Steelborne

by Naitoshadou

Chapter 4: Pilots

Tank was awoken by a rapid knocking on his room’s heavy steel door. Grumbling, he shifted his massive six-foot-three frame out of bed, making his way to the keypad before punching in the code. The door slid open to reveal the diminutive frame of the base’s most excitable, and annoying, pilot, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“You said yesterday you’d spar with me tomorrow, and now it’s tomorrow! Let’s go!” Angel’s enthusiasm was not so welcome to Tank’s sleep-fogged mind. Yawning, he closed the door, letting it slide shut with a pneumatic hiss in the smaller pilot’s face.

Tank turned, making his way back to bed for another hour of sleep. After all, he didn’t have any official training exercises for a good three hours. Before he’d gotten three steps away, the loud, repetitive knocking resumed. Tank rolled his eyes: when Angel wanted something, you either gave it to him, or were driven insane by his pestering. Changing course, he made his way to his closet to get changed.

A few minutes later, Angel’s knocking finally stopped as the door slid open again, allowing Tank to step into the hall, having traded in his nightwear for a tank top and sweatpants. “Breakfast first.”

Angel shook his head violently. “You said we’d train, not get breakfast. Breakfast is boring.”

Tank let out a sigh. “Fine.”

With that, Angel shot off like a rocket, racing down the hall towards the weight room provided for pilots, leaving Tank to slowly make his way down the same route. The larger pilot rolled his eyes in annoyance: Angel rarely thought anything through. He’d probably be worn out before they even began. Sure enough, it wasn’t too long before Tank found his fellow pilot, panting and leaning heavily against a wall a few corridors down.

“This is what happens when you sprint everywhere, Angel. If you’re going to be fighting, slow and steady will probably get you there in better shape for the match.” Tank didn’t hesitate as he passed by. The smaller pilot really did need to learn some restraint.

Tank opened the door as he had a thousand times before. To his surprise, despite the early hour, the weight room was already occupied.

Hanging from a pull-up bar was Gummy, easily identifiable by his buzzed hair and creepily unblinking purple eyes. His slight frame and rounder face revealed his age of a mere sixteen, while his muscular frame spoke to many years of training. A large scar on Gummy’s neck stood out against his grey tank top, a sign of some past trauma, though whether from an early mission, a training accident, or some part of his childhood life, Tank didn’t know. He’d always wanted to ask about it, but in the three months he’d been stationed here, the young pilot had never deigned to respond to his casual greetings or attempts to initiate a conversation.

Something about Gummy bothered Tank, and it took him a moment to determine what. It was his actions, or rather, a lack thereof. While he was indeed hanging from a pull-up bar, that was all he was doing: hanging. No strain to lift his chest to the bar, no bending or flexing of joints. He just hung there, feet dangling off the floor, staring at the room in silence. If it had been anyone else, Tank probably would have been worried, but then, Gummy had always been an odd duck.

A series of grunts drew Tanks attention to the other side of the room, where a woman, brown hair tied up in a ponytail, pounded against a heavy training bag, throwing technique aside in favour of what appeared to be sheer force. Frowning at the improper technique, Tank made his way over to her, trying to get a better angle of her form so he could figure out what she was trying to accomplish. As he got closer, it became increasingly obvious she wasn’t training, she was taking her frustrations out on the punching bag.

Suddenly, with a roar, she lashed out with her right fist, sending the bag flying away from her. As if flew, the chain went taut, pulling the bag swinging back towards her. She reared back, raising her left fist for another devastating punch. As she did, Tank stepped in, bracing his shoulder against the heavy weight and shifting his stance, slowing the momentum. Her fist flew just under his arm, hitting the bag and nearly sending it from his grasp. He tightened his grip, slowing the bag till it barely swung, before releasing it.

“What the hell are you doing?” The low, growling from behind him dripped with anger, sending a shiver up his spine. He turned to find a dark expression, glaring at him with undiluted rage. He immediately felt every bit of confidence dissipate under that piercing gaze.

“Well, you hit the bag too hard. If you’d hit it again with it moving at that speed, you could have been hurt…” His tall stature didn’t keep him from feeling smaller than a mouse. All he wanted to do was crawl away and hide, but there was a distinct lack of hiding places in the utilitarian space.

Her eyes somehow narrowed even further. She lashed out, her right fist flying so quickly he didn’t even see it until is had crashed into his face, sending him reeling. Tank recovered quickly, but doubled over as her knee planted itself in his stomach, causing his breath to leave him.

She didn’t stop there. She brought up both hands, clasping both hands together into a heavy fist before bringing it down on his back, driving him to the floor. As he lay gasping on the ground, she knelt down by his head, turning it so he looked straight into her eyes.

“I don’t need you to protect me.” The stench of alcohol blasted his face, carried by her breath as she literally looked down at him.

With that, she stood, turned, and walked away. As Tank watched, she made her way towards the door. Just before she left, she stopped, reached into her jean jacket, pulling out a canteen. She deftly popped the cap and took a long swig of the contents, before returning the container to its pocket and continuing on her path.

Tank rolled over onto his back, staring up at the honestly rather bland ceiling while he tried to catch his breath. A couple minutes passed, before suddenly his view of the roof was blocked by a familiar face.

“Need a hand?” Angle reached down, hand outstretched in an offer of help.

Clasping the smaller man’s hand, Tank pulled, but only succeeded in bringing Angel down on top of him. Shrugging the other pilot aside, he rolled back onto his stomach before climbing his way back to standing. Turning, he saw his companion had done the same, and was now dusting himself off.

“So, do I even want to know how you ended up on the ground?” Angel’s voice seemed casual, but the question itself froze Tank in his tracks. His cheeks flushed a little at the memory as he answered.

“A woman was hitting the punching bag improperly. I stepped in to keep her from hurting herself, and she beat me to a pulp.” Once again Tank felt the desire to find some nice, quiet space and hide. He expected Angel to laugh at his predicament, and was not disappointed.

Once Angel had cleared his system of amusement, his demeanour shifted to one unexpectedly more serious. “Brunette, hair tied back in a ponytail and wearing a jean jacket?”

Tank was caught off guard. Since they’d been assigned here three months ago, he’d made it a point to try to get to know as many people as possible, though clearly he’d not met everyone quite yet. What he’d never expected was Angel to be familiar with someone he wasn’t, as the smaller pilot tended to hang out at clubs and parties around town as opposed to the base when not running drills.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“That was Winona. Showed up about a week ago as a new pilot. Does not like people.” Angel shrugged. “She’s definitely hot though.”

Tank sighed internally, finally figuring out how Angel knew her. “You asked her out when she showed up, didn’t you.”

Angel face broke into a grin. “Mayyyybe.”

Tank rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, she shot you down.”

“Forcefully. But hey, you win some, you lose some, eh?” Angel bumped hit elbow into Tank’s side, setting off a fresh wave of pain.

Groaning, Tank’s clutched his side, staggering his way over to one of the bench presses and taking a seat, waiting for the pain to pass. Angel followed, a concerned expression on his face. “You okay?”

“Yeah. She hit me pretty hard, though. I don’t think I’ll be doing any exercise today.” Tank gently massaged his aching gut, waiting for it to subside.

Angel’s eyes widened. “Does that mean no sparring?”

Tank rolled his eyes. Of course Angel would be more worried about beating him. He’d been practically obsessed with the idea ever since Tank had scored higher on his physicals on his entrance exams. Despite his...enthusiasm, he’d still never beaten Tank in any of their many matches since. Honestly, Tank sometimes was in awe at the smaller pilots sheer stubbornness in continuing to challenge him. “Well, I’m certainly not going to be your opponent, so unless you can find another partner, then you’re out of luck.”

Angel’s head swiveled from side to side, beforequickly locking on the sole other occupant of the room. “What about him?” Angel pointed directly at Gummy, who still hung from his bar, having not moved through the duration of Tank’s beating.

Tank was surprised at his immediate change in focus. He’d rather assumed the point of Angel wanting to spar was to beat him, but apparently any partner would do today. “I mean, I guess you could, but you’d need to ask him first, and even then I wouldn’t—”

“OkayThanksBye!” Angel cut off Tank’s concerns, rushing over to see if his prospective opponent would be interested in a match.

Tank sighed, settling back to watch the show. Despite Gummy’s age and appearance, he was actually one of the most experienced pilots on base, having run several missions over his six years of service. These were facts Angel, who didn’t really care about anyone he didn’t think could propel his reputation, probably didn’t know. Facts that Tank knew he’d learn rather swiftly...and painfully.

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

Angel’s excitement was bolstered by the chance to spar. He might not be Tank, but any sparring was a chance to improve, even if he just crushed his opponent right out of the gate. After all, his opponent couldn’t be that strong. He was just a shrimp, and a kid at that!

Marching up to Gummy, Angel immediately began his pitch. “Hey, would you be interested in…” He trailed off as he realized Gummy wasn’t looking at him. In fact, he’d not moved at all, seemingly unaware he was being addressed by another being.

Angel looked quizzically back at Tank, looking for some explanation for being ignored. Tank’s response was a simple shrug, looking just at bewildered at the situation as Angel felt. He tried again, snapping his fingers right in front of the other pilot’s unblinking purple eyes. Nothing.

What the hell is wrong with this guy?

One last try. Inhaling, he brought his face right up into Gummy’s, yelling, “HEY, YOU!”

“Gummy.” Tanks voice floated over his shoulder. Confusedly, Angel turned, staring back at the much larger pilot, who elaborated: “His name is Gummy.”

“Gummy? Odd name…” Angel felt a tapping on his shoulder. Turning he found himself face to face with those large, piercing purple eyes. Startled, he took step back, giving himself a modicum of personal space.

“Woah, uh...Gummy?” Angel wrangled his response under control, quick as a bunny. Gummy just stared at him, unblinking. “Are you okay?” The smaller pilot finally made a response, nodding his head once in affirmation.

Thoroughly confused, but still interested in making the kid his opponent, Angel pushed forwards. “Would you mind sparring with me?”

Gummy waved his hand generally in Tanks direction, cocking his head to the left. Following the other pilot’s gesture, Angel figured Gummy was probably asking why he didn’t spar with Tank.

“He got hurt earlier, so he can’t spar today. Would you be interested?” Angel explained, tucking his hands into his pockets. If he was facing Tank, he’d probably be berated for ‘showing off’ and ‘being cocky’, but he couldn’t help feeling smug in the face of his inevitable victory against the pipsqueak. Assuming the kid accepted.

Gummy seemed to disappear into his own mind again, just standing, unmoving, while Angel waited for a response. After an uncomfortably long pause, he nodded, then walked off in the direction on the padded mats set out for wrestling and general fighting.

Following the other pilot, Angel shed his jacket, hanging it haphazardly on a weight machine as he too stepped onto the mats. Both pilots found opposite corners of the ‘ring’, shifting to their preferred stances.

A dozen or so second passed, with neither pilot making a move. Angel shifted uncomfortably as he waited for some sign the match had started. As time passed, that he felt more and more nervous energy build up, until finally he couldn’t take any more.

“BEGIN!” He cried, rushing his opponent, intent on finishing him with the first blow. Gummy made no attempt to evade, simply waiting there as Angel pushed. Once he’d gotten close enough, he leapt at the purple-eyed pilot, rearing his fist back.

I win.

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

Thirty seconds later, Angel woke up, back planted firmly to the mat and Gummy standing over him, still staring with those unblinking purple eyes. Shaking off a layer of dazed confusion, Angel tried to recall how he’d ended up losing, but all he could remember were flashes: Gummy’s face suddenly next to his fist instead of struck by it, the sudden sensation of someone holding his arm, then...nothing.

A new presence loomed behind Gummy as Tank made his way over. Shaking his head, Tank bent down, reaching out to Angel with an outstretched hand. Angel gladly took it, feeling himself hoisted to his feet by the other pilot’s immense strength. As his legs took the whole weight of his body again, Angel straightened, looking Gummy directly in the eyes.

“Thank you for the match.” Despite his best efforts, a hint of venom crept into his voice.

Gummy nodded, seemingly oblivious to the negative tone. He turned and made his way to the door, navigating the maze of exercise equipment with an ease that spoke to familiarity.

A soft chuckling drifted over Angel’s shoulder. He turned to his companion, meeting Tank’s amused eyes with an annoyed glare. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you.”

Tank’s voice held a touch of his earlier mirth as he explained. “Gummy’s been a pilot for six years now. He’s got far more training and experience than you or I, so yes, I figured you’d lose. I did try to warn you.”

Intrigued by Tank’s description, Angel found his eyes drawn to the victor. Watching Gummy make his way out of the weight room, the excitable pilot couldn’t help but wonder what kind of mysterious things ran through the young pilot’s mind.

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

I wonder what’s on the menu at the cafeteria today, Gummy wondered.

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

Angel’s attention was brought back by a sudden lack of presence beside him. Tank had gotten up, and was following Gummy’s path to the door. Angel started after him, hurrying his way until he was once again within talking distance. “Whoah, whoah, whoah, where are you going? We can still train!”

Tank didn’t slow his pace one iota. “I need food. I only came along because I figured you’d need a sparring partner, but with that no longer on the table, the cafeteria is calling my name.”

Angel’s cheeks warmed as a loud rumble emanated from his gut, forcing his attention to a gnawing emptiness in his stomach.

Tank abruptly stopped, causing Angel to do the same, before facing the other pilot. “You’re welcome to join me.” He turned and continued his path without waiting for an answer.

Angel hesitated a moment, considering his options, before a fresh wave of pain overwhelmed him. He hurried after his friend, calling out “Fine, but you’re paying!”

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

Winona stalked through the halls towards her room in the pilots' on-site barrackss. Every now and then, a group of technicians would cross her path, skittishly making as much room and possible between themselves and her within seconds of seeing her scowling expression.

Who the hell does that guy think he is? I don’t need to be babied, I know how to hit a punching bag! Should have hit him harder. An asshole like that, not like anyone would care. I’m willing to bet if he knew about me being...no, don’t even think it! I hate him, such an asshole.

She barely paused as she found her door, still smooth and unblemished by any markings like the ones that adorned nearly every other door in the hall. Swiping her badge, she stormed into the small, undecorated space, thoughts growing darker with solitude.

Fucking shit, I’d bet everyone here is like that. Fuck it, I’ll beat sense into everyone who tries to fucking jerk me around on a leash! Fucking fuck FUCK-

A sharp stab of pain in her palms startled her from her thought process. Winona raised her hands, turning them over to find her fingernails had broken the skin, sending thin trickles of blood creeping down her wrists.

Stunned, she stared at her hands, feeling at a loss as the consequences of her actions impacted her. Not for the first time, she felt guilt at her anger, at the pain she forced on others.

Why? Why can I never learn?

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as her heart constricted, sending a spike of pain, one far worse that the waves radiating from her palms, straight into her heart. She broke, the rage twisting itself into a perversion of itself. Sadness and pain flooded her mind, drowning out every thought but one until she was clutching her head in her hands in a futile attempt to drive away the anguish.

Make it stop! Make ME stop!

Through tear filled eyes, she searched around in her jacket pocket for her flask, and the pain-ending serum it contained. Her fingers found the familiar form of the metal container after a moment, and she swiftly and expertly popped the lid open, tossing her head back as she felt the strong liquor burn its way to her stomach. Every gulped mouthful muted her emotions, her pain, until the sharp daggers piercing her heard dulled, and her thoughts were drowned in alcohol.

The flask, now empty, drops to the floor as Winona’s muscles betray her, surrendering her weight and sending her ungracefully to the floor. Her eyes stared dully at the steel wall of her room as she lay on the floor, alone with her thoughts. Not for the first time, she found herself wishing that the alcohol would make, no, let her forget her past, her identity, her flaws and her family.

Yet, as she lay on the floor in a drunken fugue, she knew she never could.

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

Opal’s breath steamed over the plated shell of her Mech, Rarity, giving a slight dampness to the white metal-and-glass armor that was quickly wiped away by a polishing cloth, leaving behind a glistening sheen. Smiling, her toned frame slid along to the next panel, a bandana tied around her forehead keeping the movement from shifting her chin-length white hair from drifting into her field of view. Reaching into the toolbelt around her waist, she again pulled out the cleaner from its pouch, spritzing a fine mist onto the plate.

As she went to wipe it down with the chemical-drenched cloth, she frowned as the metal shifted under her hands. Applying pressure and moving her hands around, she found she could move the panel ever so slightly. A cursory inspection revealed the issue: one of the securing screws had loosened, allowing the plate to slide. An easy fix, all things told.

“Hey, Rarity, I found a loose plate back here. Gonna tighten it up, okay?”

Rarity’s response was brief. “Please do, darling. Whatever you feel is necessary.”

Opal figured she was distracted, probably with another outfit. Not unusual, and it’s not like they always talked while she worked. Just most of the time.

Still, she had her answer. Stowing her cleaning supplies, she went to retrieve her multi-purpose screwdriver from a holster on her right side.

Unfortunately, in her haste to fix the screw, she’d neglected to wipe the cleaner from her hands, and the slippery liquid caused her to drop the tool as soon as she had it in hand. Her eyes tracked the screwdriver as it fell, wincing as it bounced off a couple of Rarity’s leg plates before colliding with the concrete floor with a dull clatter.

Those will be a pain to buff out.

Sighing, she checked her harness buckles. All secured. She disengaged the lock holding her suspended, carefully restricting the flow of the rope as she rappelled down to collect her tool. Her steel toed work shoes touched down with a tap-tap as she reached the ground. Unbuckling herself, she immediately set out to collect her errant tool.

However, when she reached the space she knew it had landed, there was no screwdriver to be seen. She ran her hand over one of the dents, making sure the whole event wasn’t the product of her admittedly tired brain, before stooping over to check if it had somehow rolled elsewhere.

“Looking for something?” A familiar voice reached over her shoulder.

Turning, Opal found her aunt, holding up the missing screwdriver. “Aunt Lauren! It’s good to see you.”

“Sorry I haven’t been by much lately. Things have been a bit hectic, what with Twilight needing so many repairs.” The head mechanic handed her pilot niece beck the tool, who quickly snatched it away, squirreling it back into her belt.

Opal pushed past her aunt as she made her way back to the harness, intent on going up and fixing the loose plate before buffing out those dents, only to stop as she felt a hand on her shoulder. Knowing her aunt was aware of her general dislike of small talk, she turned, expecting something serious. But even she was not prepared for what her aunt said next.

“Aren’t you late for a training session? I thought Colonel Larson had something planned for the on site pilots at two.”

Panicked, Opal rolled over her wrist to check her watch, only to find it missing. Right. She’d taken it off so it wouldn’t scratch Rarity when she polished. It took her a moment to track it down among the many pockets of her tool belt, but she eventually managed to get it back on her wrist. Two-oh-four. She was late.

She started with a bolt, packing up her tools and beginning to clear the path for her Mech to exit the hangar. “Sorry, Rarity, I’ll have to buff those dents out later.”

“It’s no problem, darling. You do quite enough for me already. I do wish you’d let me pay you back in some way, though.”

Opal rolled her eyes as she unhooked the rappelling harness from Rarity’s chassis. “I keep telling you, I don’t need a new dress. It’d just get in the way when I fix you up.”

“Still, a pair of overalls over a t-shirt is just so drab. At least let me make you a new bandana?”

That was an offer Opal actually considered. Her current simple white bandana was pretty old, and definitely showed its age. A new one would be nice.

“Fine, but nothing too frilly, okay? It needs to be functional.” She found herself saying as she climbed up the ladder to the walkway suspended over the hangar.

“Ooh, you won’t regret this!” Opal chuckled as her voice shifted so high it nearly cracked. Her AI’s reactions would always confuse her, but it still brought a warm feeling to know she’d made Rarity happy.

Climbing into the cockpit, she settled in as she had many times before. Settling in, she checked to make sure her aunt had cleared the hanger before piloting Rarity over to the tunnel that led to the appropriate training arena. Pushing the controls, she ran Rarity down the tunnel.

Opal emerged to bright, harsh light. As her eyes adjusted, she found the other pilots, already in their Mechs, waiting impatiently for her arrival. She sheepishly took her place at the end of the makeshift semicircle, linking up to the shared comm network. Her ears were immediately bombarded with conversation, sending her reeling from the unwanted noise.

“I mean, who puts onions on a hamburger? It’s a travesty, I tell you! Onions have no place in any food, much less a hamburger!”

“Calm down, it’s just an onion.”

“JUST an onion? Hmph. Coming from someone who’s food didn’t have onion in it, that doesn’t mean much.”

“I had a cherry pie. Cherry pies don’t usually have onions. Hamburgers, on the other hand…”

She unfortunately recognized the voices. Angel and Tank, bickering again. Reaching down to her screen, she pulled up audio controls for the comms. Her eyes glanced down the list, searching for the right names. Finding them, she pressed the mute button next to each of ‘Rainbow Dash(Tank Schell)’ and ‘Fluttershy(Angel Kouneli), letting out a relieved sigh as the noise cut off.

As she went to close the menu, she realized something was off. There was an extra name. ‘Applejack(Winona Hunter)’ was certainly one she didn’t know. Opal scanned down the line, finding an unfamiliar, massive sized orange Mech with a three apple mark, the unusual mark a sign of her aunt’s design skills. A new pilot? Whatever the case, she wasn’t being loud, so—

“WOULD THE TWO OF YOU JUST SHUT UP!” An unfamiliar voice slurred, presumably at the two bickering pilots. Rolling her eyes, Opal muted her as well, leaving the only two channels open the one with Gummy and the Command channel.

Gummy she wasn’t worried about, some old injuries had left him mute so her only potential issue was his AI, Pinkie Pie. However, while Pinkie was outgoing and boisterous, she usually directed that back at her pilot, so Opal doubted she’d hear anything from there.

The Command channel crackled, bringing through Larson’s voice. “Alright, now that little miss tardy has arrived, we can begin. Standard team match. Live fire exercise, so try not to hurt anyone or do too much damage. Opal and Gummy will face Winona, Tank, and Angel. Take your sides.”

Opal wasn’t too surprised, as a three vs two match would only really be fair if it was the two most experienced versus the three newer pilots. Both teams quickly found positions on opposite sides of the arena and waited for the match to begin.

“Alright, beginning in three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

And then the wall exploded inwards, letting in a swarm of black-shelled, insectlike machines that charged the Mechs, aiming to kill.

Comments

[Naitoshadou]

For people wondering where the prologue went:
https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/849250/steelborne-update-prologue-removal-and-new-schedule

[Schattendrache]

Have review.

[Alchemik]

Well, that's a painful cliffhanger. It's too bad, I would've loved to see where this was going! Your take on the pets is fascinating, and I really like the mech theme you had going.