Tanya stood in the dim glow of Odessa's frontline command post, the stale air thick with the scent of oil, dust, and gunpowder. The official communique still echoed in her ears — Operative Selene von Zehrtfeld: Missing in Action. Side 7 incident. She kept her expression cold, the perfect soldier, but her mind gnawed at the edges of the statement. Missing in action was not dead, but in war, the difference could vanish in an instant.
When the room emptied, Tanya leaned back in her chair, fingers drumming the armrest in slow, deliberate rhythm. She forced herself to recall Selene's voice during their last exchange, every inflection and pause. "Just another op," Selene had said. "I'll be fine." The words now sounded like a bluff — confident on the surface, but hiding something deeper. Tanya had heard too many soldiers make similar promises before vanishing from the roster.
Her eyes narrowed. This isn't chance. Being X's warning about "the Mark" — the anomaly that would test her beyond the battlefield — slipped back into her mind like a splinter under skin. She had dismissed it as another one of that meddling god's cryptic jabs, but Side 7's sudden escalation, the Federation's new mobile suit, and Selene's disappearance all fit together too neatly to ignore.
Leaning over the strategy table, Tanya studied the latest battlefield reports, her mind piecing together possibilities that would make her staff dismiss her as paranoid. She couldn't prove it, but she suspected something was moving beyond conventional war — something connected to the so-called Gundam Metaverse interference she had only heard in half-whispered rumors. If that was true, then Selene's loss might not be random at all.
Her jaw tightened. "If this is Being X's game," she muttered under her breath, voice low enough that only she could hear it, "then I'll make sure I win."
The summons came without warning — a curt encrypted transmission from Granada under the seal of Gihren Zabi himself. Lelouch read it twice, though the meaning was plain enough the first time. He was to leave California Base at once and report to Granada for oversight of the YMS-08 Zudah performance tests. The wording was deliberately formal, but the subtext rang in his mind like a quiet verdict.
The Zudah was no secret to him. He had studied its specs in scattered engineering reports, noting its potential for high mobility but also its dangerous instability under sustained output. It was the sort of machine a propaganda department would love and a logistics office would quietly bury. A weapon designed more for parades than campaigns. To be "assigned" to it now — when his influence in North America was growing alongside Garma's — spoke volumes.
Lelouch closed the transmission and stared out across the bustling airfields of California Base. He could read the play easily enough. This was not a promotion. It was a carefully staged exile, a way to remove him from Garma's inner circle without a public demotion. That it came directly under Gihren's authority only confirmed it. The elder Zabi had decided his presence here was… inconvenient.
Garma found him in the officers' lounge later that evening, the California sunset painting long orange beams across the room. "So, Granada," Garma began with a boyish grin, settling into the chair opposite Lelouch. "I have to say, you must be making waves if Gihren himself wants you for a special project." His tone was light, congratulatory, and — Lelouch noted — entirely sincere. Garma had no suspicion of the political calculus behind it.
"Perhaps," Lelouch replied smoothly, concealing the faint curl of irony in his thoughts. "The Zudah is… an interesting assignment." He left it at that, not about to voice his doubts in public. Garma, ever eager to see the best in his family's machinations, continued, "Think of it as an honor. Prove its worth and it might earn you a place in the central military research board."
Lelouch sipped his tea, the motion unhurried. Prove its worth… or prove my distance from you, he thought. But aloud he only said, "I'll give the project my full attention." Internally, the vow he made was not to the Zudah's success, but to ensuring his own position in the grander game. If Gihren thought this would sideline him, he was underestimating how far Lelouch was willing to maneuver.
Seeing no resistance in his friend's expression, Garma leaned forward, his voice dropping in a rare display of earnestness. "Once you're done with this project, you'll be back at my side. I'll make sure of it." His confidence was absolute — the kind only someone untouched by deeper political currents could hold. Lelouch allowed himself a small, reassuring smile.
"I'll hold you to that," Lelouch said, the words carrying two meanings — one Garma understood, and one only Lelouch himself truly grasped. In the quiet that followed, he let Garma's optimism stand, even as he began mapping out how to turn an exile into an opportunity.
At Odessa Forward Base, the air was heavy with exhaust fumes and the bark of shouted orders. Tanya Degurechaff stood at the training field's edge, arms crossed as the GED unit ran live-fire drills. Every movement was timed to the second, every formation change checked and rechecked. The Federation's counteroffensive was coming — she could feel it in the way staff officers' voices lowered when discussing the latest reconnaissance reports. There would be no second chances when the push came.
The thunder of heavy footfalls drew her attention to the far side of the field. Three massive silhouettes moved in unison — the Black Tri-Stars and their Dom prototypes. The machines darted across the uneven ground with startling speed for their size, slipping in and out of cover before unloading concentrated fire. Even Tanya, who prided herself on her skepticism, had to admit their hit-and-run efficiency was impressive.
The Tri-Stars seemed to know they were being watched. Ortega made a wide, theatrical sweep with his bazooka as if to say watch closely, lieutenant, while Gaia gave her a short nod — respectful but with that unspoken we're in a different league undertone. Tanya's expression didn't change. She simply filed away every detail of their maneuvers: acceleration bursts, braking distances, and preferred firing arcs. If she ever had to fight a Dom, she wanted no surprises.
Rivalry between units was nothing new, but Tanya treated it like another battle — one she intended to win not through boasting, but preparation. The GED unit's Zakus might lack the Doms' raw speed, but she knew exactly how to squeeze every drop of performance out of them. Watching the Tri-Stars strut only sharpened her resolve.
Meanwhile, halfway across the Earth Sphere, Lelouch vi Britannia stepped onto the landing pad at Granada. The sprawling lunar base gleamed under the harsh artificial lighting, but his focus was on the line of engineers and officers waiting to greet him. Their uniforms were clean, their smiles rehearsed. The lead Zeonic engineer, a man with grease-stained gloves and an easy grin, wasted no time ushering him toward the YMS-08 Zudah.
The prototype stood on its maintenance rack, a lean frame bristling with oversized thrusters. The test pilots spoke of its unmatched acceleration, recounting test runs where it outraced standard Zakus by a full twenty percent. Lelouch nodded at the claims, his eyes moving over the stress marks near joint assemblies, the hairline fractures in the armor plating. He didn't need a report to see the flaw: speed bought at the cost of structural stability.
A private demonstration sealed his assessment. As the Zudah blazed across the test range, its frame shuddered visibly when pushed to full output. The lead pilot made light of it — "just needs a steadier hand" — but Lelouch had already made the note in his mind. That vibration wasn't pilot error. It was an engineering compromise that would get men killed in battle.
Later, in the privacy of his assigned office, Lelouch began drafting his first classified report. This isn't a war machine — it's a death trap. And Gihren knows it. The Zudah wasn't meant to win wars. It was meant to be paraded as a bold innovation and then quietly discarded, with any failure pinned on whoever oversaw its deployment.
As the cursor blinked on the final line of his report, the realization settled over him like a cold weight. His "promotion" had never been about the Zudah's success — it was about isolating him. And if the project failed spectacularly, his career would take the hit. Lelouch leaned back in his chair, a slow, calculating smile forming. If Gihren thought this was a checkmate, he had underestimated his opponent.