Steelborne

by Naitoshadou

Chapter One: Mistakes

Alowicious, known to many as “Owl”, veritably skipped up the stairs to the overcast grey building, filled with excitement at the thought of finally starting his first day at his dream job. Various technicians, mechanics, and soldiers streamed in and out of the doors, giving the blocky building more the impression of a busy mall than a military base. Regardless, Owl knew better. The building itself was home to the pride of the modern military: the Mechs, massive monstrosities of engineering. Covered in armor plating, wielding oversized firearms, paired with special equipment depending on their role, and piloted by the best trained in the armed forces, the fifteen-to-twenty foot behemoths were truly a force to be reckoned with.

Owl thought it an honor to be considered good enough to work on the titanic machines. He’d joined the military straight out of high school, hoping he’d get the chance to pilot one of the Mechs. Alas, it was not to be. His lackluster physical performance had gotten him washed out within a month, having never even been entrusted with holding a firearm.

However, his drill sergeant had seen something in him, an intelligence of sorts, and referred him to the technicians program. In Owl’s eyes, this was the next best thing. Technicians were responsible for working on the Mech software, including but not limited to the integrated AI that would help the pilots on the battlefield, helping them with calculations, suggestions, and input analysis.

Not that the AIs were particularly well designed or complex, but they got the job done. Additionally, they were responsible for running the tests and checks after missions, to make sure all systems were in working order. As such, Owl might even have a chance to get behind the wheel of a Mech, though he’d never see combat in one.

Unfortunately, his work as a techie reinforced his high school reputation as a bit of a geek. His knowledge of various Mechs, their loadouts, and their battlefield statistics had set him apart from the other pilot hopefuls, who were more concerned with the pilots and their somewhat celebrity like behind the scenes dramas. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d overheard giggly conversations about which pilot had slept with another, some of the pairings so outlandish he couldn’t imagine where his peers had gotten the concept from.

He shivered as a person brushed past his shoulder. He’d never liked it when people, or anything really, touched him. Still, his thick leather jacket, pressed against him by the weight of his laptop case, kept the worst from him, so it’s not like he could complain. The jacket was a relatively new addition, worn in the hopes it would offset the rest of his appearance and mitigate the teasing nickname he’d been stuck with since high school.

Yeah, like it’ll actually work. Even he had to admit, with his wide neck, heavy round glasses, and rectangular figure, he really did look like an owl. Still, his clothing choices of a basic grey tee underneath his jacket, as well as a pair of blue jeans, might earn him enough “cool cred” that people would give him a pass on the nickname this time around.

His musings came to an abrupt end when he nearly collided with a janitors cart. Shaken from his internal musings, he looked up to find he had at some point wandered through the front lobby of the disguised military facility and was now deep into the heart of the building. He also happened to be lost.

Wondering how he had managed to be let so far in without being stopped, he facepalmed as he realized his ID card was clipped onto the breast of his jacket. Security had probably just glanced at it, and had let him pass through once they saw the appropriate clearance marked on it. It wasn’t exactly their job to stop their own people from wandering about. Well, it would appear he now needed to find someone who could lead him out and back to the lobby; he could find his way to the technicians’ lab from there.

Unfortunately, there was the issue of a distinct lack of people nearby.
“Hello?” He called out into the dark and gloomy hallway. “Anyone there?”
Great, I’m both lost AND alone. Guess I’d better pick a direction and hope I stumble into somebody.

Deciding that keeping in the same direction would probably just get him further lost, he doubled back in the direction he assumed he came. Remembering an old story about a man and a labyrinth, whenever he came to an intersection he went right, figuring eventually he’d either run across someone who could help, or find his own way out.

He nearly walked right past the first door in his path. It blended in with the wall, seemingly invisible to the naked eye. The only reason he even realized it was there was the simple scanner protruding into the path. Swiping his ID across the front of the plastic case, it beeped to indicate he had permission, and the door slid to the side with a pneumatic hiss.

“Hello,” he immediately called into the room. “I’m new and kinda got lost. Any chance you…” He drifted off once he realized the room was filled with brooms and various cleaners.
“Great. And now I’m talking to myself in a broom closet.” Sealing the door again, he continued along.

Figures it would be a broom closet, his mind muses as he traverses the hall. Only thing people like seeing less than the janitor is where he keeps his tools. Chuckling to himself a little at the thought, his spirits lightened at the brief humor, only to be dashed once more as he recalled his predicament.

It wasn’t very long before he ran across another door. Unlike the last one, this one was clearly marked, a little ostentatious even. Blue lighting stripes ran up the frame, while the door itself was painted a dark grey, contrasting with the lighter grey of the hallway. One could tell that whoever, or whatever, was behind this door was important. Sighing, Owl ran his card over the scanner, expecting to be denied access. To his surprise, the door opened.

-----------------------

Aloe and Lotus were… annoyed, to say the least. The new pilot was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago, and his tardiness was beginning to reflect badly on them. Not that their CO wasn’t already upset, hence why they’d been put on the least desirable job in the room. Trying to deal with a cocky pilot was no place for a pair of technicians! They should be checking code, testing systems, anything but this. Catching another stink-eyed glare from their CO, their shrank a little further into the corner they’d decided to wait in.

Suddenly, with a hiss, the door opened, and in stepped a young man wearing what looked like pilot’s attire. Leather jackets were certainly popular amongst the jock-like group, as were the simple yet comfortable jeans that adorned the young man’s lower half. Seeing the chance to salvage their reputation, and maybe even their jobs, they glanced at each other, nodded, then pounced.

-----------------------

Owl was very confused. He’d only just entered the room when two women had him by the arms and were dragging him towards another door.

“Where have you been? You’re late!” one hissed, her vibrant pink hair a direct contrast to the other woman’s striking blue. “You know what, never mind. The story will just make us later.”

They reached the door, opened it, and dragged him inside. A simple locker room awaited, and without further ado they stripped him of his computer and jacket. The pink haired one opened one of the lockers and placed them gingerly inside.

“Um, I kinda need that!” Owl tried to move towards the locker, but the blue haired woman grabbed his arm again, bringing him to yet another door.

“Don’t worry. It’ll still be there once you’re done your test. Knock ‘em dead, pilot!”

“Pilot? Wait, I’m not a-woah!” He was silenced by the sudden motion of being flung through the doorway, which immediately sealed itself behind him. He pounded on the door a few times before surrendering with a sigh. Turning, he inspected the room he had been placed in.

He was on a walkway, suspended high above a massive hangar. Mechanics, IT, and support crew ran about like gnats below, finishing their various odd tasks. Across from the hangar from him was, of course, a seventeen foot tall, extremely powerful, Mech. He didn’t recognise this one in particular, which was surprising. Training to be a Mech techie, as well as being a wholesale Mech nerd in high school, he’d done his fair share of research on the various models developed by the military, and this one was certainly quite different.

Instead of the usual bland tan or gunmetal grey, this Mech was purple. Not a royal purple,
but a light, airy purple that vaguely reminded him of the petals of violets. Its weapon was certainly a Standard Issue Mech Assault Rifle, and its dock was in the usual position, holding the massive firearm at an angle across its back. However, it seemed to have additional systems that he’d never seen in his life, much less built into a Mech. On the top of its cockpit was some sort of prismatic crystal, its clear colourations and hard angles scattering light from overhead across the room in a multitude of colors.

Along its back, nestling the rifle between them, were two long outcroppings, looking like seeming nothing more than a rectangular bar slapped onto the Mech. However, on closer inspection he could see the bottoms had openings that seemed like outputs of some kinds. Perhaps an energy exhaust, or some sort of mobility tool? Without seeing the specs for this design, Owl couldn’t be sure. Finally, the entire Mech was seemingly covered in various sensors. Not the kind that stuck out from the Mech, but ones seemingly integrated between the thick plates of armour that protected the mechanical guts of the huge, headless machine.

Most interesting was its mark. Each Mech was assigned a unique mark that was painted onto its chassis. They were originally intended to allow differentiation between Mechs of similar model and coloration, but over time, it became just as much a way to express the personality of the pilot. In most recent years, the Mech’s assigned pilot would be the one who drew up the design and painted it on, though sometimes the military did so for them, usually in the case of prototype machines. That’s not to say the military was particularly creative about it; usually it’d end up be the silhouette of a gun or some other military trapping.

As such, it was abundantly clear this mark was not assigned by the military, but neither did it seem like something a pilot would choose. Usually the haughty soldiers behind the controls opted in favour of something “cool”, like a flame, or something personal to them, perhaps some trinket given to them by a loved one. Supporting the idea that this wasn’t a pilot’s design was the fact that the mark was seemingly worked into the metal as opposed to painted on top of a armor plate. The curved hemisphere of the Mech’s shoulder armor had the center of it wrought into the shape of a star, reddish pink in color and obviously accounted for in the design of the Mech. Owl wondered who on earth had been behind this Mech’s design...

He was shaken from his reverie by the sound of a shrieking alarm. Red lights were flashing, and the people below were scurrying for the exits. He waved his arms, hoping to maybe grab someone’s attention, but they were all rather distracted with a swift evacuation. Concerned that something was seriously wrong, he looked for a good place to take cover and wait it out. The door behind him was closed and sealed, and the walkway wasn’t the best in terms of cover, which left the mech. He ran to the end of the metal scaffolding, surprised to see the hatch was open, giving him access to the cockpit in the Mech’s torso. Not giving it too much thought, he climbed in, sealing the hatch behind him.

Taking his seat was rather natural to him now, courtesy of all the simulations he’d run over the course of his technician’s training. He smirked as he remembered one of his teachers’ favourite sayings.
“You can’t know how to work with a Mech until you’ve piloted one,” he said to himself, a ghost of a smile. Looking around, he knew exactly what controls did what. Yes, there were a couple things here and there he didn’t recognise, likely due to the unusual systems he’d seen, but most of it was still the same. After all, it’s not like they could easily change the control systems, or the visual interface, or the comms…

I’m such an idiot.

Owl wanted to smack his head into whatever was in front of him, but refrained on account of the fact he’d be essentially randomly pressing buttons inside a seventeen-foot machine designed to bring death to the battlefield. Of course there were comms! Pilots needed them to contact each other, and call back to home base. If he could use them to contact someone in the base, they could probably help him out of this mess. He reached out towards the switch that would turn on his mic…

And was cut off as the speakers built into the cockpit belted out a harsh, gruff voice. “Alright, you lolligagger. Your tardiness has cost us quite enough time, so I’ll skip the usual pleasantries. We’ll be dropping you into the testing area in about ten seconds. Try not to get yourself killed.”

-----------------------

Colonel Larson was frustrated. Pilots were the best, well trained and prepared extensively in the most difficult training the army had to offer. Unfortunately, the knowledge they were the best in the military tended to go to their heads, and this one seemed no different. Tardiness was unfortunately a common trait among them, in particular. They were nothing like they had been back when he commanded a Mech.

Back then, they’d been well trained, and certainly elite, but not elitist. They respected the power they held, and focused their efforts on the front lines. This new generation, however, were far too full of themselves for Larson’s tastes, and made him glad he’d given up his piloting days, having been promoted to overseeing the Mech program.

With a sigh, he thumbed the comm switch. “Alright, you lolligagger. Your tardiness has cost us quite enough time, so I’ll skip the usual pleasantries. We’ll be dropping you into the testing area in about ten seconds. Try not to get yourself killed.”

With his impromptu speech-slash-lecture concluded, he signaled the technician in the seat next to him to drop the Mech into the arena. “Let’s see how Sparkle handles her new pilot.” Larson turned to leave the operations booth, figuring he’d get a better view from the actual arena viewing area.

A malicious little thought crossed his mind, bringing out a cruel grin. He threw over his shoulder before the door shut behind him. “Oh, and bump up the test’s ability a bit. Wouldn’t want our pilots to become complacent.”

-----------------------

Owl’s stomach dropped out from under him as he felt the Mech start to move. Scrambling over the controls, he quickly ascertained that the Mech itself wasn’t moving. Instead, the floor underneath him was lowering, dropping him slowly into a cylindrical pit. A metal hatch slid closed above him, blinding him in darkness momentarily, before light strips along the length of the elevator illuminated. Soon enough, the elevator reached the bottom, leaving Owl staring down a dark hallway, illuminated at the end. The Mech’s enhanced sensors fed him data, giving him the impression that a large, coliseum style ring waited at the end of the passage.

Owl, by now thoroughly panicked, tried the comms, but found they couldn’t connect. Either being down the tunnel was blocking the signals, or someone had cut his comms for the “test”. Considering he was getting scans of the arena just fine, he considered the latter more likely. Carefully grasping the controls, he started the war machine lumbering slowly towards the glowing exit. Each massive purple foot raised up before slamming back to the concrete floor with a satisfying WHUMP, bringing Owl closer and closer to the lit exit. Just before he’d step beyond into the arena, his nerves overtook him and he pulled up, the Mech’s internal stabilizers adjusting to keep it from toppling over.

“Is everything alright, Pilot?” A smooth female voice rang out from the Mech’s inbuilt speakers.

Maybe I was just too far in the tunnel for comm connections! Owl jumped both at the sudden voice, and the hopeful thought that sprang to mind. He reached over and clicked the comms switch.

“Sorry Pilot, the comms were disconnected for the test. If you have questions, perhaps I can answer them?”

“Well, the first one that springs to mind would be: if my comms are off, who the hell are you?”

“I am this Mech’s onboard support AI. Who else would I be?”

“...Sorry, I must have misheard you. I thought you said you were this Mech’s AI.”

“No, you heard right. Twilight Sparkle, designated AI of Mech Twilight Sparkle. Nice to meet you.”

“Who-wha-how-huh-WHAT? That...that’s not possible. None of the AI’s I’ve ever worked on or with actually developed into anything close to you. Your vocals are cohesive, you seem to have personality, and you contacted me despite none of the usual ques for you to do so happening! You’re acting like a person!”

“Regardless, that is what I am. You seem extremely familiar with AI development for a pilot.”

The comment sobered Owl from his hysterics pretty quickly. “That...that’s because I’m not a pilot. I’m an technician who got dragged into all this by accident.”

“Oh. That’s bad. That’s very, very bad.” Owl could hear the worry in her voice, and that, in turn, worried him.

“Uhh...care to give a bit of context?”

“Let me put it to you this way. The only way out is to walk into an arena, where everything is going to try and kill us. With lots of bullets. And you haven’t been trained to survive it.”

“...Oh. Shit. That’s bad.”

“Still, there might be a way we can get out of this alive…”

-----------------------

Larson’s steel-capped boot tapped impatiently against the hardened glass window pane. It had been about fifteen minutes since they’d lowered the Mech into the arena, and the pilot had yet to leave the tunnel.

Fucking pilots. Think they can do whatever. I’ll be screaming this one’s ear off when this is over, I’ll tell you that much.

Cursing under his breath, the CO leapt to his feet as a fresh wave of irritation ran through him, intent to open up comms and loudly ask the pilot just what the fuck the matter was, but caught himself. Opening up comms would destroy the integrity of the test, as the entire point was to see how the pilot would do on their own. Muttering profanities under his breath, he settled back into his seat.

No sooner had his ass touched the rigid metal seat of the chair than he heard a soft, rhythmic thumping from down below. Larson gave out a annoyed snort. Finally. Those were the sounds of Mech footfalls, and judging from the pace, Mr. Tardy was pushing a full sprint. Maybe he’d get to see what this knucklehead had up his sleeve after all.

-----------------------

Owl ran Twilight straight out into the arena, kicking up a spray of sand off the floor as he skidded to a stop. Deftly flicking the controls, he brought the butt of the massive automatic rifle, already undocked and ready to roll, up to Twilight’s shoulder, her enhanced scanners feeding him data on his surroundings.

The initial feed had gotten it mostly right, but there were a few differences. While the model he’d seen earlier was just circular walls and a flat floor, Owl could see metal outcroppings jutting from the sand, flat and leaning. Obviously they were designed to be used for cover.

Still holding his weapon at the ready, he slowly walked her forwards into the arena, his heart trying to pound itself out of his ribcage. He reached the center before lowering it again. “Twilight? There’s nothing here. What’s going on?”

“Idiot, don’t lower your gun!” Twilights voice rang loudly through the cockpit. Taking the warning seriously, Owl snapped the gun back to ready position, but the damage was done. Before he could nestle the stock into Twilight’s shoulder, three turrets sprang up from the walls, one on each side and one in front of him, almost instantly snapping onto his position before they started hailing bullets upon him, riddling the front of Twilight's chassis with dents.

“Shit!” Owl quickly changed tactics. The bullets individually weren’t too bad, but with the number being spewed forth, he knew he couldn’t take fire for long. Slamming the controls, he leapt his Mech backwards, landing and sliding right next to one of the pieces of cover he’d noticed earlier. He took the opportunity to remove himself from the turrets’ lines of sight.

“Well, that didn’t go well.” Owl’s comment hung in the air.

“No, it didn’t. Though three is rather unusual to start. Someone must have bumped up the difficulty of the test.”

“More things going wrong, great. What should I do?”

“Take out the one on the right first. If you peek the right side of cover, you can get a bead on it without taking fire from the other two.”

“Alright.” Owl carefully maneuvered Twilight so he could just see the edge of the turret, before quickly sliding to the side, putting his entire target into view.

Once he had the reticle line up, he yanked back on the trigger, feeling the gun buck up and out of his control, spewing out a stream of bullets. Startled, he hastily let go of the trigger, stopping the barrage of rogue ammunition.

Unfortunately, the turret itself was unharmed, and the gunfire led to it unleashing another storm of bullets in Twilight and Owl’s direction. With a yelp, Owl eased his partner back out of sight.
“What the hell was that? You had the perfect shot, and you blew it!”

Owl felt his cheeks flush. “Hey, it’s not my fault! I pulled the trigger and this thing just went berserk!”

“That’s because you pulled the trigger, idiot. The yanking motion of you forcing back the trigger sent your aim off, and the recoil took it from there.”

“Well, if I’m not supposed to pull the trigger, what the hell am I supposed to do?” Owl’s voice had raised itself to a significant volume.

“Squeeze it. Tighten the entire hand, not just the trigger finger, and it’ll stay more accurate on the first round. Also…” A small rectangular pad on the board in front of Owl lit up, showing a holographic projection of the assault rifle. The model zoomed in, highlighting a small switch on the side in red. “Click this forwards one space. It’ll switch your weapon from automatic to burst fire.”

Owl took the suggestion gladly, manipulating the Mech’s metal fingers to move the switch forwards. To his surprise, the switch actually moved forwards two clicks.
“Hey, Twilight? It moved forwards two clicks. Is that right?”

“You’ve moved it to semi-automatic. Burst fire fires three bullets per trigger pull, semi-auto just fires one.”

“Then shouldn’t I use semi-auto? Keep up my ammo count?”

“If you were anyone else, maybe. But the delay between shots with semi-auto means it should be reserved for marksmen, and based on the display I just saw, you are not a marksman. Burst fire will give you a better chance at hitting your target.”

“Alright,” Owl clicked the switch back to the middle position, stung at the AI’s reminder of his fuck-up. “Let’s try this again.”

He slid back out from behind cover, lining up his shot again. This time, he purposely tried to avoid jolting the gun when firing, which paid off in dividends as three bullets soared true, punching through the turret’s outer armor and into its circuitry, decommissioning it. “One down, two to go.”

“Good shot, but don’t get cocky. Your angle won’t let you take either one of the remaining turrets out without getting hit by the other.”

Owl couldn’t help but feel a little warm and fuzzy inside at the praise. “Alright, then. Ideas?”

“Hit ‘em fast.”

Owl slid out with his gun raised, immediately feeling the pinging of bullets echo through the armor plating into the cockpit. Quickly as he could, he lined up his shot and squeezed. Two bullets slammed through the armor, while the third one winged the corner. Unfortunately for Twilight, the turret was still unleashing its unending deluge of rounds, forcing Owl to put another burst into it before it shut down.

Meanwhile, the final turret continued firing, forcing Owl to act quickly. He swiftly swished his weapon’s barrel over, pulling the trigger the second he thought he’d lined it up. Three bullets whisked to the left side.

“Line it up properly before you fire, numbskull. Otherwise it’s just a waste of time and bullets.”

“Fine.” Owl growled under his breath. He took a second to line up his shop properly before squeezing the trigger again. Every round slammed home, shorting out the final turret as its circuitry was annihilated.

With the threat removed, Owl piloted Twilight back out from cover, the battered Mech certainly dented and worse for wear, but intact. “That actually wasn’t so bad. Now, how do we get out of here?”

“Get out of here? That was only the first wave! We got two more to go before we’re in the clear!”

Almost like they’d been privy to Twilight’s comment, five more turrets extended themselves from their positions, and two new opponents appeared. Looking like Mechs, but significantly smaller, each one carried a assault rifle similar to the one in his Mech’s hands. Owl, unfortunately, recognized them, and the sight of them send a spike of fear into his heart.

Training bots, machines designed to emulate fighting an enemy Mech in combat. One was a decent challenge for an experienced pilot. Two was something he didn’t even want to think about facing without a team.

“Shit.”

-----------------------

The dark haired woman sat in the piloting seat of the unfinished Mech, hands resting on unresponsive controls as she felt out her stance. Deciding she’d seen enough, she leaned back in her comfy, yet durable, seat.

“The seat is too far back. The controls are too high up. Do it again.” She demanded of the cowering mechanics below.

One of them seemingly grew backbone, daring to stand up to her with a retort. “Ma’am, the cockpit was built to standard specifications, as you asked. If you don’t like it, that’s your problem.”

It turned out to be the last mistake he’d ever make. Faster than the eye could follow, the acid-eyes pilot drew her sidearm, promptly placing three rounds into the mechanic’s skull.

“I have waited too long, and fought too hard, to have this ruined for me by improperly spaced controls. You’ll do it again.” She shifted her aim to the remainder of the crew. “Unless anyone else has a problem with that?”

Murmuring, they scattered back to their tasks, disassembling the cockpit to please their mistress. Satisfied, the woman made her way to her office, built high into the underground hanger, and watched through the massive window that made up one of the four wall as the bugs below scurried about their days. She couldn’t help but laugh, the noise echoing off the cavernous walls.

It was good to be the queen of her own little hive.

Author's Note:

Alright, first chapter with our main protagonist. Don't worry, you'll meet the rest soon.

Hopefully you guys enjoyed the chapter. Please, if you notice any grammatical or spelling errors, point them out. I do try my best to catch them all, but some seem to slip past.

Also: due to this chapter releasing a bit early (there was an issue with the prologue that meant it needed to be released ASAP), there will be no update this Sunday.

Comments

[Alchemik]

First impressions leave me really disappointed this got cancelled. It's a really good mech story so far!