to go for a jab of his own.

Gordon punished that mistake by sliding slightly out of the way, catching McQuayle with a left cross. Spittle flew as his opponent's head snapped to the side, and his shitastic footwork finally caught up with him as he fell. Landing in a sprawl, the ensign tried to struggle to his feet, only to shake his head and slap the deck with his hand three times.

"Out!" barked Phillips, the impromptu referee.

The gathered sailors cheered, clapping and hollering, but Gordon ignored it. Walking over, he offered a hand to McQuayle and helped the officer back to his feet.

"Gotta think before you punch, ensign," he half-yelled to get past the cheering. "A good hook ain't nothing if you don't know how to use it. Now get your ass to the infirmary and make sure your head's alright."

McQuayle opened his mouth, probably to answer, only to wince. He sufficed with a nod, then dazedly walked towards the exit of the base's gym. Gordon watched his staggered gait for a moment, jaw set, then motioned for Case and Martinez to escort him.

"All right, sailors," he bellowed, standing straight as he looked about the ring. "I think I'm done for the night. Enjoy your shore leave. I sure as hell intend to."

A few disappointed groans escaped the crowd, most likely from those hoping to see another dumbass get his face pounded into hamburger meat, but for the most part they simply gave one last cheer and began to clear out. Gordon watched them go, then let his shoulders sag a little.

Unwrapping the bandages around his fists, he tossed them into a nearby bin and began the long saunter back to his quarters. It was quiet, this time of night, and so he managed to arrive undisturbed.

As soon as he opened the door and saw the single envelope on his desk, he already knew what was going to be inside. And yet, he still bothered to pick it up as he made his way towards his bunk. Reaching for a cigar from the box he kept stashed away, he cut off the tip and lit it with a match, watching the flame slowly turn it to ash. Puffing once, he opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. It was in shaky handwriting, and he could see a few blots here and there, likely from long-dried tears.

Douglas, the letter began. Aritomo finally passed last night. He was sleeping. I want you to know-

The rest of the words were lost as the flames consumed the paper, radiating out from where he'd pressed the cigar. He watched as the eggshell white page curled and blackened, fire lapping at its edges ravenously, until they threatened to do the same to his fingertips. Crumpling the ashes in his hand, he ignored the brief sting as he tossed the burnt letter into the trash.

Laying back down with the cigar screwed firmly in the corner of his mouth, he laid back down on his bunk, eyes fixated on the ceiling. He stayed as still as a rock, with only the tensing of the muscles along his jaw betraying the emotion simmering within him.

He didn't know how much time passed before he heard a knock on his door. Stamping the cigar out on the ashtray, he walked over and opened the door. As soon as he did, and saw the lean figure with the admiralty insignia on his cap, he quickly snapped into a salute.

"At ease," Rear-Admiral Chambers said. "Lieutenant-Commander Douglas Gordon, I presume."

"Yes, Admiral," Gordon quickly replied. "Permission as to ask the purpose of this visit?"

"I'll be getting to that soon enough. Mind if I come in?"

Gordon moved aside and let Chambers enter. It was then he noticed the short, portly man in a civilian suit who had come with the Rear-Admiral. Gordon's hand twitched at that, but he said nothing.

"Would you like a seat, Admiral?" he asked instead.

"No, I've been sitting in a plane for the past twelve hours, and I'd very much prefer to get some blood in my legs." Chambers removed his cap and placed it under his arm, smoothing his thinning hair over with his free hand. "Lieutenant-Commander Douglas Gordon. Commissioned in 1941, with combat experience in over a dozen major operations, including Incheon, and only one disciplinary incident featuring a captain with a broken jaw."

"That same captain was later dishonorably discharged for sexual assault," Gordon replied, curtly. "I am sure you knew about that."

"Yes, and I also know that you've written papers on attacking hardened targets with specialized artillery, both conventional and nuclear, and have worked with a number of task forces in operations along that vein, most prominently being Operation Upshot-Knothole. You still have Top Secret clearance from that one."

"And that's why you're here."

Chambers smiled thinly, then nodded to the civilian suit. "Show him."

The portly man quickly shut the door behind them, then placed a briefcase on the desk. "Everything that is said in here is now considered sensitive information. What I am about to tell you requires Top Secret clearance, minimum."

"Then tell me."

Opening the briefcase, the suit cleared his throat. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name's Dr. Mitchell Hardwick. I work for MONARCH, a joint task force under the direct supervision of the president."

"Sounds new."

"Very new. We were founded two weeks after Gojira's attack on Tokyo. We are charged with the search and study of massive unidentified terrestrial organisms. Organisms like Gojira."

The name still leapt out at Gordon like a hissing viper., even all these months after seeing the grainy photos of an impossible monster standing in a burning city. It was all too easy to pretend that the world hadn't changed forever when you were an ocean away, but he was not one of those lucky ostriches. Jaw set, he sat down at the desk.

"Lemme guess. You found some more of those... kaiju?"

"We don't like using the Japanese word for it," Hardwick said. "Some of us call them MUTOs."

Chambers coughed, prompting Hardwick to glance over and redouble in pulling the papers out of the briefcase. Gordon arched an eyebrow as a glossy black and white photo of a oil rig was placed before him. It was a newer-looking model, though he was not entirely sure.

"That is... well, was the Hyperion oil platform, located approximately a hundred miles off the coast of Mindanao, in the Philippines. Built in 1951, with a daily production of 100 barrels. It was notorious for leaking, though Standard Oil Company of New Jersey insists that they had the issue under control."

Hardwick placed another photograph down, this time in color, and Gordon's brow furrowed. The structure was gone, save for a few slagged pieces of metal sticking above the water. It seemed as though it had been less destroyed, and more unmade.

"A month ago, on the fifth at 22:13, the Hyperion platform's buoy system detected a massive object approaching them at speeds in excess of a hundred knots. All attempts at radio contact failed, and they had to evacuate within ten minutes when it was clear that it was on a collision course. Within two minutes of the last of the crew getting off, they saw said object collide with the platform, crushing it utterly."

"That must have caused a bad spill."

"Well, that's the thing. There was no spill. The crew reported seeing a bright glow coming from under the object immediately after it pulverized the rig. When our team investigated the wreckage, it was found that the well had been plugged up with slag from the platform, as well as some of the surrounding seabed."

Gordon looked back up at Hardwick, studying the man with a steely gaze. The nervous look on the scientist's face was quite telling.

"So... we have another Gojira."

"Oh, not another Gojira," Chambers interjected. "This is something much worse."

"What he means," Hardwick hurriedly said, "is that Gojira's attacks were in a much smaller range, focused on any vessels that got too close. This particular MUTO, however, has a much larger range, and different targets in mind."

"You mean he's hit more?"

"Three weeks ago, it attacked a large pesticide production plant near the Bay of Plenty in New Zealand. Similar case- massive object approaching at more than a hundred knots, though this time it seemed to merely let the waves in its wave due the work. No leakage, but the damage to the production facilities are so great that it won't be open for another three years. Only three days after that, it melted a chemical waste dump near the Aleutians."

Gordon took the photos from Hardwick and looked them over. Again and again, he was greeted with the sight of heaps of slag, expanses of twisted metal, and scorched earth.

"So you're telling me that this thing has been zipping around the entire Pacific, smashing major production facilities? That doesn't sound like he's scrounging for food or asserting his territory. Sounds like a goddamn act of war."

"Animals don't wage war," Hardwick asserted, frowning. "Even prehistoric ones."

"We do."

The scientist opened his mouth to protest, but Chambers cut him off. "Regardless of motive, we are treating this creature as a significant security threat. Even if it doesn't actually move on population centers, all it takes is for it to attack a Soviet refinery and we might get dragged into a war we didn't start. Hell, at this rate, it might kill trade and production around the Pacific in a matter of years. And it gets worse."

Gordon's mustache twitched from side to side as he considered the Rear Admiral's words. "Can't see how it gets much worse than another Gojira, only with a bigger grudge."

"Well, it's not exactly another Gojira." Hardwick produced another photo. "Here. On its most recent attack, against the oil rig Titania, someone actually managed to photograph it as it turned around from the wreckage."

Gordon felt his jaw clench as he looked at the black and white image. Though it was blurry, he could still see the trio of bone-white spines rising above the water, shaped like the world's biggest oak leaves. The photo crinkled slightly as his grip tightened. Another one of these fuckers.

"I know it looks similar, but there are some slight anatomical differences. However, that's not the biggest take-away from this." Hardwick pointed at a blurry spot near the tail of the beast. "That's a dingy measuring about twenty feet in length. If we scale it to those dorsal plates, we get something approximately two and a half times the length of Gojira."

That finally gave Gordon pause. Slowly, he set the photo down, feeling a sudden need to grab some whiskey.

"So you're telling me this thing is ten times bigger than the last one."

"Anywhere between eight and fourteen times the size of Gojira. We estimate it to be four hundred feet tall or so, with a mass anywhere between a hundred and three hundred thousand tons. Length of approximately six hundred feet or greater."

"If this is anything like Gojira, we are looking at one of the biggest threats to national security since the Soviets got the bomb." Chambers straightened slightly. "I think you already know why you're being told this."

Gordon looked the Rear Admiral in the eye. "You want me to kill him."

"Discreetly. Gojira's attacks strained international tensions enough, and this might be too much. You will be placed in charge of a joint task force with the express purpose of finding a way to kill this monster, and to do it before the news gets out. With express authorization from your superiors, you will be allowed to use any weapons you deem necessary, including nuclear."

Gordon's eyes trailed back to the picture of the beast. His fingers twitched, and he slowly got up and walked over to his cigar box. Lighting one up, he took a deep puff.

"When do I start?"

 

[Thuktun Flishithy]

Somewhere South of the Izu Islands

One of the grandest things about life, Kyohei Yamane felt, was how the world never seemed to run out of surprises. In a single moment, all that had been declared known of a subject could be overturned, undone by discoveries of all sizes. A simple compound lens could spell the end of the humors' millennia-long reign in the field of medicine, or a simple photograph of the sun could change physics forever.

Perhaps it was why he gravitated to paleontology. He could still remember the musty old books his father had in his library, with illustrations of sluggish horned lizards trudging through primordial forests, which in turn gave way to far-too-upright bipeds that predated upon swamp-dwelling ungulates. He could certainly recall the shock he received as a young graduate student when living, breathing dinosaurs were discovered on that lone island, and showed a greater resemblance to bird than reptile.

He wished he could forget the pain-wracked beast rising from Tokyo harbor, angry scars glistening in the moonlight as it prepared to share its agony with its creators.

Drumming his fingers along the railing of the small fishing boat turned research vessel he had spent the last three days in, he focused his gaze on the horizon. He stood on his toes slightly, as if hoping that would make a difference, and narrowed his eyes as he tried to find any sign of the island. The maps had been surprisingly vague on its exact position...

"Professor?"

Craning his neck, he saw that Shinkichi had arrived from below deck, a knapsack under his arm. The youth's hair, now grown out from the buzzcut he had when they first met, waved in the sea breeze as he hurried over.

"It feels strange to have you call me that," Yamane murmured, keeping his hand on the railing as he turned around. Louder, he said, "Is everything alright?"

"The captain seems a bit worried, professor. I think he's starting to get second thoughts about ferrying us to Munin Island."

"If he is worried about the Americans claiming we are trespassing, we should remind him that it's not recognized territory. Stopping us would be quite illegal on their part."

"We are awfully close to Ogasawara. They still might try to keep us away."

"Their ships never come by here. No one does."

Shinkichi made an uncomfortable face at that. "Professor, do you think that might be for good reason? If your hypothesis is proven to be true, then this might be too dangerous."

Yamane offered a sympathetic look. "If my hypothesis is true, then remaining in ignorance may be even more dangerous. We must be ready to take risks. All who push the boundaries of human knowledge must."

The boy looked down, fidgeting with his knapsack. Yamane let out a soft sigh, and put a reassuring hand on his adoptive son's shoulder.

"I can see that spark in you, Shinkichi. You wouldn't have come here with me if you didn't have it. I understand your fears. Only a fool would be unafraid of what he might find on that island. If you want, you can stay on the boat while I go to shore-"

"I'll go with you." Shinkichi looked up, then managed a small smile. "Besides, Emiko would swim all the way over here just to wring my neck if I didn't."

Yamane cracked a smile of his own at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, I'm sure she still might swim over here and drag her crazy father back home."

They both chuckled at that. Shinkichi adjusted his knapsack, then started making his way to the stern of the ship, likely to check on the small lifeboat they brought with them. Still smiling, Yamane turned back to the railing and looked out across the placid waves of the Pacific. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, letting the salty fragrance of the sea flood his nostrils.

When he opened them again, he froze.

"Shinkichi!" He fumbled out with a hand, not even daring to look away from the distant shape on the horizon. "Quick! The binoculars!"

He heard rapid footsteps approaching, and felt a hefty pair of glasses thrust into his reaching hand. Holding it up to his gaze, he was greeted by the sight of a mountainous island in the distance.

"Look!" He handed the binoculars to the boy and pointed wildly. "That's it! Munin Island!"

Shinkichi looked through the glasses, then quickly handed them back and started dashing towards the bridge. "I'll alert the captain!"

Kyohei resumed studying the island. Just as the old charts had claimed, there was indeed a trio of sizable cinder cones in the center of the island, effectively dividing the landmass into two. Though he couldn't quite gauge the size of the island, it was surprisingly large, especially for something that was essentially a ghost in the history books.

Well, if what he thought was true, it would lose that status soon enough.

==/*\==​

They set anchor at a large lagoon in the northern part of the island. Even though they had yet to actually make landfall, Kyohei could already tell that there was something unusual about the island. The beaches varied wildly in color from spot to spot, going from pink to black to even blue. He had seen sands of such colors before, but not all in the same place.

The vegetation, too, felt different from what he had seen on other islands in his many expeditions. He couldn't quite tell why, at least from his position on the dinghy, but he knew that something was off. Perhaps if he were younger, and with better eyes, he could more easily distinguish what tugged at the corners of his mind.

The lifeboat rocked, jostling him from his musings, and he saw that Shinkichi had loaded the last of their equipment. Taking the ears in hand, the boy began to row, disturbing the pale blue wavelets of the lagoon as he brought the boat closer to shore. Kyohei peered over the edge and into the turquoise water below. Though the fringes of the lagoon had sported impressive growths of coral, here the seabed was bare, with smoothed-over outcroppings of rock protruding from the sand.

He lowered a hand into the water, taking note of its warmth, and the corner of his mouth pulled into a smile. He tried to envision what manners of creature may have swam in this lagoon. Nodosaurs, mosasaurs, ammonites... there were too many options to consider.

They finally made landfall. Shinkichi went out first, offering a hand to Kyohei as he awkwardly clambered over. He paused as his feet touched the bone-white sand, savoring the moment, then he began to help the boy pull the supplies off the boat. Overhead, the noon sun bore on him like an anvil, and he quickly worked up a sweat.

When they had finished unloading, and Shinkichi began securing the boat with a stake, Kyohei took a moment to study the treeline before him. Sipping from his canteen, he started with the low-lying shrubbery, trying to recall where else he had seen such species of plant. Everything about them, from the breadth of their stems to the pattern of their pistils, felt off.

His eyes suddenly widened, and he hurried over to a patch of horsetails and knelt in the sand. Reaching into his rucksack, he pulled out a paleobotany book and began flipping through the pages, glancing back and forth from the illustrations to the plants. He paused at one page, then looked over and gently ran the horsetail between his forefinger and thumb, eyes narrowed.

"Professor?" Shinkichi suddenly appeared at his side, kneeling beside him. "Is something wrong?"

"Look," Kyohei said, excitedly. "This has similarities to Equisetale order of Sphenopsida, but there are some key differences in morphology. I believe this is actually of the Pseudoborniales class, though perhaps a distant descendant."

"I'm not quite sure I'm following. Are they not supposed to grow here?"

"It's not so much the where, but the when." Kyohei glanced over, a toothy smile showing past his mustache. "These have supposedly been extinct since the Devonian, more than four hundred million years ago."

"Then you mean-"

"Yes." Professor Yamane stood up, eyes wide with awe as he looked about. "This island is a time capsule from a bygone era. It's certainly on an island like this, maybe even this island in particular, where specimens like Gojira survived into the modern world."

 

[Thuktun Flishithy]

Kwajalein Atoll, the same time

He'd barely been here for ten minutes, and already he was soaked through his uniform. It wasn't even so much the heat itself- he'd grown up in Arizona, where he'd once literally cooked an egg on the sidewalk as a child - but the hideous humidity of the place. On such a small island, with nothing but water for hundreds of miles around, he might as well have been swimming in soup.\

God, he loved the Pacific.

The ground crunched beneath his feet as he finally left the airfield behind and started towards the cluster of buildings that represented the Navy's presence on the island. Beyond that lay the vast lagoon of the atoll, one of the largest in the world, at least according to Hardwick. His eyes wandered to the pale blue water, ringed by white sands. It certainly looked like good swimming, if he ever managed to eke out some spare time.

"They should already be briefed on the cursory facts of the mission," Hardwick said, looking very much like a wet fish as he hurried to Gordon's side. "Joint Command has been slowly phasing out personnel on this island and bringing in our own. Due to the, ah... sensitive nature of this operation, we're going to be operating with a small crew."

Gordon craned his neck over slightly, searching the horizon. "What about the Marshallese? Last I heard, there were thousands of them living here."

"Oh, those coconuts are all on Ebeye, a few miles away from the facilities. They started getting moved there during the first nuclear tests. It's for the best- they'd probably row their little canoes right into the minefields if we didn't."

Gordon stopped suddenly, slapping a firm hand on Hardwick's shoulder. The older scientist jolted, looking over with wide eyes.

"Consider this my first order as your new boss," came the hard, even words. "Don't give those people shit. Your so-called coconuts rowed those little canoes of theirs and pulled a good buddy of mine out of the water when his plane went down near Enewetak. They're not the ones nuking our backyard, so give them a little respect."

Hardwick quickly bobbed his head up and down, jowls quivering slightly. "Yes, of course, Lieutenant-Commander."

"Good." Gordon redoubled his pace, forcing the scientist to keep up. "I want to hold a meeting of this mission's core operators ASAP. Every moment we spend sitting with our thumbs up our asses is another moment towards that monster wrecking another one of our rigs, another moment towards his existence going public."

"Do you already have a plan as to how we're going to handle this situation?"

A short, dry laugh. "You can say that."

==/*\==​

One Hour Later

The official meeting room for the operation was what he had expected- small, cluttered, and with crappy furniture. There was a coffee pot in the far corner, steam wafting from its spout, as well as a battered old projector in front of the plywood table. The walls were the color of soiled sheets, and the linoleum floor bore its fair share of scratches and stains.

He plopped himself down in the chair at the head of the table, taking note of how it groaned under his bulk. He surveyed the room, and let out a small laugh, sounding more like a cough than anything else. This was certainly not like the cushy, dark war rooms that civilians imagined when they thought about military planning.

Thankfully, it seemed that his new subordinates were punctual. An Air Force officer of slight build was through first, followed by three civilian scientists, one of whom Gordon was surprised to see was a woman. Two Army officers came in next, then yet another Air Force officer, and finally Hardwick.

The scientist shut the door behind him, and Gordon began.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. And lady. I'm Lieutenant-Commander Douglas Gordon, and I am the commanding officer of this operation. The spectacled gentleman with me is Dr. Mitchell Hardwick. I am sure you have all already been debriefed on the nature of our mission."

A few nods, a few words of affirmation. Some of them seemed apprehensive, he saw. Good. He waited a split-second, then continued.

"I would first like some introductions. I've already been given your files, but I prefer to hear it from the horse's mouth."

The thin Air Force officer cleared his throat. "Second Lieutenant Marcus DeBrill. USAF. Reconnaissance."

"Dr. Julius Polonsky. I'm an oceanographer."

"Dr. Emily Flores. Marine biologist."

"Dr. Paul Combs. Chemistry."

"First Lieutenant Matthew Antonio. Army. Artillery."

"Second Lieutenant Louis Herman, also Army. I'm an engineer."

"Captain Michael Costner. Air Force. I work in breaching hardened targets."

Gordon nodded slightly. "Impressive backgrounds. Now then..."

Chair creaking, he slowly stood, deliberately sticking his hands in his pockets. As intended, he could see a few flickers of surprise on the officers' faces, a few doubtful frowns.

"The first thing we must do is understand this- our current arsenal, our current tactics and strategies... they are worth about as much as a pile of dogshit. We are not dealing with the Germans, or the Japanese, or the Soviets. As numerous or as intimidating as they might be, they are ultimately working with flesh and metal, just like us."

"What we are dealing with, gentlemen and lady, is a monster. A beast of a bygone time full of horrors, mutated by the mightiest weapons on this green earth. One such monster managed to level one of the biggest cities in the world without getting a scratch on its hide, and this one is ten times bigger. Considering the fact that it's also a great deal faster, we must presume that this new monster is much more powerful."

He could see Antonio straining to keep silent. Nodding slightly, he said, "Out with it."

The man tented his fingers. "Lieutenant, while that Gojira thing did manage to destroy a lot of Tokyo, you must admit that we are much better equipped than the Japanese to handle such a creature."

"Are we, now?" Gordon snorted. "Because last I checked, the equipment the Japanese used on the creature were all American-made. We might have quite a few guns bigger than the Long Toms, but if a six inch howitzer ain't gonna dent that thing, then a sixteen inch wouldn't do the job either. Our strength compared to other armed forces is because of our edges in technical performance, logistics, and training."

"That," he continued, "is what makes this enemy so challenging. Our advantages are just as I described- edges. We're still in the same ballpark as other nations, even if we're a few bases ahead. But this thing isn't in our ballpark. He ain't even in the damn same sport. He doesn't have supply chains to cut off, industries to cripple, populaces to capture or demoralize."

"It does have a food source of some sort," Flores said. "Likely not organic matter, considering the nutritional requirements, but it still needs sustenance from something."

"Then you better hope he doesn't chow down on sunlight, or we'll be back at square one." Gordon took his hands out of his pockets and folded them behind his back. "We cannot rely on the same kind of thinking we apply to human enemies. This ain't a normal war. This is something almost completely outside of our expertise. In order to achieve our objective, we're going to have to develop new tactics and new weapons."

"If it's such a problem, shouldn't we be considering using our most powerful weapons?" Costner leaned forward. "Lieutenant, we have been given permission to use nuclear warheads against the creature if it's deemed our best choice."

"That," Gordon said, voice hard, "is up to me. And as far as I am concerned, that is a last-case scenario, for a number of reasons. Hard to stay discrete when you're pulling out the biggest stick in the world, after all, and if that thing survives, he might mutate even further. And even if we do kill him, that bomb might wake up more of his kind, and now we're deeper in shit than before."

He could tell they were more uncomfortable than before, as they mulled it over. The civilian scientists were already writing down notes, as if coming up with said new ideas.

"The first stage of our plan to kill this thing is simple. We're going to study him. It's the only way we're going to find any weaknesses to exploit, or at the very least figure out what lengths we must go to in order to destroy him. Then once we have enough information, we will move on to developing and testing the weapons required to achieve that goal. Once we are assured of their effectiveness, we then move on to the final stage of the plan- killing this overgrown lizard in a way that doesn't alert the rest of the world."

A few nodded at that. Others had worried looks on their faces. Whether or not that was because they realized just how bad the deck was stacked against them, or because they realized just who they were working for, was something he'd determine at a later time.

"With that, I am giving this force its first official task," he said. "Finding this monster."

 

[Thuktun Flishithy]

Munin Island

The foliage around the lagoon alone had occupied them for a day and a half. Cordaites, Pleuromeia, Baieria... it was as though they couldn't take a single step before coming across yet another undiscovered species of plant, another relic from unfathomably ancient epochs. Already two sacks worth of clippings and pressings had been collected, and Kyohei feared they would swiftly run out of film if they kept up like this.

He rubbed his hands absentmindedly as he sat by the lantern near the tent. As a younger man, he had felt inexhaustible in his energy as he worked, digging and brushing and clipping and writing for hours on end. Now, however, he could feel the deep ache in his bones, like the dull glow of hot coals. A glance down yielded a view of dirt lining every ridge in his skin, of filthy nails and raw palms.

And yet, he felt like he could keep at this forever.

He heard rustling fabric, and turned to see Shinkichi emerge from the tent, a steaming tin cup in hand.

"I thought you'd want some," the boy said, offering him the cup.

"Thank you," Kyohei mumbled, blowing gently as he took a sip.

The tea was terrible. He sipped again. The wind gently came by, rustling his hair, and he looked up at the sky. Countless stars dotted the black, with nary a cloud to hide their beauty. He was no astronomer, but he fancied he could recognize a few of the constellations as he looked at the Milky Way rising over the horizon.

"I missed these when I was in Tokyo." Shinkichi said, sitting beside him. "Back on Oto, you could see these every night when the weather was good. But in Tokyo, I can't see nearly half as many."

"Mmm. I know what you mean, Shinkichi. When I was a child, this," he pointed up with his teacup "-was my sky. But for every light we put in our homes, it feels, one of these stars is stricken from sight."

"My teachers always talk about how amazing it is, how far we've come in so short a time. I guess they're right. I mean, you just said that you didn't have lights in your home as child, and now look what we have. Cars, televisions, telephones..."

"And hydrogen bombs," came the quiet murmur.

When the boy looked over, Kyohei quickly continued. "I don't mean it like that. I think life would be very dull without being able to listen to the radio every night. But... I do feel we mustn't let the height of our accomplishments blind us. We are not where the root of knowledge begins and ends."

He pointed up at the stars again. "This sky is not a constant. The stars move, slowly but surely. The night skies of the first man to walk upright in Africa were different from what we see, and again the skies for creatures from the Jurassic or Permian were different. To think that there may be creatures on this Earth who have seen those ancient night skies confounds my imagination. I long to learn the secrets such creatures hold."

"I don't think we're going to be asking Gojira questions," Shinkichi said.

Kyohei smiled at the corner of his mouth and let out a soft laugh. "No, no, I don't think so. But I do believe Nature has plenty of things left to tell us. And to be taught by Her... it is sublime."

Quiet fell upon the island. Kyohei finished his tea in silence, then slowly rose.

"I do think we should get some rest tonight. We have a long day ahead of us, and I wish to leave this beach behind. The ocean is a destroyer of ancient evidence."

"Do you think we'll actually find evidence of another Gojira here?" Shinkichi asked.

Kyohei considered the question, mustache twitching from side to side.

"If we find nothing, I'm not sure if I'll be disappointed, or relieved."

==/*\==​

Kwajalein Atoll

Cigar smoke wafted past Gordon's eyes as he studied the massive map splayed out on the table before him. On one side, he could make out the coast of the Japanese islands, and on the other he could just barely discern California and Mexico. The Pacific itself dominated the map, and dotting it was a forest of colored pins, each with a location and date written next to it in marker.

Lucky Star Rig, one near Chile read. Destroyed by MUTO 11-29.

Waste Dump 4, read another, this one just two hundred miles from Hawaii. Destroyed by MUTO 11-27.

There were already more than a dozen other red pins, scattered seemingly haphazardly across the entire ocean. About half were oil rigs, but this new Gojira had also made wrecks of pesticide plants, waste dumps, and had even flooded a coal mine on the Australian coast. More than two targets a week so far, assuming there weren't some poor SOBs at the bottom of the Pacific they didn't know about.

He had to give the thing some credit. For something heavier than the entire population of Boston, he was a fucking surgeon.

"Are you sure these dates are right?" he overheard DeBrill saying.

Looking up, he saw that the airman and Hardwick were trying to draw a string between two of the attacks, and somehow already swinging their dicks around. DeBrill craned over the shorter scientist, as if trying to take a toy from a petulant child, while pointing at the map with a rail-thin finger.

"Of course the dates are right," Hardwick retorted.

"That can't be correct." DeBrill traced his finger between the two pins. "That's easily in excess of nine thousand kilometers, in a straight line."

"Our records don't lie, Lieutenant."

"Even if this monster was swimming in a straight line, which it certainly isn't, that would give it a speed in excess of a hundred knots. Sustained. That's three times faster than even a damn torpedo boat."

"Point being?" Gordon interrupted.

DeBrill looked his way, suddenly slouching. "I mean... it's impossible, Lieutenant-Commander."

Gordon took another puff of his cigar. "Last I checked, giant radioactive monsters from the Jurassic era were also impossible."

"Be reasonable, Lieutenant. Even something like this must have physical limitations. I'd sooner believe there are more of these things, than think a hundred-thousand ton animal can cross the ocean in two days. There must be a mistake."

"Sure, there was a mistake made, Lieutenant," Gordon said, calmly. "The mistake was thinking you had the right mindset for this job."

DeBrill blinked. "I... beg pardon, Lieutenant?"

"Photographs gathered from those two incidents indicate exactly identical spine placement." Gordon tapped his cigar against the ashtray. "In other words, it's the same damn one. If you're not ready to buy that, then there's no way in hell you'll produce meaningful results in killing this impossible sonuvabitch. You're reassigned."

For a moment, DeBrill looked ready to protest, but instead set his jaw and walked out of the now-quiet room. Gordon felt everyone's gaze on him, as if waiting to see whether they'd share in the airman's fate. He simply took another puff of his cigar, and looked back to the map.

"A hundred knots sustained over nine thousand klicks, huh? For something that big, that's a lot of energy, way too much to be fueled by food. Too much for even a battleship." He glanced back up. "How about nuclear?"

Hardwick and the chemist -Gordon forgot his name- looked at each other.

"Well," the chemist began, "the caloric intake required to sustain an animal of that size and activity would definitely be too much to rely on normal consumption methods."

"As in, eating entire pods of whales a day," Hardwick supplied. "We believe that the original Gojira could at least passively feed on ionizing radiation, like something akin to photosynthesis. Of course, we can't know for sure, since the specimen was dissolved entirely by that, er, 'oxygen destroyer'."

"Let's assume he is doing that," Gordon said, reaching for a felt-tip pen and uncapping it. "Even for nuclear that's a lot of energy being expended. He'd still have to replenish it, or at least rest, right? Christ knows I'd have to take a fiver after swimming across the ocean."

"We haven't noticed any unusual activity near known uranium deposits," said Hardwick.

"Known deposits," the civilian oceanographer -Combs?- retorted. "We haven't even gotten close to properly mapping the ocean. For all we know he could be leeching radiation from some deposits in the deepest ocean trenches."

Gordon said nothing, instead beginning to draw lines between the red pins marking the beast's attacks. He started with the first known one, at the Hyperion oil rig, then went on in order from there, slashing a black line across the ocean.

"-the MUTO is clearly not a purely aquatic creature," Gordon caught Flores saying. "It must spend some time, even if rarely, on land or in water too shallow to swim in. Look at crocodiles- we've found some hundreds of miles from the coast, but they still prefer resting near land. I think our MUTO would do much the same, even if it can reach those trenches. We'd likely find it resting along the coast."

"I can't imagine that thing could get away with sleeping on land without us knowing," someone else said.

Gordon capped his pen, then looked back up. "How about an uncharted island."

The rest of the task force looked his way, some with confused faces.

"Looking at the places he attacked, I noticed something," he continued, tracing the lines he drew with a calloused finger. "With the exception of two sites that were within a hundred miles of each other, he doesn't take the quickest routes to them. He's constantly criss-crossing the ocean, not even following currents. From Alaska to Australia to Chile to the Philippines."

"It's a dumb animal, Lieutenant," one of the Army guys said. "I don't think it's planning this stuff."

"I wouldn't underestimate this thing," Gordon said, gesturing to the map. "What if he's not just going to these sites? What if he's also going to his den?"

The others looked down at his handiwork, a criss-crossing pattern of lines across the entire map. Between the various paths Gordon had traced, there was a large dead space, roughly circular in shape.

"I think Flores is right. I think this thing has an island, or maybe a whole goddamn archipelago, that he calls home. He destroys an installation, he swims back home to rest and maybe get his fill of radiation, and then it's back to business. From Alaska to his den, from his den to Australia and back to his den, so on and so forth."

Uncapping the pen, he outlined the dead space, then tapped it for good measure.

"In there, we have some of the Izu islands, the Bonins, even part of the Mariana islands. We haven't found everything there yet. Plenty of hiding spots, even if you're a lizard the size of a warship."

"That's a massive amount of territory to cover," Hardwick murmured.

"Still better than the entire ocean," Gordon said. "The inhabited islands can be scratched off the list fairly quickly, and then we can focus on the rest. We plant buoys, we have planes flying over..."

He straightened, and took a long puff of his cigar. Carefully, he blew out a smoke ring, letting it dissipate over the map.

"And like that, we'll find our enemy's base of operations."

==/*\==​

Munin Island

The jungle proved just as much a treasure trove of information as the beach had, Kyohei found. He and Shinkichi had barely covered half a kilometer in the first three hours, their time taken up with filling specimen bags and taking charcoal rubbings of tree bark. Twice Shinkichi had to run back to the boat, samples in hand, and return with new bags.

Just to stand in the forest, surrounded by orders of plants thought to be long extinct, was sublime. It was as though he had taken a step into the old illustrations he had seen as a young student, of primordial jungles filled with animals that boggled the imagination.

With one notable exception, however.

"Where are all the animals?" Shinkichi asked, absentmindedly as he took the rubbing Kyohei gave him.

Kyohei stood up, leaning against the smooth bark of some manner of Pagiophyllum as he caught his breath. Wiping some of the dirt from his hands, he pondered the boy's question.

"I am honestly not sure," he replied, looking up. "I wasn't expecting to find mammals, but there should have at least been some manner of bird or reptile on this island. I've seen insects, but I haven't been able to accurately record them."

He scratched his chin, and offered a hopefully-reassuring grin. "At least we haven't had to deal with mosquitoes."

That didn't seem to wipe the worry from Shinkichi's face. Kyohei's smile faded, and he cleared his throat, gesturing ahead.

"Perhaps we will find them closer inland. Let's scout out ahead before we return to samples here."

Shinkichi nodded, shouldering his knapsack as he started for a gap in the trees. Kyohei hurried after the boy, determined to take the lead. He would be damned if the boy fell headlong into a ravine or encountered a territorial animal, not when an older fool of a man could do it instead.

He caught up just in time for the forest to give way to grassland, shrubs dotting the land. The trio of cinder cones loomed in the distance, and he found his gaze drawn to them. He swept down, watching as the bare slopes gave way to grassland, then more forest, then the footprint-

Footprint? He blinked once, then stared at the massive depression in the rocky ground, easily a good fifteen meters across. It had been worn with age over the years, with shrubs growing in the basin and the toes hard to define, but it was uncannily familiar to that moment on Odo Island, only a few months past.

"Professor," Shinkichi breathed.

"I know," Kyohei said. "I was right."

Suddenly finding his vigor renewed, he scrambled into the basin, unslinging his knapsack. Pulling out a tape measure, he had Shinkichi take on end while he dragged the other towards the lip of the footprint. He read the measurement, then frowned, looking back to the boy.

"Are you holding it straight?"

"Yes, professor," Shinkichi called out, distantly. "Something wrong?"

Kyohei looked down, shaking his head.

"Nineteen meters," he murmured, then looked back to Shinkichi. "The creature who left this footprint may have been ten times larger than Gojira."

The boy's response was to start looking like a fish, a sudden sheen of sweat coating him.

"B-but it's probably dead now, right?" he asked. "This footprint looks old."

"I can't ascertain the age as of yet," Kyohei replied. "The very weight of the specimen likely meant the bottom of the track was lithicated upon creation, but the wear indicates it is old indeed. Maybe centuries, maybe millennia."

That didn't seem to reassure the boy much. Kyohei couldn't blame him, considering how little they truly knew of Gojira. Was it the descendant of a species that had survived to modernity, or simply a beast that had stayed preserved through the aeons, only to be reawakened?

"Come," he said, rolling up the tape measure. "Let us try to find if it left more footprints, so we may measure its stride."

Shinkichi nodded, and began to walk forward. Kyohei jogged forward to catch up with him, pushing through some shrubs.

And then he fell.

Thankfully, the slope proved gentle enough that he slid down with only dirtied pants to show for it. Nevertheless, the fall warranted a surprised yell, and he heard Shinkichi running forward. Kyohei rose to his feet, dusting his pants off, then looked around. The depression was rather oddly shaped, and idly he realized he may have just fallen into another footprint. Tapping his foot, he felt impacted earth underneath, hard like stone.

"Shinkichi!" he called, cupping his mouth.

"Professor?!" The boy's head popped into view.

"I think we found another footprint," Kyohei replied, allowing himself a laugh. It was more to reassure the boy.

"I'll get you out." Shinkichi unslung his bag and began to try and scramble down the fresh earth of the depression.

Kyohei's eyes widened. Fresh earth.

"Out!" he barked. "Boy, get out! Back!"

"What?"

"This is a new footprint! It may be contaminated!"

"Then I need to get you out!" Shinkichi yelled.

"I'm probably dead already," Kyohei said. "Stay there!"

The boy paused, panic brewing behind his eyes. Kyohei steeled himself, then reached into his knapsack for the Geiger counter. If this creature was anything like Gojira, in addition to its greater size, the reading would easily be in excess of two Sieverts. Kyohei paused, ice in his stomach, then activated the counter.

Nothing.

He held the device up to his eyes to make sure he was not deluding himself. The meter was even reading lower than the normal background radiation.

"Shinkichi, your counter!" he called.

The boy dug his out and carefully lowered it down the slope. Kyohei walked over to pick it up, then activated it.

The same reading greeted his eyes.

"Incredible," he murmured.

"Professor?"

"The radiation in this footprint is lower than even the background. The creature that left this footprint didn't only not produce fallout, but appeared to have reduced the natural radiation in its wake."

As soon as Shinkichi heard "lower", he hopped down and helped Kyohei out of the footprint. The old scientist dusted himself off, then laid an assuring hand on his ward's shoulder.

"This is an astonishing find," he panted. "I was expecting to find more of Gojira's kind, live or dead, but this is something else. This creature must be of a different species, or had received mutations from the bomb far different than its kin. We need to get this back to the Diet."

"Professor," Shinkichi asked, still visibly nervous. "That footprint is new, right?"

Kyohei nodded.

"Which means that the bigger animal had to be here not too long ago, right?"

Another nod.

"So where is it now?"

Kyohei frowned, thinking. Before he could come up with an answer that wouldn't send the boy into more of a panic, something caught his eye. From their point on the island, they could look out to sea, emerald waves stretching to the horizon.

What drew his attention, however, where the three rows of bone-white spines slicing through said waves as their owner lazily swam towards the island.

 

[Thuktun Flishithy]

By the time they had managed to hurry back to the beach, the boat had already left them behind, water churning in its wake as it rocketed out of the lagoon and around the island. Kyohei paused to watch it go, mouth open.

"He... he left us," he panted.

Shinkichi didn't bother to acknowledge that, instead running past the professor and towards the dinghy, still beached on the white sands. Taking hold of the prow, he began to pull it further ashore, grunting with the effort.

Looking away from the receding boat with a shake of his head, Kyohei rushed over to Shinkichi's side, skin sliding over rough wood as he helped pull the dinghy forward. After only a few moments he felt a deep ache begin to set in his shoulders, but he ignored it, focusing only on the steady movement of his legs as he dragged it towards the trees.

They had just managed to pull it into the shade of a grove of looming palm trees - which he suspected were actually of the Zamites genus - when the lagoon seemed to surge, the gentle ripples turning into rolling waves that broke against the shore. Shinkichi huddled at the side of the dinghy, clamping a hand over his mouth. Kyohei crouched next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

A shadow fell over them.

The rest of the world seemed to fall away as Kyohei looked up at the titan that strode into the lagoon. Some part of himself failed to recognize it as a living thing, rationalizing it away as a mountain or building, for no living thing could get so large. And yet, with every step it took with the deep lagoon sloshing about its knees, the illusion was dispelled.

"Gojira," Shinkichi whimpered, rocking gently.

The boy was wrong, Kyohei realized, as the initial shock began to wear off. The beast that loomed over them bore many similarities to Gojira indeed, enough that he'd suspect they were of the same genus, but there just as many differences. Sheer size was the most immediate one- it was hard to judge the beast's height, but it appeared to be easily twice Gojira's height.

Even if they had been of a height, this beast would still be Gojira's greater. Its shoulders were broader, its chest more thickly set with muscle, and its arms looked far more powerful. Compared to it, Gojira was like a lanky child. However, there was something else about the creature that set it apart, something painfully obvious and yet obscured from thought.

The beast looked about the lagoon with eyes like hot coals, nostrils flaring as it straightened. The noon sun beat upon its scales, and in that moment Kyohei realized what he was missing.

Burns.

Gojira had survived exposure to hydrogen bomb testing, but it had not done so intact. It had been an uneven creature, with one arm thinner and longer than the other and a subtle limp, signs of mutated flesh that had begun to grow out of control. Most memorable, however, had been the uncomfortably familiar keloid scars all over its body, twisting and marring its dark brown hide, leaving glistening red flesh exposed to the air.

A moment's glance had told him its story.

However, as he stared at the beast before him, he saw no scars, no hideous growths or distortions of its form. There was no pain in the way it carried itself- instead its head was held high, unbowed.

Gojira had been equal parts pitiable and terrifying. This new creature was majestic, even regal.

It sniffed at the air, and a low growl rumbled forth, shaking Kyohei's bones. It stepped out of the lagoon and began to march into the island, each ponderous footfall like a cannon firing. Its long tail swayed from side to side, sending seawater raining onto Kyohei and Shinkichi as it passed over their heads. Craning his neck, Kyohei saw as it stomped towards where they had just been.

The beast continued sniffing at the air, clawed hands absentmindedly clenching and opening. It began to look about with greater urgency than before, lips curled back into a snarl.

"Professor?" Shinkichi whispered, so low that Kyohei could barely hear it.

"Quiet," he mouthed soundlessly. "I think it knows we're here."

The boy curled up into an even tighter ball. Kyohei kept a hand on his shoulder, and looked back to the angry monster to see that its gaze was now fixed on something he couldn't see. It growled once more, then did something that shocked Kyohei.

It stooped down, scooping earth into its hand and crushing it tightly in its grip. Then, in a well-practiced move, threw it at whatever had incurred the beast's fury.

A moment later, the sound of splintering wood and a short scream reached Kyohei's ears, and he numbly realized that the beast had seen the boat.

Seemingly satisfied, the creature turned back towards the lagoon, wading into the turquoise waters. For a moment it simply stood there, eyes closed. The fury from before had faded, and though Kyohei knew better than to anthropomorphize, he thought that there was a tinge of solemnity in the beast's face.

Then, the beast slowly, almost carefully, lowered itself into the water. It curled up against the sandy floor of the lagoon, wriggling and circling until it seemed to find a good position. All that remained above the water was the top part of its head, reminding Kyohei of a crocodile.

For a few minutes, there was only silence on the island. Kyohei slowly reached into his russack, and pulled out his journal. Eyes trained on the creature, he began to sketch, trying to minimize the amount of noise the charcoal made as it glided over the paper.

Shinkichi slowly uncurled, clothes soaked through with sweat. Kyohei spared him a glance, then handed him the canteen. The boy took a surprisingly modest pull, then slowly began to rise.

"Pro-" he began.

Kyohei gestured for him to be quiet once more, prompting a look of confusion from Shinkichi. Hastily, he flipped to a new page of his journal.

Look at its face, he wrote. Still tense. Ears moving. Not sleeping. Listening. Maybe looking for something.

Shinkichi took the pencil. What do we do?

Wait.

The boy slumped his shoulders, and sat back down. He took another pull from the canteen, then handed it back to Kyohei. The older Yamane took a sip, noting how there wasn't much left. Thankfully the climate was fairly forgiving at this time of year, but he still didn't want to press his luck.

With nothing else to do, he resumed sketching.

==/*\==​

The sun was beginning to near the horizon when the beast suddenly raised its head, craning its neck. Snarling, it swiftly uncurled, producing a surge of water that nearly reached the two. Slipping under the waves, it swam away with a speed that seemed to defy its monstrous size.

A half-moment passed, then Kyohei and Shinkichi rose on shaky legs. Wordlessly, the two began to push the dinghy back to the water. Shinkichi hopped in first, then pulled Kyohei in. The boy took the oars and began rowing, jaw clenched.

"We need to find the wreckage of the boat," Kyohei said, quietly. "There may be supplies we can salvage."

The boy nodded, but didn't say a word.

The next half hour was spent in silence as they hugged the coast of the island. The sun now hugged the horizon, tinging the sky in reds and golds. Kyohei fiddled with his hat, occasionally looking around, as if expecting to see white spines racing towards the dinghy.

The wreckage of the boat had been washed to shore, roughly broken into thirds by the lobbed missile. It was Kyohei who found the bloodied captain unconscious by the shredded prow, and it was Kyohei who laid him on the bottom of the dinghy despite Shinkichi's objections that they leave the cowardly bastard to rot and pack more rations instead.

Considering the hideous gashes across his chest, which had festered for hours before being bandaged, it seemed that they'd have to leave him either way.

Dangerously close to the weight limit, they set back out for the open sea with the sun to their backs, with enough water to last them two days. The Americans often patrolled the waters to the southwest- with luck, they could attract one of the American navy's countless warships and cargo ships.

The sun finally dipped below the horizon, and the stars slowly flooded the sky above. Shinkichi laid back and watched them, face blank while Kyohei rowed.

It was Shinkichi who saw the ship at the horizon, close to dawn. He fired the lone flare they had managed to find, and finally showed a look of relief on his face as the patrol ship turned their way. Kyohei mirrored the expression, smiling as he rose on shaky legs and waved at the Americans on the deck of the patrol boat as it pulled to their side.

His smile faded when he saw the stern looks on their faces, and the rifle trained on him as one of the Americans produced handcuffs.

 

[Thuktun Flishithy]

Another hot and lazy summer night. A night for laying in bed, with cold beer in their hands and each other by their sides. A night drenched in each other's sweat.

Asuza curled against his side, regarding him with those warm eyes of hers. "How on Earth can you bear to smoke those things?"

He took a puff of his cigar, grinning. "Wanna try it?"

She scoffed. "No thank you. I've got enough vices as is."

"Suit yourself." Blowing out a smoke ring, he mashed the stub against the ashtray. "Too many vices, huh? Anything fun you're hiding from me?"

"Give me a good kiss and you might find out," she said, grinning crookedly.

He obliged her, pulling her close against him. Despite the hideous heat that the slowly spinning ceiling fan did nothing to alleviate, he couldn't bear to separate from her warmth.

His fingers ghosted over her arm, over the smooth yet broken scars. They trailed over her shoulder, coming to a rest on the gnarled skin of her cheek. His touch lingered there for a moment, and he pulled away, looking her in the eyes.

"Douglas?" she asked.

"I still don't know how you can do it," he said, quietly. "You have every right in the world to hate me. How can you do it?"

She simply smiled, that little wan smile that he had seen a hundred times and still never understood.

Then, she began to decay.

He choked back a scream as she suddenly straddled him, rotting hands grabbing her cheeks. Above him, the flesh of her face fell away, revealing too-white bone underneath as the smile widened into a skeletal grin...

"Commander!"

He opened his eyes, and suddenly he was back on this damned atoll, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. Bolting upright, he saw that the door to his room was open, Hardwick standing in the doorway.

"Report," Gordon grunted, swinging his legs out of the bed.

"A patrol boat in the search perimeter you set up found a suspicious Japanese dinghy near the Bonin Archipelago."

"Okay?" Gordon stood up, painfully aware that his nightclothes had soaked through with sweat. "I don't see why that has anything to do with the operation."

"We have reason to believe that it does," Hardwick replied. "Dr. Kyohei Yamane was one of the passengers."

Gordon paused in the middle of putting on his shirt. "Dr. Yamane?"

"He's the researcher who-"

"I know exactly who Kyohei Yamane is," Gordon cut off in a low voice. "Where is he now?"

"He and the other two have been detained," Hardwick answered. "I don't know exactly where, since the channel wasn't official-"

"I'm making it official." Gordon finished buttoning his jacket. "I'm going to formally request for his transfer to my custody."

"Commander, he's a Japanese national," the scientist protested. "The patrol only arrested him for trespassing; we're probably straining things by holding him this long. I'm not sure if we have the authority to transfer him to anything."

"Sure we do," Gordon replied. "If my hunch is right, getting him is crucial to our operation. I'm sure that'll... iron out any wrinkles."

He didn't wait for Hardwick's protest, instead walking past him and towards the command center.

Hell, if my hunch is right, he may have just done half our work for us.

==/*\==​

Twelve Hours Later

After what had to have been the third plane trip, Kyohei had begun to feel less like a prisoner and more like an inanimate piece of cargo. None of the stone-faced Americans who'd escorted him around would -or likely could- speak to him, they put him in the back of the plane without windows, and he was hardly spared even a glance.

Honestly, he would not have been terribly surprised if they started slapping stamps on his forehead to mark where he'd been.

What concerned him more, however, was that he hadn't seen Shinkichi at all, nor the wounded captain. He had no idea if they were still on the patrol boat, or simply being transferred on different planes, or...

He forced the last thought out of his head. Even the Americans wouldn't go that far. He hoped.

At some point, fatigue finally managed to overcome the growing pit of anxiety in his stomach, and he dozed off. When he awoke, lord knew how many hours later, he he realized the plane had landed.

The stone-faced Americans put a bag over his head, heavy and with an unpleasant odor, and he felt himself get hoisted to his feet. Unsteadily, he walked as they directed him, occasionally stumbling on the uneven ground. It felt like rocky sand and cracked tarmac beneath his feet, and he could feel hot sunlight on his back. They must've brought him further down south, to one of the tropical islands under their control.

After what felt like half an hour or so, he realized he was now inside a building. The two men escorting him came to a stop, and he did so as well, standing tall despite feeling like a wrung-out rag.

"Christ," he heard a very deep voice say in English. "Whose brilliant idea was it to bring him in like this?"

"You have to understand operational security-"

"What I understand is that we're not off to a good start. One of you, take the fucking bag off his head. And the cuffs."

Bright light assailed Kyohei's eyes as the bag was suddenly whipped off. Squinting, he saw a pair of men standing in what looked like a used conference room. The one who was speaking before appeared to be an officer of some sort. A mountain of a man, with a bushy black mustache and hard eyes. The other was a dumpy man in a black suit, sweating even more than Kyohei was.

"You two, out," the big American said.

The two soldiers did as told, the door shutting with a forced click. Kyohei absentmindedly rubbed his wrists, studying the officer and the man in the suit. The latter seemed familiar, though it was hard to tell through the headache and exhaustion.

Then, to his surprise, the big American offered a stiff bow.

"I apologize for the rough treatment," he said in Japanese, with only a faint accent. "My superiors seem to believe that a need for secrecy calls for callousness."

He gestured to the table, where a sandwich and a mug of coffee was waiting. "Please."

Kyohei blinked, then shuffled over to the table, sitting in a creaking wooden chair. He paused only for a moment before tearing into the sandwich, followed by a mouthful of too-hot coffee.

After the first few bites, he composed himself, watching as the American officer sat down across from him.

"Shinkichi," he asked, setting the sandwich down. "Where is the boy?"

"He's safe, Doctor," the officer said. "He's currently being shown his new quarters here on Kwajalein."

"And the captain?"

The American shook his head. "Doctors couldn't save him."

"I see." Kyohei bowed his head for a moment, then looked back up. "Why am I here? Why did you arrest us?"

"Well, for the latter, you were technically trespassing on American waters," the officer replied. "Of course, most trespassers don't get brought to a key American military base, either. To answer the former..."

He produced a leather-bound book, and Kyohei's eyes widened in recognition. The officer opened to a bookmarked page, clearing his throat.

"Specimen height unknown. Range eighty to one hundred and twenty meters. Darker skin. No burns? Appears unscathed. Different species, almost certain."

The American flipped the journal so that the page faced Kyohei, and pointed to the central sketch. "Friend of yours?"

Kyohei picked up his coffee, and offered the best glare he could muster. "I thought pilfering through one's journal was considered un-American."

The officer seemed to ignore the remark. "I must admit that it's quite interesting, doctor. Y'see, your little sketching buddy has been causing quite a bit of trouble across the Pacific. I can't tell you what exactly, at least not just yet, but-"

"He's been destroying oil rigs."

The dumpy American in a suit coughed, and the officer's eyes widened, if only slightly. Kyohei made what he hoped was a smug smile.

"I heard rumors, some weeks back, of a mysterious glow in the ocean associated with the closing of an oil rig. It was eerily similar to the rumors that swirled about Gojira. I had known that it was fully possible that there were more of its kind out in the world, and so I decided to find it as soon as I could. To warn the world, if need be, but also to study it."

"And this is where we get into the juicy part," the big American said. "Our mutual friend has been known to us for weeks, and yet between a lone man in a dinghy and the armed forces of the US of A, the man in the dinghy found him first. I'm curious as to how that happened."

Kyohei sipped his coffee, grimacing at how bitter it was. "I had a theory, however tenuous it was, that Gojira had been in a state of hibernation before he was burned and awakened by your armed forces' bomb testing."

He set the coffee down and added, "Places like here."

The dumpy American seemed ready to protest, but the officer gestured for Kyohei to continue.

"Therefore, I had reason to believe that, should this creature have been in hibernation for millions of years, it would need to be in a region that matched its primordial habitat at least somewhat, and that the region had to be where the crust was of an age that matched the distant era it hailed from. An area near the tropical seas, where the crust was at least as old as the end of the Mesozoic Era. And, an area that had been exposed to American nuclear tests."

"I'm surprised you didn't try going to Faro Island, then," the dumpy American said in terrible Japanese.

"Aside from its lack of exposure to fallout from your bombs, the creatures there, despite being called dinosaurs, are as different from life in the Mesozoic as modern chickens. The strata there is relatively young, the populations stable instead of in hibernation. It is a false time capsule."

"So you find the real deal, then," stated the officer.

"It was not easy. I pored through my old paleontological papers and confer with my colleagues to find suitable spots. I discounted inhabited islands, as there would have been sightings similar to those on Odo. Eventually, the only possible conclusion I arrived at was an island that may not have even existed- Munin Island."

"Munin?"

"An archaic Oto-Hachijo term for 'no man' or 'no men'. An island that no one dared to settle, that sailors preferred to pass by. That superstition led to it being left out of many maps, and the lack of good currents helped to keep it off the maps."

"Until now, anyway."

Kyohei nodded. "Several days ago, I set out with Shinkichi to find the island. Three days later, we found the island, and a cursory survey unveiled species of flora we thought to be extinct for millions of years."

"As well as a radioactive monster older than our civilization," the officer said, wryly. "I take it he's the one who did the captain in?"

"The man tried to flee without us, only for the creature to deliberately target him," Kyohei replied. "It threw something at his boat."

"That can't be possible," the dumpy American said. "Humans are the only animals that can effectively throw things, or even have the mind to."

"Everything about this creature should be impossible," Kyohei said. He squinted, then opened his eyes. "Ah, now I remember you. Hardick, was it? We met three years ago at a biology convention. If memory serves, you had tried to flirt with my daughter, Emiko."

"Hardwick," the scientist replied, hastily. "And I'm sure you're misrem-"

"So it confirms my little theory that this new Gojira doesn't exactly like people," the officer interrupted. "Makes this mission all the more important."

"Mission," Kyohei repeated. He looked the officer in the eye. "You have been tasked with killing it."

"Before it goes public, yes." The officer returned the stare. "Hence why you're here. Can't have you racing back to tell the Diet about our animal problem."

"Killing this specimen and erasing its existence," Kyohei murmured. "Like silencing the lone witness to a crime."

"You disagree."

"Isn't it obvious? It should be studied, not exterminated. Here we have a creature from an era before our time, who has survived and harnessed the newest terror of our world. The wonders it could tell us are too great to let fall back into darkness."

"Actually, I'm partially in agreement, doctor."

Kyohei's brow furrowed. The American officer seemed amused by that, if the slight wrinkling of the skin around his eyes meant anything.

"Of course, it's for a different reason. I hew to the adage 'know thy enemy'. If we want to have a chance of killing this thing, we need to know everything we can about him. And I have a feeling you're just the man for the job?"

"What?" Hardwick said in English.

The officer ignored him. "You have two choices. One, we hit you with the book and give you the harshest sentence possible for trespassing. Long enough that this thing will be dead by the time you go back home. Or, you can tell Emiko you've taken up a special research project in the Marshalls on the behalf of the US government with a hefty paycheck at the end. You get as much research done on this scaly bastard, then you and Shinkichi head back knowing you saved countless lives from a monster."

Kyohei idly played with his mug of coffee, then looked back at the officer. "Very well."

"Excellent." The officer stood up and offered a hand. "Welcome to MONARCH, Dr. Yamane. I'm Lieutenant-Commander Douglas Gordon, and your new boss."

Kyohei regarded the man for a moment, then slowly took the man's hand and shook it.

"Let's get to it," he said in uneasy English.