Inside the Archangel, Office Room

Inside the office room aboard the Archangel, Zarkta sat with his arms crossed, his visor fixed on Captain Murrue. She sat across from him, searching for the right words, her mind racing as she tried to navigate the strange tension between them. Beside her, Natalie and Flaga stood by in silence, waiting for her to find a way to connect with this mysterious figure. The room felt heavy with anticipation until Zarkta broke the silence.

"So," Zarkta's voice cut through the stillness, "are we playing silent treatment or what? The enemy won't just let us sit here, you know."

Natalie shot him a sharp glare, her patience beginning to thin.

Flaga, trying to ease the tension, spoke up, "Hey man, at least give her some time to—"

Murrue interrupted, her voice steady as she addressed Zarkta. "Zarkta, as the captain of the Archangel, I would appreciate it if you could cooperate with us so we can build a better relationship between your affiliation and ours."

Natalie muttered under her breath, but Zarkta wasn't fazed. "And why should I cooperate with someone who's aligned with the Earth Alliance? An alliance made up of superstates that represent Naturals and erase every Coordinator they don't deem worthy of life. You're one of them."

Flaga quickly interjected, standing in defense of Murrue. "Whoa, whoa, bud. There's no need to accuse her or anyone else here."

Murrue remained calm but firm. "Please understand that I am not like those people in Blue Cosmos. I despise this war—especially because it's driven by racial conflict. I joined the EA out of duty to protect the citizens of Earth from the PLANTs, especially after what happened with Junius Seven."

Zarkta raised an eyebrow. "I'm guessing it was an act to destroy it, orchestrated by OMNI?"

Natalie, unable to hold her composure any longer, slammed her hand down on the desk. "How dare you accuse OMNI as being part of the Earth Alliance's fault for Junius Seven!" She was visibly seething.

Zarkta remained unfazed. "The EA was the one that let it happen. They didn't do anything to stop those Blue Cosmos sympathizers. They let them run wild."

Natalie's fists clenched at his words, but Murrue intervened before the situation escalated further.

"Both of you!" Murrue raised her voice. "That's enough. I don't want this conversation to escalate."

"But—" Natalie began to protest.

"Lieutenant," Murrue cut her off, giving a sharp glare. Natalie fell silent, sensing the seriousness of her captain's command.

Murrue turned back to Zarkta, her tone softer but still resolute. "Zarkta, please try to understand. Between Naturals and Coordinators, coexistence is impossible. Naturals will always feel jealousy towards Coordinators, and Coordinators will always look down on them."

Flaga sighed, his voice heavy with acceptance. "It's a sad truth, but it's reality. There's no solid ground to negotiate peace between them."

"Which is why my leader has plans to deal with this," Zarkta responded. "For now, though, he's sent me to observe. To understand the Archangel."

Flaga leaned forward, eager for more direct communication. "Can't we just talk to your leader instead? It'd be great to meet him in person."

Zarkta shook his head. "He's a very busy man. He'll contact me when the time comes. What you know about me and the Vindictarium Order will be revealed soon enough."

Murrue nodded slowly. "I see... In that case, will you help us reach Alaska? I'm sure that you can meet our superiors there. Our goal is to reach there safely, without any damage to the Archangel, and to deliver the GAT-X105 Strike Gundam."

Zarkta's gaze sharpened. "And are you sure you want to deliver the Gundam Freedom to an EA military base in Alaska? You do realize what will happen if they see that boy—who is actually a Coordinator—there, don't you?"

Flaga quickly offered, "We'll figure out how to explain things to them."

Zarkta's expression darkened. "That depends on whether they decide to shoot him on sight."

Murrue swallowed hard. The consequences for Kira Yamato, being a Coordinator, were very real. Despite his ties to the Earth Alliance, the risk of harm was clear. She took a deep breath before replying with determination.

"In that case, I will find a way to convince them not to harm the boy. I promise you."

Zarkta looked at her, his expression doubtful. He wasn't sure her words would make any difference to his superiors, but for now, he wouldn't argue. After all, the EA Alaska base could very well become a target for Salvatia's forces. He uncrossed his arms and addressed her.

"Very well. I may act as a liaison between my organization and your Archangel, but not to the EA as a whole. I will assist you, but I will act independently on each mission, engaging the enemy as needed to protect the Archangel crew. This is the only agreement I'm offering. Do you agree to these terms?"

Natalie opened her mouth to protest, but Murrue made the decision for them.

"I understand. I accept your terms. I only hope that this cooperation will allow us to reach Alaska smoothly, without ZAFT trying to take us down."

Zarkta stood and offered a handshake. "In that case... we have a deal."

Murrue accepted his hand, their grip firm. Afterward, Zarkta left the room to check on his mecha fighter. Murrue let out a long sigh and sank back into her chair, the weight of the decision settling on her shoulders. Natalie, still uneasy, spoke up.

"Captain, with all due respect, are we really going to let him stay on this ship? We don't know anything about him or where he comes from. How can we trust him?"

Flaga shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. "What can we do? He's got that black armor and knows how to fight. He's tough, too. If we try anything, he'll probably just fight back. Or worse, kill us."

Murrue leaned forward, her voice steady but filled with resignation. "We have no choice. At least with him here, we have someone who can help us get to Alaska without being pursued. His mecha is advanced—far more so than any mobile suit—and it even defeated a Gundam in hand-to-hand combat."

Natalie still wasn't convinced. "But there's something off about that mobile suit of his."

Flaga raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

Natalie narrowed her eyes, trying to explain. "The joints... they don't look like anything I've seen before. They seem weird. Almost like they mimic a human musculoskeletal system, but there's something off about it. It's almost like it's wired together to look like that."

Murrue exchanged a glance with Flaga, a concerned frown crossing her face. "How weird?"

Natalie took a deep breath. "Weird enough to make me want to take a closer look once he parks that mecha in the second hangar."

...

Zarkta strode down the hallway toward the second hangar bay, his footsteps measured and steady. As he passed the Archangel personnel, they cast furtive glances at him, their whispers lingering in the air, but he paid them no mind. It didn't bother him in the slightest. He had no intention of letting their opinions sway him. His focus remained unbroken as he continued on his path, but then, his gaze fell upon a group of young teenagers wearing EA uniforms. They seemed out of place, and from their demeanor, Zarkta assumed they were volunteers, not trained soldiers from the academy.

The teenagers—Tolle Koenig, Miriallia Haw, and Kuzzey Buskirk—stood there, watching him with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. They had heard about the new pilot of the mysterious mobile suit and were eager to meet him in person. Zarkta, never one to ignore such directness, stopped and addressed them.

"Yes? How may I help you?" he asked, his tone neutral.

Tolle, looking somewhat nervous, scratched the back of his head. "Oh, um... We just wanted to meet you," he stammered.

Kuzzey, slightly more composed but still unsure, added, "We just wanted to say it's nice to meet you, despite your... uh, dark appearance." His eyes darted briefly to the black armor that encased Zarkta.

"Nice to meet you," Zarkta replied calmly, giving them a slight nod. "You must know who I am. My name is Zarkta."

Kuzzey, raising an eyebrow, spoke again. "Zarkta? Weird name, no offense."

Before Zarkta could respond, Miriallia stepped forward, her voice firm. "Okay, listen here. We just wanna know why you were fighting Kira inside the Gundam?"

Tolle chimed in quickly, "Yeah, why did you do that?"

Zarkta's response was unflinching, his eyes fixed on the trio. "It was to assess his fighting capabilities, see if he could handle himself in close combat. If he's ever up against an enemy who fights up close, he needs to be ready."

Kuzzey frowned. "But the Gundam has knives, beam sabers, and other weapons to defend itself."

Zarkta's expression remained stoic. "True, but what if you lose those weapons or run out of ammunition? You need to be ready to fight for your life. As for Kira... his improvement is lacking."

Miriallia bristled at his words. "He just needs more training! You don't have to be so harsh on him."

Zarkta's gaze hardened, his voice unwavering. "If you don't improve, you could find yourself in a difficult situation, especially piloting the Gundam. Speaking of which, where's Kira?"

Tolle scratched his chin. "Uh, I heard Kira went out with that blonde girl, Cagalli, I think?"

Zarkta nodded. "That's correct."

Tolle snapped his fingers. "Oh right, that."

Kuzzey, eager to change the subject, suggested, "You should meet Sai Argyle and Flay Allster. Sai's in the bridge room, though he wants some time alone. As for Flay... well, she's a different story."

Zarkta arched an eyebrow. "Well?"

Kuzzey hesitated before continuing. "Well, after what happened at Heliopolis and the death of her father, she's kind of... bitter towards Coordinators. She thinks creating genetically enhanced humans is wrong. Except for Kira, which is strange because I see Flay hanging around with Kira like they're dating or something."

Zarkta's expression shifted ever so slightly, his attention piqued. As an Inquisitor of the Black Order of Inquisitorial, his role was to identify and deal with individuals who harbored racial hatred—those he deemed 'racist subhumans.' This information about Flay caught his interest. Kuzzey's words painted her as someone who had once harbored intense hatred for Coordinators, yet was now seemingly involved with one. Zarkta immediately deduced she was likely manipulating Kira for her own selfish purposes. Such behavior, if true, could not be allowed to persist. He would deal with her when the time came.

"I see..." Zarkta murmured, his mind already calculating. "I would like to talk more, but I have important matters to attend to. Now, if you'll excuse me."

With that, he brushed past the teenagers and continued toward the hangar bay. Miriallia, frustrated, called after him.

"Hey! We're not done here!"

Kuzzey quickly grabbed her arm, pulling her back. "Hey, take it easy. It's a good thing he didn't intend to kill Kira. That would've been a huge loss for the Archangel."

Tolle nodded in agreement. "I kinda agree with him. But fighting someone just because they lack fighting skills is a bit harsh."

Kuzzey released Miriallia's arm. "Well, he would've been fine if Zarkta hadn't decided to fight him right after wiping out the enemy."

Tolle, his curiosity piqued, added, "You know, we never really got the chance to ask him about that armor he wears. I mean, why would someone choose to wear that? And the color... it's so dark, like he's some kind of emo or something."

Kuzzey slapped his forehead in realization. "Oh man, we forgot to ask him about that!"

Miriallia sighed, clearly ready to move on. "Never mind that. Let's just head to the canteen and grab some food. I need to get my mind off that guy."

Kuzzey, nodding in agreement, said, "Right. Let's go."

The teenagers made their way to the canteen, their conversation drifting away as they moved down the hallway.

...

Second Hangar Bay, Archangel

The mechanic crews are examining the Sinanju Inquisitor in its kneeling position. Since this mecha fighter is so large that it nearly touches the ceiling, Zarkta has it kneel on one leg and turned off. The mechanic crews find this mecha fighter astonishing, as it is vastly different from other mobile suits and Gundam suits. They have no idea about the schematics of the Sinanju Inquisitor, and when they take a closer look at the elbow, they see ligaments that are unlike anything with an internal skeleton. Instead, it has a sort of biomechanical musculoskeletal structure that is wired together to attach the arms and legs, leaving them clueless as to what it is.

(This is what it looks like of biomechanical artificial musculoskeletal system. This is an arm that has biomechanical artificial wires wrapped it together to attach the head, arm, and leg.)

Chief Mechanic Kojiro Murdorch scratched the back of his head, trying to wrap his mind around the situation. He recalled the schematics of the Gundam he had examined, but the Sinanju Inquisitor was something entirely different. It lacked an internal endoskeleton, making it a nightmare to perform maintenance on. As he pondered this, Flay approached him, curiosity evident in her eyes.

"Uh, excuse me," she began, looking at the strange machine. "What is that thing? It kinda looks like... a Gundam, but different."

"I'm not sure, girl," Kojiro replied with a shrug. "A new guy called it a Mecha Fighter. Probably just a different name for the mobile suit version."

"New guy?" Flay frowned. "I've never heard of him."

"Eh? Haven't you been paying attention?" Kojiro raised an eyebrow. "When we ran into those enemy BuCUEs, a new guy named Zarkta showed up and piloted that thing, the Sinanju Inquisitor. He wiped them all out single-handedly, then suddenly decided to challenge Kira."

Flay's eyes widened in shock. "Kira!"

"Yeah," Kojiro nodded. "Hand-to-hand combat. I've never seen anything like it. I don't know how he manages it, but the guy has a lot of fighting experience."

The revelation stunned Flay. The thought of someone—especially someone unknown—defeating Kira in his Gundam, and then challenging him in hand-to-hand combat, boiled her blood. Her fists clenched at her sides, though no one noticed.

"Is he... a coordinator?" she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

"I'm not sure," Kojiro answered.

"What do you mean 'not sure'?" Flay pressed, her concern growing.

"I mean, I can't tell if he's a Natural or a Coordinator. All I know is he's wearing some kind of armor suit—something no one would wear for war."

"Armor suit?" Flay repeated. "Since when would anyone wear that?"

"That's a good question," Kojiro said with a shrug. "I'm really not sure."

Before they could continue, a voice interrupted from behind. Kojiro turned to see Zarkta approaching.

"Oh hey, Zarkta, sir. Glad you could make it. My boys are really curious about your mobile suit," Kojiro greeted.

"It's Mecha Fighter, Chief Mechanic," Zarkta corrected him.

"Mecha Fighter, mobile suit, they sound the same," Kojiro muttered. "Anyway, we were curious and wanted to try some maintenance, but from the looks of it, your Mecha Fighter is different from any mobile suit or Gundam suit I've ever seen."

"That's because it is," Zarkta said simply.

Suddenly, with lightning speed, Zarkta grabbed Flay's arm as she tried to slap him. She hadn't realized that he was wearing a helmet, and her angry strike was deflected. Her eyes shot wide open in both fear and rage. She pulled at her arm, but Zarkta's grip tightened.

"Who is this girl who suddenly attacks me?" he demanded in a cold, emotionless voice, his red visor glaring down at her.

"O-ow, ow, ow! Y-you're hurting me!" Flay cried out.

"Then you shouldn't have attacked someone you've never met," Zarkta replied sternly.

Kojiro, alarmed, rushed forward. "Hey, hey, hey! Please don't hurt her! She didn't mean it! Just let her go."

Zarkta considered the request. While he intended to punish her for the sudden attack and her potential racist tendencies, he knew better than to jeopardize his relationship with the Archangel crew. Reluctantly, he released her, though he made a mental note to keep an eye on her.

Flay quickly rubbed her arm, her anger flaring. "How dare you try to hurt me, you brute!"

"You tried to slap me, even though I'm wearing a helmet," Zarkta shot back, his tone unbothered.

"You hurt Kira!" she yelled, her voice trembling with fury.

"No," Zarkta corrected her. "I defeated him to test his ability to face stronger enemies. His fighting skills are lacking—he's emotional, naive, and burdened by things that slow him down."

Kojiro, still defending Kira, frowned. "Kira may be a Coordinator and a great pilot, but he's still a kid. You've gotta give him a break. That's kind of harsh, you know?"

"Sooner or later, he'll have trouble defeating an enemy if he's too reluctant to kill," Zarkta replied, his tone as cold as ever.

Kojiro opened his mouth to argue, but Zarkta changed the subject, his mind already moving on from the current conversation.

Zarkta's voice cut through the air with a tone of finality. "Anyway, I'm here to check on my mecha fighter. I need to see if there are any scratches from the battle."

Kojiro Murdorch hesitated for a moment, scratching the back of his head. "Well, uh, we were trying to check the maintenance on your mecha fighter, but there's a problem. Your mecha doesn't have an internal endoskeleton like the others. Instead, there are some kind of mechanical wires attached to the head, arms, and legs. My boys and I have never seen anything like it before."

Zarkta gave a small sigh, as if explaining something elementary. "That's because it's not an internal endoskeleton."

Flay furrowed her brow in confusion. "Huh?"

Zarkta's gaze turned slightly sharper as he explained. "My people developed a mecha fighter known as the biomechanical artificial musculoskeletal system. It's different from mobile suits and Gundam suits. The structure incorporates bones made of titanium nano-fiber composite. These ensure durability while maintaining flexibility. The muscles are synthetic fibers, electroactive polymers, which contract and expand with electrical stimuli, replicating biological muscle functions. Each fiber bundle is precisely calibrated for exact movements and immense strength. This engineering allows our mecha to run at high speeds, jump great distances, and lift objects many times their weight. The flexibility of the polymers provides agility comparable, if not superior, to that of a human."

Kojiro and Flay both stood frozen, trying to process the sheer complexity of Zarkta's explanation. The details seemed too intricate for them to fully comprehend. Despite Kojiro's best efforts to understand the mechanics of the fighter, he found himself lost in the technicalities. Zarkta, however, seemed unfazed, knowing that their human minds would never fully grasp or replicate his technology. He had nothing to fear in revealing the secrets of his mecha.

"Now, with that out of the way," Zarkta continued, his voice cutting through their thoughts, "I must check on my Sinanju Inquisitor."

He moved toward the towering mecha, his stride purposeful, and waved the mechanic crew away. "Get back. Only I know how to check the maintenance properly," he commanded. "I'll handle any scratches on the armor plating myself."

Flay, despite her confusion, couldn't hide the anger that bubbled within her. Her eyes narrowed at Zarkta, the hatred she felt for him deepening with every second. She clenched her fists, her body trembling slightly with fury. Without a word, she turned and stormed out of the hangar bay, unable to bear the sight of him for another moment.

Kojiro, noticing her departure, called after her. "Hey, where are you going?"

Flay's voice was cold, her back to him as she continued walking. "To my quarter."

She didn't turn around to explain further, her mind consumed by thoughts of Kira and the man who had so ruthlessly defeated him.

...

Timelapse

As a day goes by, Kira and Cagalli are sent out to get some food in an enemy allied country called African Community, a loose confederation of nations and tribes come together to get PLANT to become their ally for economic and military alliance.

Natarle and the others join them too as they are headed to a different place where Sahib's old friend lives there to have supplies for them so they take this mission.

Zarkta contacted High Magistrate Varlak to discuss entering an allied enemy nation, the African Community, currently under the rule of ZAFT commander Andrew Waltfeld, known as 'The Desert Tiger'. He requested authorization to deploy the main force to occupy the region and proceed to the capital city to secure the surrender of the African Community's leader to Salvatia's control. High Magistrate Varlak approved his request and assigned him a new mission: to either persuade or eliminate Andrew Waltfeld and his associates. With Varlak's confirmation, Zarkta activated his energy wing backpack attachment and flew directly towards the city governed by ZAFT.

...

ZAFT controlled-city region

In a ZAFT-controlled city region, Kira and Cagalli stepped out of their vehicles, their movements swift and purposeful. While the others moved ahead to meet with Al-Jairi, an arms dealer with valuable resources for the Archangel, they took a moment to rest. Meanwhile, Zarkta's aircraft descended silently, landing on a rooftop with precision. Activating advanced camouflage mode, he blended into the surroundings, effectively concealing his presence from the public eye. He crouched low, his sharp gaze fixed on Kira and Cagalli, scanning the area for any signs of danger.

After a brief moment, he observed the pair settle at a table to eat, taking a quick break before they would resume their journey. However, his watchful eyes soon caught the movement of a suspicious stranger, who disrupted their peaceful meal. The stranger caused a scene by accidentally spilling mayonnaise syrup over Kira's food, drawing attention and creating a commotion.

Zarkta muttered under his breath, his curiosity piqued. "I wonder who he is?"

He activated his Blue Eyes, a sophisticated scanning tool, to look through the man. Within seconds, the data confirmed the stranger's identity.

"Commander Andrew Waltfeld, the Desert Tiger," Zarkta said quietly to himself, his thoughts racing. "It seems he's disguised himself for some undercover mission and has decided to join them for a meal. But what is he really planning?"

As he continued observing, Zarkta's sharp instincts noticed a group of men on another rooftop, their gaze fixed on him. He quickly activated his Blue Eyes again, analyzing their identities. The results made his demeanor shift from casual to tense.

"Blue Cosmos," he muttered, his voice edged with concern. "The racist, subhuman hate group. What are they doing here, in enemy territory?" His mind raced with the implications. "It can't just be them. There must be more of them out there, hiding in the shadows."

Zarkta watched as the group of men began to leave, moving with purpose. He could sense the looming danger. They were preparing to attack, and their target was none other than Andrew Waltfeld—and anyone else in their path.

With a sharp exhale, Zarkta deactivated the camouflage mode, revealing his position. He stepped forward, preparing to intervene before the situation escalated further.

...

Cagalli's voice rang out, sharp and angry. "Shut up! It's none of your business. Who are you, anyway? You sit down at our table and start lecturing us about nonsense?" She yelled at the stranger, her frustration bubbling over.

Suddenly, a Blue Cosmos militant fired an RPG at them.

"Get down!" Andrew Waltfeld shouted, his instincts kicking in.

The group dove for cover as Andrew swiftly kicked the table over, using it as a barricade just as the rocket hit the restaurant. Blue Cosmos militants poured in, guns blazing, targeting Andrew and his undercover ZAFT soldiers, who quickly returned fire and took cover.

"Are you two alright?" Andrew called over to Kira and Cagalli as he drew his gun, ready for action. Kira and Cagalli froze, shocked to see him wielding a firearm. Before they could fully process the situation, the undercover ZAFT soldiers exchanged gunfire with the Blue Cosmos militants, the restaurant becoming a war zone.

"Die, Coordinator! You monster from the skies!" one militant shouted.

"For the preservation of our blue and pure world!" another yelled in defiance.

"Blue Cosmos," Cagalli whispered under her breath, recognizing the group.

At that moment, Zarkta dropped from the sky, landing between the two sides. His plasma blade gauntlets hummed to life as he swung them at two of the militants, cutting them down with brutal efficiency.

Andrew and his soldiers ceased fire, stunned by the sight of the man in dark armor. Kira and Cagalli peeked out from behind their cover, their eyes wide as they saw Zarkta in action.

"Hey, it's him again!" Cagalli exclaimed, recognition dawning.

"Him?" Andrew asked, confused.

Zarkta raised both plasma blades and brought them down with deadly precision, severing the arms of one militant before decapitating another. The last surviving Blue Cosmos militant, fear and rage in his eyes, opened fire, but his bullets merely bounced off Zarkta's armor, which was protected by an energy shield. Zarkta slowly advanced on the man.

"Get away from me, you freak!" the militant stammered, his voice cracking with terror.

With a swift movement, Zarkta grabbed the assault rifle from the man's hands and tossed it aside, then reached for his jaw with a surge of strength. With a sickening crack, he tore it off, the man screaming in agony.

Kira, Cagalli, and the undercover ZAFT soldiers gasped in horror as they watched the gruesome display. Tears streamed from the militant's eyes as he cried out, but Zarkta ended his suffering by plunging his plasma blade into the man's chest.

Pulling his blade out, Zarkta shoved the dead body aside, his gaze immediately locking onto another Blue Cosmos militant who had taken cover in an alleyway. The man, horrified by the fate of his comrades, burst out of hiding, opening fire with rage.

"You bastard! You'll pay for stepping foot on our beloved blue and pure-" The militant's rant was cut short as Zarkta sped toward him and delivered a punch that knocked him out cold.

With swift, calculated movements, Zarkta grabbed the unconscious man by the hair and dragged him toward the damaged restaurant, where Kira, Cagalli, and Andrew remained, visibly shaken by the carnage they had just witnessed. Ignoring their stunned expressions, Zarkta approached them, his voice low and cold as he glanced behind Kira and Cagalli.

"Well, well, looks like we finally meet again, but this time, face-to-face," Zarkta said, his tone indifferent.

Andrew glanced at him, puzzled. "Huh? Have we met before, uh, a stranger in a suit?"

Zarkta's eyes gleamed behind his visor. "Perhaps you know who piloted the black mecha fighter that destroyed your forces in the desert."

Realization struck Andrew. "Hold on. You're the pilot who controls that black mecha fighter?"

"That's right," Zarkta replied with a cold nod. "And since I already know your name, then you know mine. My name is Zarkta, and it's a pleasure to meet an enemy commander."

Andrew chuckled softly, though his smile was strained. "Heh, I didn't know you-"

Kira's voice broke through the tension, her face twisted with fury. "Why...?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Both men turned to her as she glared at Zarkta, her anger rising. "Why did you kill him so brutally? You... you cut them down and ripped the jaw off that guy. Why did you do something so inhumane?"

Zarkta's response was swift and shocking. He raised his hand and slapped Kira hard across the face. The sound of the slap echoed through the street, leaving everyone in stunned silence.

Cagalli reacted instantly, rushing to Kira's side. "Hey! What the hell is slapping his face for? He just said-"

Zarkta's voice was chilling, unwavering. "Blue Cosmos is the enemy, and the kind of enemy that must be eradicated, whether on Earth, in space, or both. I don't care how inhumane it seems to you. The enemy is the enemy. Nothing more. And since you two are young and know nothing about the true horrors of war, you'd best shut up! This is the reality of war – it brings death to both sides. Don't show sympathy to these racist subhumans."

His words hung heavy in the air, his visor locking onto them with an unyielding death stare that silenced both Kira and Cagalli.

Andrew, trying to steer the conversation in a more pragmatic direction, gestured toward the unconscious militant Zarkta was holding. "So, uh, what are you going to do with him?"

Zarkta's tone was dark, his voice like a growl. "Interrogate him. In my own way."

"Commander!" A voice called out from behind them. Martin DaCosta, a member of the ZAFT military, approached, looking over at the scene with an unreadable expression. His eyes lingered on the dismembered Blue Cosmos militants and the brutality that had just unfolded.

"Are you alright?" Martin asked Andrew, his concern evident, though his eyes couldn't shake the grisly sight before him.

"I'm fine, thanks to this... mysterious guy named Zarkta," Andrew replied, still processing what had just happened.

"Zarkta?" Martin repeated, his gaze falling on the man in dark armor. "Is that...?"

"Yes. A Blue Cosmos member," Zarkta confirmed with a grim nod. "Definitely a militant. Now, if you'll excuse me, I wish to discuss something privately with him. Don't interrupt me."

His tone was chilling, sending a shiver down Martin's spine. Without waiting for a response, Zarkta dragged the unconscious militant into a nearby restaurant, ushering everyone inside and securing the entrance to ensure no one would disturb him.

As Cagalli placed her hands on Kira's shoulders, her gaze softened when she noticed the red mark where Zarkta had slapped him. A realization suddenly dawned on her.

"No way..." she whispered. "Andrew Waltfeld."

...

Inside the damaged restaurant, the Blue Cosmos militant, bound tightly to a chair, groggily stirred as he regained consciousness. The chair trembled with his movements, but Zarkta immediately steadied it, ensuring the militant wouldn't make any more noise. With a cold gaze, Zarkta began his interrogation.

"Alright, Blue Cosmos," Zarkta's voice was as sharp as a blade. "I know you have a secret hideout for your people, dedicated to Blue Cosmos's beliefs. And I know it's somewhere in this region. So, where are they?"

The militant, defiant even in the face of pain, spat at Zarkta's helmet. The spit landed with a dull thud, but Zarkta calmly wiped it away, unfazed. He then pulled out a knife, its sharp edge gleaming under the dim light, and swiftly cut off one of the militant's fingers. The man howled in pain.

Zarkta's expression remained stoic. "We can do this all day, but I'm in a hurry. So, where's your hideout?"

The militant clenched his teeth, refusing to speak. "Kiss my ass!"

Zarkta, unperturbed, sliced off another finger, the militant's cries echoing through the room.

"Again," Zarkta demanded, his voice cold and emotionless.

Still, the militant remained resolute, unwilling to give up the location of the hideout. Zarkta's patience thinned, and he pulled out a magnum pistol, firing a single shot into the militant's left knee. The pain was immediate and excruciating, the man crying out in agony.

"If that wasn't enough," Zarkta said, a dangerous calm in his voice. He took the knife again, this time carving into the militant's right arm, slicing upward slowly to maximize the pain. The militant screamed in agony, but Zarkta didn't stop. He then drove the knife downward, into the man's right eye, blinding him and causing even more suffering.

When the militant opened his mouth to scream, Zarkta reached into his mouth, grabbed his teeth, and yanked them out. Blood poured from the man's mouth as he writhed in pain. His world was now one of unrelenting torment, and Zarkta seemed indifferent to it, his face showing no hint of satisfaction, only determination.

Zarkta grabbed the man's hair, yanking his head back, forcing him to face him. "The hideout. Where is it?" he demanded again, his voice a low growl.

Coughing up blood, the militant finally gave in. "I-it's... it's still i-in this region. Forty kilometers away... we—we were preparing to kill a commander... named 'Desert Tiger.' I—I swear that's all I know! Please, no more!"

Tears mingled with the blood on the militant's face, his body shuddering with the weight of the pain. Zarkta, satisfied with the information, released him and turned away. As he walked, he activated his comms, contacting his superior and relaying the militant's confession. Once the call ended, he spoke softly, not even looking back.

"Thank you for your cooperation."

The militant, weak and trembling, begged for mercy. "Please... I need a doctor... I'm losing blood..."

Zarkta's voice was flat, cold, and unyielding. "The doctor is already here... and this doctor is a bullet."

In a single fluid motion, Zarkta turned, pulling the magnum from his side and shooting the militant in the head. The man's body slumped, lifeless, his blood pooling on the ground. Zarkta stood over him for a moment, looking down at the body with disdain.

"Rot in hell, racist subhuman," he muttered, his voice thick with contempt. "Blue Cosmos shall be damned, never to be forgiven by the heavens for your evil racial deeds."

He turned and left the restaurant, closing the door behind him. Outside, he saw Andrew in a jeep, with Kira and Cagalli sitting in the back. The undercover ZAFT soldiers were on alert, their guns ready, watching Zarkta closely.

"Hey, Zarkta," Andrew called out, his voice casual but firm. "I'm just waiting for you so we can talk. Hope you don't mind joining us."

Zarkta didn't respond with words. Instead, he silently hopped into the jeep and sat beside Andrew. The vehicle started, and they drove off toward the Waltfeld residence, a place Zarkta had planned for a private conversation. But for him, this was no mere discussion—it was a negotiation. He intended to convince Andrew to surrender the region and the African Community to Salvatia. If Andrew and his people refused, Zarkta knew well the consequences—death by his hand, and the hands of the Salvatian military force.