Aftermath of the Caribbean Battle
Panama Base – Debriefing Room
The room was quiet in a way Kyousuke had come to distrust.
No alarms. No flashing warnings. Just the low hum of projectors and the smell of burnt coffee that clung to every military briefing room in the world. The pilots sat scattered around the table, some with arms crossed, others staring blankly at the wall—faces etched with the fatigue of those who had survived when others hadn't.
Captain Marcus Hale stood at the front.
His expression was far more serious than it had been before the sortie.
"What you encountered out there," he began, "wasn't part of any official war plan."
With a flick of his wrist, the tactical display activated. The image of the Gundam Astray Mirage Frame rotated slowly in midair, followed by the blurred capture of the GINN High Maneuver Type II tearing through fire.
A murmur rippled through the room.
Hale exhaled. "You deserve to know what nearly killed you."
He tapped the console again.
"Librarian Works."
The name alone made the intelligence officers at the back of the room stiffen.
"Officially," Hale continued, "they don't exist. No nation claims them. No treaty mentions them. Unofficially… they're the inheritors of a much older nightmare."
The image shifted—fragmented symbols, encrypted logos, half-erased records.
"They're associated with a shadow organization known as 'The Clan.' When The Clan collapsed, Librarian Works absorbed everything—data, research, black projects that should never have survived."
Kyousuke felt a chill creep up his spine.
"They don't care about world domination," Hale said flatly. "They don't want to rule Earth, space, or the colonies. They operate on their own set of values—values that don't align with Natural, Coordinator, or national ideologies."
He paused, letting the weight of it sink in.
"Their goal is far simpler—and far more dangerous."
The display changed again.
Rows of pilot data scrolled past. Combat records. Reaction times. Kill counts.
"They want to mass-produce the strongest Mobile Suit pilots in existence."
Several pilots shifted uncomfortably.
"They do this using something called Carbon Human technology," Hale continued. "Artificial humans. Not Coordinators. Not Naturals. Copies."
Kyousuke's eyes widened slightly.
"Librarian Works possesses vast archives of Mobile Weapon development—data collected from every major power to date. Earth Alliance. ZAFT. Orb. Even experimental and classified units that never officially existed."
The screen zoomed in on a list of names—most marked KIA.
"They also collect data on ace pilots. Complete combat logs. Neural patterns. And in some cases…"
Hale's jaw tightened.
"…genetic material."
A heavy silence fell.
"They recreate these pilots as Carbon Humans—refined, optimized, stripped of everything except combat efficiency. Most are modeled after aces killed in battle, but not all. Some are still alive."
Kyousuke felt his stomach knot.
"And using that data," Hale continued, "they modify existing Mobile Suits far beyond standard military limits. They don't design from scratch—they perfect. They take a known frame and push it past what any official military would dare approve."
The Mirage Frame appeared again.
"Case in point. MBF-P05LM Gundam Astray Mirage Frame. Advanced optical camouflage. Data processing beyond OMNI or ZAFT standards. A machine built to hunt pilots, not armies."
Then the GINN appeared.
"ZGMF-1017M2 GINN High Maneuver Type II. Excessive thrust output. Reinforced structure. Piloted by someone who either has no fear—or no reason to."
Kyousuke remembered the laughter on the open channel.
Hale folded his arms.
"The scale of Librarian Works is unknown. Could be a handful of ships. Could be an entire hidden network. What we do know is this—"
He looked directly at Kyousuke.
"They possess technology beyond current military capabilities. They operate outside the war. And when they appear…"
The display shut down with a sharp click.
"…it's never by accident."
No one spoke.
Kyousuke clenched his hands beneath the table.
Orb. OMNI. ZAFT. Those were wars he understood.
But this?
This was something else entirely.
And deep down, Kyousuke knew—
If Librarian Works had noticed him on that battlefield, then surviving the war was no longer the only thing he had to worry about.
Debriefing Room
The silence that followed Hale's explanation pressed heavily against Kyousuke's chest.
He shifted in his seat, eyes still fixed on the frozen image of the Mirage Frame.
"…Captain," Kyousuke said at last, his voice steady but quiet. "You mentioned Carbon Humans."
Hale looked at him.
"I know what a Coordinator is," Kyousuke continued. "Genetic adjustment before birth. But this—Carbon Humans—what exactly are they?"
For a moment, Hale didn't answer.
Instead, he dismissed the other pilots with a short gesture. One by one, they filed out, sensing this was information not meant for everyone. When the doors sealed shut, Hale finally spoke again—more slowly now, as if choosing each word with care.
"Carbon Humans," he said, "are another category entirely. Not Naturals. Not Coordinators. And not Newtypes."
The display reactivated.
A human silhouette appeared, overlaid with shifting genetic sequences.
"They're genetically modified humans created by Librarian Works using existing individuals as templates. Specific people. People whose data Librarian has in extreme detail."
The word people hung uneasily in the air.
"They call them Carbon Humans because they're like carbon copies—similar, but never perfectly identical. They aren't clones."
Kyousuke frowned. "Then what are they?"
"Recreations," Hale answered. "Built by implanting specific DNA patterns and, if required, memories into another human body."
The image shifted—cells dividing, strands of DNA rewriting themselves.
"Librarian Works uses samples of genetic code from their subject—sometimes recovered from blood, tissue, or medical records. Using a specially engineered retrovirus, that genetic material is injected into a host body."
Kyousuke's eyes widened slightly.
"The virus targets specific cells," Hale continued, "and replaces the old genetic structure with the new one. Over time—roughly every ninety days—the body's natural metabolic process replaces old cells with rewritten ones."
"So the body… changes," Kyousuke murmured.
"Completely," Hale nodded. "Given enough cycles, the host becomes genetically aligned with the subject template."
The silhouette aged, stabilized.
"Depending on whose DNA is used, the result can resemble a Coordinator in capability—enhanced spatial awareness, reaction speed, adaptability. But unlike Coordinators, Carbon Humans aren't born. They're made."
Kyousuke swallowed.
"And the dead?" he asked quietly.
Hale met his gaze.
"If Librarian Works has enough data," he said, "they can resurrect someone who's already died."
The word resurrect sent a cold shiver down Kyousuke's spine.
"However," Hale continued, "how closely the Carbon Human resembles the original depends entirely on the data Librarian possesses. Genetics alone isn't enough. They need behavioral patterns, neural mapping, combat records."
He gestured, and a second silhouette appeared—this one fragmented.
"If there's insufficient information, the Carbon Human develops a new, unique personality. They'll still have exceptional physical ability, but they won't be the same person."
Kyousuke clenched his fists. "What about memories?"
"They can be implanted," Hale said. "Combat experience, instincts, even personal memories if Librarian thinks it's necessary. Hormonal adjustments and chemical regulation are also applied to stabilize the brain and suppress psychological breakdown."
Kyousuke frowned. "Wouldn't that cause identity collapse?"
"Normally, yes," Hale replied. "But Carbon Humans are designed not to suffer identity crises. They're fully aware they're separate individuals—not the original. That awareness actually prevents many mental disorders."
The display changed again.
A large cylindrical tank appeared, filled with fluid.
"The process takes place in a specialized tank. The subject remains immobile for six months while the body and mind are rewritten. The biological age must match the original data exactly—or the personality alignment fails."
Kyousuke stared at the image.
"Six months…" he whispered.
"Which means," Hale said grimly, "Librarian Works can create elite pilots in months instead of spending years training them."
Silence returned.
"They created numerous Carbon Humans, mostly modeled after highly skilled Mobile Suit pilots, to rapidly expand their fighting force," Hale added. "A private army of aces."
Kyousuke thought of the Mirage Frame's movements. Too precise. Too calm.
"When did this start?" he asked.
"We don't know," Hale admitted. "But they began appearing around—or shortly after—C.E. 73. Always in limited numbers. Always at critical moments."
He shut down the display.
"After Librarian Works eventually collapsed, surviving Carbon Humans were reportedly offered migration to Mars. A chance to start new lives… away from the war."
Kyousuke leaned back slowly, the weight of it all settling in.
"So they're weapons," he said.
Hale shook his head.
"No," he said quietly. "They're people who were never given a choice."
Kyousuke's mind drifted back to the battlefield—to the Mirage Frame's pause, the way it had looked at him.
If someone like that had been built from the remains of a dead ace…
Then the line between the living and the dead—between past and present—had already been erased.
And for the first time since the war began, Kyousuke felt a fear that had nothing to do with enemy fire.
Three Days Later
Cosmic Era | C.E. 73
March 15th
Somewhere in the Earth Sphere
Unregistered Airspace
Space rippled—then broke.
The MBF-P05LM Gundam Astray Mirage Frame phased into existence in a shimmer of distorted light, its white-and-gold armor reflecting the distant glow of Earth below. The machine stood still, almost reverent, as if listening to a world it had no intention of joining.
Inside the cockpit, Rondo Gina Sahaku rested one gloved hand against the control console.
"Hmm… so that was him," Gina murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "An OMNI pilot with unusual instincts."
The Mirage Frame's sensors replayed a frozen image—Kyousuke Asagi's Strike Dagger, beam rifle raised, reaction time perfectly calculated.
"Interesting," Gina said softly. "Very interesting."
A communication window flickered open, encrypted beyond military standards.
> "Data confirmed. Librarian Works acknowledges the subject."
Gina's eyes gleamed.
"So the library has noticed him as well."
The Mirage Frame cloaked once more.
Elsewhere
Low Earth Orbit | Private Transport
The battered transport ship drifted lazily, its hull patched with more history than polish. Painted on its side was a familiar emblem—a coiled serpent.
Inside, the atmosphere was far more relaxed than any military vessel.
"So," a lazy voice drawled, "a ghost Gundam, an insane high-speed GINN, and OMNI scrambling like headless chickens."
Gai Murakumo leaned back in his seat, arms folded behind his head, feet casually propped against a crate. His blond hair was tied back, his eyes sharp despite his carefree posture.
Across from him, a dark-haired woman smirked. "Sounds expensive."
"Sounds fun," Gai corrected.
A hologram activated, showing the Mirage Frame tearing through Mobile Suits.
"Librarian Works," Gai said, his tone sharpening just a bit. "Didn't think they'd start moving this openly."
Another figure spoke up. "They've been testing the waters. Carbon Humans. Enhanced units. They're looking for something."
Gai's grin faded.
"Yeah," he said. "And when Librarian Works starts looking—everyone else gets dragged in whether they want to or not."
---
Junk Guild Territory
Orbital Debris Field
Sparks flew as a torch cut through salvaged armor plating.
"Well I'll be damned," a mechanic muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "That was OMNI and ZAFT wreckage."
Nearby, members of the Junk Guild moved through the debris, tagging Mobile Suit parts and uploading data.
"Three-sided battle," another said. "No—four."
A screen displayed sensor ghosts—cloaking signatures, impossible acceleration curves.
"Someone's stirring the pot," the Guild master said grimly. "And when the big players start fighting in the shadows…"
He looked out at the drifting wreckage.
"…junk piles up fast."
---
Panama Base
OMNI Enforcer Forces
Kyousuke Asagi stood alone in the hangar, staring up at his Strike Dagger.
Three days had passed since the Caribbean battle, but sleep still came in fragments—broken by flashes of distorted light and the memory of a calm, inhuman voice over open comms.
Interesting reaction time.
He clenched his fists.
"Second Lieutenant Asagi."
Kyousuke turned as Captain Hale approached, his expression darker than usual.
"Orders just came in," Hale said. "Multiple factions are moving. ZAFT activity is increasing. Junk Guild ships are poking around battle sites. And Serpent Tail mercenaries have been spotted near Librarian-linked incidents."
Kyousuke's eyes widened slightly. "All of them?"
Hale nodded. "And Librarian Works is at the center of it."
He placed a hand on Kyousuke's shoulder.
"You didn't ask for this," Hale said quietly. "But whatever's coming… you're already part of it."
Kyousuke looked back up at his Mobile Suit.
OMNI Forces.
ZAFT.
Junk Guild.
Serpent Tail.
Librarian Works.
Five forces. Five agendas.
And somewhere between ghosts of the dead and machines born from forbidden data, a new war was taking shape—one that would not be fought for nations or ideals, but for control over the future of humanity itself.
Kyousuke Asagi exhaled slowly.
He had survived the first battle.
Now, caught at the center of converging shadows, he would have to decide what kind of pilot—and what kind of human—he truly was.