Four years. That is the exact amount of time I have spent rotting in this prison cell. Considering I'm serving two life sentences, I won't be walking out of these iron gates any time soon.
I was convicted of manslaughter—or, to be more accurate, a localized genocide. I don't regret it, not for a single heartbeat. In fact, I would do it all over again.
My name is Alexander. I am twenty-eight years old, and I am fully prepared to spend the rest of my days in this concrete tomb. To understand how I got here, you have to look back to where it all began.
[Four Years Ago(The beginning)]
It was always just my sister and me; us against the world. We were adopted together by an old woman, a stroke of luck that prevented the foster system from tearing us apart. We didn't have a tragic cinematic backstory—no fiery car crashes or heroic sacrifices. Our story was mundane: a woman gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl, and for reasons known only to her, she left us on the streets. The police found us before we starved to death. Or so I've been told.
The years we spent with that woman were the best of our lives. She was everything to us, and we were her entire world. But as my sister and I reached the age of twenty, our mother's time finally ran out.
She passed away peacefully. Her last words were a plea for us to stay together, to protect one another.
"The world may have taken your parents," she whispered, "but it made sure to give you each other. That is more important than you know."
I found steady work as a truck driver. it wasn't glamorous, but it was honest work that paid the bills. My sister, always the brilliant one, landed a position at an electronics firm.
One evening, she mentioned a teenager at the company who wouldn't stop pestering her. I didn't think much of it at the time. I told her to ignore him or report him to security. I was wrong. I should have told her to quit. Better yet, I should have gone there and broken his hands myself.
I remember that day with a haunting clarity. I returned home, exhausted from a long haul, only to find the house silent and empty. I didn't worry at first; I ate my dinner and left a plate for her.
A week passed. An agonizing, frantic week of me practically living at the police station, only to be told she was still missing. Then, they found her. A cold, discarded body in the sewers. She had been shot in the head and left to rot for days.
Everything after that was a blur—the investigation, the funeral, the grief. The police were "investigating," but I couldn't wait for a slow system. I was born strong, standing 6'7" and built like a literal tank from years of boxing and heavy labor. I decided to find the killer myself.
And so my hunt began
I made a list of every name my sister had ever mentioned. I spent two entire years of my savings to pay off a small-time gang for information. It was a desperate move, but it worked. They handed the list back with a single circle around the name at the very bottom: the boy from her office.
I had no hard evidence, only the word of criminals, but he was the only lead I had left. I went to her workplace, acting like a grieving, concerned brother. When I found him, I asked if he'd seen her. He said no, but I saw the tremor in his hands and the desperation in his eyes to be rid of me.
I waited for him in the shadows of the parking lot. When he reached his car, I jumped him. I beat him into unconsciousness and drove his car to a forgotten, skeletal construction site I'd scouted. I didn't need weapons; he was weak, and I was fueled by a quiet, vibrating rage.
He broke faster than I expected. He wasn't built for pain. The words tumbled out—excuses, pleas, justifications. Because she had rejected him, he used his "connections" with a local gang to have her kidnapped to "scare" her.
I stopped listening to his reasons. The only thing that mattered was that I had found the monster. I could have turned him in. I could have recorded a confession. Instead, I used my fists. I wanted to feel his agony; I wanted to break him bone by bone. When my hands were slick with blood and my knuckles were raw, I finished it. I found a rusty chain and strangled him, watching the light fade from his tear-filled eyes until I heard the sickening crack of his neck.
I used the gasoline from his car to burn the evidence, but I wasn't finished. There were six more—the gang members who took her. I tracked them to an abandoned building, parked my truck, and waited for nightfall. I knew I couldn't take six armed men in a fair fight, but my truck could definitely turn them to paste and it didn't play fair.
The legal system doesn't care about poetic justice. My trial was a media circus; some called me a hero, others a monster. I didn't care. I did it for her, and in a way, I did it for myself.
Prison life is monotonous. We get television once a week, and I've developed a fondness for the Pacific Rim movies. Most of the inmates agree—and those who prefer romance novels quickly learned that democracy doesn't exist in the yard.
Last night, I felt something odd beneath my bedsheet. I pulled out a glowing, platinum-colored card with the number "2" etched at the top.
[New Form (Looks): Gipsy Danger (Pacific Rim)]
[Origin: The Kaijus have found their way to another reality. As the Hunter, it is your duty to follow and hunt them down.]
[Power Set: Gipsy Danger chassis + System + Integrated Information.]
I stared at it, wondering if an inmate was playing an elaborate prank. I tucked it under my pillow, planning to hide it better in the morning. But I never woke up in that cell. My pillow began to glow with the intensity of a dying star, and darkness swallowed me whole.
A New Reality
I regained consciousness in total silence. I wasn't breathing. I wasn't cold. I was... heavy.
Information flooded my new "processing unit," clarifying my location: 6,500 meters deep in the Atlantic Ocean.
I looked down at my massive, metallic limbs. I am 260 feet of reinforced steel, standing in the crushing dark of the abyss.
{Host transmigration complete.}
{Welcome online, Alexander. The Point System is at your disposal.}
The System explained itself clearly: it monitors my actions and awards points every week based on my performance. These points are the currency for upgrades, weapons, and new technologies for my new body.
I stood there for a long time, the silence of the ocean floor pressing against my hull. Then, the giant began to walk. The Hunter has arrived, and the hunt is only just beginning.