The Monsters In Men: Pacific Rim [On Indefinite Hiatus]

Chapter 4: Old Wounds

Chapter 4: Old Wounds

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A deafening silence filled the changing room as Misha shrugged into some kind of dark rubber-like body stocking. It would insulate him within the dummy Drivesuit.

A Drivesuit was what a Jaeger Pilot wore into the actual Conn Pod, the Jaeger’s central control unit. However, since he would only be performing in a simulation, the dummy suit was more of a prop that would familiarize him, a trainee, how claustrophobic it can be, cooped up in a Drivesuit for hours.

He might as well feel claustrophobic now, Misha thought with some sarcasm. A few paces behind him, changing into his dummy Drivesuit underclothes as well, was Nathan Aguinaldo.

So, seven years.

Had it been that long?

His time at the Survivor Unit orphanage and rehabilitation center was like a stain at the back of his head, not really vibrant, not really fading. Misha remembered a boy who was his constant companion whenever he got tired of being lone wolf. Both boys had been loners from the very beginning, but somehow, Misha remembered being able to bear this boy’s company.

He had buried the memory a long time ago, replaced by fresh ones that came hand in hand with a set of emotions which his family slowly punctured into his head. His psyche.

As much as possible, stay away from the Aguinaldos, they had said. In fact, keep a good arm’s breadth away. A million miles, if it was even realistic. They had caused so much grief in the family, especially his forefather’s own family: his great, great grandaunt Espiridiona Bonifacio who had shed tears in painful silence as she grew grey and weak, reminiscing how much her brothers had suffered under Aguinaldo hands.

There was Troadio Bonifacio, his great, great grandfather, who had to immediately take the first ship to France once he had learned of his brothers’ execution. He had isolated himself from his clan for so long, and it took a while for his own scions to begin mingling again with the rest of the Bonifacios in the Philippines.

It was a history of darkness and deep-seated ache. The Bonifacios barely knew each other after the separation of their forebears, and when they did, it was helter-skelter. They were broken to the point of forever, and all because of an Aguinaldo.

They were collecting pieces of themselves, their identity, their place in the world, even as their name made a mark in history. It seemed exaggerated at first, but as Misha grew more and more acquainted with what remained of the clan, he felt a semblance of truth.

Misha frowned dismally. They were stories, all stories, which happened before he was born, and he couldn’t quite clamp the single puzzle piece into the whole picture—this puzzle piece being Nathan Aguinaldo, who had gone to his rescue as a helpless child, who had stayed by his side in the loneliest moments at the U.N. Manila Attack Survivor Unit.

That was Nathan then. He did not know the Nathan now.

Seven years could do a lot for you in many ways, in many altitudes.

The silence gradually throbbed into Misha’s head. He and Nathan were simply there on orders of Officers Gideon and McTeague, and the last thing they wanted to provide the good men of Jaeger Academy was insubordination.

They stood in under the chemical lights of the room, flexing fingers, not facing each other.

Then Misha heard Nathan speak.

“How’s the knee?” asked the young man. Misha flinched at the memory of him breaking his kneecap when he had bumped into Nathan all those years ago. The sinews of his right knee, even as the fracture healed, had become a bit weak, but not to cause any concern. Misha had been on crutches for nearly the entire time he was in the orphanage. He had paid little heed to his broken knee; he was too busy getting better in the head.