MHA: Echoes of the Breach

Shinji barely managed to duck under the massive tail as it whipped past, the sharp, jagged feathers lining its edge slicing through the air with enough force to take his head clean off. The displaced wind howled in his ears as he twisted his body, his movements seamlessly syncing with Striker's form. His armored leg snapped forward, slamming into the Kaiju's own with a brutal force that sent tremors up his frame.

For a moment, there was resistance, dense muscle, and reinforced bone fighting against the sheer power behind his kick. But then, with a sickening crack that echoed through the wasteland, the creature's leg gave way. It let out a screech, a warbling, pained sound that was quickly cut short as gravity took over. The massive avian beast collapsed, its broken limb unable to support its weight, sending up a cloud of dust and debris as it crashed into the earth.

Shinji didn't waste time. His eyes locked onto its flailing form, his hands already moving as he lunged forward. The creature writhed, its wings thrashing weakly against the ground, its beady, hate-filled eyes snapping to him with desperation. It still had fight left in it; wounded animals always did, but Shinji wasn't going to let it get back up.

His grip found purchase on its tail, the sharp, bladed tip still glistening with the remnants of past battles. With a firm pull, he yanked it upward, the creature letting out one last panicked screech as he drove its own weapon straight down into its skull. The impact was instant: bone cracked, flesh split and the body beneath him convulsed once before going eerily still.

Shinji exhaled, stepping back and watching as the dust settled, his fingers briefly flexing before he turned away. He hadn't come out here looking for a fight. This was supposed to be a simple trip, just to get some damn water from the river. But, as always, the world seemed to have other plans.

Shinji glanced up at the sky, narrowing his eyes as distant Kaiju calls rumbled through the vast, barren wasteland. The fight had been quick but far from quiet. The shrill death wail of the avian beast had carried far, and he knew better than to assume nothing else had heard it. There was always something listening. Something watching.

Tch. Gotta move.

Turning sharply on his heel, he resumed his trek toward the river, shaking his hands as he went, trying to rid himself of the sizzling remnants of acidic blood that clung to his fingers. The viscous liquid burned where it splattered against his armor, hissing softly as it ate away at the metal's surface. Striker Eureka's form, though able to withstand immense punishment, wasn't impervious to the corrosive nature of Kaiju blood. It wouldn't eat through immediately, but continued exposure? That was asking for trouble.

He clenched his jaw and wiped his hands against the less damaged portions of his plating, his focus shifting back to the real priority: water.

The river came into view just ahead, its shimmering surface a stark contrast to the blackened, cracked land surrounding it. Water was precious, and leaving Striker exposed while he collected it? That was a death sentence waiting to happen. He needed something big enough to fit in striker's hands, something durable, something that wouldn't shatter under pressure or spill at the first sign of movement.

His gaze swept across the area, scanning for anything useful. Then, he saw it.

A massive, hollowed-out husk of a fallen tree lay near the riverbank, its once-thick trunk split in two by time and decay. It was ancient, its bark stripped away by years of harsh winds and scavenging creatures, but its interior remained relatively intact. The hollow was deep, large enough to serve as a makeshift basin, and the wood had been hardened by exposure, making it sturdy enough to hold the weight of the water.

Perfect.

Shinji trudged toward it, bracing himself as he pushed against the massive trunk. It was heavy, its weight pressing deep into the cracked earth, but he grit his teeth and forced it to budge, rolling it closer to the river's edge. The moment it hit the water, he tilted it upright, allowing the current to fill the hollowed interior. The surface rippled as the trunk took in the much-needed liquid, and Shinji waited until it was sufficiently full before gripping its sides and hauling it back onto land.

It was cumbersome and unwieldy, and carrying it would be a pain, but it would work. More importantly, it would hopefully keep him from coming back too much.

The wind shifted, carrying with it the distant scent of something foul, something unnatural. Shinji tensed. He wasn't alone. The fight had been loud enough to attract attention. He had what he came for. Now, he just needed to leave before something bigger decided to show up.

Shinji moved quickly, the weight of the water-filled tree husk pressing against his arms as he carried it through the uneven, scarred terrain. His footfalls were heavy, the ground crunching beneath Striker's reinforced frame, but he forced himself to keep a steady pace. The air felt thick, charged with the presence of something unseen, something lurking beyond the jagged rock formations and twisted trees. The sooner he was back in the cave, the better.

The journey back was tense. Every sound, every distant echo of shifting debris, or the guttural growl of something far away set his nerves on edge. He kept his sensors on high alert, scanning for movement beyond the dust and shadows, but nothing emerged. Not yet.

Eventually, the familiar outline of his makeshift shelter came into view: a massive, uprooted tree whose tangled roots had formed a natural cavern beneath its base. The ancient colossus had long since withered away, leaving behind a hollowed-out refuge just large enough for Striker to hunker down inside. The roots, thick and gnarled, intertwined overhead like skeletal fingers, providing a natural barrier against prying eyes and the unforgiving elements. It wasn't much, but it had worked for a few days so far.

Shinji ducked inside, exhaling slowly as he set the makeshift water basin down with a dull thud against the grassy ground. The cave was dim, the only light filtering in through the gaps in the roots above, casting eerie shadows along the walls. Striker Eureka loomed in the cramped space, crouched down as much as its frame allowed, the Jaeger's visor dim and lifeless in its dormant state. Even in rest, it was a massive presence, a guardian standing vigil in the darkness.

Shinji felt the familiar hum of the neural interface shut down around him. The cockpit lights dimming as Striker Eureka powered down. He disconnected the neurolink with ease, though the brief moment of relief he felt was quickly smothered by the discomfort of being unprotected. The cold, empty silence of the shelter settled around him like an unseen weight pressing in from all sides.

Shinji exhaled slowly, feeling the stiffness in his limbs. His movements were practiced, automatic, but the transition was always jarring. Stepping away from the neurolink, he made his way to the small hatch that had opened where Striker's left ear would have been, a narrow exit designed for quick dismounts.

With measured steps, he moved toward Striker's massive arm, placing a steadying hand against the cold metal plating before lowering himself down. The Jaeger had been an extension of himself, a second skin, a fortress of steel and firepower. But now, as his worn boots touched the uneven ground of the shelter, that security peeled away, leaving him bare beneath the weight of reality.

The earth felt too soft beneath him, the cavern too open despite its enclosure. Without Striker wrapped around him, the world stretched too wide, and every shadow beyond the roots felt like an unseen threat. The ever-present awareness of his own fragility gnawed at him, an instinctive reminder that outside of the Jaeger, he was vulnerable.

He glanced at the machine, the towering metal giant that was both his protector and prison. Without it, he was nothing. He could feel the weight of that truth in the pit of his stomach, gnawing at him. Out of Striker, he was the weakest thing in this hellhole. A single misstep, a single wrong move, and he'd be torn apart by the very Kaiju he fought so fiercely against. There was nothing left in this world to protect him but his own will, and even that felt so fragile.

"You're nothing without it," he muttered to himself, pacing restlessly across the floor. "Just a weak human, stuck in a world of monsters."

Shinji stopped at the entrance of the shelter, looking out at the barren landscape. The river was close, but the Kaiju were always there, always hunting. He couldn't afford to be complacent. A shiver ran down his spine as he thought about the vulnerability he felt whenever he wasn't inside Striker.

He returned his gaze to the Jaeger, feeling a pang of affection and unease. "I need you," he whispered, though there was no one to hear. "Without you, I'm just... nothing."

For a moment, he allowed himself to lean against the shelter's rough wall, his thoughts heavy with the weight of reality. Outside of the machine, there was no fighting. There was no strength. Just the desperate hope that the Kaiju wouldn't find him first.

He shook his head, trying to push the feeling aside. There was no time to dwell on weakness. He had work to do. The Kaiju wouldn't wait. Neither would Striker. And neither would he.

Shinji moved toward the basin, its towering, uneven rim casting faint shadows in the dim light. The water inside was still, dark, and deep enough to swallow him whole if he slipped, not that it mattered. The cold had long since lost its edge against him.

He stepped up to the edge, dipping his hands into the water. It was like plunging them into ice, but the sensation barely registered. He brought the liquid to his lips, drinking in slow, measured gulps. There was no shock from the temperature, no involuntary gasp at the cold's bite, just the mechanical process of replenishing what his body had lost.

Satisfied, he leaned forward, submerging his forearms up to the elbows. The grime from battle drifted away in the rippling water, the remnants of dried Kaiju blood swirling into faint tendrils before dissipating into the depths. He rubbed the liquid over his face and his neck, letting it seep into his hair as he pushed the strands back. It was a methodical process, more function than comfort, more necessity than indulgence.

His reflection wavered in the basin's surface, distorted by movement, but he could still see the shape of his own face staring back. Hollow-eyed. Sharp. A ghost of someone who had been softer once.

He pulled back, watching the last of the water drip from his fingers before shaking them dry. There was no point in lingering. He had what he needed. The night wasn't over yet.

Shinji exhaled, the sound barely audible over the ever-present hush of the wasteland beyond his shelter. His fingers twitched against his leg, restless, searching for something to do. But there was nothing.

No tools. No scrap. No remnants of anything beyond the endless expanse of twisted roots, jagged cliffs, and the distant, haunting calls of Kaiju.

His gaze drifted upward, tracing the tangled web of roots overhead. Shadows stretched and shifted as the dim light filtered through gaps in the cavern's ceiling. He focused on the smallest details, the way the faint wind stirred loose strands of dry, dead vegetation, the way the exposed wood bore deep scars from time, from creatures he'd never seen but knew existed.

Still, too still.

He pushed himself to his feet and stepped toward the basin again, dipping a hand into the water just to feel something. The cold didn't bite. It never did. He ran his fingers along the surface, watching the ripples spread outward, disrupting the perfect stillness.

A moment later, he submerged both hands, dragging them through the water, feeling the weight of it shift around his skin. He pressed down harder, watching the way it swirled and churned. It was pointless.

But it was movement.

A distraction.

His reflection wavered beneath the surface, distorted by the ripples. His own face stared back at him, just another ghost in this hollow, lifeless place.

Shinji frowned, staring at his reflection as it twisted and reformed with each ripple. Something was different. Off.

Not wrong.

But not right, either.

He flexed his fingers beneath the water, watching how his reflection mirrored the motion. His body felt better. Not in a way he could describe as strong or rested, but the exhaustion, the weight that had pressed into his bones for as long as he could remember, wasn't as crushing as it had been. The ceaseless fatigue, the constant drag on his limbs, felt… dulled.

Not gone.

But distant.

Like it was lurking just out of reach, waiting for him to notice.

His breath was steady. His mind was clear. That gnawing sense of depletion, of fighting just to keep moving, didn't feel like it was digging into him as deeply as before. He wasn't sure how long it had been like this when he'd stopped feeling like his body was about to collapse under its own weight.

Had it started after he'd killed that last Kaiju? After he'd wrenched its sharpened tail free from its skull and used it to cut deeper? Or had it been before that?

The fight at the river had been brutal, but it hadn't left him drained the way it should have. He hadn't felt the usual sharp edge of depletion clawing at him afterward. Even now, sitting here in the cold, his body wasn't screaming for rest the way it always did.

He clenched his jaw.

This wasn't normal.

Nothing about this place, about him, was normal anymore.

His reflection wavered again, distorting, twisting in ways it shouldn't. His own eyes stared back at him, too sharp in the dim light, too steady.

His heartbeat didn't even feel strained.

For a long time, he just sat there, hands submerged in the water, waiting to feel the sting of the cold.

It never came.

Shinji let his fingers drift through the water, staring at the ripples as they spread outward, breaking apart his reflection piece by piece.

He should have felt worse. The gnawing ache of hunger, the marrow-deep fatigue of days without food, should have been a constant in the background. But it wasn't. His stomach didn't twist in on itself. His limbs weren't weak. He wasn't sluggish or lightheaded.

He wasn't hungry.

That should have been impossible.

Even the loneliness, the kind that had been a constant, familiar shadow at his back, had softened. It was still there; he wasn't fool enough to think it had vanished, but it didn't dig into him like before.

He exhaled slowly, watching the breath curl into the cold air.

Maybe it was the quiet. He'd spent so long around people, around noise, the weight of expectations, of knowing he was always being watched, measured, that maybe the silence had become its own kind of comfort.

But that wasn't it. Not entirely.

Because there were faces, blurred, half-formed memories that shouldn't exist.

People he had never met.

Familiar in a way that made his skull ache, like names on the tip of his tongue that refused to take shape. Shadows that should mean nothing to him, yet felt like they belonged in the spaces between his thoughts.

A woman's voice, gentle but firm. A hand on his shoulder, calloused fingers squeezing just slightly before letting go. A laugh, bright and sharp, echoing like it had been carried by the wind.

His throat tightened, his fingers curling into a fist beneath the water.

None of it made sense.

There was no one here. There had never been anyone here.

So why did it feel like he was missing something?

He turned his gaze toward Striker, toward the towering metal frame hunched beneath the shelter of the uprooted tree. Even that felt different. Not just a machine. Not just a weapon.

It should have been the only thing keeping him tethered, the only presence he could rely on.

And yet, the loneliness didn't press the way it should.

His pulse was steady.

His breath came easy.

And for the first time in as long as he could remember, exhaustion wasn't waiting for him at the edge of every step.

Shinji clenched his jaw, staring into the water as if the reflection held answers. It didn't. It only showed him the same face he'd always known: gaunt, tired, yet not as hollow as it should have been.

His fingers twitched. His body was still, but something deep inside him stirred, like an itch he couldn't reach, like a whisper too quiet to fully hear.

Why?

Why did he feel better?

There was no reason for it. No food. No proper rest. No medical supplies, nothing to ease the toll of endless survival. His body should have been breaking down, pushed to its limits long ago.

But it wasn't.

And that was almost more unsettling than the alternative.

His gaze flickered back toward Striker. The Jaeger was still, as lifeless as a statue, but somehow he felt its presence more than ever. Not alone.

His fingers tightened around the edge of the hollowed-out tree basin.

No. That wasn't right.

It wasn't just Striker.

It was something else. Something more.

The faces that drifted through his mind they weren't random. They weren't fleeting images conjured by exhaustion or stress. They meant something. They had weight.

Shinji exhaled through his nose, dragging a wet hand down his face. He needed to focus. To do something. Thinking in circles wouldn't change anything.

He stood, rolling his shoulders as he turned away from the basin. His clothes clung to his skin, still damp from where he'd splashed water over himself, but He had to keep moving.

With quick, measured steps, he moved toward Striker's motionless form. The Jaeger's plating was still streaked with the remnants of Kaiju blood, dull against the muted light filtering through the twisted roots overhead. He reached out, running a hand along its armored frame.

A part of him itched to move. To fight. To do something.

Sitting still had never ended well.

Maybe he could work on reinforcing the shelter checking for any weaknesses in the root structure. The cavern had held so far, but all it would take was one bad shift in the terrain, one unexpected collapse, and he'd lose the only semblance of security he had. Maybe he could scout further past the river, push past the familiar stretches of barren land and twisted debris, see if there was anything, anything, worth finding out there.

His eyes drifted back to Striker's cockpit.

Maybe he should climb back in.

Just because.

To connect.

To feel whole again.

Shinji frowned, the thought sitting uneasily in his mind. That wasn't right. That wasn't how it worked.

Was it?

He had always been himself, Jaeger or no Jaeger. It wasn't like piloting was what made him real. He had fought outside of Striker plenty of times. He had survived, struggled, existed without that connection.

And yet…

The quiet of the shelter pressed in around him, heavier than before.

Had it always been this silent?

Had it always felt this… off?

Shinji shifted his weight, running a hand over his face. He was tired. That was all. Too many days in this hellhole, too many fights, too many sleepless nights. His thoughts were getting tangled, looping over themselves, slipping through his fingers.

And yet…

The longer he stood there, the more that gnawing sensation crept in.

Something wasn't right.

The walls of the shelter felt like they were breathing. The ground under his feet didn't feel like the same dirt he'd walked on before. And his memories, he knew he had walked into this place, had chosen it as shelter, had made it a base.

But he couldn't remember how he got here.

Not exactly.

Not in detail.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Think.

The breach. The fight. The days leading up to this.

It was all there, but at the same time, it wasn't. Fuzzy. Incomplete.

Like a book with missing pages.

Like a dream half-remembered.

Shinji's eyes snapped open, his breath slow and controlled. He wasn't panicking. He refused to. He was just, 

Lost.

Shinji inhaled slowly through his nose, grounding himself in the moment. Think. Just think.

He had been in the Breach for…Too long. Time blurred here, stretched thin between survival and exhaustion. He should remember. Every second mattered when you were alone in a place like this.

So why did it feel like he had lost time?

He clenched his fists, trying to pull something, anything, from his mind that made sense.

He remembered landing. He remembered the fight with the Kaiju near the river. He remembered hauling water back to the shelter, the cold weight of it against his skin. That much was real.

But before that?

Before, that was wrong.

Fragments surfaced in his mind, images that didn't belong.

A voice, low, familiar, speaking his name.

A hand on his shoulder.

Laughter, distant, like an echo across the water.

A city skyline burning against a blood-red sky.

Shinji shook his head sharply. No. That wasn't possible. That wasn't right.

If he was remembering those things, then that meant he had left the Breach. That he had been somewhere else, but he hadn't. That was impossible.

He never left.

The Breach was endless, an abyss without escape. He had accepted that long ago. There was no way out, no cities, no voices, no people.

So why could he almost see them?

The faces swam at the edge of his thoughts, familiar in a way that made his stomach churn. He knew them. He shouldn't, but he did.

Had he spoken to them? Had he been with them?

His breathing turned shallow, fingers twitching at his sides.

No.

This place did things to the mind. The isolation, the constant fight to stay alive, It wore a person down, made them see things that weren't there.

That was all this was.

Just his brain playing tricks on him.

Because if it wasn't

If those memories were real

Then that meant he had gotten out.

And worse

It meant something had brought him back.

Shinji's breath hitched.

The more he tried to force the memories down, the more they clawed their way back up, dragging jagged edges through his mind. The faces, the voices, the burning skyline, every time he tried to push them away, they lurched closer, sharper, more real.

His hands trembled at his sides.

No. No, this isn't real. I never left.

The Breach was all there was. It was all there had ever been. Endless ocean trenches, pitch-black voids, the never-ending hunger of Kaiju lurking just out of sight. That was reality. That was the only reality.

Wasn't it?

His body tensed. Something wasn't right.

He felt wrong. Unstable. Like the world around him had shifted just slightly to the left, like gravity had pulled him off balance but hadn't let him fall. The silence of the shelter pressed in too tightly, the cold air wrapping around him too thickly, suffocating in its stillness.

And then, A hand.

Light. Just a whisper of pressure against his arm.

But it was there.

His mind screamed, every nerve in his body igniting at once as he stumbled backward, slamming his shoulder against the root wall. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his pulse a hammer against his ribs. He stared down at his arm, heart pounding so loud it roared in his ears.

Nothing.

There was nothing there.

But he had felt it.

His mind reeled, wild and frenzied.

He was alone. Alone. There was no one else here. No one had touched him. No one could touch him. The only things in this abyss were him and the Kaiju.

And yet.

And yet.

He squeezed his arm, fingers digging into the ripped fabric of his suit, trying to ground himself, trying to prove to himself that what just happened hadn't happened. His skin prickled, his breathing uneven as he pushed himself up, shaking his head like he could physically rattle the sensation loose.

His body didn't listen. His mind didn't listen.

Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

Had it always been like this? Had this off feeling been creeping in for days, weeks, longer, without him noticing? Or had it come all at once, slamming into him now because he finally let himself think about it?

The memories, those faces, had been buried before. Nothing more than faint, unimportant static at the back of his mind. But now? Now, they were rising. Surfacing. Tearing through his thoughts with a force that made his skull throb. They were growing clearer, sharpening at the edges, refusing to stay buried.

And this, this wasn't just the Breach wearing him down, grinding him into something less than himself. This was something else.

The first sound was barely a whisper. A distant hum, just under the edge of his hearing.

Then another.

Then more.

Voices.

Muffled. Garbled. Twisting together into an indistinct murmur that curled in his ears, too many speaking at once, overlapping, crashing into each other. They weren't distant anymore. They were right there. Pressing against his mind, pushing at the inside of his skull.

Shinji staggered back, his breath coming too fast, his pulse hammering in his throat.

And then the weight came.

Not from above. Not from the sides. But everywhere.

Hands, so many hands, pushing down on him. Not solid, not quite tangible, but there. Palms pressing against his shoulders, his chest, his arms, his legs. Cold and wrong, pressing through his suit, through his skin, through him.

He gasped, twisting against it, but the pressure only grew heavier, sinking into him like something was trying to pull him down.

The voices swelled, rising to a cacophony, still indistinct, still blurred together like a thousand sounds crushed into one but growing sharper at the edges. Not words, not yet, but almost.

Shinji's fingers curled into fists. His breaths turned ragged, desperate.

"No,"

The hands tightened around him, unyielding, and the world tilted beneath his feet. It felt like he was falling, plummeting through the ground, through the air, through something deeper and darker, the familiar sense of weightlessness gnawing at him. The earth, the shelter, Striker, everything around him twisted into a haze as his senses betrayed him. His stomach churned, and his vision blurred as if reality itself was warping, shifting in ways it shouldn't.

The pressure of his mind, of everything that had piled up, his exhaustion, the endless fights, the isolation, felt like it was crashing down all at once.

Shinji's breath came in short, panicked gasps as his body screamed for something to grab onto, anything that would anchor him to the ground. His heart thudded violently, each beat a reminder that his body was still alive, still here, but the world around him felt so distant like he was no longer in control. The air grew thin, and the ground beneath him seemed to pull away as though it no longer mattered where he stood.

His legs trembled, the feeling of falling relentless and all-encompassing. He reached out instinctively, desperate for something solid, something to prove he hadn't been consumed by the void.

Then, the sensation stopped. It wasn't gradual but abrupt like a switch had been flipped. He felt his feet on the ground again, but the sharpness of it didn't bring clarity. No, it was worse, like the absence of the fall had left him unmoored in a different way.

Shinji staggered, his hand pressed against the dirt for balance as if the ground itself was somehow unfamiliar. His head was pounding, his body still reeling from the sensation that was now fading but not entirely gone. He could feel his own pulse echoing in his ears as though it was the only thing grounding him to this place, this moment, keeping him tethered to something real.

His thoughts were scattered, too many pieces, too many fragments. He wasn't sure if they were his or if they were just parts of him slipping away, torn between something that had once been his life and something else, something alien.

He stood there in the silence of the shelter, struggling to breathe, the weight of everything pressing on him in ways he couldn't explain. His chest tightened, his body still trying to adjust to whatever had just happened, to whatever had changed.

The world outside, the river, Striker, the days, the memories, none of it felt tangible. Nothing felt like it was his anymore.

Shinji's thoughts spun. What was real? What wasn't? And why did it feel like everything he knew was slipping further away, just out of his reach?

A sharp, sudden sting pricked at his neck.

It was small, barely noticeable at first, just a pinpoint of sensation against the lingering fog in his mind. But then it spread. Like ice seeping into his veins, threading through muscle and bone, wrapping around his nerves with cold precision.

Shinji sucked in a breath, his fingers twitching toward the spot on instinct, but before he could reach it, his body betrayed him.

The air grew thick. His limbs were heavy.

Everything blurred at the edges, like ink bleeding through water, and the weight of his own body became something distant. His knees buckled, but it wasn't a fall. It was a slow, sinking descent like the world itself was lowering him, pulling him down into something deeper, something unseen.

His breathing slowed.

The pounding in his skull dulled.

The frantic, scattered thoughts in his head smoothed into something quieter, something softer, like a whisper just beyond hearing.

His vision swam, colors bleeding together in muted, fading smudges. Striker. The shelter. The world. It all stretched away, thinning into the distance, unraveling like threads pulled from fabric.

He tried to move, tried to think, but the effort was swallowed whole.

There was no pain. No struggle.

Just the slow, inevitable collapse into nothing.