The crimson glare of simulation readouts painted the cockpit as Lelouch scanned the tactical display. Beside him, Tanya Degurechaff piloted her Mobile Suit—an early-model Zaku I-Type C Trainer Frame—with a predatory efficiency that bordered on terrifying, her movements sharp and decisive. Their synchronicity was unnerving to observers; Lelouch's strategic foresight layered perfectly over Tanya's overwhelming combat prowess. They were a top-ranked pair in Advanced Combat Simulation Alpha, a nightmare combination for their virtual opponents.
"Enemy flank exposed at grid C-7," Lelouch's calm voice cut through the battle noise. "Tanya, diversionary feint at C-6, then pivot for the kill at C-7 on my mark."
"Understood," Tanya replied, her tone clipped and devoid of hesitation. Her Zaku veered instantly, drawing fire as intended. The trap was set, the enemy committing just as Lelouch predicted.
Then, without warning, the simulation environment shimmered. A harsh, synthesized voice—"ATHENA-2 Simulation Protocol Online"—echoed through their comms: "Adaptability Test Protocol Initiated. Forced Re-pairing in 3... 2... 1..."
A blinding flash engulfed both cockpits. Disoriented, Lelouch found himself staring at an unfamiliar console, a different cadet's face wide with panic on the auxiliary screen. Tanya was gone. His comm channel crackled with a new, hesitant voice. He was on the opposite side of the map, the planned ambush dissolving into chaos as the enemy regrouped.
Across the virtual landscape, Tanya shook her head, the simulation's abrupt segregation deeply irritating. She found herself paired with a cadet clumsily fiddling with his weapons systems. The primary objective, the strategic coordinates assigned to this new pair, registered as pointless noise. Lelouch was the objective. Their synergy was the weapon.
Without a word of explanation or apology to her bewildered new partner, Tanya's Zaku turned. Her thrusters flared, not towards the assigned waypoint, but in the calculated direction of Lelouch's probable location. The cadet's cries of "Where are we going?! The objective is that way!" went ignored. Tanya was already calculating the most direct route, which took her through exposed terrain and enemy patrol zones. A glancing beam seared across her left shoulder armor—cosmetic damage—but she never slowed.
Meanwhile, Lelouch's mind raced. ATHENA-2 had pulled a classic move. He glanced at the tactical overlay, factoring in Tanya's likely immediate reaction. She wouldn't waste time. She'd come to him. Good. He could work with that.
"Cadet," Lelouch's voice was a smooth veneer over cold calculation. "The situation has changed. Our new primary objective is to draw enemy attention toward Sector G. Push forward, make noise, but do not engage directly. We are bait."
The cadet, eager to follow orders from the notoriously brilliant Lelouch, nodded frantically. "Bait? Understood! Pushing to Sector G!"
Lelouch watched the cadet surge forward, a glowing target. Enemy forces shifted, drawn to the isolated signal—just as planned. Lelouch began setting traps, subtly adjusting the battlefield. Tanya's icon appeared, closing in.
Tanya's Mobile Suit burst into Lelouch's sector, scorched but functional. She'd used her damaged thruster module and urban cover to bypass enemy lines. Lelouch's temporary partner was already downed—disabled in a textbook overextension.
"Took you long enough," Lelouch remarked dryly over their private channel.
"The simulation's inefficiency is staggering," Tanya retorted, already aligning her weapons. "What's the plan?"
"They've walked into a killzone. I've guided their lead units into the alleyway on Grid F. Tanya, salvage a downed MS shield—use it as mobile cover. Draw fire. I'll coordinate the strike."
Tanya didn't question the bizarre order. She pried a mangled shield arm from a wreck, hefting it in front of her Zaku as a makeshift barrier. Enemy fire immediately zeroed in on her position. The battered shield groaned but held, deflecting the worst as Tanya advanced. She knew she was bait—but also the hammer.
With enemy eyes on Tanya, Lelouch moved through back alleys, his reticle sweeping until it locked onto clustered targets. He guided their formation into a box, flanked by debris and collapsed terrain, no exit.
One enemy unit opened a wideband channel. "We yield! Simulation objectives achieved! We surren—"
Tanya's beam struck the surrendering suit's shoulder joint before the words finished. The arm exploded in a controlled burst.
"War isn't won by mercy," Tanya stated flatly.
Lelouch followed, lowering his reticle slightly and firing at the unit's leg joint. The MS collapsed, cockpit intact.
"No…" he echoed. "But peace is."
"Simulation complete," ATHENA-2 confirmed. "All objectives neutralized."
Instructors behind observation screens exchanged glances. One murmured, "They're rewriting the parameters on us…"
Tanya glanced at Lelouch's icon. "Why not the cockpit?"
Lelouch leaned back. "It fulfills the victory condition. Efficient. Leaving them alive leaves open the possibility of control—not just destruction. It's cleaner. And more painful."
Tanya nodded slowly. "A different kind of ruthlessness."
The simulation results flashed: Adaptability: Exemplary. Tactical Execution: Flawless. Synergy Integrity: Exceptional.
Some partnerships were simply too effective to be broken—even by protocol.
The sterile, recycled air of the simulation control room hung thick with disbelief. On the main monitor, the stark, clinical message glowed: SIMULATION ENDED.
Below it, the data scrolled, a cascade of impossible metrics.
Enemy Teams: All eliminated or incapacitated.
Friendly Casualties: Zero.
Lelouch von Zehrtfeldt, Subject A-07: Damage Taken: 0. Sync Efficiency: 100%. Tactical Score: Off the charts.
Tanya von Zehrtfeldt, Subject B-13: Damage Taken: 0. Sync Efficiency: 100%. Strategic Score: Off the charts.
Simulation Duration: Record Broken. By a significant margin.
The instructors – veterans hardened by countless drills and actual combat records – were statues carved from shock. They had seen prodigies, devastatingly effective pairs, but never anything like this. No fumbles, no missteps, no hesitation. Just brutal, elegant efficiency that bypassed every expected chaotic variable. Captain Volkov, a grizzled tactical genius himself, slowly lowered the datapad he'd been clutching, his jaw slack. Lieutenant Marika von Essen, usually sharp and cynical, simply stared, eyes wide and unblinking.
Up on the observation deck, behind reinforced glass, General Kycilia Zabi watched the monitors with an intensity bordering on frightening. Her face was impassive, revealing none of the turmoil churning beneath. She turned to her aide, her voice low and precise, cutting through the stunned silence of the command center below.
"I want full psychological profiles on both Subjects A-07 and B-13. Immediately. Initiate Phase Two screening. Every relevant test. Include the Newtype aptitude battery and enhanced spatial awareness diagnostics. I want to know what they truly are."
Below, whispers rippled through the cadet ranks milling outside the simulation bays. Awe mixed with something colder, something akin to fear. They had seen the live feeds, the impossible maneuvers — enemy pincers dissolving before they could form, perfect cover fire erupting from nowhere, simultaneous flawless execution of complex objectives.
"Did you see that?" one cadet muttered, sweat still drying on his brow from his own team's quick defeat. "They moved like one person," another breathed, eyes distant. "Zero damage... how?" The whispers grew, coalescing into a fearful murmur that followed Leif and Tanja as they were guided towards the debriefing area.
"They're not human..."
"Something's wrong with them..."
A word, heavy with superstition and dread, began to circulate: "Monsters."
Later, the scent of sweat and synthetic fabric hung in the locker room air. The boisterous energy usually present after simulation victory—or defeat—was conspicuously absent. Other cadets gave wide berth to the two figures sitting quietly on a bench, slightly apart from the others.
Lelouch von Zehrtfeldt, usually possessing an air of haughty confidence or calculating detachment, seemed... pensive. He ran a hand through his dark hair, violet eyes distant as he stared at the scuff marks on the floor.
"It felt," he said softly, breaking the silence, "too easy."
Beside him, Tanya von Zehrtfeldt, her fair hair damp against her temples, pulled off a glove with deliberate, efficient movements. She didn't meet his gaze, simply shrugged — a small, almost imperceptible motion.
"Because they expected chaos," she replied flatly, pragmatic as ever. "They trained for variables, for errors, for human frailty. We gave them precision. An equation solved before they even understood the variables."
She paused, finally looking at him. For a fleeting moment, the unsettling intensity in her blue eyes met the complex depths in his. There was no triumph, just a shared understanding of their own difference.
Above them, hidden behind the one-way glass of the observation deck, Kycilia Zabi's gaze remained fixed on the two figures in the locker room feed. Her lips curled into something not quite a smile, but a recognition.
"They're not soldiers," she stated, voice carrying the weight of a final, chilling pronouncement. "They're proof."
Proof of what, she didn't elaborate. But the implication hung heavy: proof of a capability, a potential, an otherness transcending conventional military might. And Kycilia, ever the opportunist, already had plans for what such proof could accomplish. The era of chaos might be ending. The era of ruthless, absolute precision had just begun.