Armoured Core 4: Silent Prophet
Prologue
They had called him a veteran; someone worthy of the title of Raven.
The National Dismantlement War was a conflict like no other, and he was at the centre of it. The Governments of old collapsed under their own weight, no longer able to support their overwhelming populations. He had been a recruit at the time, fresh out of training and thrown into dealing with civilian upheaval with nothing but a mass produced Normal.
They had called him a good soldier; an exemplary example of what a proper soldier should be.
Then the governments began to crumble. Rebels began to claw at the military, steadily taking control for their personal use. He couldn't stand the sight, watching those that had fought for 'equality' turn against one another like a pack of wild animals over the last scraps.
They had called him a coward; abandoning a sinking ship in the hopes of surviving the ocean itself.
The corporations of the world struck back. An army of MTs and Normals equal to those of the rebels, promising to protect those that couldn't protect themselves. He had joined them, starved and with only his piloting skills to offer; one more machine to be thrown again into the war.
They had called him a defender; ready and willing to protect the people, even under a different banner.
Even then he had been unnecessary. The corporations had unveiled their latest weapon: the NEXT. It was the next generation of Armoured Core, a machine almost impossible to challenge in anything but another NEXT. Still he had fought, alongside these new, titan-like weapons and their LYNX; returning from the bloodied battlefields in times when other Ravens and LYNX did not.
They had called him a monster; killing and fighting and coming back when others died gruesome deaths.
It was only a matter of time before the rebel controlled governments fell. After a few weeks, the corporations stood triumphant over what remained of the old world. He had stood there afterwards, next to those LYNX that were dubbed Originals.
They had called him a herald; one of the few that had stood firm to see this to the end.
The Pax Economica followed. A totalitarian rule. People still starved. People still died. They were still oppressed, only now those that controlled them were completely unopposable. The corporations ruled like tyrants over the planet. He had left after that, wishing to simply vanish from the corporations. There were a few independent colonies that would hire a Normal pilot, he hoped.
They had called him a veteran; someone worthy of the title of Raven.
Anatolia had been a surprising - though not unwelcome - boon. Despite being the home for two of the people behind the development of the NEXT's systems, the independent colony had neither a LYNX nor a Raven to guard it. He had lived there in relative peace…until the day everything changed.
And he could remember that day all too clearly.
Because it was the first time he had been called an equal.
He had been on patrol when the attack started, a single Normal and a handful of MTs on the perimeter. They should have seen it coming; Anatolia was located on a plateau, the countryside being visible for miles in every direction.
It didn't save the first MT from being destroyed in an explosion of shrapnel and fire. The second and third fell before he could arrive at the scene, and the destruction of the fourth MT had shown him how utterly outclassed he was.
Supplice. It was Berlioz; The Rank One Original.
There was almost no chance. Of victory. Of survival. Berlioz had killed so many he could stand atop their corpses like an explorer could stand atop a mountain peak. He would know so, because he had stood alongside him as a nameless Raven.
He didn't know why the man had attacked Anatolia, and he didn't need to. Anatolia was his home, and he was going to defend it with his life.
A pyrrhic victory was all that he could fight for, for both himself and the colony.
Supplice was a Rayleonard NEXT: All Primal Armour and two-dimensional ground speed. Neutralise both and it was just a well armoured Normal.
He had plans for both. The second was the easiest to accomplish. Anatolia's munitions depots was surrounded by buildings separated only by narrow roads and alleyways. A dozen MTs fell before the Supplice had been corralled into having its manoeuvrability crippled.
[You aren't any old Raven, are you? Not anyone could command soldiers so effectively. A veteran of the war, perhaps?]
Primal Armour was another thing altogether. A Normal could empty its entire reserve of ammunition into a shielded NEXT and barely scratch the paint. Destabilising Primal Armour either required continuous fire, weaponised Kojima Particles, or one, big attack.
He smiled at the time. Munitions depots were just one, big grenade if you squinted hard enough.
[WHAT?!]
Supplice had staggered out of the smoke, Primal Armour sparking and fizzling. It simply made the NEXT a bigger target. Missiles would be completely ineffective against the NEXT, but his Normal still wielded a very large calibre rifle.
[Dangerous. If this is what you can accomplish piloting a Normal, I daren't imagine what you could accomplish in a NEXT.]
And there was the one, simple reason he was going to lose. He was challenging a NEXT with nothing but a Normal. It was like being asked to destroy a tank with nothing but a hand grenade.
It was only a matter of time before his luck would run out.
[Got you.]
Berlioz had adapted not long after; flying out of another exploding depot faster than he could physically react. A searing blanket of pain exploded from his shoulder as Supplice had driven its rifle not only straight through his Normal's shoulder, but also breaching the Normal's pilot compartment, severing both his and his Normal's left arm at the joint.
He screamed in rage, hatred, and pain, glaring at the NEXT through the digital display; allowing it all to fuel his last defiant act.
Destroying a tank with a hand grenade was possible, and that was all he needed.
Berlioz had removed his Normal's left arm, but his right still gripped the rifle. The gun rushed forwards, barrel digging into the NEXT's frame. Primal Armour couldn't stop bullets fired inside its radius, and he knew of the nervous system link between a LYNX and their NEXT. The neural backlash from an entire magazine discharging directly into their 'body' would be a sure kill.
They were at a stalemate. But here, he was willing to die for his home. Was Berlioz willing to die for his paycheck?
The NEXT glared at him, optics an angry red.
[This is Berlioz, I'm dropping the mission. Supplice is heavily damaged; requesting pickup.]
The rifle was pulled free, eliciting another choke of pain as he clamped his arm around the mangled remains of his arm. He couldn't remember much after that, dropping in and out of consciousness and sure that he was going to bleed out in an armoured coffin.
"…re!…He…ere!…"
He remembered shouting.
"…eed Mede…ow!…Prep…bs for surg…ry!…"
Images of someone prying open his Normal's pilot compartment swam into sight, figure completely indistinct through his failing vision and the halo of light behind them.
Yet even as his vision died, the person in front of him remained.
"You'r…to b…alright…"
"You are going to be alright, right?"
He nodded, eyes remaining on Anatolia as it lay before him.
"You sure?" Fiona looked somewhere between entirely unconvinced that he was telling the truth, and concerned that he might not be and lying to set her at ease. "Your arm's not acting up or anything?"
He couldn't quite stop the small smile from forming at her question, even as he raised the limb in question in mock inspection. Really, if it wasn't for the phantom pains he endured every so often, he would have thought that losing his arm was one horrific dream.
"I've just spent the past year in a hospital. I don't want any excuse to go back."
The scent of antiseptics was what brought him back into the realm of consciousness. It was a dull, muddied, painful consciousness - but a consciousness nonetheless.
"You're awake, excellent."
He groaned, head lolling form side to side. How anyone could class his current state as 'awake' was drastically oversimplifying things.
"Hey…" the voice spoke once more. At the very least it was something he could focus on; anything to get away from the numbness. "…Easy there…easy."
Easy? How could he be at ease? Anatolia had been attacked. Dozens of honest soldiers had lost their lives in the conflict. He had lost an-
Arm. ARM. The pain and the burningandtheOhGOD-
A soft hiss filled the room, and a few seconds later his hysteria began to subside. Only now that he was coming down from his panic attack could he hear the frantic beeping of his heart monitor.
"Easy…easy…"
The voice - a woman's voice, he noted - spoke once more, coming from the hazy figure now stood next to the monitor. Sedative administration, perhaps?
"My…" He swallowed thickly; His throat felt like sandpaper. "…my arm?…"
The woman flinched; the act visible enough even through his blurred vision.
"It was…it was unsalvageable." Honest pain and regret was clear in her voice. "Supplice's Assault Rifle had nearly completely severed it, and we had to amputate what little remained."
His head lolled once more, eyes coming to a stop as he - inevitably - looked at the bandaged remains of his arm; no more than three or four inches of his upper arm remained.
So that was it.
Life in the war-torn world had finally caught up with him.
"Of that I have no doubt." Fiona tapped at the data pad she held. "We have a job."
He blinked, the false arm returning to his side as he looked at his Operator.
"Already?"
She turned on her heel, walking off into the facility; he followed a couple of steps behind.
"GA wants to see what you can do." She shrugged, entirely nonchalant. "Not a big job, but it'll put you on the radar."
"Everyone has to start somewhere, even a LYNX."
Fiona looked up from her tablet. The third speaker came into view: a middle aged man refined in appearance.
He nodded in greeting.
"Emil."
Fiona - he had learned her name - visited him every day for the next week. Whether it was to keep him sane or to just check up on him he didn't know, but he appreciated it nonetheless. It kept his mind away from…everything. She was completely professional - maybe even a little distant - but she was perfectly pleasant. Her idealism was a refreshing change of pace in this dying world.
So the moment she walked into the hospital room today, he knew there was something wrong.
"There is…someone here to see you."
She sounded guilty; guilty enough that he pushed himself up into a seated position. Just in time for someone else to walk into the room: an elder gentleman that wasted no time in walking up directly to his bedside.
"Governor Gustav. It would be a pleasant surprise to see you here if I wasn't expecting you."
Emil Gustav: One of the geniuses behind NEXT Development, and the current governor of the Colony Anatolia.
The man's lips twitched ever-so-slightly.
"Given the events you have had a central part in in the past weeks - Mister Branwen; I expected no less."
He nodded. A week being bedridden gave his ample time to speculate about his future.
"I will be blunt, Mister Branwen," That was something he appreciated. As much as he liked Fiona, she hedged around the issue a little too much. "Whilst I and the Colony are sincerely thankful for you and your sacrifice in defending Anatolia, the…cost - shall we say - was…less than ideal."
The governor looked evenly and directly into his eyes. Fiona looked slightly distressed where she was stood.
"Ever since the death of my colleague - Professor Finn Jarnefeldt - and the worldwide spread of NEXT development, Anatolia is entering a state of economic crisis. The loss of our munitions depots - whilst understandable given the situation - has only increased the severity of our state."
"Great." He scrubbed at his face with his remaining hand. "Last job before forced retirement and I'm being given a bill over severance pay."
"Not…quite." The Governor looked somewhat amused for a brief moment, before his face settled into a stoic firmness once more. "…I believe in a course of action that could solve the majority - if not all - of our problems: yours, mine, and the Colony's."
He raised an eyebrow.
"How so?"
"The Corporations of the world are ripe with well-paying opportunities for independent individuals capable of performing them. Many of the requests are often those that the Corporations would rather not be affiliated with and as such, often have substantially increased outgoings for the individual - and their associates - as compensation."
It dawned on him, his eyes widening in disbelief as the words left him.
"…You want me to pilot a NEXT; to become a LYNX."
"Correct, Mister Branwen."
The room descended into a stifled silence save for the steady beeping of the monitors. Governor Gustav was completely unreadable, and Fiona's distress was as clear as day.
He sat there, drumming his fingers against the bed.
"I have the feeling that any and all points I bring up will have already been taken into consideration. How will I pilot a NEXT? From what I recall, a NEXT requires a complete neural link," he glanced at area where his left arm should have been, "Unless the NEXT has one arm, I can't exactly pilot it. Does Anatolia even have a NEXT for me to use?"
He could have asked far more, but he wasn't joking when he had said that he had a feeling that all of this was already thought of.
"All good questions, Mister Branwen. And as you have said, all of which have been taken into consideration."
Fiona approached, offering the tablet she near universally carried as she reached the bedside. He accepted the device, and nearly dropped it when he caught sight of what is displayed. For a brief second, Berlioz and the Supplice flickered into his mind.
A 03-AALIYAH Rayleonard model schematic was displayed; devoid of weapons and coloured in uniform, gunmetal grey.
"The Research & Development team utilised this NEXT in their experiments with the NEXT systems as a whole, and were more than happy with relinquishing control over it. They would rather it be utilised to its fullest capabilities rather than gathering dust in a storage building."
The Governor's face twisted into a grimace.
"And this may sound…distasteful, but we ran tests on you whilst you were unconscious. Only AMS compatibility tests, I assure you." The Governor must have caught his hostile gaze for him to amend himself that quickly. "Your baseline AMSC is a stable and solid three-hundred - and that is without mentioning how further you can push that. There are LYNX with years of experience that cannot even rival that, and most Originals have trouble surpassing four-hundred-and-forty."
There was probably more than that, but he kept his mouth shut.
"As for your arm," the NEXT schematic vanished, a second schematic of what looked like a human limb taking its place. "Our work with robotics and the human nervous system have allowed us to create far more than just NEXTs. What you see before you is an advanced prosthetic, completely capable of mimicking its organic counterpart in nearly every way, but for the sake of this conversation I can assure you that the limb contains an artificial nervous system. Piloting a NEXT using this prosthetic would be no different than from using an actual, organic arm."
And all it would cost him would be putting himself even further in the Governor's debt. But it was as he said: Anatolia was going bankrupt. If he did nothing, the Colony would cease to exist in a handful of years.
"What needs to be done?"
Fiona winced out of the corner of his eye.
"I will be straight with you Mister Branwen," The Governor leaned forward, his face a mixture of sombreness and regret, "It will be painful. You will have to receive implants required to link with a NEXT. It is a process that could cripple you further should your body react violently towards them. We will also have to remove further of what remains of your arm in order to install the artificial replacement, and linking that with your existing nerve endings and musculature will be even more painful than the LYNX implants."
He grimace at the picture, yet nodded nonetheless.
"I also believe that you know of the consequences that would follow should you fall in battle when piloting a NEXT."
He did. He had witness far too many NEXT pilots breathing their last on the battlefield.
"It will take perhaps a year at the most for you to complete your physiotherapy, Mister Branwen, and by then whatever specifications you desire for your NEXT can be finalised with your Operator."
Fiona nodded her head where she stood, and he smiled.
"Look forward to working with you."
"Arm's not giving you any trouble I hope?"
"No Governor." He flexed the limb in question. "You said so yourself; it's almost as if I never lost it in the first place."
"Good, good." The Governor joined him and Fiona as they walked, idly watching the engineers as they travelled up and down the hallways. "Fiona told you what the mission entails?"
"Not…specifically."
"Ahh, well then. Gryphon is still several hours away by Stork Transport Plane; there'll be plenty of time for a full briefing."
A mission in the Independent City, given by one of the Corporations? Could he class that as being ironic or something?
He glanced about as the hallway gave way to the third story of a massive hanger: Engineers flitted about with their duties, some on the ground level stood at monitors that no doubt displayed incomprehensible readouts. Others were working on what the hanger contained, all on different levels of the scaffolding as they worked on giving his NEXT the final preparations for its first mission.
His NEXT.
They had taken him to see the Armoured Core come the following week. Apparently - or what Fiona told him at least - the R&D team hadn't expected him to accept the offer to become its LYNX, and were only halfway through preparations to bring it up to par when he did so.
Half-finished preparations or not, it was still a beautiful machine; angular and aerodynamic in its entirety. He couldn't quite stop the low whistle he released.
"Impressive, isn't it?"
Emil had joined him at the railings, leaning on the rails and staring at the NEXT with an unwavering gaze.
"That it is…" He trailed off, squinting at the NEXT's shoulder, "…what's that?"
As dull and scrapped as the splash of colour was, it still stood out like a beacon on the monochrome Armoured Core. Upon a closer look, he could make out the vague shape: It appeared to be a speaker, or ruler of some kind, with…a stylised open book in the front and a circular mural behind.
"A leftover from the R&D team, most like." The Governor spoke without once moving his gaze. "Many a LYNX paint emblems on their Armoured Cores for identity's sake. No doubt they didn't want their NEXT to be left out."
"Speaking of Identities," Fiona walked up to the two tapping away at her tablet, "I've registered your name as the Pilot; all that's left now is its name. Thought of one already?"
His gaze returned to the faded emblem, a muted silence seemed to fill the entire hanger.
And then he spoke.
"Silent Prophet."
Gone was the drab gunmetal grey of unpainted metal; in its place was a Ghost White, with certain sections painted a Powder Blue. A 01-HITMAN machinegun was held firm in one hand whilst the left bared a 02-DRAGONSLAYER Laser Blade. Apparently the R&D team also had those two weapons lying around in storage, in addition to the NEXT itself. Fancy that. The RD03-PANDORA Radar Unit and OGOTO Grenade Cannon the Next had affixed to its back were…slightly more problematic to obtain. He wouldn't be seeing much money for the first half a dozen jobs thanks to their cost, but surviving those jobs would make them all the more worth it.
His fingers brushed against the emblem it bared on its shoulder.
"Come on then…"
He patted the Armoured Core, generating a deep metallic reverberation with each tap.
"…Let's go see what the world calls me this time."