Within African Community region

In the African Community region, Kira and his companions arrived at Andrew Waltfeld's residence, a place under heavy ZAFT guard. The area bristled with security, with soldiers stationed at strategic points, their vigilant eyes scanning the surroundings. Waltfeld halted the jeep at the entrance, where armed guards stood ready at their posts, anticipating their arrival. Exiting the vehicle with his characteristic ease, he addressed the group.

"Please, come with me," he said casually, his tone disarming yet firm.

Kira hesitated, his instincts urging caution. "No, we really must be going," he replied, his voice tinged with urgency.

"There's no need to hurry, Kira," interjected Zarkta, the Salvatian inquisitor who radiated an aura of unsettling calm. Kira couldn't help but feel a mix of distrust and unease toward the enigmatic figure.

Zarkta's tone was firm but oddly reassuring. "After all, this gentleman has extended us an invitation. Besides, it would be rude to refuse when he's offering to help clean her up." He gestured toward Cagalli, who bore the remnants of their earlier meal—sauces and tea staining her clothes.

Waltfeld chuckled warmly. "Heh, you just took the words right out of my mouth. But yes, that's exactly it. Not only did I interrupt your meal and ask for your help, but I also can't let her leave in that state."

Zarkta nodded in agreement. "Indeed."

Climbing out of the jeep, Zarkta drew the attention of the ZAFT soldiers. Their gazes lingered on his imposing figure, clad in a sleek, dark armored suit that seemed pulled straight from the pages of a sci-fi novel. The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, their hands instinctively tightening around their weapons. His mere presence exuded danger, a stark contrast to Waltfeld's relaxed demeanor.

As the group was led inside, their eyes fell upon a strikingly beautiful woman waiting for them. She appeared youthful, her elegance immediately commanding attention. This was Aisha, Waltfeld's beloved. Kira and Cagalli couldn't hide their surprise, though Zarkta remained as inscrutable as ever.

"Is this the girl, Andy?" Aisha asked, her voice light and teasing as she addressed Waltfeld by his nickname.

Waltfeld gestured toward Cagalli with a faint smile. "Yeah. She's a mess—chili sauce, yogurt, tea—you name it. Can you help clean her up?"

Aisha approached Cagalli with a warm smile. "Oh my, you were enjoying kebabs, weren't you?" Her tone was playful, but Cagalli, clearly overwhelmed, remained silent, her wide-eyed expression reminiscent of a scolded child.

But Aisha's curiosity quickly shifted to Zarkta. Intrigued by his mysterious and commanding presence, she stepped closer, her genuine smile never wavering. "My, my, look at you, handsome. I wonder who you are underneath that helmet of yours?"

Zarkta's reply was curt and edged with menace. "My name is Zarkta."

"A strange name," Aisha mused, tilting her head. "And what should I know about you?"

"That you don't want to mess with me," Zarkta warned, his tone sharp and unyielding.

Unfazed, Aisha laughed softly. "Oh, please. There's no need for threats. I promise you'll enjoy the hospitality here." Her calm confidence diffused the tension, and she turned her attention back to Cagalli, gently guiding her toward the bathroom.

"Don't worry," she reassured Kira, who instinctively stepped forward. "We'll be done in no time."

Reluctantly, Kira let her go, though his concern lingered. Zarkta's firm hand on his shoulder ensured he didn't follow.

Once Aisha and Cagalli disappeared, Waltfeld motioned for Kira and Zarkta to join him in another room. Inside, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted them. Three cups awaited on the table, a subtle gesture of goodwill amid the undercurrents of tension.

Andrew Waltfeld casually making three cups of coffee, a faint smile on his face. "I have great confidence in my coffee," he remarked, his voice carrying an air of pride.

Kira shifted uncomfortably, his gaze wandering to the brightly lit windows. The silence from Zarkta, who stood like a sentinel in his dark armor, added an unspoken tension to the room.

"Come on, boys," Waltfeld urged, gesturing to the seats around the room. "Make yourselves at home."

Zarkta's attention, however, was drawn elsewhere. His gaze fixed on an artifact atop the fireplace. Kira noticed it as well and stepped closer, his curiosity piqued by the object—a fossilized stone bearing the image of what appeared to be a whale skeleton.

"Evidence 01," Waltfeld declared, his tone carrying a hint of reverence. "Have you ever seen the real thing before?"

Kira hesitated, but Zarkta stepped forward, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "If it's a real fossil, it might belong to an alien creature that died out."

Waltfeld chuckled, his eyes narrowing slightly as he gestured toward Zarkta's imposing suit. "Heh. That's a fascinating thought, coming from someone dressed like a character out of a sci-fi novel."

Pointing at the fossil, he added, "I still don't get why they call this a whale stone. Does it look like a whale to you?" He handed a cup of coffee to Kira, who reluctantly accepted it.

"Well," Kira stammered, "I can't really be sure."

"What about you, armored guy?" Waltfeld pressed, turning to Zarkta.

Zarkta's helmeted head tilted slightly as he scanned the fossil with his advanced sensors. "It could be some kind of alien creature resembling a whale. But I can't determine exactly what it is."

Waltfeld took a sip of his coffee, his expression contemplative. "No matter how you look at it, these look like wings. Whales don't have wings, do they?"

"Well, no," Kira admitted. "But it's supposed to be proof that Earth was visited by extraterrestrial creatures, so..."

"Perhaps a very long time ago," Zarkta interjected, "before they decided to leave Earth behind."

"Seems like it," Waltfeld mused. "If they're real, it would mark the first time humanity encountered an extraterrestrial race."

Zarkta's thoughts drifted. To humans, whether Naturals or Coordinators, he and his kind were the true aliens. Yet, no one in this room knew that truth.

"But my point is," Waltfeld continued, breaking the silence, "why call it a whale?"

Kira glanced at Zarkta, then shrugged. "What would be a better name for it?"

Zarkta's response was curt. "Don't ask me. I've got no suggestions for naming fossils."

Waltfeld laughed softly. "Nothing comes to mind, huh? By the way, how's the coffee?"

Kira hesitated, unsure how to respond to someone who was technically an enemy, yet seemingly at ease.

Waltfeld, unbothered by the silence, turned to Zarkta. "What about you? Care for some coffee? I made it for you."

Zarkta regarded the cup in Waltfeld's hand before finally taking it.

"You know," Waltfeld added, smirking, "you could drink it if you take that thing off your head."

Zarkta remained silent, his expression hidden beneath the helmet.

As they settled onto the couches, Waltfeld leaned forward, his tone shifting. "As enjoyable as this is, it's also troublesome."

"Troublesome?" Kira echoed, his curiosity piqued.

"Don't you think?" Waltfeld replied, swirling the coffee in his cup. "This fossil created all this hope... or possibility."

Zarkta's voice cut in, calm but firm. "Hope can be a delusion, born from self-interest and destined to disappoint."

Waltfeld raised an eyebrow. "You've got a rather negative take on things."

"Sometimes, the truth is negative," Zarkta replied, his arms crossed.

Waltfeld chuckled. "Truth or not, it seems like you don't care for people like that."

"I have my reasons," Zarkta said coldly. "Reasons I'm not obliged to share."

Kira started to speak but faltered. "But if something's bothering you—"

"Hey, kid," Waltfeld interrupted, his tone firm. "Don't push it. Everyone has their reasons, and not all of them are meant to be shared."

Kira fell silent, unable to argue.

"Anyway," Waltfeld continued, "what I'm saying is, people can go further. That's how this war got started."

Zarkta's thoughts darkened. A war based on genetic purity. A poison that has infected every mind.

Before anyone could say more, a knock came at the door. Aisha's voice called out, "Andrew."

The door opened, revealing Aisha with Cagalli in tow. Cagalli wore a stunning outfit that left her blushing furiously. Aisha pushed her into the room, her smile warm and encouraging.

Kira's reaction was awkward. "A... girl?"

Really, boy? Zarkta thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes beneath the helmet.

Cagalli's blush deepened as she snapped, "How dare you?!"

"N-No!" Kira stammered, flustered. "I was just saying you reminded me that you're a girl!"

"That's the same thing!" Cagalli yelled, her tone indignant.

Waltfeld and Aisha burst into laughter at the exchange, while Zarkta allowed himself a quiet chuckle.

...

Blue Cosmos Secret Base

Within a region of African Community

In a remote region of the African Community, the Blue Cosmos militants operated with confidence, bolstered by weapons and military vehicles secretly funneled to them by the Atlantic Federation. Their support came from sympathizers within the military, and their influence extended deep into political circles, allowing them to rally others who shared their extremist views. They believed their mission—to purify the world by eradicating Coordinators, whom they saw as a violation of natural order—was righteous and just.

Dressed in a haphazard combination of military-grade body vests and helmets emblazoned with the Blue Cosmos insignia, the militants lacked a formal uniform. Instead, they wore civilian clothes, blending anonymity with zealotry. Their resolve was unwavering as they prepared to launch an attack on a small nearby town, aiming to spread their hateful ideology by targeting the African Community collaborators they deemed traitors.

Their plans, however, were violently disrupted. Without warning, eight Salvatian Strikewings, concealed in cloaking mode, descended upon the base at breakneck speed. Plasma rockets streaked from the skies, raining destruction on the militants below. Explosions erupted across the compound, scattering debris and body parts in every direction, reducing the once-bustling base to chaos.

Before the militants could recover, a large force of Black Death Legion swept in with overwhelming precision. Death Troopers equipped with hover boots surged forward, wielding handler blades with deadly efficiency. Their movements were so swift and calculated that the militants had no time to react, their lives snuffed out in a blur of flashing steel.

The Legion's mecha frames—Forsakers, Turquin Knights, and Blitzpawn Cannons—engaged the enemy's military vehicles. Plasma bolts and explosive projectiles shattered the vehicles with devastating force, leaving smoldering wreckage in their wake. The militants, now stripped of their armored support, were driven back to the relative safety of the base's interior.

One of the Blitzpawn Cannons trained its massive weapon on the structure's main entrance, firing a shell that obliterated the door and blasted a gaping hole through the wall. Dust and debris clouded the air as Legion infantry poured into the breach, their mission clear: eliminate any remaining Blue Cosmos operatives and ensure the base's destruction.

The Blue Cosmos militants crouched behind makeshift cover, their eyes widening in terror as the ominous silhouettes of Death Troopers approached. In desperation, they unleashed a volley of suppressive fire, but their bullets ricocheted harmlessly off the Death Troopers' energy-shielded combat harnesses and hardened armor. The assault squad, bolstered by Heavy Death Troopers wielding arcane bolter assault rifles and arcane bolt rifles, retaliated with brutal precision. Each explosive arcane round ripped through the militants, leaving carnage in its wake. The Legion advanced relentlessly, mowing down their opponents with an unyielding efficiency that reduced the defenders to little more than cannon fodder.

Deeper within the building, the remaining Blue Cosmos operatives faced a grim realization: they were hopelessly outmatched. Their leader, Faramir Raines, stood amidst the chaos, barking orders with desperation etched into his face.

"Damn those bastards!" Faramir growled, his voice heavy with frustration. "How did they know where we are?"

Ivor Blake, his right-hand man, glanced nervously at the carnage around them. "I have no idea, boss. Maybe someone spilled the beans."

Faramir's face darkened with fury. "That stupid bastard ratted us out!" His fist slammed against the nearest surface. "We can't keep fighting this crusade against Coordinators if we're dead. We need to escape!"

"Yes, sir. Follow me!" Blake responded swiftly, taking the lead as the two men, along with four surviving militants, weaved through the blood-soaked corridors. Behind them, the sounds of death and destruction echoed as Legion infantry continued their merciless advance.

Bursting through a side door, they reached the open air, their eyes falling on a lone jeep parked nearby. Hope flickered briefly—until it was extinguished in an instant. The jeep erupted into flames, consumed by a direct hit from a Forsaker wielding a Fireball Bazooka.

Their escape route obliterated, Faramir and his group turned to find themselves surrounded. Legion infantry encircled them, their weapons trained on the ragged survivors with unwavering precision.

A Forsaker, his voice cold and mechanical through his optical speaker, stepped forward. "Drop your weapons and surrender."

Defeated, Faramir and the others hesitated before letting their weapons clatter to the ground. Reluctantly, they raised their hands in surrender. Death Troopers moved in swiftly, forcing the captives to their knees. The haunting visage of the Death Troopers' armor sent chills through the Blue Cosmos militants, their fear palpable as they knelt in submission.

The Legion Captain strode forward, his presence commanding and menacing. He stopped before Faramir, his piercing gaze boring into the militant leader. "Are you the leader?"

Faramir sneered, his defiance flickering through the fear. "Like I'd tell you anything, you freak."

The Captain's glowing blue eyes scanned him, confirming his identity without the need for further words. "I bet you are," the Captain said coldly. "Take him into custody."

"Yes, sir." A Death Trooper hauled Faramir to his feet, ignoring his enraged shouts and futile demands for release as he was dragged away.

The Captain turned his attention to Ivor Blake and the remaining militants. "Execute them."

The words struck like a thunderclap. Horror painted their faces as the gravity of the order sunk in.

"What?!" Blake stammered, his voice rising in desperation. "You can't! You can't do this!"

His protests fell on deaf ears as the Death Troopers opened fire. Arcane rounds tore through the captives, silencing them in an instant. Their lifeless bodies slumped to the ground, blood pooling beneath them.

Without hesitation, a Death Trooper armed with a flamethrower stepped forward, igniting the corpses. Flames roared, consuming the remains until nothing but ash lingered.

As the flames died down, the Legion's mecha frames unleashed their weaponry on the structure, obliterating it into rubble. With their mission complete and the Blue Cosmos' operation eradicated, the Legion forces departed, leaving behind only destruction and silence.

...

Cagalli sat on the couch, her new dress a striking contrast to her usual attire, while Kira and Zarkta flanked her. Across from them, Waltfeld sipped his coffee leisurely, his demeanor relaxed as he struck up a conversation.

"That dress looks very nice on you," Waltfeld remarked, his tone light but observant. "It seems like you're quite accustomed to dressing like that."

Cagalli glanced at him, her voice steady as she replied, "Say what you want," before taking a sip from her own cup.

Zarkta remained silent, his arms crossed as he observed the exchange without comment.

Waltfeld leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "If you didn't talk, you'd be the perfect woman."

Cagalli lowered her cup, her gaze sharp as she retorted, "Well, I'm finding it hard to believe that you're the Desert Tiger." Her tone shifted, becoming serious. "Why are you going around making people wear dresses? Is this more of your fun and games?"

Waltfeld chuckled, unbothered by her question. "Aisha chose that dress, not me. I'm not sure what you mean by fun and games."

Cagalli's glare deepened as she leaned forward slightly. "Going out in the city disguised, or having residents evacuate a town before burning it. That's what I mean." Her words carried a bitter edge, referencing the near-destruction of a town by ZAFT mobile suits under Waltfeld's command—an atrocity only stopped by Zarkta's intervention.

Waltfeld studied her for a moment, his expression softening. "You've got nice eyes. Sincere. Very nice eyes." His calm, genuine tone unnerved her, and she slammed her hands onto the table in frustration.

"Don't trifle with me!" she snapped, her voice rising.

"Cagalli," Kira said gently, trying to steady her.

Waltfeld's demeanor shifted as he observed her reaction. "Are you another one of those who would rather be dead?" His words cut through the room, drawing shocked gasps from Cagalli and Kira.

He turned his attention to Kira, his gaze piercing. "What about you? What do you think?" he asked pointedly. "What do you think needs to be done for this war to end, as a mobile suit pilot?"

Kira's face froze, the accusation catching him off guard. Cagalli's voice broke through the tension, sharp with alarm. "Hey! How do you know that?"

Waltfeld ignored her, a chuckle escaping his lips as he rose from the couch. "Being too sincere can be a problem," he said with a cryptic smile, walking toward his desk.

Sensing danger, Kira took Cagalli's hand, pulling her protectively behind him. Zarkta remained seated, his arms still crossed, unbothered by the growing tension.

"There are no points given, no regulation time in a war, unlike in sports," Waltfeld continued, his tone philosophical.

Cagalli gripped Kira's arm, her unease mounting as Waltfeld's words grew heavier.

"So, how are winners and losers determined? At what point do we put an end to it?" he asked, turning back toward them.

"At what... point?" Kira echoed, his voice uncertain.

"When every single enemy has been destroyed?" Waltfeld's voice dropped, and in one fluid motion, he pulled a gun and aimed it at them.

Cagalli froze, her breath catching as the room seemed to close in. Kira's eyes darted around, scanning for any means of escape, his instincts sharpening under the weight of the threat.

Meanwhile, Zarkta remained motionless on the couch, his composure unbroken as the tension in the room reached its peak.

The tension in the room was palpable as Waltfeld's voice broke through. "You'd be wise not to try anything stupid. Even if you are a berserker, you won't be able to force your way out of here."

Kira tilted his head, confused. "Berserker?"

Waltfeld smirked. "Every one of us here is the same as you. We're Coordinators."

The revelation struck like a thunderbolt. Cagalli's eyes widened in shock as her gaze darted to Kira, who stood stiffly behind her. His clenched jaw and gritted teeth betrayed his struggle to maintain composure.

"You're..." Cagalli barely managed to stammer, her voice trembling with disbelief. Her wide-eyed expression was met by silence until Zarkta's calm, cutting voice shattered the unease.

"And what of it?" Zarkta said, his tone even, his arms still crossed as he remained seated on the couch.

All heads turned to him. Waltfeld, Kira, and Cagalli regarded him with varying degrees of surprise and curiosity.

"It doesn't change anything," Zarkta continued. "Natural, Coordinator—it doesn't matter. What does matter is their potential, whether they contribute to societal progress or prove their strength through merit on the battlefield."

Waltfeld raised a brow, intrigued. "Ah, Zarkta... I see you're unfazed, as always. Especially for someone who hides his face behind a helmet." He turned his gun away from Kira and Cagalli, now pointing it at Zarkta. "You're a professional. I respect that. The way you tore through those poor Blue Cosmos fools, slicing them apart with that glowing sword of yours... a killer without morality, without hesitation. Quite a spectacle, don't you think?"

Zarkta's visor reflected Waltfeld's smirk, but his posture remained unmoved. "Is that so?" he asked, standing slowly and squaring his shoulders.

Waltfeld's curiosity deepened. "You've piqued my interest. You're not just skilled; you're equipped with technology even Coordinators can't decipher. That armor, that infantry-sized beam sword—impressive. So, tell me, Zarkta. What's your answer to my question?"

"What question?" Kira interjected nervously. "What are you doing, Zarkta?"

Ignoring him, Zarkta replied to Waltfeld with deliberate precision. "You asked: 'How are winners and losers determined? At what point do we put an end to it? When every single enemy has been destroyed?' I'll give you my answer."

The room fell silent, save for Zarkta's steady voice. "Coordinators were created to advance humanity—to push it toward a golden age of intellect and progress. But Naturals, driven by fear and envy, despise us. They see us as mutants, threats to their so-called purity, and would rather eradicate us than accept the potential for a better future. Their fear bred groups like Blue Cosmos, hate-fueled extremists clinging to a delusion of a pure humanity. It's pathetic."

Waltfeld nodded, stroking his chin. "Poetic. But how do you propose ending this war?"

Zarkta's reply was cold and direct. "Democracy and dictatorship are both failures. One is corrupt by design, always cycling through leaders who prioritize their own interests. The other stifles progress under the iron grip of a single ruler. My leader, Xavier Salvador, understands this. His vision transcends these outdated systems."

Kira and Cagalli exchanged confused glances as Zarkta continued. "To achieve peace, we must dismantle both sides—the Earth Federation and ZAFT, along with the extremists like Blue Cosmos. Only then can Naturals and Coordinators coexist without the shadow of war. Xavier's plan is the only path forward."

Waltfeld let out a low whistle. "Impressive. Your leader, Salvador, you said? Quite the ambition he has. But tell me, what makes you think he can win? And more importantly, who are you, really?"

The room fell into a heavy silence as Zarkta's visor gleamed under the light. His voice, steady and unwavering, cut through the air. "I am a soldier of Xavier Salvador's personal armed force—the Black Death Legion."

Waltfeld's lips curled into a sly smile. "The Black Death Legion, huh?"

A sudden explosion echoed from outside, shaking the room. Cagalli spun around, her voice sharp with alarm. "What was that?"

Before anyone could respond, Aisha burst through the door, her face pale with urgency as she ran toward Waltfeld. "Waltfeld! We're under attack!"

Waltfeld frowned, disbelief flashing across his face. "Under attack? There's no way—"

Zarkta, already standing near the window, cut him off with a calm yet commanding tone. "Look outside."

The others hurried to join him, their eyes widening in shock at the scene unfolding below. ZAFT mobile suits were being obliterated by sleek mecha fighters descending from the skies, their anti-gravity systems allowing them to land gracefully before unleashing chaos. Energy melee weapons and arcane heat blades sliced through ZAFT mobile suits, while hypersonic mana bazookas and mana beam bazookas unleashed devastating firepower. Vehicles and soldiers were annihilated with brutal efficiency, leaving no time for a counterattack.

The Lesseps-class land battleship became the next target, its formidable frame succumbing to merciless destruction as the Black Death Legion's mecha fighters tore through it with surgical precision. Aisha gasped, her hands trembling as she witnessed the massacre. Kira and Cagalli stood frozen, their expressions mirroring her horror. One of the Blackguards, wielding a heavy PR-55X electron-phased plasma rifle, mercilessly gunned down the remaining ZAFT soldiers and mobile suit pilots before they could even reach their machines.

Amid the chaos, Zarkta stepped forward, drawing his energy sword with a menacing hum. The red blade ignited, stopping mere inches from Waltfeld's throat. The room went silent as the others recoiled in shock.

"Commander Waltfeld," Zarkta began, his voice cold and unwavering, "also known as the Desert Tiger. I've come with my forces, and you must surrender if you value your life. My leader has been generous enough to offer you and your people mercy as prisoners of war. If you comply, you'll be treated fairly." He paused, his helmeted gaze narrowing. "As for you and your lover, I have a proposal."

Waltfeld swallowed hard, his voice unsteady. "W-What kind of proposal?"

Zarkta's tone turned sharp. "Not only will you surrender, but you will join our campaign. The African Community will fall under our control, and its forces will cease resistance immediately. Even now, the same group that attacked you in town has been dealt with. My people have already captured the Blue Cosmos leader."

Cagalli's eyes widened. "Wait, what?"

Kira stepped forward, his voice shaking. "Hold on! Is that really true?"

Zarkta turned his head toward him, his tone dismissive. "Believe me, the ZAFT forces in this region have already been neutralized. The territories they once occupied are now under our control. The civilians living here will continue their lives without fear, under our protection. Only our enemies will know fear." He leaned closer to Waltfeld, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Let me make one thing clear: the Black Death Legion shows no mercy, especially to those we deem racist subhumans."

Waltfeld's resolve crumbled under the weight of Zarkta's words. His hands shook as he dropped his gun to the floor, raising his arms in surrender. Aisha followed suit, her face etched with resignation. "Well," Waltfeld muttered, his tone bitter, "I surrender. It seems you've planned this out thoroughly. How on earth did you manage this?"

Zarkta stepped back, extinguishing his energy sword. "It's simple. I contacted them. Now, this region, along with the entire African Community, is under our control. My people will ensure the civilians are well cared for." He turned to Kira, his voice firm. "Your Archangel will be allowed safe passage out of Africa without fear of ZAFT forces pursuing you. However, there may still be those who resist. You should inform your captain of this."

Kira stood speechless, his mind reeling. The brutal efficiency of Zarkta's forces and their swift domination of the region left him in stunned disbelief. As the realization sank in, he felt a growing unease about Zarkta and his leader, Xavier Salvador. Their methods were ruthless, their motives shrouded in controversy. The memory of Zarkta's merciless slaughter of the Blue Cosmos militants lingered in Kira's mind, haunting and terrifying. He resolved to watch Zarkta closely, determined to uncover his true intentions.

That day marked a turning point in the war. The African Community, overwhelmed by the Black Death Legion's superior firepower and strategy, fell under Salvatia's control without significant resistance. The region was transformed into the Magistrate State of Northern Africa, with High Magistrate Varlak Mathdoran assuming leadership. As preparations began for Xavier Salvador's massive fleet to arrive, the once-fragmented land awaited its uncertain future under the iron grip of Salvatia's rule.