Name of War

by Fairtime

A nameless civilian, uprooted by the Militia-IMC conflict, explores the underworld of the Frontier to discover a sinister organization controlling events from behind the scenes, and to unearth the secrets behind his heritage and future.

1. Chapter 1

We didn't care what anyone called us. 'Traitors', 'marauders'… 'terrorists', even, some would say. Hell, half of us had never even touched a gun, and even less actually cared about the war. IMC? Militia? Those didn't have any meaning. The biggest conflict we'd dealt with in years was when some guy's MRVN went missing, and what a shakeup that was; turned out, it never even went missing, the guy just forgot how many he'd actually owned. That must've been the hot topic at the tavern for months and months afterward. But… I wouldn't have had it any other way. Life was simple like that. Everything we truly cared about was wrapped up in farms, family…

"…and damn good booze!" Barker raised his stein, spilling froth and ale down the sides and onto his hands, drawing cheers from the tavern crowd as he had a hundred times before. Just barely could I hear him shout "Every round's on me tonight!" over the roaring crowd. Normally, I wouldn't even be allowed in here; not old enough. But Barker returning? Maybe even for good this time? Maybe we can bend the rules a little tonight, I thought. I raised my hand, motioning to the bartender. He tried to pretend he didn't spot me out of the corner of his eye as he rubbed a shot glass with a small rag. But, with my persistence, he eventually turned and shook his head with disapproval. Well… maybe not every rule, I thought.

It's a good thing my father didn't see me, but I figured he was too enthralled with the story Barker was telling. I stretched my neck to look over everyone's heads, and spotted him sitting right across the table from Barker. Barker mentioned something about getting thrown into a sewer drain, prompting thunderous laughter from the entranced crowd. Dad seemed to laugh the hardest out of all of them. It was good, I guessed, that he seemed genuinely happy for once. He hadn't smiled even a single time, by my reckoning, since Barker had him take over the distillery in his absence.

I stood and pushed in my barstool, only for someone to push past me and sit down on it again. I weaved my way through the crowd, angering a few as they had to accommodate my exit and miss a miniscule detail of Barker's exploits. Finally, I reached the door, and slid outside as quietly as I could.

The night air was crisp, and as I began to make my way away from the tavern, the scent of ale waned. It was never truly absent here; no matter how much you got used to it, it would just keep creeping back into the air somehow. Yet, tonight, it was harder to detect than usual; likely a sign of how the distillery had been shut down for the day once everyone heard of Barker's return. That guy was a hero to everyone who knew him. Most of the people here didn't have a home; their planets ravaged by the IMC, or their pacifism disgracing their pro-Militia heritage. Barker had really built something special with the colony. In a time where people would turn against each other at the drop of a hat… or, at the drop of a credit chip, more like… he had brought people together. It may very well have been his love of alcohol that spurred him to do it, but the seed of goodwill must have been there somewhere.

'Backwater' everyone called this place, and that wasn't an unfair assessment. Barker had found a small valley up in the mountains on some one-off system… hell, I don't even think the planet had a real name, save for the random alphanumeric designations the IMC threw at every speck of dust floating out on the Frontier. At first, it was just a few shanty huts, wood risers to keep them out of the mud, and a couple of stills Barker had shipped in. Eventually, though, with a proper shipping and receiving area, a massive granary and distillery, a few hermitage buildings to frame it, and of course the jovial tavern… he'd carved out a little slice of peace on the Frontier.

I had ended up wandering out in front of the granary, before stopping to take a breath. Taking a seat on the metal steps in front of the grain repository, I looked out over the shipping area. Had it been any other night, this would be the busiest time for us. I shut one eye tight, and squinted the other, scrunching up my face while trying to spot where I'd be.

Riiiight… there, I thought to myself, as I spy an area between the loading pad and the storage depot. Every weeknight, after production wound down for the day, I'd be on call to get in line and ferry our signature brown packages from one end of the facility to the other. We packed up the 'shine we produced in these discreet little brown boxes, but despite the downplayed design, word had it everyone across the Frontier knew exactly what those little brown boxes of heaven held. Well, everyone but the IMC knew, apparently; we'd been making this stuff nigh on nonstop for a few years now, not to mention what had been in production before we had the major distillery. But the IMC didn't know, or maybe didn't care, so on we went. And, of course, every night, I'd be the one to stand ready: grab a box from the last guy on the line, hand it off to the storage guys. The whole night, it'd be the same. Grab a box, hand a box. Grab a box, hand a box. Grab a—

"Hey."

I slowly turned my head toward the raspy voice that had broken my stupor. Just beyond the corner of the grain repository stood my dad, shirt and pants bearing a few fresh liquor stains. I gave him a subtle nod, before turning back toward the loading area. There weren't many times I got to see it so peaceful.

Before I knew it, my dad was standing right next to me. He waved his hand slightly, motioning me to move over. I scooted to the side, allowing him to sit down directly next to me. He, too, began looking out over the loading area. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but let out a deep sigh first.

"Y'should probably get home." His words were slightly slurred, but I could tell he was far from drunk. Surprising, given the air about the celebration back at the tavern. And given his breath. "Still got work tomorrow."

He stayed staring straight forward, and I followed suit. "So what'd Barker say?"

A few moments passed. Dad sniffled a little, and licked his lips. "Lotta stuff." Another few moments. Another sniffle. "You heard about Demeter, right? Turns out he was there. Said his ship got outta orbit right before the place went up. Guess the Militia picked 'im up back at Angel City, threw 'im into this sewer grate and everything—"

He was avoiding the question. He knew what I was really asking, but I said it outright anyway, my voice coming out quieter than I anticipated as I cut him off. "He's not staying, is he?"

That sure shut him up. He kept staring straight forward, then turned his head slightly toward me, pursing his lips and blinking quickly. He'd always had that little 'tell' before he told anyone something they weren't going to like hearing. "…didn't say for sure," he whispered. "But…" He closed his eyes with defeat, and shook his head, turning to stare back at the loading area. "…no, I don't think so."

Exactly what I didn't want to hear, and yet exactly what I expected. Ever since Barker had left for Angel City, I had a feeling he wouldn't be coming back. Not permanently, at least. And if he really had helped the Militia blow up Demeter, I got the feeling they wouldn't want to get rid of an asset that lucrative. In some ways, the Militia are just like the IMC, I thought.

"Look, you know how it is… the people here, they- they need someone to look up to. Some… counsel, y'know, that's more than just the guy that just tells 'em how to make ale. Look, I know it eats up all my time, and I know it's hard being home alone taking care of your sister, but… but when Barker's gone, y'know, everyone trusts me. I gotta look out for 'em." He put a hand on my shoulder. "I gotta look out for you." I began to stare at the ground, and he pulled his hand away. "You remember what I told you when Barker first left? First thing I said to you after he put me in charge?"

I kept staring at the ground, pretending not to acknowledge him in protest, but after a few moments, I could feel a lump growing in my throat. I squeaked out, "'This job may be nothing to me, but it's everything to everyone else'", just as he had said right after he got home the day Barker left.

But it wasn't that moment that resounded in my mind when I spoke. It wasn't long after that that he'd had to stay working for three straight days to meet quota. When he ended up coming home, drenched in sweat and caked with soot and specks of grain… I barely recognized him. In that moment, he truly looked almost foreign to me. And for my and my sister's sake, I didn't want it to get any worse than that. As long as Barker was blowing up planets for the Militia, I wouldn't really have a father.

"Listen, I should prob'ly tell ya… I've been askin' around." Dad broke the silence, his voice barely more than a low growl. He cleared his throat, and readjusted himself on the step. "You know Hermes, right?"

I grimaced, thinking for a moment on the name. "Sam Hermes? The shipping pilot?"

Dad nodded. "That's the one." He looked back out toward the loading area. "Look, I wasn't gonna say anything, but… he's been doing a lotta good work lately. Heard he even trained a couple o' people to run his routes."

I curled the corner of my mouth into a confused sneer. I didn't see how any of this related to either of us. "…and?"

My dad sighed, shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb. Did that all the time when he got kind of flustered. "What I'm tryin' to say is that he's going to have more free time. Even you know who he is." I turned to him quickly, misunderstanding the implication. He shrugged. "Because you work in a different area?" Oh. "Most importantly, people seem to like 'im." He swiveled, to turn and directly face me. "Ya get what I'm sayin'?"

I began to put the pieces together in my mind. My eyes widened, and I quickly turned toward Dad.

"We 'ad words tonight. He's interested. Still in the early stages and everything, but… figured it's best for you and your sister if I started my transition—"

It was all he could do to stop talking; I nearly knocked the wind out of him as I hugged him. Just felt right to do right then; I hadn't hugged him since I was a little kid. It didn't last long, though, as I quickly pushed away from him as I could feel the tears beginning to form in my eyes. Wasn't going to say that out loud, though. "Ya still smell like beer." I said, a little laughter seeping out between the words. I could feel the lump in my throat intensifying.

He let out a low chuckle. "Yeah, figured." He put his hands down on his knees, and stood up. I followed suit. "Better get home and get cleaned up. And you get to bed." He lowered his head to me commandingly. I pursed my lips and smiled, as he put his hand on my shoulder again, and together, we turned and made our way toward our house.

I jumped a little as a I heard a collection of loud voices yelling out behind us, and took a look over my shoulder. A massive crowd emerged from around the corner, and atop them, Barker was held aloft. I thought they were trying to sing "For He's A Jolly Good Fellow", but considering how drunk everyone was, it just sounded like inane screaming and sputtering. My dad and I exchanged a look, and both shook our heads and smiled, making our way toward the house.

We lived but a stone's throw away from the granary, so the sounds of the inebriated 'singing' (if you could even call it that) didn't fade too greatly as we entered. Dad slowly tried to guide the door shut as softly as he could when coming in, but he didn't look too satisfied upon continuing to hear the incoherent babbling from the drunks.

"Sure hope they didn't wake up your sister," he said in a low, rumbling whisper. "Why don't you go check up on her? I'm 'onna hit the shower; I'll be up in a few." He slowly sauntered around our island and slipped into the bathroom, softly closing the door as he had before.

A feeling of comfort began to wash over me; I slumped my shoulders and let out a deep sigh. Finally back home. It had been a full day: working as normal until Barker's return, wading through the crowds to get a single look at him, getting washed into the tavern by the waves of his adorers. Even hearing the news about Demeter had taken some toll, I thought. Good to be behind familiar walls.

'Cozy' and 'bare essentials' were the sorts of terms my dad always threw around to describe our house. I saw it for what it was: a portable prefab apartment Barker had jacked from the IMC (or at least jacked from someone; Lord knows he'd never spend real money on the thing). A lower floor barely large enough to fit the kitchen and bathroom, and an upper floor full to bursting with our three small beds… but, at the very least, it was better than when dad first brought us here, when we were relegated to sleeping in the dropships. Despite how many fond memories I may have of my dad trying to make that fun for us. "It's just like a sleepover!" he'd say to my sister, trying to ease her mind. "Maybe we can sit up in the cockpit after you wake up and I can show you how they fly 'em!"

A weak smile reached my lips while I climbed the stairs, slowly unclasping my belt and reminiscing on times far gone. I remember my sister didn't seem too unhappy when we moved in here. Place was so small, "it's like the walls are always giving us a biiiig hug", I remember her saying the day we moved in.

Quickly, a flash of light cut through the darkness, before disappearing again, as I crested the stairs into the bedroom. As I suspected.

"You're still up?" I whispered, trying to project enough for her to hear, but for dad to stay oblivious downstairs. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could just make out my sister's head slowly revealing itself from beneath her blanket. I snickered quietly. "You can turn the flashlight back on. I don't think he'll be up for a few more minutes."

Light shot through the room again, emanating from her flashlight, and I could just make out that old placard she'd made in school, all sparkling above her. Seemed like so long ago that she'd put it together, but I vividly remembered the day she'd come home with it: so proud of herself and insisting she put it on the wall above her bed like a massive label. The 'L' was backwards, but at last the 'U', 'C', and 'Y' following it were rendered well enough. At least, well enough for letters drawn by a 7 year old out of fake plastic gemstones.

"Couldn't sleep." Her words sounded almost as slurred as my father's had that night. Seemed she really was tired; liked we'd feared, the loud singing must've woken her up.

"Heard all the celebrations, did you?" I said, taking a seat near at the foot of her bed.

"Mmmm… 'ss Dog Man back?" she groggily asked, while turning onto her back to look at me. 'Dog Man'. Hmph. When dad first mentioned Barker to us before we moved out here, she immediately asked if he must have been a talking dog. She was too old to think that now, but even so, the name stuck for her. Funny how 'Barker' isn't even his real name, and she'd still found something else to call him. I nodded to her, trying to turn away as she pointed the flashlight closer and closer to my eyes.

"Sssso's daddy coming home, 'en?" she whispered, seemingly falling back asleep. Her flashlight began to slip out of her hand. I'd hoped she'd fall asleep before I'd have to answer, but even as she closed her eyes, it was clear she was staying awake to hear what I'd say. The singing still went on outside, maybe even getting louder (although I thought they might have moved on to a different song, but I'd never have been able to tell either way).

I looked away, feeling my eyes begin to blink excessively. I'd gotten the old tell from my dad. Good thing Lucy's eyes were closed. "I don't know." I whispered, gently taking the flashlight from her hand and covering her up again with her blanket. "We'll see."

After a few moments, it didn't seem she was awake enough to keep talking. I stood up and headed over to my bed, stripping off my trousers and throwing them into the ever-growing pile of dirty laundry squeezed in the small space between the foot of Lucy's bed and the side of mine. Have to take care of that someday, I thought.

Next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, my limbs splayed out across my bed. Hadn't realized I was that tired, but as soon as I hit the mattress, the events of the day crashed down on me like a damned meteor.

Acting like I had it all together was being to take a toll, I suppose. Every night when I'd get off from work, I'd pass Lucy by outside while she played with her friends or chased a butterfly around, or… hell, I didn't even know what she was doing half the time. What if she was getting herself into trouble? It was only a three hour window between the end of "school" and when I got off work, but… it was just one more thing to worry about.

I suppose I can't blame her teacher, though. There must have been a dozen kids in the colony, smattered across all different age groups. Just one lady managing all of that, and trying to teach them something, must have been one helluva—

"Lucy!" Startled, I quickly sat up, beginning to feel a stiffness creep into my back. The whisper had come from the stairs, it seemed, and peering through the darkness, I could just make out my dad's head peaking up from the stairwell. "Luce!" He went again.

"She's not up," I responded in the same hushed tone.

"Are you?" Taking a shower hadn't sobered him up completely yet, I supposed.

"I'd certainly like not to be." All that stiffness in my back certainly wouldn't be going away if I was kept up all night. Wouldn't be getting better working tomorrow either.

"Well, get some pants on, I got summin' to show ya." Dad looked side to side, making himself look shiftier than he probably wanted to.

"Tomorrow," is all I could let out coherently before I felt my words begin to slur, and my eyelids begin to droop.

Suddenly, my dad shot across the room, forcefully enough to get me to jolt up in one adrenaline-driven movement, but gracefully enough that Lucy didn't move a muscle beneath her blanket in response. The day before, he had been complaining about back pain; either he was lying through his teeth, or just excited beyond description. Next I knew, he was standing directly over me. He held up a finger like he was making some profound point, grinning ear to ear.

"This can't wait," he said, his voice raising like he was giving a warning. I grimaced, as I slowly swung myself up from the bed. He looked back at Lucy's bed: still asleep, somehow. I took a step past him, making for the stairs. "Pants." Forgot the pants. Had to grab new ones; couldn't risk diving beneath the bed and waking Lucy. Plus, the ones I had shucked off earlier were already stinking up the room with the smell of sweat, oil, and ale. Except I hadn't drank any ale…

"I thought you said you took a shower." My dad looked a little insulted as I recoiled away from him slightly before squinting and searching the room for another pair of trousers.

"Had to say somethin'. Was jus' goin' ta check on my little su'prise." He'd started sounding both buzzed and tired; not a good combination.

"Let's just hurry this up so I can go to bed…" I whined through gritted teeth, pulling on a pair of old trousers and making my way down the stairs. Dad was close in tow; I decided to walk just a little slower to make sure I was there in case he passed out. Then again, despite the adrenaline kicking in, I still felt like I could pass out any second, too.

Dad took the lead, and started leading me toward the eastern side of the colony, always stopping occasionally to slink close to a wall and peer around like he was trying to be stealthy. Each time, he'd quickly flatten himself against the closest surface, peer around the corner a couple times, then beckon me forward. No clue who he was trying to hide from; even the singing crowd had all dispersed and gone home, and there weren't any housing units on this side of the colony, just storage sheds and tertiary operations posts.

Eventually, he came to a stop outside one of the larger storage sheds: a huge garage, though despite its size, it's not one I had ever seen anyone using. Hands on his hips, he stood back and admired it, looking on it like some grand accomplishment. "You know what's in here?" He was almost speaking normally again, although obviously keeping his voice down for fear of waking anyone. Nearly everyone else in the town was sleeping off the 'festivities', though, so there really was no need to keep quiet.

I shook my head at him. "Some old-ass booze…?"

"Hey!" He became stern, and turned to me with an derogatory finger stuck out. "Language." Must've lost my finger. I mean filter. Damn, I was so tired I couldn't even think straight, let alone stop myself from swearing. Dad put his finger down, and curled the corners of his mouth up again with satisfaction. "It's not booze. Believe me, 'f there was any booze stored anywhere, someone woulda drunk it a long time ago." Well, he wasn't wrong about that.

He produced a key from his pocket: an old thing, ornate in a way; not like a keycard or radio key like we usually used for storage, but a real metal key. Last time I'd seen one of those was years and years back, before we even lived out here. It may have been archaic, but so many people disregarded them entirely, that they'd become even more secure than a hackable code panel or replicable key card after a while.

Dad leaned down and clutched the heavy silver lock in the palm of his hand, fumbling at first as he tried the key every which way, until he let out a low noise of satisfaction, pulling the lock forcefully off its clasp and throwing it down next to the rusted metal garage door. He squatted down, taking the bottom of the door in both hands, and attempted to lift it. After a mere moment, he faltered, his hands slipping away from the door and falling to the ground to stabilize him. Whatever injury he had in his back had gotten to him; I was surprised he I rushed towards him, leaning down and putting my hand on his shoulder. On his knees, he leaned back, putting his hands on his hips and panting furiously.

"You, uh…" He took a moment to regain his composure. "You go 'head and open it," he said between huffs and puffs. I didn't budge. "I'll be fine," he reassured, his tone lightening. He motioned to the door of the massive garage, leaning back a bit to stretch his back.

I stood and tepidly approached the door. What could be so gigantic that it had to be stored in here? On that note, how could something so large have been moved into here without me noticing? I bent my knees down, and grabbed onto the door. As I pulled it up, I began to think about dad's back injury: lifting the door was quite the inconsequential task. If he couldn't even do that, then he was worse off than I had expected. Maybe it was the ale taking its toll, but either way, dad taking some off would really do him good.

The darkness in the garage was downright palpable, so much so that even squinting hard, I couldn't see anything inside. Dad, finally standing with a long grunt, took a step inside the building, the shadow nearly swallowing him as he distanced himself from me. I could see well enough that he was proudly resting his hand on some kind of large mound, and from the sound of it, whatever his hand had touched was metallic, and hollow.

"I figured, y'know, without me there to watch over ya, once I give the place over to Hermes…" He hesitated. Sounded like he was almost in tears; I would have said I'd never seen him that sentimental, if I could have seen him at all through the night. "Well… things'll be different. You deserve an easier job, you deserve to be able to come on home earlier, and… aw, hell, you just deserve to have a little fun, even at work."

Reaching high to the ceiling, straining, he clicked the switch of a small hanging work lamp. Even through the light of a single dim bulb, and though I'd never seen one in-person before, I knew exactly what I was staring at. Its stature. Its vaguely humanoid form. The metallic chassis. Dad didn't need to say anything, but he did anyway, perhaps just for dramatic effect.

"It's called a Titan." Dad looked it up and down, then looked to me for approval. I could tell now, in his eyes, he was desperately looking for it.

My first step toward the thing was filled with trepidation; I almost feared the thing was going to come to life and crush me right there. The stories people passed around about Titans: mowing down civilians, crushing homes under their feet with families still inside, ripping each other apart and grinding enemy Pilots into pulp… again, I'd never seen a Titan in person, but upon closer examination, this thing didn't look like it could do any of those things.

Although my initial fear had simply come from its towering stature, it soon faded once I realized the damn thing was barely even intact. Every last metal plate, shoddily welded onto the next, held some degree of rust or other wear. The armor plates on the arms were disheveled, a couple of them half severed from their neighbors, dangling off and waving subtly in the wind. Its hands looked almost crumpled, and there was no weapon in sight. What little luster its various external sensors could have emitted was lost to the scratches and cracks on their surfaces. On its main chassis, some symbol I could only assume was of IMC origin had been halfheartedly scratched off and mutilated, though it was still clear as day. Spying the inner pistons and hydraulics was all too easy, as it was all thinly veiled by the spotty metal plating.

And every inch of it amazed me.

I stood there, mouth half agape, scanning side to side, taking in every detail of the metal monstrosity before me. Dad broke the silence, continuing to hope for some kind of affirmation.

"It's called an Atlas model, actually. Not quite as fancy as the new prototypes I've heard Vinson's been working on lately, but…" He seemed to avoid eye contact with me, continually looking the Titan up and down. "You never saw the world before the Titan Wars, but we used to use these things for any damn thing you could think of. Plowin', transportin'... and o'course heavy liftin'." Now, he looked over to me for the first time. Feeling his gaze on me, I looked over at him. I could feel the lump in my throat coming back again as my dad continued to speak. "Your whole job is liftin' and... don't want you to end up like me." His hand instinctively moved toward his lower back again, if only for a moment. That said, it hadn't occurred to me that the Atlas might actually function at all, let alone in any capacity to lift anything.

"You mean this thing runs?" I looked over to him for the first time since we'd opened the garage, a mixture of surprise and awe in my eyes.

"Eh, you'd be better off callin' 'er a 'she' than a 'thing'" He gave me a sideways look, somehow expecting me to know that already. "And 'course she's operational… wouldn'ta bought 'er if she wasn't." He mosied over to my side. "Hermes's prob'ly the only one who'd have a chance at fixin' 'er up if she was damaged… hell, it was his idea to buy her in the first place."

"Where did you even get it? And how'd you even get it out here?" I was puzzled; sure, he had gone on a few trips off-world to negotiate supply deals and try to make sure the IMC stayed off our trail, but bringing back a Titan? That would've drawn some attention.

"Ah, Hermes clued me in to a few abandoned IMC shipments out on Typhon," he remarked proudly. "Word's had it they've been settin' up shop there since Demeter. Then again, everything's in such a… such a…" He searched for the word. "Like a… disarray. No way to talk to IMC command means no supply manifests, means a few busted up old Titans won't really be missed, right?" Giving the Titan a few satisfactory pats, I noticed him causing a few nuts and bolts to fall out from somewhere, clinking loudly against the ground. He tried to ignore it, trying in vain to hide an uncomfortable look on his face.

I still didn't purvey any kind of affirmation to him. Not that I wasn't grateful but, frankly, I didn't know what to think. Going from barely keeping my head above water to my dad quitting his job and coming to be under the ownership of a Titan was a pretty big leap.

"No use in askin' what ya think 'til ya…" Dad trailed off, straining and grunting as he gained a foothold in the Atlas's knee and pulled himself up slightly to pull some kind of release, causing the cockpit to open. I watched on, still in awe, as the hydraulics sharply released some steam, the Titan seemed to lean forward, and the hatch fell open in front of me like a massive gaping mouth. Dad slowly touched back down. "...take 'er for a spin, right?"

"You're insane." My response was immediate. No way he could actually think I could pilot this thing, let alone without any competent supervision, and being barely lucid myself. "Why don't you sleep off the ale and show me tomorrow?"

"Come on," Dad pleaded. "It's not too dif'rent from drivin' the forklifts down on the loading bay. Plus, there's supposed to be some kinda voice guide installed in all o' these. It's like riding a bike, ya know?"

"I haven't ridden a bike in years…"

"Not literally." Sounded a bit irritated at my snark, but he swiftly lightened up again. "Just get in. Ya don't even have to move, just get the feel o' the controls a second."

I doubted I'd be able to dissuade him, in either of our current states. Reluctantly, I took a step into the open hatch, and nearly recoiled as the soft velvet under my foot reminded me of the mouth comparison again. My resolve returned shortly, and I pulled myself up into the pilot's chair, resting my arms shakily to meet the onboard controls. It was surprisingly comfortable, though still noticeably foreign. Suddenly, another hydraulic rush of air sounded out, and the hatch quickly snapped closed. Startled, I jolted, feeling the ramshackle Titan shake all around me.

"Oh. I don't thinks it's 'posed to do that." His voice was slightly muffled, but it surprised me that I could hear him as well as I could from inside the humongous humanoid. "I'll get Hermes to see 'f he can fix 'er. Go ahead and start 'er up."

Figured it was useless to ask him exactly how I was supposed to do that, as he likely had about as much of a clue as I did. I examined the controls beneath my tentatively resting hands. Dad had been right before; the controls didn't seem too foreign after a few years of having to operate a forklift: there were controls for power management, drive, and some extra controls I presumed were for its nonexistent weaponry. That said, there was no ignition or turnover control in sight. The only thing that didn't seem to have any surmisable use was a strange circle that didn't have tactile interactivity. About the diameter of an orange, it sat inert directly below my left hand. I tried as carefully as I could to agitate it in some way, but it was to no avail. I inhaled sharply, and sighed heavily, readying myself to buck up and yell out to dad.

Immediately as I thought this, the cockpit filled with life, lights appearing from every direction, whirring and clicking abounding as I felt the entire chassis spring to life beneath me. We hadn't even moved yet, and it already had me feeling queasy.

"There ya go," I could hear my dad say through the commotion. "Just like Hermes had it. Now, 'ss gonna be a voice that pops up-"

"Pilot onboard. Beginning neural analysis." The voice was obviously a computerized imitation of a female: calm, collected, and possessing a faint accent. "Warning: neural link hardware incompatible with current chassis. Please migrate SERE kit to compatible chassis to unlock combat functionality."

"Don't worry 'bout that," Dad yelled to me. "A couple errors's just the price we pay for grabbin' an ol' beat up Titan."

Next thing I knew, a few small panels flipped open on the hatch in front of me, the inviting green velvet interior thrown back to reveal a collection of lenses glowing with red and blue light. Startlingly, the lenses produced a series of light beams that shot up and down my body, before disappearing and hiding away beneath the velvet as quickly as they had appeared.

"Analyzing," came the voice again, monotone and unchanging. "Pilot neural map catalogued. Accessing databases…"

"Just give it a minute," yelled Dad again, desperately trying to keep me calm. "Let it reject ya, and make a new entry or whatever an' we can get started-"

The Titan's voice interrupted him. "Match found. Migrating corresponding database entries."

"The hell?" Dad obviously hadn't anticipated this, his cheerful demeanor diminishing. "Always gave me an' Hermes some kinda error." I could hear him taking a few paces outside. "Maybe your brain map's close enough to mine it didn't need to make a new one."

"Neural map database updated. Beginning progressive caching of pilot interaction details. Protocol one: link to pilot. Warning: neural link hardware incompatible with current chassis. Please migrate SERE kit to compatible chassis to enable AI combat functionality." Each succeeding statement came just as quickly as the last. "Protocol two: uphold the mission. Mission parameters…" It stopped. Strange how it had said everything so quickly and coldly, but paused now. Guess it didn't have any mission. "Protocol three: protect the pilot. Pilot detected. Transferring control to pilot."

I jolted back again as the panels I had mistaken for velvet one by one began to gain light, each beginning to display a small segment of the world outside until I had a full view of the area in front of me. Maybe it was just the brightness of the screens, but looking out to the horizon, it looked like the sun had almost begun to rise again. My dad stood directly in front of the Titan, squinting as its lights shone down on him.

"There ya go. Can ya see me?" he asked.

I nodded, and went rigid once I realized… the entire Titan was mimicking me. Dad must have noticed my hesitation.

"There ya go! You got the hang of it!" The corners of his mouth began to involuntarily curl upward, a tentative grin forming. "Now, just slowly ease forward on the control pad. Should be on your left."

He must have been referring to the inert circle I'd noticed earlier, but looking over toward it, I realized that it, too, had lit up, displaying a circle that constantly moved and changed sizes. Dad turned and looked behind him a moment, and spoke to confirm my own suspicions.

"Don't wait too long, now, sun's comin' up."

Right. I rested the pads of my fingers on the surface of the control pad, and instinctively extended my first two fingers forward. My muscles tensed reflexively as I felt my entire encasement lurch forward. The Titan took a single thunderous step forward, nearly knocking my dad down as he jumped out of the way.

Astounded, he gazed up at me, likely not knowing he was looking me directly in the eye through the Titan's viewfinder, his mouth slightly agape. "Yeah… yeah, you got the hang of it." His voice harbored a slight twinge of fear. I imagined that, had I been speaking, my voice would have sounded even worse. Dad motioned to me, beckoning, and still squinting up at me. "Alright, I think that's enough. Get on out, let's head home."

Don't have to tell me twice, I thought. One of the first things I had noticed inside the cockpit was the release, directly above the hatch. I reached up grabbed the handle, pulling it down forcefully. The hatch didn't budge.

"Warning: pilot interaction detail download incomplete. Reliance on AI functionality inadvisable."

Dad rolled his eyes and stormed out of my view, moving around behind the Titan. "Damned thing… hold on a minute, I'll open the top hatch."

"Weren't you the one that told me not to call her a thing?" I immediately regretted speaking so loudly, as I realized my voice was amplified through the Titan to the outside world.

"Not so loud!" I heard my dad squeak out, his ears undoubtedly half shot. I'd likely woken up a few people in the colony as well; hopefully, they were all too hungover to investigate. "Anyway… if she's gonna act like a 'thing', I'm gonna treat 'er like a 'thing'. Let's get you outta there."

Dad's footsteps reverberated throughout the whole inner cavern in which I resided.

"Warning: enemy pilot is attached to the hull," stated the Titan's computer voice.

"Yeah, yeah…" dismissed Dad. Above me, I heard him clamoring, the loud screeching sound of metal scraping on metal permeating the cockpit. Eventually, more light flooded in from above me, and I saw Dad staring down, offering his hand to me. "Alrighty, up and out."

Grabbing his hand, I reached up the grab the rim of the hatch, and used them both to pull myself up. Was barely able to fit through the small porthole. I made a mental note to check my weight when I got home; must've been getting a little bulkier, for better or worse.

As Dad and I climbed down off the back of the Titan, we heard it speak again. "Be advised: pilot interaction profile fully downloaded. Beginning application of packet one: IFF functionality."

"She's really talkative this time," Dad said as we reached the ground. "I'm glad she gets along with you."

"You call… whatever just happened… 'getting along'?" I asked, trying to breathe deeply to supplement the anxious tightening in my chest.

"Sure. You were actually able to move 'er." He shrugged, with a smug look on his face. "That's better than most first-timers, I'd think." We began to move around the front of the Titan.

"How would you know?" I asked quizzically. "You said everyone used to use Titans, but you didn't seem to have a clue about how this one worked."

He looked a bit distant, trying to recall something from long ago, I imagined. "Well… Titans were different back then. Hell, everything was." As we crossed over to the front of the Titan, I wondered what he must have been pondering. Maybe it had something to do with my-

"Pilot, be advised: known Militia affiliates in your AO," stated the Titan. Obviously, it was talking to me, but as before, the volume was high enough to wake up the whole damn colony. Had it been that loud before I had gotten in?

My dad's eyelids drooped, obviously fed up with the Titan's antics. "No shit," he said under his breath. I don't even think he cared if I heard at that point. We were both exceptionally tired, no doubt. He turned toward the Titan, and I followed suit, to find the thing leaned forward, looming over us with the massive, glowing metal eye in the middle of its chest, the light causing us both to throw our hands in front of our faces.

Dad turned his head away, still (in vain) blocking the light with his hand. "Why don'tcha tell 'er to shut down for the day, son?" He turned on his heel to gain some respite from the incredible shine. He put his hand onto my shoulder with a resounding slap. "Let's head home."

"Militia aggression detected. Protocol 3." It happened so quickly, neither of use had any time to react. The Titan's arm shot straight forward, taking my shoulder (and by extension, my dad's hand) between its hulking forefinger and thumb. It began to squeeze, its vice grip causing the bones in my shoulder to bow. I could feel the stress beginning to splinter every major bone in that vicinity, while my dad grunted and squealed, clawing at the magnanimous fingers to no avail. Undoubtedly, his other hand was completely mangled.

I could barely manage to speak through the immense pain. "F- stop! Fuggin' stop!" I managed to scream, immediately prompting the Titan to return to its original position.

"Command authenticated," it said matter-of-factly, standing inert, as if the previous thirty seconds have never happened.

Dad fell to the ground, clutching at his destroyed hand. There was surprisingly little blood, but his fingers and thumb were absolutely mutilated internally, every finger pointing in a direction is was most certainly not designed for, and his forearm sporting a sizeable purple protrusion.

I grabbed at my shoulder, with every pulse and throb bringing a new wave of pain into it. Pivoting it even remotely was completely out of the question; I could almost feel it swelling thoroughly beneath my free hand.

I managed to drag myself over to dad's weak form, with him still writing on the ground and producing all manner of expletives. I knelt down next to him, taking extra care to keep my gimped shoulder level.

"Sh- shut that bitch down," he sputtered, beginning to hyperventilate. "You- you're gonna have to help me across the colony. My back's shot, kid, and my arm's completely-"

"Pilot: advise you rendezvous with an IMC-certified combat medic if you are in need of medical treatment." The Titan stayed still, and though its voice was as monotone as ever, I couldn't help but sense some kind of smug aura from it. "Nearest detachment is 0.5 kliks east of your position."

"The… hell?" I questioned under my breath between labored sucks of air. I only pondered for a moment on what she could mean, before I heard them.

Dad strained to pull his head up, staring off in the same direction as I was. His breath only became more labored, and his mere overtaxed exhalations spelled exactly how he felt.

On the eastern horizon, rising in tandem with the edge of the nascent sun: IMC carriers, surrounded by swift dropships, headed directly for the colony.

"Pilot: friendly squadron incoming. Do you require escort to the nearest medical officer?"