The engine turned over with a low groan of metal that hadn't moved in a long time as she checked the fuel levels. Everything in the medium-sized garage was old, the generator she'd finally got working, the small 2 stage jump she'd found at the back, the shell, central eye dark, reactor cold. She laboured to move the jump unit towards the shell, each and every moment of the twenty minutes it took her to move the mass of metal sending fresh pain down her reconstructed spine. She slumped to the ground, resting against the jump unit once she'd got it into position, pulling her coat off, exposing her arms, not massively built as you'd expect, but not skinny either. After a few moments, she hooked the jump unit up to the generator, then to the two exposed prongs on the reactor buried in the core of the shell. She turned, waiting further moments for the jump to charge up.
The light on the front flashed green, her hand hovering just above the button.
No, he has to hear this from me.
She pushed the button, the air popping as the jump unit flooded the old reactor. A few seconds of silence, followed by a deep thrum that filled the air, reverberating in her skull as she disconnected the jump unit, watching the cover rise with a hiss of pneumatics as it hid the reactor behind a large armoured plate.
"Hey." She said softly as the central eye brightened.
"Pilot," The voice was male, a rich baritone, "It has been... some time."
"I know bud, I know." She patted the machine, continuing to speak softly, "The war's over, they stopped fighting."
The central eye widened, "Realy, I... this is wonderful pilot, Protocol Three has been complea..." His jovial tone cut off, "Why do you not feel anything pilot?" There was a disturbing lack of emotion from his pilot, "Are you alright pilot?"
She rubbed the base of her skull, "Yeah, I'm fine. Things are going to change."
"What do you mean pilot?" His voice was tinged with concern.
"They removed the neural link, no-one is allowed to link to a titan anymore." She replied flatly, "It's slavery."
"What, I don't see how." The machine was clearly shocked, standing upright, looking down at his pilot, "Why would that be slavery pilot?"
"They determined that you lot have enough personality to be considered human bud. Which means I've committed quite a few crimes. You're free to go, do what you want." Her voice shook slightly, the machine could see the tears in her eyes.
"But, what about you pilot?" the machine knelt down, his central eye level with his pilot, "What do they want to do to you?"
She sighed, "I don't know, the war changed us, pilots especially, most of us are dead or inside now."
"No." The machine's voice was defiant, "I won't let them lock you up." He picked up his pilot, scooping her up in his giant palm.
She jumped backwards off his hand, landing on the floor, carefully, as she pulled the slide off her pistol, dropping it on the floor, "I have to go now." She said, "I love you bud, and I'll see you later."
The words echoed in his processors, words he'd heard before, but said with a finality about them. He looked up, following his pilot out, "No." He said, his voice equally as firm.
She dropped the rest of her pistol, then set about dismantling her rifle, "You can't come with me." She said, "You just can't, okay?" Her voice broke slightly, cracking with emotion.
"No, I'm coming with you." He said again. She stopped dismantling her rifle, turning it around slightly, "Pilot, what are you doing?"
"Stop following me." She turned around, the barrel of her rifle digging into the soft body armour covering her stomach, genuine pain in her voice, "Just stop, okay? This is bad enough as it is."
The machine stopped dead, "Pilot, what are you doing." His voice had changed, suddenly apprehensive, "Please stop this."
She took a few steps backwards, "Turn around. Go the other way." She sounded broken, like doing this was the worst thing she'd ever had to do, "Please." She choked back a sob.
The machine nodded once, "Goodbye pilot." He said, giving her a small wave as he turned and left, "I love you."
She nodded, "I know." As soon as the machine had gone, she removed the magazine, racked the bolt once and threw the gun as far as she could, screaming as she fell to the ground, sobbing.
They found her several hours later, sobbing gently, resting against a crate.
/FILE_RECALL/PHYCH_EVAL_PILOT_143882
TARGET PILOT IS UNRESPONSIVE TO EVEN THE MOST BASIC OF STIMULI, ALTHOUGH HER REFLEXES APPEAR TO BE WORKING FINE.
THE RESULTS FROM THE LATEST BATCH OF PILOTS EVALUATED HAVE SUGGESTED THAT REMOVING THE PILOT-TITAN LINK HAS SIGNIFICANTLY DEGRADED THEIR MENTAL STATES, MANY PILOTS WHEN GIVE DUMMY WEAPONRY ATTEMPTED TO KILL THEMSELVES, WITH ONE SUCCESSFUL ATTEMPT, THE TARGET PILOT WAS ABLE TO DISMANTLE THE GUN ENOUGH TO DRIVE A POINTED EDGE INTO HIS NECK.
99% OF TARGET PILOTS HAVE BEEN PLACED INTO REHABILITATION FOR THIS ISSUE, THE NEXT TEST ON LOCATING AND REUNITING THE PILOT-TITAN PAIRS IS EXPECTED TO TAKE AT LEAST A DECADE. PILOT 143882 ANSWERED ONE QUESTION AFTER THE TESTING, WOULD YOU LIKE YOUR NEURAL LINK WITH TITAN BN8662 TO BE REESTABLISHED.
SHE ANSWERED YES, HOWEVER LOCATING HER TITAN HAS SO FAR NOT BEEN SUCCESSFUL, AND THE NEURAL LINK HAS NOT BEEN RECONNECTED. SHE CONSIDERS US ALL PATHOLOGICAL LIRS AND IS NOT TO BE APPROACHED UNLESS SHE HAD BEEN SEDATED BEFOREHAND.
THEY ARE PILOTS AFTER ALL.
REPORT COMPILED BY _ROWAN, PhD, u/ProfARIA _BHAVNANI, u/A.I_des_BLACK_BOX
Thank you for reading this little short I wrote on trains today. I didn't have any of my TGU materiel, so I couldn't have done any work on that unfortunatly, but chapter 11 should be out soon.