Location: Some Crappy Hotel Apartment, Nishi Shinjuku
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A boy twisted the doorknob, shoved the door open with his foot, and marched in with a plastic bag of groceries dangling from one hand and the aura of a man who's given up on expecting peace.
He slammed the door shut, tossed the bag onto the counter, and got to work like it was any other Tuesday night in Tokyo—only he was dead inside and running on caffeine and sarcasm.
Pot. Water. Boil. Packet of sodium-soaked sadness. Flavor dust. Stir. Repeat. His movements were mechanical, but not robotic—this was the ritual of a soul crushed by capitalism and kaiju insurance policies.
The smell of chicken-flavored regret filled the room as he leaned in for a taste. His face twitched into a smirk—yeah, it was good. Too bad it was his sixth instant meal this week. Budget living at its finest.
The floor suddenly jolted like Satan had uppercutted the Earth. The walls rattled, the lights flickered, and a thunderous BOOM echoed across the block.
He didn't flinch.
Instead, he calmly unwrapped some chicken breasts, rinsed them like a civilized human being, and prepped his cutting board. He reached for a knife—because clearly, the universe wanted to test him tonight—and glanced toward the wall.
Then all hell broke loose.
KA-THOOM.
Something massive punched through the building like it owed it money. The structure didn't just collapse—it fucking evaporated, sending the boy, his kitchen, and his dreams of eating actual food straight into the dirt.
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Outskirts of Nishi Shinjuku – Ground Zero Minus Common Sense
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"What the fuck are you doing, Lieutenant?!" Gyozen's voice blasted out of the command center's speakers like an angry mom discovering broken fine china.
Kiryu had just hurled Godzilla into downtown Tokyo like a dodgeball, smashing through four office buildings, a pachinko parlor, and a retirement home. The city looked like a sandbox warzone.
"Uh—sorry, General! Might need to recalibrate the controls!" Akane stammered, nervously clasping her hands like that was gonna fix shit.
Gyozen pinched the bridge of her nose so hard it nearly collapsed her skull. "Get your ass into the city and pin that radioactive lizard down before there's no fucking city left!"
"Yes ma'am—" Akane paused mid-sentence as her screen zoomed in on the impact zone.
Her face went pale.
Her gut dropped like a piano down a stairwell.
Gyozen caught the silence like a cold draft in winter. "Lieutenant? The fuck is going on?"
Akane's voice came out like a funeral whisper. "...Imano Tokyo Hostel is gone."
Dead silence.
Gyozen's pupils shrank to pinpricks.
"...Oh, fuck me sideways."
"Pull back—NOW!" she barked, her voice cracking for the first time since basic training.
The entire control room froze. No one had ever heard her panic. Not even during that time Rodan kamikazed the Prime Minister's birthday.
Akane didn't ask questions. She punched the retreat sequence and fired Kiryu's thrusters in reverse at full blast, leaving a confused—and slightly concerned—Godzilla standing amid the rubble.
That concern lasted about six seconds.
Because something grabbed her tail.
And that something squeezed.
Hard.
Godzilla barely had time to turn her head before her world became pain.
An ungodly WHAM struck her back, shattering bone, liquefying organs, and flinging her colossal frame across the skyline like a trash bag in a hurricane. She hit a mountain and deleted it from existence.
The sky cracked. The ozone layer coughed blood. Somewhere, a meteor changed course out of fear.
Godzilla wailed in agony. Blood sprayed from her maw like a goddamn horror fountain. Her body convulsed. Her vision faded. She—Queen of the Monsters—was weeping in the dirt, clutching what remained of her ribcage.
That's when Mothra arrived.
She didn't say a word. Just scooped up her broken bestie like a divine ambulance and took to the sky.
But before she left, her gaze dropped.
And there he was.
A boy—maybe 11, maybe 12, definitely pissed—staring up at her with glowing (f/c) eyes and enough killing intent to make Cthulhu nervous.
Mothra didn't ask questions. She flew faster than the IRS chasing tax evaders. But she'd never forget that face.
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Aboard Ghidorah's Floating Nightmare Palace (aka Her Ship)
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Ghidorah stared at the screen. Her expression, once smug and orgasmically confident, was now locked in pure What the actual fuck.
"My Queen...?" Gigan's voice rang out, slithering with faux sweetness. "You... okay?"
Ghidorah didn't answer.
Instead, she whispered like a vengeful goddess: "...Is the first model ready?"
"Yes, Your Radiance. Model 01 is prepped and standing by. The Empire awaits your command."
"And the boy?" she asked.
"...Unidentified. No match in any database. No Kaiju signals. No genetic markers. Just... human."
Ghidorah narrowed her eyes. "Bullshit."
The screen shifted to a live feed—Mothra carrying Godzilla's corpse-like ass away like a big, fuzzy EMT.
A slow grin crept onto Ghidorah's face.
"Interesting…" she murmured, her voice dripping with anticipation. "Very interesting."
Then, with quiet resolve:
"Let him come. I'll burn the world in front of him before taking him myself."