Prologue
The AC slid off of it's red opponent's blade and cascaded into the ground as the reactor sputtered back to life and exploded terrifically. The blade shattered and the explosion blew the crimson AC backwards and onto it's back. The pilot inside slid into unconsciousness as all of the life support systems failed, and one by one each system clicked off for the last time.
The armor on the Glorious Fury shone in the waking day, glinting off of the twin missiles packs ratcheted onto it's shoulders. Both were blackened from the battle only hours ago. The missile tubes were empty, and the AC looked heavily damaged. Various parts hung by bundles of electrical cables that barely held onto their connectors, and sparks flew from the right arm ever so often as the impulses from the FCS tried to re-initialize the arm, but failed every single time due to an error unfixable by a computer: the FCS was splintered and cracked, exposed from the hailing bullets that had ripped the AC apart.
The glass surrounding the various sensors in the head piece was shattered and splintered in hundreds of places, and bullet holes surrounded it. Various scars of battle scraped across the machine's chest and leaked dangerous coolant from the reactor that was heavily damaged. The straight legs of the AC teetered precariously, and shuddered from the extreme pressure on them in their weakened state. The metal on them groaned and the pistons fired again.
The commanding AC stood across the battlefield, staring back at the other survivor, a mercenary hired to take his life. Energy began to pulse through the right arm as the FCS finally bypassed one of the circuits and brought the dead arm back to life.
The various pistons and pneumatic tubes flared as the arm lurched upwards to point at it's opponent with one deadly finger. Tri-tanium cylinders and firing ports shined brilliantly as dawn passed above the distant mountains of the plains. Energy built up in the tube and began to glow brilliantly as the other AC lowered it's weapon in defeat and accepted his now inevitable doom.
A breath flowed from his mouth as he pulled the trigger one last time. A flare of light burst from the cannon and the AC died. The monitors went black, and all of the communications and sensory equipment went with them into oblivion. The screeching motors and gears slid quietly into their deaths and all of the shining green stars winked out one by one on the console.
Blood trickled down his cheek as he gritted his teeth in disgust. "Dang hunk of junk," he kicked the console in front of him and cringed as he heard some conduits snapping from the push, "I can't believe that you would die on me, on her!"
The cockpit was dead, and no sound accepted or denied his response and a tear dripped from his scarred right eye. He pulled back his flight jacket to see the LCD glimmering in the dark. It imprinted the light onto his head and he grimaced at what it mocked him with. Merrily it shone the numbers '23:05', a discomforting number, one that assured that his companion was dead.
He reached to his side and pulled the black-and-yellow striped barrier away from the four power conduits. He gently flipped two of the main power breakers to his side on and off six times, but no whir came from the reactor. The AC was as silent as a day in space. "I can't believe that it has to end here... when we were so close..." The hands brushed against the conduits once more and flipped them off as he spun into darkness, and finally his head rolled forward as he lost all meaning of what the word 'alive' meant. The bloody hand of unconsciousness ripped his soul out of him and he fell as lifeless as a rag doll. His body slammed against the restraints of his chair and a dog-tag fell off from his suit shakily. It spun endlessly and glinted the only remaining light in the cockpit, the pilot's watch, across the consoles.
The dog tag spun lazily in the air, and finally stopped on the console in front of the man's forehead, so that the blurred reflection on it read: Shawn "Peacemaker" Williams. S/N 04403854 D.O.B. 14 Dec. 0402. The tear slid off of his cheek and splattered against a single logo that took up the right side of the dog tag. A black bird surrounded by a sky of red.
A raven.
The core fired one last time and the legs gave way to the pressure of the torso that sat on them. The AC lurched to the ground and became just one more statistic on the battlefield of war. One more mangled machine discarded by corporations who treated them as toys. One more life buried in a graveyard of twisted metal and armored cores.
The AC slid off of it's red opponent's blade and cascaded into the ground as the reactor sputtered back to life and exploded terrifically. The blade shattered and the explosion blew the crimson AC backwards and onto it's back. The pilot inside slid into unconsciousness as all of the life support systems failed, and one by one each system clicked off for the last time.
The armor on the Glorious Fury shone in the waking day, glinting off of the twin missiles packs ratcheted onto it's shoulders. Both were blackened from the battle only hours ago. The missile tubes were empty, and the AC looked heavily damaged. Various parts hung by bundles of electrical cables that barely held onto their connectors, and sparks flew from the right arm ever so often as the impulses from the FCS tried to re-initialize the arm, but failed every single time due to an error unfixable by a computer: the FCS was splintered and cracked, exposed from the hailing bullets that had ripped the AC apart.
The glass surrounding the various sensors in the head piece was shattered and splintered in hundreds of places, and bullet holes surrounded it. Various scars of battle scraped across the machine's chest and leaked dangerous coolant from the reactor that was heavily damaged. The straight legs of the AC teetered precariously, and shuddered from the extreme pressure on them in their weakened state. The metal on them groaned and the pistons fired again.
The commanding AC stood across the battlefield, staring back at the other survivor, a mercenary hired to take his life. Energy began to pulse through the right arm as the FCS finally bypassed one of the circuits and brought the dead arm back to life.
The various pistons and pneumatic tubes flared as the arm lurched upwards to point at it's opponent with one deadly finger. Tri-tanium cylinders and firing ports shined brilliantly as dawn passed above the distant mountains of the plains. Energy built up in the tube and began to glow brilliantly as the other AC lowered it's weapon in defeat and accepted his now inevitable doom.
A breath flowed from his mouth as he pulled the trigger one last time. A flare of light burst from the cannon and the AC died. The monitors went black, and all of the communications and sensory equipment went with them into oblivion. The screeching motors and gears slid quietly into their deaths and all of the shining green stars winked out one by one on the console.
Blood trickled down his cheek as he gritted his teeth in disgust. "Dang hunk of junk," he kicked the console in front of him and cringed as he heard some conduits snapping from the push, "I can't believe that you would die on me, on her!"
The cockpit was dead, and no sound accepted or denied his response and a tear dripped from his scarred right eye. He pulled back his flight jacket to see the LCD glimmering in the dark. It imprinted the light onto his head and he grimaced at what it mocked him with. Merrily it shone the numbers '23:05', a discomforting number, one that assured that his companion was dead.
He reached to his side and pulled the black-and-yellow striped barrier away from the four power conduits. He gently flipped two of the main power breakers to his side on and off six times, but no whir came from the reactor. The AC was as silent as a day in space. "I can't believe that it has to end here... when we were so close..." The hands brushed against the conduits once more and flipped them off as he spun into darkness, and finally his head rolled forward as he lost all meaning of what the word 'alive' meant. The bloody hand of unconsciousness ripped his soul out of him and he fell as lifeless as a rag doll. His body slammed against the restraints of his chair and a dog-tag fell off from his suit shakily. It spun endlessly and glinted the only remaining light in the cockpit, the pilot's watch, across the consoles.
The dog tag spun lazily in the air, and finally stopped on the console in front of the man's forehead, so that the blurred reflection on it read: Shawn "Peacemaker" Williams. S/N 04403854 D.O.B. 14 Dec. 0402. The tear slid off of his cheek and splattered against a single logo that took up the right side of the dog tag. A black bird surrounded by a sky of red.
A raven.
The core fired one last time and the legs gave way to the pressure of the torso that sat on them. The AC lurched to the ground and became just one more statistic on the battlefield of war. One more mangled machine discarded by corporations who treated them as toys. One more life buried in a graveyard of twisted metal and armored cores.