[Australia, exact location unknown; maybe midnight; 2030, A.D]

Jake was a night owl, no question about it. And he was still knocking back the punchiest punch their hole had to offer with the mates by the time of...

By the time of...

Time of...?

High-moon? Is that a thing, high-moon, like high noon? Well, it is now. Can I even see the moon?

He threw his cup to the asphalt and got up from his lawn chair. A parking garage? Is that where this - and by extension, he - was? It was perhaps a little fuzzy, but his head was clear enough that he distinctly could NOT remember getting here. He blinked several times, playing peek-a-boo with the world to see if he'd just imagined this place he'd never seen before.

Took him a try or two sweeping through to find any of the aforementioned mates. Somewhere in the distance, hanging on the hood of some beat-up motor that might've once been crimson, he could see maybe one of them. He tried calling out, but in this state the best he could manage was some slurred combination of vowels and voiced fricatives that was most definitely a nasty insult in some other tongue. He had no idea much what he was trying to say, either.

So Jake gave up trying to yell, fell over his lawn chair, and stumbled the rest of the way without fully crawling nor running. It was only his forward momentum, it seemed, that kept him moving at all. Yet somehow doubted he was feeling himself right. Something was really off here.

He collided with the car, feeling the collision only distantly, an annoying buzz in his hands and shins. In this little light his hands looked like flowers of tar. And no one at that beat-up thing. Not a soul, save what was left of his.

Hey, Dad, a little help?

No reply. He was actually disappointed at that. But, with bloody hands he leaned against the hood of the car, got to his feet. He took several deep breaths. Apparently, he was far drunker than he'd estimated. There were several thoughts lingering at the back of his head, buried under alcohol and fruit aftertaste. Several things that he remembered vaguely as taking priority, even over whatever desire he'd had to celebrate another day being alive.

Took a moment to realize he was panting. And without that suspected person here, he was alone. That was not good. Doubly so because he had no idea how to reach anyone else. No idea where he was in relation to their normal hidey-hole, so he'd have to find out. And soon. Triply so because, drunk, Jake Garrison could call himself more an extrovert.

He listened - tried, at least. Couldn't hear much, but something was off. Some sound that shouldn't exist. A thrum, a pounding, a power...

Shit. Patroller come to make life difficult?

Oh well.

Needed to find the exit, find his way back to their hideout. And if possible, clear his head. He wasn't sure how he'd do that last part, but if something happened he'd need to be alert, that much he knew even now. He shook his head violently, letting his fuzzy lips blubber and babble, and supposed for now a good headshake would have to be enough.

Now, where was that door when he needed it?

Hope I arrive in time.

But he had to vomit on the floor first, knees going out at just the right angle to avoid landing him in the stuff. He groaned, tried getting up, and his body decided to puke again instead. Vomit's ugly, but it somehow seemed even uglier against old pavement, almost like some promise of a future Blue Mutant like the ones in the No-Man's Land. After that one, he did manage to get to his feet. He rubbed his eyes, slowly becoming aware that he wasn't drunk, but hung over. That'd make a bit more sense, given his current state.

At the very least, getting back some concentration should be easier than otherwise.

His body would likely tell him no. Only now he was becoming aware of the icy sweat needles simultaneously poking in and out of his everywhere-part. That was a hallmark of hangovers, and told him that things could be worse.

No-Man's Land: area of an old Kaiju killing where spills of their toxic blood rendered the world uninhabitable to life, and what life grew there...

Jake shuddered, a breeze passing through him as if he were naked. He knew he wasn't, and that alone was also good news. Still, he felt for the telltale array of buttons he arranged on his vest like badges of authority. He felt them, turned them up to his face and read them. Faded Gypsy Danger smiley face, peace sign made from Kaiju bones, toy police badge pin. Also still there, he was relieved to see, was his mother's uniform tag ("Garrison"), ironed onto his left breast pocket.

And with that out of the way, find out where I am. And if there really is a threat at all. Focus, man, you can do this.

He wasn't sure he could, but he'd have to do his best. And his best would have to be enough.

He did feel like an idiot when the lift was only a few meters ahead of him. He was in no state to take stairs, although doubtless that wouldn't matter much. And it must've been how they (or just he) had even gotten up here, because it worked. It did the dinging noise, and a few seconds later the twin doors opened. He stepped inside, struggled to read the numbers on the buttons, gave up and just reached for the one at the bottom.

No, don't do that. Next one up.

He followed that little impulse, and all at once was moving downward. His stomach did a flip-flop and he wondered if he'd vomit again, but he did no such thing. Still, he held both hands against the back wall until the lift pinged open again. He pushed off the wall and made his way through the door. Already, he was regaining a foggy sense of balance.

And he was on the ground floor. A light or two provided some murky view into the greater world. By the look of it, this parking garage connected to a hospital just across the three or so traffic lanes. He walked through the empty ground lot, realizing once again that it was night, and that the cold he felt was only in his head; outside it was warm, just as Australian summer nights were. He craned his head up to count the levels in the lot: seven levels. He'd likely been on the top one. Delirious though he was, Jake was surprised he hadn't considered looking outside.

Then he looked up: plenty of stars up there, without active light to pollute the view. Then again, no people to need light sources, save he and his mates - or maybe just himself.

Had he just imagined the sound? That patrolling thing?

He heard it again, this time from another "angle", although he could never tell what either angle really was. A sort of roaring, pounding engines and synthesized horn.

The ground shook. Couple moments later, it shook again. Not fast enough to be a Mark 5 or higher. That, at least, was good.

He started following the sound. Bad idea, but he needed to see this thing, see where it was headed, if it was even what he thought it was. Once he passed a collapsed stoplight in the street, he realized he could break into a full run. No patrolling mech would register a single human; patrols looked for clumps of people, organized crime, troublemaking families, dangers.

Like my friends still at the Hole.

He shot a glance at a street sign still upright, squinted, gave up on reading it. Not in this light, especially.

(And just what light is that?)

He still recognized absolutely none of this place, 'cept that he was certain it was the same continent he'd last remembered. Australia had a certain... "feel" to the air, even now.

THOOM.

Another quake. He found a streetlamp that, by some miracle, still had emergency power.

Now that he thought about it, that was a sign in of itself. This place was not damaged beyond repair, simply abandoned. Same with the intact hospital, the elevator that still worked. He wondered if he'd missed seeing that stoplight flash a color.

This place was left by choice. And no one's come back.

An intersection just ahead. He stood in the center of the plus-shape, functional streetlight still operating on emergency power above his head. It blinked out a steady red-orange against the ground in front of him. He saw overhanging streetlamps on poles that still worked. Again, emergency power. Not cut off, not broken, simply left.

Recently?

He'd heard nothing about it that he could remember. But then again, he couldn't remember much of anything.

And he needed something.

Names, I need names. What's my name? Jake Garrison, no other name. Names of blokes currently at the Hole? Lambert. Cash. Billie. Laura. Quite a few I'll know when I see.

If I see them at all.

Another quake, this time more a thuomk - sharp, defined, probably something crushing something else underfoot.

That is most definitely a Jaeger. An Old Heavy. Now all that's missing are the water and the monster.

Right now, he'd moved down the street - and uphill - so that on his left was an empty yard or something, and some kinda shop on his right. Painted in a shade of white that made him think some bird loved its spices. In truth, more a hut with a faded sign the door. It made him think of some onomatopoeia he couldn't quite put a name to. Whatever it was, regardless, it was sure sad.

Part of him was urged to go in there. He quickly decided against that impulse. But something also told him this was where he needed to be. Right here. He didn't want to believe that, he was most likely still more blitzed than he'd realized. He kept moving in that, direction, though. The light of a lamp he managed to make out letters in an order he wanted to recognize:

[ABERAVNE]

Amber Avenue. I saw an Amber Avenue once, few (days?) ago. Suppose that godgly little hunch was right, then. "Godgly"? Sound like I'm still drunk.

He continued walking in that direction. Up a winding hill, past several blocks of pristine houses, like something out of a movie 'bout the American 50s. He couldn't see, but he could imagine all the lawns being fake, uniform shade of dark green and white picket fence somewhere around. Of course, Australia and America had little overlap he could recall, but that didn't change that some people just liked what they liked. This whole area had been left undisturbed, and somehow this road led back to the Hole. Those two ideas together plus a Jaeger somewhere out there really messed with him.

A Jaeger - especially an Old Heavy - would leave, like, super-huge holes in the ground, yeh? It hasn't patrolled here. This place really was built recently, and left even quicker. Haven't seen many cars here, but some signs of personalization. Really odd, ain' this all?

That Heavy's not been patrolling for long.

Blue sites nearby, yeh? Could it have gotten out of hand?

He'd somehow wound up in a newly-formed No-Man's-Land. At the time, he'd probably thought at least checking it out was a good idea. That motor... that had been one of ours, hadn't it?

As if congratulating him for his detective skills, the Jaeger roared somewhere nearby. He saw trees rustling just over another hill and some blocks to his left. The Jaeger was still some distance away.

Now things made some sense. And didn't change that he needed to get back.

VLRRRRROAERRRRR.

He did what he could to pick up running. A moment or two, he found it was even easier now. His chest - heart, lungs, stomach, sides, all of it - was now thrumming, throbbing. As always, he wondered if he'd fall dead some meters later, but that quickly subsided as his body fell into the old rhythms. Adrenaline had washed some of the haze away.

Jake panted. The haze took a new shape: things zipping, bouncing by; not things left murky to his eyes. Smooth night-black pavement, mostly uncracked sidewalks, the streetlights that still worked.

On my way. If I'm not too late.

...

Seven blocks later, he stopped. Five after that. A larger hill or two, and he was starting to recognize things - albeit things he'd never paid much attention to before.

That Jaeger was still approaching, somewhere to Jake's left. Obviously, he had no choice but to keep running. And so he did.

Things started blending together - that which he recognized, and the things he didn't. Some of the houses seemed to take new shape as he passed them, uniformity coming in second to familiarity.

And still she grew nearer. He just had to go that much faster. Yeah, right, outrun any old hundred-meter-tall hunk of alloy with the kinetic power equivalent to a whole nuclear war.

It was possible. Had to be possible. Part of him thought of a song, like this was some kind of dance. That part of him thought of some song he was trying to learn the drum part for. Took him several weeks and he gave up on it, but eventually he did get it. Six time signatures alternating at random, tempo constant but subdivision constantly changing.

His feet were like the double bass. His arms pumped like the cymbals needed to be smashed. And no matter how unpredictable those changes were, the end was somewhere in sight, he just had to keep going. Still panting. His head was a completely different kind of fuzzy now. How long had he been running for, two miles? Three? Kids in school did this several times a week; admittedly, he'd been out of school for a while.

The little blue glowy things around him were unimportant; just some weird bulbs in the streetlamps. Had he paid any more attention, the one or two cars he saw would be rusty, discolored, sagging. Same with the houses, the Blue seeping in to make them impossible to live in. Had he entered one, Chernobyl would've sounded like humane hospice care. Of course, distantly, he already knew all of that. Their little hideout wouldn't last much longer.

Then, over some horn audible above all else for maybe a mile in all directions:

"This is November Ajax of Miracle Legion. Blue-level Quarantine in effect. Any humans in the area, head to a designated shelter immediately. Extreme prejudice in termination of anything that moves; noncompliants, you remain at your own risk."

Great. Just abso-friggin-lutely great.

Just one more hill, right? One more. Come on, one more. You'll know it when you see it.

But they're telling survivors to run for it. That's no accident either. This place's already been cleared out. Save us, of course.

Again, great. Ughhh, my head's killing me again.

Indeed it was. The thing mounted to his shoulders was pounding, and pounding hard. If he stopped he wondered if he could have anything left to throw up.

He saw the Jaeger, at least: still off to his left, a tower of sky-blue metal and floodlights. Always dramatic to look at, weren't they? Fewer personality marks than the old made-for-Kaiju beasts, a single T-shaped optical band for a face, knife-edged shoulder pauldrons. Stiff formality compared to some he'd seen, heard of. If he could see her, then she could very easily see him, too. But if she was Miracle Legion...

No. What they were doing - all of it - was still very much illegal, no exceptions.

Still, he needed to keep moving. Maybe his friends had already seen it and had made their escape. That was certainly more than possible, but that didn't change that he needed to get back to them, if only to restate the obvious to their faces. Like a leader to them, he supposed he was. Or maybe he was just another nobody they wouldn't miss, one could never be certain. He'd seen a few of those before, and didn't want to be among them.

There! - that apartment complex just outside this doomed neighborhood. The lift had been goofed with to go a bit below basement level, and the Hole was in truth not one hole, but quite a few connected by tunnels and hidden dugouts. The Jaeger could very easily just crush them. But they'd prepared for that. Might not have to scatter after all, he remembered. Still, anything was possible when something like a Jaeger's in the picture. Most kids his age had never even seen a Ranger, let alone the things they piloted. Maybe a TV interview, but no more.

His body gave out just over the last major hill, two blocks before the complex. As promised, his head pounded even harder, his heart thumped out praises of mercy, his stomach did a flip into his throat and leapt as vomit from his mouth. He couldn't tell at first if the blaring alarms were coming from his own brain or somewhere outside it. That's when he looked up. The hunter's array of hull lighting had gone red.

"Blue Mutant spotted."

November Ajax, it seemed, had been called off by some elusive threat. That was still something his guys could fake in dire need, right? That was good. For the moment, they were safe.

Which meant he could walk. He'd forgotten -at least until getting up - that he'd collapsed onto his back and was breathing heavily. Everything felt rolled, abused and shriveled, a bit like dried-up children's putty, if that made any sense. Hardly did to Jake, but the image stuck regardless.

Funny part was that none of this situation had been resolved thanks to him. Not one moment of it. Sure, he'd been there when they'd wrangled a mutated rat and used some of its entrails for bait, but beyond that?

Didn't matter. He'd do more once he got back. There were some things he really did need to tell them. For one, their next expansion project was most definitely a bust.

And the moon was still high. That was what he'd been thinking when the gears started turning, and it's what he was thinking now.

Next time that moon's up, I'll have made some changes. For myself. For all of us. That Jaeger comes back around, we won't have any other choice.

He shuffled the last stretch into the gaping-open mouth of the half-wrecked complex. Found the lift. Pressed the square button on the array full of circles. Waited for whatever would happen next.

...

Next time those lift doors opened he took several steps out... and promptly decided he was tired of standing. The doors closed maybe four inches from his feet. And, on a positive note, the floor could've been much harder. And it was cool, cooler than the air and asphalt outside had been.

Oh, it was still good to be home! Not only that, but it hadn't changed since he was gone. Same slightly mine-like aesthetic, save some cleverly-placed pictures and posters for various bands, cult film, Kaiju kills, et cetera. Even the lightbulbs here had been changed to give things a less somber look and feel, although a lot of the thrill of day-to-day life, it seemed, came from the somber attitude of the world outside.

"Where the hell have you been?" Lambert. Did he walk in without my noticing, or did I just not notice he's been standing here the whole time?

He got to his feet. Again. Brushed himself off, and met the man's hostile gaze. Lambert was good at keeping things together, but the two of them together? Some days, Jake wondered.

"Scouting. New hidey-hole's a bust."

"Great. Now, tell me something I don't know. And did you..." He looked Jake up and down. "...run here?"

"Yeh, I did. Realized something was wrong. Was that diversion ours?"

"No. That was an actual Blue One, most likely. That area was closed off for a reason and you know it."

"Afraid so. Anyone hurt?"

"Again, no, but it was close. Cash nearly got pulverized by a falling shelf when the Jaeger got close." Jake nodded, smiling with some grimness. Some days, Cash made him worry.

He saw Lambert giving him another couple-times-over. They were asses to one another, but no one in this lair was unconcerned with others' safety.

"Really, man, you look like dogshit." Jake wiped blood against his torn pants, nodding in agreement.

"Long day, I guess." Then, after another awkward silence: "Is the Project safe?" Lambert's face shifted again, becoming a little more defensive, critical. Did he see hypocrisy?

Sighing, the man answered. "Yeah, it's safe. And it's still stupid."

"Say that all you like, but we need something like it. The world's only getting more dangerous, isn't it?"

Lambert couldn't argue that one.