"Everyone!
LET'S GO!"
Fifty-five roared to her fellows as the Getter charged the last distance into the Lab's interior, a whirlwind of blades and gunfire - yet, past a certain point, the Super Robot army would cease to pursue the interlopers. Rather, they would stand and wait stoically, as though they had given up the pursuit, or were only programmed to act within a certain radius, standing like a field of technicolor statues.
Second to arrive through the fury was the White Glint, laser blade felling a Dragon like an ancient oak, sending its body clattering to the ground, sending up a spectacular explosion that highlighted the NEXT's ivory features, sending incandescent flickers all across its Primal Armor barrier as tiny chunks of metal disintegrated against the field. Likewise his machnegun would have found welcome purchase in the features of the slowing Getters, mangling the face and body of the oncoming machines - until, like the others, they too would have pulled away as he neared the Laboratory, the engines of the Armored Core like a radiant sunburst as it plowed into the gloom.
The Idolo, likewise, would have been surprised to find resistance starting to flog as it made its way close to the source, blade arcing and spiraling in every direction, severing limb, head, and grasping, lumbering arms and axes. Eventually, all seemed to stand stock, stony still, simply observing, no longer actively impeding. Had the corpses of their brothers served as sufficient warning?
Or was it perhaps... an invitation?
The reason for their slowing was immediately clear to anyone witnessing the battle of the Paramails. The incandescent fury that eclipsed even the Poseidons furious cyclone seemed to shock the Super Robots to the core as the smaller machines forced their way through, a blazing reproach that seared through the heart of their ranks, tearing the fans about their necks asunder with a horrendous screeching of metal that served as a nightmarish backtrack to their rising voices.
Dr. Saotome, nestled within the heart of his lair, closed his eyes. The music washed over him, filling his soul... and stirred something. It reminded him of better days, of when his daughter had been with him, before she too had been sacrificed. He had been determined to be the last - the very, very
last to die... Yet, he could almost hear her voice intermingled with theirs.
Perhaps this was not the way.
His cane reached out, nudging a lever that jutted out of the morass, clicking it down to its lowest setting.
On the battlefield, the Getter Army before the Symphogears ground to a slow halt. As if heeding a silent call, they now stepped aside, their now melted and scarred bodies forming a corridor towards the Laboratory. And yet... Could it really be that easy?
Saotome Lab, Interior
Fifty-five moved through the shattered entrance, pistol clutched tightly in her hands. Her breathing was heavy, and the sweat cold on her forehead. How much longer did she have? Minutes? Hours? It was impossible to tell, at this stage. All she could do was press onwards, once her companions were at her back. The Saotome Laboratory didn't look a thing like it once had - everything had
melted into itself, like some kind of MC Escher painting.
On the other hand, she reasoned, it was almost pleasant not to have to deal with any lingering memories. The atmosphere was warm, and a kind of faint, ocean-like smell permeated the interior as she walked - and then, sure enough, there he was.
"So... What did they tell you about me?"
Doctor Saotome looked down at her from a ledge, as the hallway opened into what had once likely been the Lab's main lobby. With a guttural snarl, the blonde woman pointed her weapon shakily at him. The Doctor's forehead creased, but he otherwise made no move to get out of the way.
"If you wish to kill me, then so be it. But I ask first that you please listen to what I have to say." He said, tersely.
"If you cut me down now,
all of Mars will perish. Only I can stop Armageddon!"
Rayleonard Corporate Headquarters
Alternative V Command Room
The most secure operational center on the planet watched, a collective of over a hundred of Rayleonard's best and brightest, and another hundred of Mars' military minds all clustered over a colossal monitor that occupied most of the floor. Countless other screens hovered overhead about the three tiers of desks, glowing in the darkness as grumbles emerged from the personnel observing the assault. Anonymous voices, lobbing accusations at one another, potshots at faceless bureaucrats as guilty as themselves.
"What's taking them so long?"
"They're up against about four hundred Getter Gs!"
"Saotome's devils made mincemeat of our Normals AND our Specials, and you have the nerve to complain?"
"Well I don't see
you rushing out there to fight!"
"We should have asked Omer for help after all-"
"
We have an update!"
A voice cut through the din, causing all to stop their bickering and turn their attention to the screen below.
"The Getter Army has ceased movement! Ravens are entering the interior!"
The tone of the room seemed to shift
immediately, the tension starting to melt away at long last. Muffled accusations turned to congratulations, and phantom handshakes and words of praise began to fill the air, along with cautiously optimistic laughter, the nerves of the occupants escaping like gas from a tightly pressurized can in short, sharp bursts.
"Do you think Saotome's calling it quits?"
"Sending in those Symphogears was really the right call-"
"-not keen on owing any favors to Aspina. Just think of how they'll lord this-"
"-I just love that music, it's really my jam. Do you think they would perform for us?-"
At the head of the room, unobserved by most but known by all. the current head of Rayleonard, Garrett McGregor, lit a celebratory cigar. Although some of the stress had been lifted from his shoulders, the fight wasn't quite over yet. Still, what could one old man do against a team of trained mercenaries? For all he knew the geezer's pacemaker had given out. Turning in his seat, he waved to his two guests, who stood - seemingly as always -side by side.
"Well Doctors, it seems we might not have needed to trouble you after all."
The closest figure shifted, and McGregor couldn't help but experience a moment's sense of faint unease. The two wore close-fit clothing that covered most of their bodies - a product, he understood, of some unfortunate accident involving Getter Rays. With Saotome unavailable, Rayleonard had of course procured the next best thing to provide clarity for whatever was happening: His former assistants, now accomplished researches in and of themselves.
Still...
Still, there was something off-putting about them, although he couldn't exactly describe
what. As if sensing his thoughts, the taller of the two - the man, lowered his head conspiratorially. The darkness about it almost seemed as if he were dragging the gloom down with him, wearing it as a sort of shroud. His voice was low and gravelly, and his hand tapped appreciatively - and
sharply, on McGregor's shoulder.
"
I wouldn't be so sure, Mr. McGregor." Said Mr. Guildenstern, voice like the scrabbling of some enormous insect caught in a mine shaft.
"
Yes. Dr. Saotome hasn't yet shown his hand." Croaked Ms. Rosencrantz, his... associate, it seemed, though
shadow seemed to be a better term. The way they seemed to finish each other's sentences sometimes would never cease to unnerve him... Though he had heard of Coordinators or Newtypes that were able to perform similar parlor tricks.
"
We would like to observe a little while longer... For your safety, of course."
McGregor scoffed, rolling his broad shoulders back in a mighty shrug. Birds flew, fish swam, and scientists needed grant money. Of course, he thought, they would take advantage of the opportunity.
"Just want to gladhand, huh?" He said, unimpressed as he turned his attention back to the monitor.
"Suit yourselves."
Mr. Guildenstern gave an appreciative bow, a rattling chuckle escaping his lips.
"
Thank you."
"
You won't regret it."
