Editing KSGU:Volume 10 Chapter 3 (section)

===Part 23===

Banagher left the massive mobile suit tunnel, and moved towards the industrial block, only to feel something hooking onto his shoulder. He heard an explosion afar, and the strings lost taut as they danced like live creatures before him.

He realized it was a trap, but was unable to react in time, a flash and boom exploded from the hatch, the howling hot winds stuffing his nose. He immediately curled up, held his breath, and was sent flying into the industrial block with the shrapnel and the explosion. Sharp shrapnel grazed him like bullets, cutting the shoulder of his pilot suit. He was sent spinning by the impact, and the tilting crane mast was shown in his sight.

His temples were throbbing, telling him to relax, but he could not. His body had formed a hard ball as it bounced off the mast, the sharp pain from the shoulders and back left him breathless. As he let out a silent scream, he instinctively kicked off the mast, getting himself to move since he was a target. He moved down the floor, evaded the half-wrecked mini mobile suit. The explosions did not cease as booming noises echoed through the large sealed space.

Banagher sought for Frontal’s presence as he passed many junctures, and suddenly entered the industrial block. It was a different path from what he took; the “Unicorn” was about 1km away, right before the mass driver. There was no way he could win if the “Sinanju” showed up, so he had to find a way back to the “Unicorn”, but where was Frontal hiding? Banagher realized he was trapped as he scanned the forest of debris that had turned into rubbish. Something seemed to drift through the layers of metal frames, and Banagher instinctively squeezed the trigger.

The sparks bounced by the frames, the scorching air whizzing by his helmet. He fell back as though he was tugged behind. His back hit the floor, and the recoil caused him to float. He flailed around, wanting to reposition himself, and a second bullet grazed his flank, shattering the canopy of the little mobile suit. He barely managed to kick off its arm when a third bullet bounced off the metallic wall, pursuing him.

“It’s a strange feeling.”

Frontal’s voice muzzled the echo of the gun, ringing through the forest of debris. Banagher hid behind a container carrier, anxious that he could not determine the enemy’s position. He was faltering in fear, and it was this, rather than the voice echoing everywhere, that rendered him unable to detect the killing intent. Banagher was so terrified, so disheartened that his body lost the armor called the “Unicorn”.

“I have a feeling I once thought the same. Even as a Newtype, I needed to train my body of flesh and blood to fight. I lured out a “Gundam” pilot, and had a physical showdown against him─”

“How long are you going to imitate others!?”

Banagher cut him off, firing the girl. A red shadow was at the foot of another crane. The helmet ornament flickered; there was no time to aim, and the bullet fired instinctively caused sparks to fly from a cargo crate.

“You’re not Char. You’re just a puppet made to imitate him!”

That should be the case, or so Banagher told himself as he leapt off the floor, from behind the carrier. A heavy rumbling echoed in the industrial block, and the crane conveyor belt moved.

The pressing machine and shredder too rang, along with the beam burner, which started to melt the goods upon the conveyor belt. Heat waves were spread in the forest of debris, turning it into a furnace. It appeared Frontal had switched on the powe, and the industrial block was back to being active. Banagher was rattled by the tremors before him, his dazed body just drifting defenselessly. The beam burner continued to cut through material, the hydraulic drives of the pressing machines gnawing debris, the rhythmic robotic noises continued to echo. At the same time, a certain red pilot suit appeared in the shadow of the conveyor belt.—

Sparks appeared from his gun, a delayed shot rang together with the flood-like machinery noises. Banagher turned around in an instant, but the bullet grazed his left arm, cutting through his pilot suit and the skin beneath.

He felt he was struck by a hot poker while flying several meters away. He pressed down upon his numb upper arm, and hid behind the pillar of the conveyor belt, the damp sensation seeping through his glove, blood oozing from the tear in the pilot suit. First, he would have to stop the bleeding, and to mend the clothes. Banagher recalled the steps he learned at Anaheim Technical Institute, pulled the spray from his vest to stop the bleeding, and a scorching pain spread throughout his body.

“You should know the meaning of the term residual thoughts”

Frontal’s voice echoed with the incessant machine noises. Banagher gritted his teeth, spraying at his wound as he experienced the disgust of blood instantly clotting.

“The psycoframe has an element of reacting to humanity’s will, and also to absorb it. The psycoframe has the power to move an asteroid, and the price is that the will of the human acting as its core shall be burned up.”

Frontal too should have been gravely wounded, but his voice remained poised. Banagher listened to the distant voice as he mended his pilot suit with duct tape. With this, he should be able to maintain air tightness in vacuum─he would have to endure the pain for the time being.

“If that person’s consciousness continues to wander space, with nowhere to return to…it will not be strange for him to occasionally reside in the appearance of a god. As you said, humans are creatures seeking themselves in others.”

The sneer did not stop as the red profile glided past his vision. “Enough with these illogical words…!” Banagher yelled as he fired the gun. He gave pursuit at the profile behind the crane, and kicked off the conveyor belt. Using the debris of the drifting mini mobile suits as launch pads, he ducked behind the pillow. At that moment, he sensed pressure from above, and found his vision blanketed by Frontal’s pilot suit.

The gun pointed up was kicked aside, sent flying into the end. Banagher was choked by an extended arm, his back slammed into the crane arm. The impact from two masses and inertia clashed, thirty or so pipes bundled upon the floating crane scattered in the air, flying around, landing on the mast and making a crisp sound.

The fingers stabbing into the throat caused these noises and scenes to seem so distant. Frontal’s face could not be seen due to the tinted visor of the helmet. Banagher’s consciousness was fading while he was being choked by a faceless pilot suit, only to spot a pipe next to him. He reached out his hand that was half numb, grabbed it, and found it was just large enough to grip. Before Frontal could stop him, a blunt impact could be heard from the heavily swung pipe. Frontal took a direct hit on the helmet, and bounced aside.

Banagher continued to cough as he curled his upper body up, throwing the pipe at the still stumbling Frontal. He saw many more pipes, grabbed them, and threw them at Frontal like spears. The latter swayed and ducked, raising his handgun, which luckily was hit by a pipe. The red pilot suit clicked its tongue, and retreated. Banagher continued to throw pipes, but he clearly underestimated the latter’s physical ability.

Frontal grabbed a thrown pipe, clicked himself off a crane, and quickly closed in. The pipe exceeding a meter in length came flying in like a rapier, and the tip grazed Banagher’s face. The latter evaded the stab in the nick of time, swinging the pole in his hand horizontally. After another 2, 3 clashes, both of them were drifting, and Banagher suddenly fell backwards as his foot caught something.

He landed back-first onto something hard and sturdy, the tremors he felt starting to move aside. Before he could wonder if he was tripped by the conveyor belt, Frontal’s pipe flashed by, and as he could not block it, he was swept aside. Frontal then seized the opportunity to close in, landing onto the materials, pinning the pipe tip onto Banagher’s throat. The latter saw him covered in orange light, and looked behind in surprise.

There was a beam rifle-like light at the end of the belt standing vertically. The materials would be melted apart, and reclaimed by another arm, before being transported elsewhere. Banagher and Frontal were on a square deck 3 meters wide, which was slowly approaching the blade of the beam burner.

They were doomed if they touched it. The heat and light that could instantly vaporize upon contact got increasingly intense. Banagher wanted to escape immediately, but if he were to move, the pipe would surely smash his head along with the helmet. With his back pinned onto the materials, Banagher glared at the red pilot suit standing before him. The latter seemed to show no fear at the beam closing in, staring back at Banagher through the dark colored visor.

“Your confusion and fear have reached me.”

The light of the beamburner touched the materials before him, becoming bright and shining upon Frontal’s visored face. Banagher saw a cold stare from the masked right eye, an obvious eyeball beneath the cracked mask, somewhat covered with blood as it floated beneath the visor like a ghost, leaving him intimidated.

“You are like me. The moment you decided to inherit your father’s will, the possibilities in your heart began to die.”

 “What…？”

“Your mind has stilled because you set boundaries for yourself, and you are bound as you bear responsibilities…these will kill the emotions of a young fledgling Newtype. The desire to leave possibilities abound will kill possibilities.”

The pipe pinning down on the throat was slightly lifted, and the bloodied face under the mask smirked. Banagher did not know if he was a puppet, or just the ghost of Char living in the pupper; he was sure however that the man was mad. The beam burner heat was within inches, and Banagher clenched with all his might, holding his breath as he kicked his feet out.

Banagher did not stand, and instead let his body move down the belt. He saw Frontal reel, closed his eyes, and flattened himself. There was approximately a 2m gap between the railings. He assumed he would not be burned if he ducked through, so he pulled his visor down, and gritted his teeth. The heat waves reached through the visor, and for a few milliseconds , he felt his body burning all over. The sound of steel being melted ran up close, causing his mind to numb, and then he was thrown out of the belt.

He evaded the looming arm that was going to pick materials, flailing his limbs with all his might. Once he realized his senses were fine, Banagher opened his eyes and looked around. He lost his bearings, let alone Frontal. Which path would lead him to the mass driver where the “Unicorn” awaited? He looked around, landed on the ground, opened the visor to wipe his sweat, and caught his breath.

“You shall become like your father, bound by the curse he and others have laid upon you.”

Frontal’s voice cast aside that moment of respite, echoing through the wreckage. Banagher determined the voice came from behind, and went towards the collapse crane. Frontal had no weapon. Perhaps Banagher could return to the “Unicorn” if he knew where to go.

“You can no longer determine where I am now.”

The sneer clearly came from behind. ''No, he’s the one who doesn’t know where I am. Since he aged, he lost his instincts, his possibilities.’’ “No…!” Banagher refuted, turned around the pile of wreckage, only for a sudden black hole to cut his exit.

It was a beam rifle muzzle, and Banagher was too late to understand it. It was a thick caliber the size of folded arms, lifting Banagher like a needle lifting a worm. The multi-layered armor rubbed, making metallic sounds, and the “Sinanju” hidden amongst the debris lifted his head. Half its body was burned, everything beyond the left elbow was gone, but it meant nothing to Banagher, who was mere flesh and body. The latter was tossed into the air, unable to resist, his body at gunpoint.

“It is a pity to kill you…but I will have to.”

Frontal was in the opened belly cockpit, saying that on the linear seat. Banagher never heard the rumbles due to the surrounding noise. ''Did he start the generator for this purpose…Banagher realized too late as he looked around, trying to find an opportunity to escape. The massive body of the “Sinanju” rumbled, and Banagher looked towards the muzzle that would neutralize anything in its path.

“You are bound by the organization of the Oldtypes…the concepts of duty and responsibilities. Newtypes have their way to communicate with the world, but I suppose you will not listen?”

The “Sinanju” mooneye looked like an eyeball, giving a pitiful look to a worm in its palm. The troublesome thing called responsibility bound humanity down, robbing them of what they should say, and sometimes a necessary evil—this reaction throbbed in his heart, and he felt his face cringe.
 
“We shall give those who do not wish to change, a future that will not change. I will use the “Box” for this. This is just desserts for those who denied Newtypes.”

''Just desserts,’’ Banagher finally sensed some emotion from the human called Frontal, and he lifted his head, as though woken from a dream.

Frontal was in the cockpit, shielded by the dark visor, looking like a faceless ghoul─that was his true appearance. Beyond the shed mask was nothing. He was vengeful about his own emptiness, which caused him to hate the world, to mimic the experiences and words of others to disguise himself. He was merely a rotting body who had Char’s mask, a grudge venting his emotions everywhere.

“…You’re no Newtype.”

Banagher merely felt malice, and words borne out of malice were not worth listening. He glared at the face that did not exist, and clearly denied him.

“You don’t have anything, you can’t do anything. All you can do is to mock, to look down on others. You’re just a remnant, a gutless puppet taking the appearance of Char.”

The faceless ghoul throbbed, and the mooneye of the “Sinanju” shook, twitching as it took the rage and fear. A beam would be fired at the next moment, erasing Banagher without a trace. Banagher neither willed himself, nor did he regret as he clenched his fists, convinced these were the words he should say. However, Frontal’s attention was directed to the side, the beam rifle pointing above.

Banagher sensed the sky being ripped through behind him, and a trail of white smoke extended towards the “Sinanju”. It was too late for the red machine to duck, the trail stabbing into the flank like a sharp spear, the noise and flash from the explosion erasing all of Banagher’s senses.

The ”Sinanju” stumbled, closed the cockpit hatch, and flew back. Banagher was blown away by the thrusters, and he grabbed a crane debris, spotting another rocket trail strike the “Sinanju”. A massive fireball appeared on the “Sinanju” flank, tearing into the cables surrounding it. A blinding light shone upon the forest of wreckage, and another person came in from the other end, appearing in Banagher’s sights.

“Master Banagher!”

The moment their eyes met, the man wielding the recoilless bazooka yelled. They were more than 50 meters apart, but his voice reached Banagher. The moss green suit was clearly ECOAS equipment. “Mr Gael…!?” Banagher responded, looking at the person leaping through the wreckage. Gael nimbly piloted the thrusters on his back as he navigated through the gaps. It appeared he was already used to fighting. The “Sinanju” continued to flail its rifle about when a third rocket was fired. The red giant took a direct hit in the chest, causing it to topple.

The missile was like a bean to the mobile suit, but it landed well, and might have caused major harm. The “Sinanju” took a third direct hit, its scorched body flying in the air. The thrusters capable of lifting 30 tonnes struck at the wind, causing the surrounding debris to rattle. Gael then moved his thruster strough the swirling headwind, flying above Banagher’s head like a ferocious raptor.

“Get to the “Unicorn” quickly! I’ll fend him off!”

He yelled the moment they passed, and the bazooka reticule was aimed at the”Sinanju”.  Through the burned spacesuit, Banagher could see that Gael was injured, but Banagher continued to kick off the debris, leaving them, and flew straight through. Once they got through, his line of sight would wide. He would have to find a path to the mass driver, and board the “Unicorn”, or so he thought as he wanted to scale the crane mast. The loudest boom thus far caused the many layers of debris to rumble.

The”Sinanju” evaded the missile, kicked aside the debris pile, and landed next to it. Its mooneye looked towards Banagher who was scaling the mast, and looked forward. Frontal’s malice resonated with the mooneye, and Banagher sensed his heart being gripped.

It’s your turn to experience deja vu—the “Sinanju” mooneye seemed to imply as it reeled in the lens, raising the rifle. Banagher could neither stop Frontal nor call Gael’s name. The rifle let out a flash, instantly scorching the debris forest before him.

The wreckage of the mini mobile suit and the transport carrier blew like toys, the flashes and noise of the explosions filled the entire industrial block. Banagher saw a little profile flying through the rubble, ostensibly Gael’s, swallowed in the torrential winds. It instantly lost its limbs, its charred body vanishing in the light.

He’s gone, like Mr Daguza. Not dead, gone. He could not muster any feelings, no sadness. A person that once existed was gone ─

““Unicorn”!”

Banagher’s head seared as he eked out these words. At that moment, he had a vision of being a kilometer away. The “Unicorn” lifted its horn, the eyes deep beyond the visor glowing.

The psycommu’s reception was maximized, and the machine stood up. The “Unicorn” thrusters blared at full power as it charged forward towards the industrial block. The repercussions rocking his mind vibrated through his five senses, rumbling through the air of the industrial block, and Banagher heard the white giant fly through the tunnel.

The psycoframe glowed massively, the wind pressure oozing through the gaps of the armor, scattering all the debris afar, and the one armed “Sinanju” to shake. Banagher kicked the mast of the crane, and flew towards the source of the light. The “Unicorn” cockpit opened, the horn on its head splitting apart, the psycoframe was revealed, shining redder than the furnace.