A/N: Hey guys! So I doubt anyone has noticed, but there is a secret in SP's designation. See if you can find it!

2245 hours

The Red Eye

Briggs sat at her desk, feet kicked up on the cool metal surface, datapad in hand. Winston had forwarded her a long list of candidates to choose from, fruits of the new screening. Letting out a low whistle as she saw how many there were. Almost 250 candidates. She was going to be here for a while unless she narrowed it down. Starting on the list top down, she took a look at the candidates backgrounds, how well they did, and their experience. Any and all ex-IMC she didn't trust because they could very well be spies, and anyone that was just here for a paycheck was obviously susceptible to bribes and going turncoat. Taking a sip from her coffee mug, she narrowed the list again, leaving people with only the highest scores remaining. Only 48 candidates left. That was a list she could use. Opening the first one, she read quietly to herself.

"Rifleman John Caldwell, score 4.1. Joined two months ago. Rescued from IMC raided settlement. Under investigation for use of substances. Nope." She muttered to herself. "Rifleman John Deric, score 3.7. Joined one year ago. Joined after Militia evacuated settlement. Only 17 years old." Briggs continued before doing a double take. "Only 17!? He shouldn't be allowed in the service! Pass on that." Going back to the list, she saw one about seven down with a star next to it. She shrugged, deciding that she'd get to it eventually.

"Next one. Rifleman John Hardin. Jesus, how many Johns do we have?" She asked herself, squinting at a nearby plaque of the top pilots, where it hit her that at least a third of the top hundred pilots were Johns. Shaking it off, she turned back to the list, looking at the next candidate. "Jake Seagate, score 4.3. Joined when stuck between jail or frontier work. Not a good candidate." Criminals often looked out for themselves and not others, not a good trait in war. "Next one…." Briggs said in a sigh.

"Jax Rutledge, score 3.6. Joined after colony was destroyed in IMC attack. Very jokey attitude." Briggs made a note next to him on the list to come back to later. Next up was the starred listing. "Rifleman Max Fawkes, score 4.9? Wow." Stated Briggs. It was very rare that anybody got above a 4.5 in simulations. Deciding to read more into it, she opened up his full file, storm gray eyes with a tinge of blue looking back at her in his profile picture, slight smile tugging at his lips. To the right and bottom of the picture was his info.

"Joined three years ago after losing home against an IMC resource capture force. Managed to escape capture and take half of the resource squad down by rigging a titan to blow. Clever boy." Briggs was about to mark him and get on with it, but she saw something a bit lower that caused her to choke on her coffee. After a quick coughing fit, she managed to collect herself and reread the bottom text to confirm what she saw.

"Proven Mechanist nervous system." She read aloud. How long had it been since the last Mechanist had been discovered? They were very rare, with the ability to control a titan as their own body and feel through it. They were what titans were made to be controlled by. The OG titan pilots. Quickly setting up a video call on her desk computer to Winston, she reviewed more of the file as it rang. She was going to need to familiarize herself with every aspect of him since he was most definitely going to be invaluable. The vidcall chimed and a holographic image of him was superimposed on the table.

"Hello Commander, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Winston asked, setting down a datapad on a table next to him. "Winston, I think we've found our new pilot." Briggs said, grin evident on her face.

0932 hours

Militia training grounds

Max decided to take a break from lifting the weights on the bench, setting the 200 pound bar back on the holding rack. Sliding off from the bench, he took a swig of water from his canteen before noticing a few people making their way towards the center of the room. Two pilots decked out in gear and a man in Militia dress uniform. Maybe they're here to announce the screening results? Though Max. It had been at least two days since the screening had finished.

The group stopped in the middle of the training hall before the man in dress clacked his heels together, a noise that somehow demanded attention, people stopping what they were doing to watch. Almost everyone was looking except that one person in the back on treadmills listening to music. Thankfully a nearby soldier flicked his earbud, causing the man to turn around and realize what was going on. The man in the center cleared his throat before starting.

"To all Militia personnel, upon review, many of you have proven worthy of the promotion to pilot. A list of those promoted is posted in the mess hall. However, I am not here for such a trivial announcement. Would Rifleman Max Fawkes step forward please." He asked. Max looked left to right, noticing the rest of the room turn to look at him. Now very uncomfortable he took a few cautionary steps forward, making his way to the edge of the crowd. He walked all the way to the front of the man after being beckoned forth. Max stood straight and saluted him, standing at attention.

"Name and rank private." The man asked.

"Rifleman Max Fawkes, 3rd Militia infantry division, Sir!" Max stated. The man smiled. "I'm afraid you will be a rifleman no longer." The man stated. Max started internally panicking. Did I do something wrong? What does he.."Instead, you are hereby promoted to pilot, and will be participating in a brand new experimental titan project, called Arkine, for your exemplar skills in the simulations." The man stated, giving him a brand new lapel pin and uniform patch of a capital white A with a titan silhouette acting as the space under it, with a flying star trail making the middle line. Max gingerly took the pair before saluting once more.

"Thank you sir!" Max had truly no idea what to think though. He was going to be part of a new titan project, that much he knew, but he never would've thought he'd actually be a part of something big. Sure he had dreams, but it doesn't mean he believed he could accomplish them. His mind boggled at the implications, and he almost didn't realize that the man had started talking again.

"At 0900 hours tomorrow, you will be in full dress uniform for pickup and transport to Harmony to meet your new titan and begin pilot training. Any questions?" The man asked. Max had many questions, so many questions, like Why me? What is this new program? What is this going to be like?

"No sir." Max answered. He knew he could find out later, and asking questions might make him look bad. The trio saluted again, and Max returned it as they walked away towards the goblin bay. Most of the people in the room went back to what they were doing, but max just stood there for a while, staring at the new pin and patch. A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his stupor and back to reality, Jax was standing there, hand on his shoulder and a smirk on his face.

"Toldja you didn't need any support from me. Good luck out there bro, you get to fight with the best of them. Drinks on me tonight man, you better be there. It'll be a farewell party." Jax started walking away, but turned around as he was. "Be sure to send me some cool souvenirs when you get done with each battle huh? And I wanna hear the stories behind them to brag to me mates 'aight bro?" He requested. Max nodded, a slight upward tug of his lips as he saw Jax was about to walk into a pole. Jax clenched a fist brought it down in a 'Yuss' sort of way before turning around smack into a support pole. Half the room that saw it burst into laughter as Max walked over and helped his fallen friend.

"Should've watched where you were going bro. I won't always be there to save your hyper ass. You'd make a great stim pilot y'know, bouncing off buildings like a squirrel on a pack of energy drinks. But then you'd be a prime target because you'd be so annoying. In fact, why don't you sign up to be a distraction for the rest of them? It'd be perfect!" Max asked, earning a glare then thoughtful pause from Jax.

"Hey, y'know that's not actually a bad idea. Run around with a megaphone and SMG, harass the enemy and allow our pilots to get the drop while their focus is on me. Thanks bro! Now all I need to do is get uploaded and have an army of me's at the ready to annoy the crap out of the IMC if I get shot down by a lucky guy." Jax said, goofy grin back on his face. Max chuckled and patted Jax on the back. "I'll be sure to come by every so often and see how you've been doing, and you had better be alive for those. Who knows, maybe we'll even be in a couple of battles together at some point." Max shrugged.

"We will see" Jax said. We will see… Max thought. Only time will tell. Now the only thing that he had to worry about was when the hell did grunts get dress uniforms?!

0836 hours

Militia barracks

After finding out from his captain, he was now in what was considered dress uniform. A grunt's dress uniform was little more than combat gear without the helmet and pouches. Max practiced his aim near the end of the training room, opting to not get his 'uniform' sweaty and dirty. Instead, he was wielding a Hammond pistol, taking pot shots at a wooden target the furthest distance down the range. A small group was watching, and a couple had started a betting pool on whether or not he would make the shot.

Breathe in, breathe out. That was one of the keys to a steady shot. Finger now on the trigger, Max took one last breath before emptying his lung. Now. thought Max. The pistol cracked in his hands, pushing his hands upward as the upper half ejected an energy casing and slid a new one in before his wrist steadied it again. Wasting no time, Max took the rest of the shots after each breath, casings hitting the floor next to him in a steady plink. Once the magazine ran dry, he relaxed and let the pistol fall to his side. Taking a look at the target, he saw the bullseye and the ring around it had been hit, but none strayed from that mark. One soldier clapped behind him, before a couple more joined them. Turning around, he saw most of the crowd had impressed expressions, but the one running the bets looked a bit sour. They probably bet more than the gambler wanted to pay back.

Max bowed to them before taking the magazine out and setting the Hammond back on the table. Checking the time, he started to make his way towards the hangar, grabbing his duffel on the way. Slapping the new Arkine patch on his shoulder, he unzipped part of the bag, checking again if he had everything. Datapad, check, clothes, check, old War ammo, check, really old dual beretta 92FS combo and an AKM, check. Those were few things he would never get rid of. Those weapons were the most reliable pieces of weaponry he had ever used. They were heirlooms from an older age, but even so, they had both the roar, power, and reliability that rivaled the current weapons. Benefit was they were purely mechanical as well. They didn't require fancy techies to replace parts and be fixed. Even if ammo was scarce now, all it took was a fabricator to replicate the old ammo. The way those guns worked were simple, and Max liked that. If needed, he could just strip the weapon down, clean it, adjust a part, and reassemble it, and it would work better than before. Even if they could jam, they almost never did as long as you kept them in good care like he did.

He had planned on using them in the battlefield some, but he didn't really want them to get damaged at all. Now they were decorative, but fully functional reminders of an age of simplicity he used to hang above his bed. The older age of ballistics was becoming a lost art. Now that every gun in the militia and the IMC's arsenal required energy to function, Max didn't want to rely on them. Sure, in main combat he would use the weapons, yeah, but these were always his fallback plan in case they were short of energy. Zipping the bag back up, he continued to the hangar. It was now 8:56 aboard the ship, and Max was ready for his new job.

A few goblins flew into the hangar and back out into space, but it was one in particular that Max was waiting for. A red colored goblin flew in, taking a much more prominent docking space in the middle of the hangar. This was who he was waiting for. A few people in suits alongside a guard of pilots exited from the doors on the sides that opened up. Max walked over to the incoming group, stopping just before them. They were comprised of five people, three suits in the center and two pilots on the edges. Both Max and the group saluted each other before the man in the center spoke to him.

"Pilot Max Fawkes I presume? You are to accompany us to Harmony to begin elite pilot training. Are you ready to go?" The man asked, Max took a deep breath before answering. This was going to be the beginning of his new life filled with more danger, more experience, and more potential to do something great. Was he ready?

"Absolutely." Max answered.

A/N: So, if you want an idea for Max's dual berettas, they have the minimal wear contractor skin on from CSGO.