The cold, metallic hum of Axis was a constant reminder of our displacement. We were ghosts haunting a hollowed-out rock, clinging to the edge of the solar system while the Earth Sphere burned with the embers of the One Year War. My name is Cygna Maureen, Lieutenant-Major of the Zeon Remnants and the right hand to Major Ederich.
The year is 0081. The Federation calls this "peace," but to those of us left behind, it is merely a stagnant "uncomfort zone"—an intermission before the next act of violence. While Major Ederich is currently at Luna II, seizing a rare, fragile moment of peace with his wife and son following the nightmare of A Baoa Qu, I have been left to manage the spirit of a broken platoon.
Zeon's defeat wasn't just a tactical failure; it was the collapse of an ego. The Zabi family—Garma, Dozle, Gihren, and Kycillia—all gone. They squandered our vast resources on a frantic arms race, pouring billions into a dizzying variety of experimental Mobile Suits and the lumbering white elephant that was the Big Zam, only to leave us leaderless.
Now, the survivors scatter like dust. Some, like Vincent Gleissner of the Marchosias, have vanished back to Earth for personal vendettas or for those they left behind, like Chloe Croce. Others, like the Delaz Fleet, hide in the shadows of the debris belts within the Earth Sphere, nursing their pride. Here in Axis, we have Colonel Char Aznable and the young Mineva Lao Zabi, the last hope of the Zabi bloodline. But even hope feels thin; we recently lost Zenna Zabi, Lord Dozle's wife, to the harsh conditions of this rock. Death, it seems, followed us from the front lines.
"Lieutenant-Major Cygna, Ma'am!".
I turned away from the observation port, where a lone Zaku II drifted on patrol, its mono-eye a dim red pulse in the dark. A young technician from our platoon stood at attention, his face pale under the flickering fluorescent lights.
"Report," I said, my voice sounding more tired than I intended.
"I have the results from the Axis Newtype Institute regarding Major Ederich's request," he said, handing me a data pad. "The analysis of the 'System' data captured from the Federation's RX-80PR Pale Rider.".
I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the recycled air. "And? Can we implement it?".
The technician swallowed hard. "The system is... it's a death sentence, Ma'am.". He explained that several test pilots had already suffered severe neurological hemorrhaging and brain damage; some remain hospitalized. We attempted a simulation by installing a mock-up into a Gelgoog Jäger, but the processing load caused the reactor to redline and melt within ninety seconds.
"Everything overheats, Lieutenant-Major," he continued. "The Zaku II, Rick Dom II, and Gelgoog—all suffer catastrophic failure. The Federation's Augusta Base created a monster. Unless the machine is built specifically for it—like the Efreet Custom was for the EXAM system—it's just a suicide bomb.". Even stealing a Federation suit as a base would likely yield the same unstable results.
I ordered the data kept classified, intending to brief the Major only when the timing was right. As the soldier left, I watched a group of former soldiers in civilian rags heading toward a battered Zanzibar-class ship. Accompanied by unarmed Mobile Pod Balls, they weren't going to war; they were scavengers looking for scrap metal to buy bread.
Days bled into weeks of monotonous routine: wake, work, eat, sleep. This loop was broken when I was summoned back to the Institute by the head researcher, a gaunt man who looked like he hadn't slept since the fall of Solomon.
"I've stabilized the core logic," the Doctor whispered, pointing at a monitor displaying a glowing red neural map. "But you must understand... this HADES System isn't like EXAM. Chlust Moses used the soul of a Newtype, Marion Welch, to guide the machine. But HADES overclocks the pilot's brain entirely.".
The Doctor's eyes were wide with a mix of fear and fascination. He explained that HADES forces neurotransmitters to fire at impossible speeds to match Newtype reflexes. The cost is staggering: memory loss, organ failure, inability to digest food, and a drastically shortened lifespan. The system can even take over the Mobile Suit entirely, turning the pilot into a mere passenger in a killing machine. When it activates, the sensors glow red and the vents glow orange from the sheer heat of the brain's exertion.
"Why does the Major want this?" the Doctor asked. "He is already a Newtype. Why risk becoming a vegetable to mimic abilities he already possesses?".
I thought of Ederich's face after his defeat at the California Base by 'Oldtypes' and his humiliating encounter with the White Devil, Amuro Ray. "He wants to surpass everything," I replied quietly. "Gods, devils, and other Newtypes. He calls himself 'The Fool of Zeon,' but he is obsessed with never being powerless again.".
"What shall we call the project?" the Doctor sighed.
"The Major has already chosen a name," I said. "Chronus. The Titan who swallowed his own children to stay in power. The father of Zeus and Hades.".
The political climate reached a boiling point when the Federation attempted a raid during Mineva's succession ceremony, intended to boost morale. It was a chaotic mess. 100 Mobile Suits scrambled to intercept the Federation GMs. I watched from the command deck as Char Aznable's Zero The R (AMA-00GR) and Haman Karn's Schnee Weiss (MS-09R4) tore through the enemy.
Though we repelled the attack, the victory was bitter. Captured Federation soldiers escaped from the Axis prison, and we lost good people like Monica Bartolommeo. The tension between Char and the hardliner Enzo Bernini was palpable; Char blamed Enzo's expendable-pawn tactics for the unnecessary loss of life.
A few months later, the decision was made: Char would lead an expedition to the Republic of Zeon (Side 3) to negotiate our future. Sixty elites were chosen—including Haman Karn—but I was not on the list.
I stood on the docking pier as the refitted Zanzibar prepared for its 160-day journey. Major Ederich was still absent, though he sent word that he would return once his time with his family was complete.
"Safe travels, Colonel. Safe travels, Miss Haman," I whispered as the engines flared.
As the ship vanished into the starfield, I headed back to my office to draft my report. The loop would continue: wake, work, eat, sleep. But deep in the labs of the Newtype Institute, the Chronus System was waiting. I just hope that when the Major returns, there is still a man left behind the mask of a pilot.
To be continued.