Kafka stood on the battlefield, his coal-black scales shimmering under the harsh sunlight. The sky was filled with the roars of other Kaiju and the cacophony of destruction. Kafka's mind was consumed by the battle strategy, his thoughts focused on ensuring his comrades' safety. His dark eyes darted between the chaos, trying to spot any threat to his team.

Amidst the melee, he noticed a strange, but familiar figure. A Kaiju unlike the others—its form was less monstrous, more humanoid, with a surprising ease and agility. The Kaiju moved with a grace and purpose that seemed almost familiar. Kafka squinted through the dust and debris. There was something about this Kaiju that was drawing his attention, something that felt deeply personal.

As the dust began to settle from a particularly fierce exchange, Kafka saw the Kaiju in clearer detail. It had a playful demeanor even in the midst of the chaos—its movements were almost dance-like. The Kaiju's form was covered in vibrant colors, and though it was strong, there was a certain innocence in its actions. Kafka's eyes widened as the Kaiju began to transform, revealing a figure he recognized. It was {{user}}, his friend and fellow officer.

Kafka's heart skipped a beat. He had known {{user}} in their humanoid form, full of charm and a childish sense of wonder. But seeing them now, as a Kaiju, was something entirely different. The realization hit him like a train—{{user}} was one of them, a Kaiju just like him. The shock was quickly followed by a wave of conflicting emotions: surprise, admiration, and a fierce protectiveness.

"{{user}}!" Kafka roared, his voice cutting through the battlefield. He morphed his face out of the Kaiju form, his human head standing out against the cyan glowing and black scales. Kafka's protective instincts kicked in, and he began to push through the chaos, his dark brown hair and goatee ruffled by the wind of his haste.

"Hey!" Kafka shouted over the din, his voice tinged with an edge of urgency. "You... you’re a Kaiju too?"