The conference room deep beneath the United Asia Federation headquarters was silent, save for the low hum of machinery and the flicker of multiple holo-screens projecting footage from the Strait Incident. The dim light only made the tension heavier. Government officials, generals, engineers, and analysts from the remaining major powers of the Eastern Sphere—Japan, China, South Korea, Saudi Arabia, and the remnants of ASEAN—were gathered in a war council.
Japan was the first to speak.
"We lost two of our most elite Gundam units. Yatagerasu-2 and 3 were decimated with zero retrieval. Not even the black box data survived. The pilot of the Malaya unit didn't just engage—they erased them."
The representative from the Japanese Defense Ministry narrowed his eyes as the footage played silently in the background. A thick fog, screaming comms, and that haunting hum.
"This isn't a machine. This is a ghost with armor. And we cannot allow it to roam free."
South Korea's delegate nodded, concern etched on his face. "If this... 'Malaya' continues unchecked, it could destabilize every forward base we've re-established in the South China Sea."
"It must be eliminated," the Japanese rep continued. "And Japan will take full responsibility to spearhead this operation. We're already drafting plans for a new Gundam prototype, something beyond even the Yatagerasu line. But we'll need support."
The Chinese officials exchanged glances. One of them spoke.
"You want Zhang Lei."
A silent pause followed.
"He's the only one with enough experience to counter this. He fought and survived engagements against four Gundams—three of them Japanese, one Russian. His instincts in close-quarters are unmatched."
The Japanese delegate leaned forward. "Then let him pilot a new model. We'll provide the frame. But China will provide the AI system, the reactor core, and advanced bio-sync interface. Let us collaborate."
Saudi Arabia's ambassador spoke, voice trembling slightly. "But... we don't even know who pilots the Malaya Gundam. Our intelligence finds no match. No ID. No military signature. Nothing."
"Exactly," Japan said. "A phantom. One that hides beneath our radar, kills with brutality, and vanishes without trace. If we don't stop it now, we'll regret it when it appears in our capitals."
Murmurs filled the room.
"And what of those who fear it?" asked Vietnam's minister quietly. "There are some among us who believe Malaya was not made for war, but as a deterrent... yet it has no leash. No owner. If it turns on all of us, we are doomed."
"Which is why we strike first. We arm ourselves with the best pilot—Zhang Lei—and a Gundam superior to anything we've ever built. We call it Project Raijin."
China gave a curt nod. "We'll begin development immediately."
As the discussion continued, Japan laid out a detailed multi-phase strategy:
Phase One: Surveillance drones disguised as commercial satellites would be deployed in low orbit, scanning every inch of the South China Sea and former Malaysian territory.
Phase Two: Psychological warfare—hacked emergency broadcasts, civilian drone drops, and falsified radio transmissions—to lure Malaya into exposing itself.
Phase Three: Coordinated strike involving not just mobile suits, but newly developed anti-Gundam EMP torpedoes fired from stealth submarines.
Phase Four: Deployment of Zhang Lei and the Raijin Gundam once Malaya was weakened.
"If we unify all our data networks and war assets, we can set a trap it won't expect," said a strategist from South Korea.
Saudi Arabia's intelligence director added, "We'll handle countermeasures. Any psychic or neural system it uses—we'll build blocks, cloaks, and decoys. We'll feed it so many targets, it won't distinguish real from false."
Then came the reinforcements.
The American delegate stood and spoke with grave resolve. "We will commit 300 mobile suits and one of our latest Gundam units. We understand the threat—and we won't let it spread."
Japan's representative nodded. "We will provide 100 mobile suits and two advanced Gundam units from our next-generation program. The loss of Yatagerasu-2 and 3 will not be in vain."
Russia's gruff ambassador leaned in. "Two hundred mobile suits and one heavy-class Gundam from us. We know what it means to face terror... and we will not face it alone."
The UK representative adjusted his glasses and calmly added, "The United Kingdom pledges 500 mobile suits. We consider this an international threat—not just to peace, but to survival."
Italy's voice followed. "Seventy mobile suits from Italy. Our elite units will be dispatched immediately."
Germany's envoy declared, "We will send one elite Gundam unit. Engineered for adaptability, designed for war."
Portugal's representative added, "Thirty elite mobile suits. Fast and surgical."
France nodded. "Thirty elite mobile suits from us as well. Precision and force."
When asked, Saudi Arabia's delegate hesitated. "We... will not participate directly. Our position remains neutral. This is not a war we wished to be drawn into."
The room grew heavy again.
When Zhang Lei reviewed the reinforcement list, his breath caught.
He stared at the numbers.
This wasn't a task force. This was a war fleet.
And yet... they weren't fighting a country. Not a rebellion. Not even an army.
Just one.
One Gundam.
One thing.
A silence fell over Zhang's mind as the realization took root:
Humanity had just unified the largest military coalition since the Global Crisis.
To destroy something it created.
Something it could no longer understand.
Something it could no longer control.
Something it now feared more than death.
And somewhere, far away, in the dead silence of a ruined battlefield, the Malaya Gundam stood motionless.
Its pilot sat inside, breathing slowly.
Waiting.
Silent.
Listening.
As if it knew.
As if it had always known.
And it hummed, in a low voice only the dead could hear:
"Sepertinya... aku dipaksa untuk mati..."
---
Six months had passed since the coalition forged their unholy alliance against the phantom known only as Malaya. Six months of sleepless nights, tireless engineering, political arguments, and desperate coordination. But at last, the answer had arrived in steel.
Raijin.
Zhang Lei stood beneath the massive frame of his new Gundam—custom-built through the combined resources of Japan's finest engineers and China's most advanced neural-interface labs. The result: a towering war machine of silent grace and brutal precision. Black and cobalt blue, accented by streaks of white plasma, Raijin radiated not just strength, but a kind of restrained wrath.
He stared up at it, eyes narrowed. There was no emotion left in him. Only resolve.
A Japanese technician stepped forward, tablet in hand. "Colonel Zhang," he began, "Allow me to brief you on the core systems."
Zhang gave a silent nod.
"Raijin is designed for rapid mid-to-close quarters combat. The mobility boosters have triple the output of standard Gundams, allowing sustained aerial maneuvers even in atmospheric drag. The entire frame is laced with experimental shock absorption to allow full-body impacts."
He swiped to the next page. "Its primary weapon is the Tenrai Blade—folded plasma edge with anti-armor molecular disruption. This will cut through anything, even phased alloy."
"Secondary system includes the Shiden Field: a rotating kinetic barrier that adjusts according to projectile size and velocity."
Another tap. "The Raijin Core is the real marvel. A new quantum neural synchronizer developed with China's neuropsyche labs. It is built for ultra-fast reaction movement and hyper-accurate reflex response. There is no perceptible time lapse. It operates faster than conscious thought—responding to your reflexes instantly, without delay."
Zhang raised an eyebrow. "No time lapse?"
"None," the technician confirmed. "It reacts at the speed of your nervous system. Some call it pre-cognitive movement, but it's essentially perfect synchronization between man and machine."
Zhang looked back up at the towering Gundam. A silent god forged for battle.
He approached it slowly, placing a hand on the armored leg. It was warm.
"Then it better not flinch when I draw blood."
Behind him, the engineers and staff exchanged nervous glances.
Moments later, he was introduced to two new faces—his future teammates. Both were from Japan: one a composed and sharp-eyed male pilot named Hayato Kusanagi, the other a confident and fierce female ace named Akari Shinozuka. They had been selected from the JDF's top ranking elite to pilot the two newly developed advanced Gundams.
Hayato gave a polite bow. "Zhang Lei. It's an honor. I'll be piloting Kusanagi Unit Zero-One."
Akari crossed her arms with a smirk. "And I'm handling the Izanami Unit. Let's see how your Raijin holds up in the field next to us."
Zhang gave no response beyond a slight nod.
Later, inside the strategy briefing room, the three pilots sat around a glowing tactical table.
"We're not fighting a conventional Gundam," Hayato began, his voice tense. "I've reviewed the footage from the Strait Incident and the Japanese coastal assault. That fog, the distorted sensors, the humming—it's more psychological warfare than mechanical combat."
Akari tapped the table, zooming in on a simulation. "It doesn't follow standard behavior. It reacts like a predator, not a machine. Adaptive. Ruthless. It hunts. And when it finds you—it doesn't just kill. It erases."
Zhang's voice was cold. "I've seen the remains. There were none."
Hayato looked up. "Two of our Yatagerasu units were destroyed in under three minutes. The pilots were among the best. They never stood a chance."
Akari added, her voice hardening, "Some say Malaya isn't a Gundam. That it's something else entirely. You don't see it until it's already inside your blind spot."
Zhang nodded slightly. "Then we hit it before it moves. Precise, fast, no second-guessing."
The three reviewed satellite maps, cloud cover analytics, jamming probabilities, and escape vectors.
"Our advantage," Hayato said, "is coordination. Malaya acts alone. If we force it into a multi-angle assault with synced strikes, we can force an error."
Akari smirked. "Assuming we last long enough to sync."
Zhang stood and turned toward the screen displaying the mist-shrouded image of Malaya.
"It doesn't matter what it is," he muttered. "Monster or machine, we cut it down. Together."
Then he turned back to them, voice firm. "You two—brief the other international pilots on everything we've covered here. Tactics, fog deployment, sensory distortion, the humming. They need to know what they're up against."
Hayato and Akari exchanged a glance and nodded.
As the two headed toward the briefing chamber, Zhang's tablet vibrated sharply. He glanced down. A message.
PRIORITY LEVEL 1: URGENT COMMUNICATION
He accepted the call.
A grim-faced intelligence officer appeared. "Colonel Zhang. We have an emergency. We've found something... or rather, someone. A recovered data drone recorded a brief footage near the Kalimantan sector."
Zhang's eyes narrowed. "What kind of footage?"
The officer hesitated. "The Malaya pilot. Sir, we think he survived. He's alive. He's still piloting it."
Zhang's hand tightened on the tablet.
The ghost had a face.
The monster had a man inside.
And he had just been confirmed alive.
Without a word, Zhang spun on his heel and stormed out of the chamber, boots echoing with sharp finality against the polished floors. He pushed open the secured analysis room, where a dark screen flickered ominously.
"Play it," he barked.
The footage began. Grainy. Distorted. A flicker of static. Then—
A man, shirtless, restrained by black metal bands. A whirring hiss followed as six thick tubes descended like fangs, locking into ports along his spine. The moment they plunged in—
He screamed.
It was primal. Agonized. The kind of sound that didn't come from the throat, but from the soul.
Blood erupted around the ports. His body convulsed violently. Nails dug into his thighs, tearing skin. His back arched unnaturally. His lips trembled with hollow laughter before he bit into them to stop the scream.
"Stop it!" one technician in the room whispered.
"No... keep watching," Zhang said flatly.
The footage cut to the man inside the cockpit—eyes bloodshot, breath ragged. His skin had torn around the spine ports. The Gundam wasn't accepting him—it was consuming him.
And still he lived.
Still he piloted.
Zhang's hands balled into fists.
They hadn't built a machine.
They had made a curse.
He turned toward the officer. "What date was this recorded?"
The officer hesitated, then responded, "Cross-checking the metadata... It's dated one year before the American invasion of Malaysia."
Zhang froze. "That's impossible. That wasn't even the Mobile Suit era. Back then, we still used jets and tanks."
The room went silent.
Zhang narrowed his eyes. "No..." he muttered, storming toward the console. "Find all classified early logs. Anything related to experimental units before the war. Anything tagged 'Malaya.'"
The technician's fingers flew across the keyboard.
An old, unindexed archive appeared—its file names corrupted, some with partial Malay code phrases.
They loaded one.
A static-filled video began to play. The same man, visibly younger, sat in a darkened lab. Breathing rapidly. His body already marked with scars.
Zhang leaned closer.
Then a voice crackled through the speakers. Not from any technician. Not human.
A cold, feminine, artificial voice.
"Mati."
Zhang froze.
His breath caught. The word echoed like a death sentence.
"What the—"
The room was silent again.
Zhang slowly sat back in his chair, staring at the screen, eyes wide.
"It knew," he whispered. "Even back then... it already knew."
He understood now. Somehow.
This wasn't a system.
He was terrified with what he knew—the truth.
"This is...Unpleasant..."
---