Chapter Text
Everything begins, and I mean that quite literally, with the light of Creation. Imagine the power to realize anything your mind can conceive of on any scale, and then imagine that power given tangible form. It’s not the being that created our existence, but it may very well be the tool that that being used. It’s the paintbrush that illustrated the very first tree. It’s the yardstick that told the stars where to hang in the night sky.
Somehow, the light of creation ended up in a place where it was probably not intended to go: our world. The very world that it helped to shape. A year ago, the Institute of Planar Research and Exploration, the world’s premier collective of bright minds and adventurous spirits, recovered the light of creation. And in this past year, we’ve made immeasurable advancements in the fields of science and arcana, mapping to the yard our planar system — and gaining a terrible glimpse of what lies beyond.
The Hunger.
Unfortunately, poking at the seams of our reality tore some pretty major holes in it, and the Hunger was quick to poke its fingers back through. Ever since, it’s kaiju have been crossing over into our world, threatening our plane and our way of life. But as we have lost immeasurably to these kaiju, so too have we gained. With the immense wealth of knowledge we at the IPRE have uncovered this past year has come the ability to combat this threat. We started our Jaeger problem to fight back against the very Hunger itself. But as that threat grew larger — as the kaiju grew larger — so to did our program.
Today, we reveal our latest line of Jaeger mechs, and the brave souls that pilot them. Please, welcome to the stage — the seven birds!
Then the video ends, the lights come up on the stage, and the seven birds are greeted with a wave of applause from the audience congregated in front of them. All of them are dressed in gleaming new uniforms in identical shades of red. It’s a stunning first impression; they look, more than anything, like a team. A force to be reckoned with. At one end of the table, Captain Davenport — or Cap’n’port, as the masking tape stuck over his name plate reads — leans forward and taps the microphone in front of him.
“Ah, hello everyone,” he says. “Welcome to the IPRE. As stated in our lovely introduction video there, we will shortly be unveiling our newest line of jaeger mechs. But first, if anyone in the audience has any questions about them or our pilots, now’s your time to ask them.”
Immediately, the room is filled with shouting voices. Davenport grimaces, then points at a reporter sitting in the front row. “Yes, you.”
“Uh, thank you. Guillermo Beacham, West Rim Daily. What makes these mechs so different from previous lines manufactured by the IPRE?”
“Good question. Primarily, they’re just bigger.” He laughs. “They’re the biggest mechs anyone’s ever made, actually. What really sets them apart, actually, is the power source. It doesn’t run on any kind of fuel you’ve ever heard of. It doesn’t run on any kind of fuel at all, actually. This was the biggest discovery that the light of creation allowed us to harness. These mechs are powered using Bonds.
What we discovered while studying the light of creation’s power is that any two things in existence, from the whales in the sea to the dust in the air to every individual teaspoon in your kitchen cabinets back home, are connected, somehow, by Bonds. It covers any number of observable phenomena, uh, magnetism and gravity, electro and covalent bonds, but there’s infinite unobservable threads too, holding the matter of our universe together. In a manner of speaking, the interpersonal connections that we share are a type of Bond, too. Emotion. Sympathy. You could say these Jaegers run on the power of love, if you wanted to be extremely reductive. Bonds are what propel and power these machines, and it’s what’s going to allow us to continue to repel the Hunger’s attacks as our mechs grow ever larger.”
Another reporter cuts in.
“Captain Davenport? Steve Johnson, Fantasy Times. Do you have names for these mechs yet?”
“We do indeed. We’ll reveal them in just a moment, and I’ll get their pilots to talk briefly about the specs of their machines as well. Any other questions before we move on?”
Another reporter chimes in from the audience.
“Captain? Rex Reed, Hollyvvood Reporter — that’s a double v, not double u.”
“Oh, good,” replies Davenport
“It’s a town near Neverwinter. Now listen, you’re not gonna say anything about midichlorians or anything? Midichlorians were not involved in this process, were they?”
Davenport tilts his head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, so …”
The reporter nods.
“Good, good.”
“Okay,” says Davenport, “Anyone else?”
“Hey, my name is Rod Peterwax from the Freedom Constitutional. Now, I’m as big a fan of defence spending as the next guy, but who’s paying for this? The taxpayers? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Wouldn’t that money be better spent repairing the damage already caused by the kaiju?”
“Well, Rod, they say an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. We’re hoping that we’ll be able to use the Bond engine technology pioneered in these Jaegers for all sorts of civilian and mercantile uses. Transport, trade, even the construction machinery used in rebuilding efforts. Between that and the projected abilities of our mechs to effectively halt any further kaiju damage, the science behind these bad boys should be paying for itself!”
Suitably mollified, the reporter sits back down in his chair. Behind him, a hulking Minotaur puts his hand up.
“Uh, Captain Davenport? I’m Clomp Hoffman, here on behalf of the Minotaur Monthly. Quick question: How do these walking weapon platforms help us get closer to ending the threat of the Hunger once and for all? What do you have to say about the allegations that your Jaeger problem is only a distraction or a, uh, stopgap preventing real solutions from being developed?”
Further down the table, a figure leans forward and taps on his mic, cutting off Davenport before the gnome has a chance to speak.
“Hi, sorry, Davenport, can I take this one?” Davenport nods. “Thank you,” continues the man. “My name’s Barry Bluejeans, I’m one of the pilots of Railsplitter.”
When he says the name of one of the new Jaegers, the room jumps with excitement. A new round of questions rings out, but Barry ignores them.
“The truth is we really don’t know nearly enough about the Hunger to even begin to engineer permanent solutions. The way things are now, the Jaeger program actually enables more hands-on study of the kaiju than any other approach. In a Jaeger we can study their behavioral and attack patterns, as well as harvest biological matter for study in the labs we have specifically dedicated to brainstorming ways to stop the Hunger permanently. You’re unfortunately right about the Jaegers being a stopgap, but plugging a dam is by no means preventing us from figuring out how to fix it. What’s more, is that —“
One of the elves seated down the very far end of the table, her name plate reading Lup, coughs and elbows her twin.
“Nerd alert!” She whispers, sotto voce. Barry flushes as red as his robes and clears his throat.
“Um, just don’t worry. We are looking into more permanent solutions, but the Jaegers are the best we’ve got until then.”
Davenport speaks up quickly, before Barry can say anything else.
“Thank you Barry. I think we’re about ready to move on now, unless-” He’s cut off by another reporter.
“Wait! Craig here, from the List. Real quick: two pilots? What’s up with that? Are they like understudies?” Davenport grins hearing that.
“Oh, good question! No, we don’t run ourselves like a theatre company here, unfortunately. The two pilots are actually necessary to pilot these mechs. As I said, this line of Jaegers use Bond engines, a brand new technology. While it technically isn’t necessary for a Bond engine-powered machine to require two pilots, we found that energy efficiency as well as operating precision and effectiveness was greatly increased when two pilots with a strong bond piloted the mechs. There are other factors that mandate we use two pilots, of course — the mental load of controlling a mech of this size alone is permanently debilitating after even an hour spent in the cockpit, so the two pilots are a safety measure too. Now, thank you all, but I think it's time to move on to the main course."
He turns and gives a signal to someone offstage, and behind him the screen that played the introduction video turns clear, revealing a massive standing ground outside with three hulking shapes in the middle of it, each covered with a tarp. With a grand gesture, Davenport signals the mechs and the tarps slide off.
The first mech is painted in orange and black, with thick limbs and a body covered in grenade bandoliers. It has an axe slung over its shoulder, a surprisingly thick shield standing in front of it, and two ginormous jet engines attached to its back. From the crowd, flashbulbs begin popping, and a chorus of oohs and ahhs rises up.
“Barry and Magnus, as you’ve already revealed the name of your mech, why don’t you start?” Barry flushes an even brighter red. Magnus, sitting next to him, puffs up.
“Aye aye, Cap’n’port! Hail and well met! My name is Magnus Burnsides. Magnus “The Hammer” Burnsides, actually.” Next to him, Taako turns to Lup and whispers,
“Did he just give himself a nickname?”
“I think it’s a callsign, babe.” replies Lup. Next to them, Magnus continues.
“I pilot one half of Magnus and Barry’s Party Platform, the newest vanguard-class Jaeger from the IPRE.” Barry cuts him off there, his voice scrambling a little through the microphone.
“Um, technically the Jaeger is called Railsplitter.”
“No, I think it’s better if the axe is called Railsplitter, and we should call the Jaeger Magnus and Barry’s Party —“
“Okay, fine, the Jaeger’s called Magnus’ Party Palace." Barry continues, "She’s the strongest of the bunch, utilising mithril plating and adamantium muscle fibres to achieve a perfect balance between maneuverable load and unstoppable force. She’s kitted out with a pneumatic Vivisection Axe, back mounted jump jets, and a Coffin Shield that doubles as a carrier for an army of skeletons, necromantically revivified and trained for large-target takedowns. Our combat goals while piloting her are —“
“To rush in and take the heavy hits! Railsplitter is loaded with a magic charge that lets us cut something clean in half once per day so we can jump in with the rockets, cut the kaiju in half, and then go home. Easy peasy.”
“Uh, yes, actually, thank you Magnus. Railsplitter — sorry, the Party Bus — isn’t really designed to take on the full brunt of the kaiju attacks. We’re generally supposed to leave that to our compatriots, Merle and Lucretia.” And Barry gestures down the table to an elderly dwarf and quiet young woman. There’s a beat of silence before Davenport clears his throat and the dwarf, swinging back on his chair, jumps to attention.
“Oh me? Is that me?” He says, looking around. “Hi,” he says. “Hey. My name’s Highchurch. Merle Highchurch. Merle Hightower Highchurch, if you really wanna know. This is Lucretia, and we pilot the Showstopper.” Beside him, the quiet woman speaks up. She’s less than half his age, but her eyes are as old as his.
“It’s actually the Blowstopper.”
The mech they’re talking about is next in line. It’s the tallest of the three, painted in dark greens and blues. It’s legs are surprisingly thin, and digitigrade under a torso wider and thicker than it is tall. It holds a shotgun in both hands, modified with a massive drum magazine. Peeking over its shoulders are an array of weapons, as well as a mysterious container Merle nods.
“Right, right, the Blowstopper. She’s a beauty, alright. She’s got adamantite all the way through.”
“Adamantium.”
“Right, adamantium. That’s what I said. And let me tell you folks, she is all curves. I’m telling you, just some damn fine machinery. There’s a reason we say she, you know what I’m saying.”
“Gross.”
“Sorry. Sorry! Where was I?”
“What she can do”
“Right! What she can do. Let’s see. She’s got the shotgun, obviously. She can uhh … set up a bubble shield. I call it the zone of healing up your buddies. I don’t really know how it works. Lucy’s smarter than me here.” He gestures to his co-pilot, who takes the signal to speak up.
“Okay, thank you Merle. We call it a Restoration Bunker. Essentially, these Jaegers have a unique ability as a result of their Bond engines: they’re self-repairing. The process is slow though, unless you’re within the effective range of the Restoration Bunker. It also has the added benefit of stopping most arcane projectiles, though it does nothing against physical attacks or incursions. However, it also slows us down substantially when it’s activated due to increased strain on the Bond engine.”
“What she said! Basically, our goal is to rock up to the battlefield maybe a little early, lay some mines, get ourselves set up, and when a kaiju rolls through we can just let it come to us.”
“Merle, you forgot to tell them about the mines.”
“I was getting to it! Geez. We also have big mortar mounted on our back so we lay down some pretty heavy ordinance mines. Yeah! That’s about it! We’re there to support the other guys on big missions if they need.” Davenport nods.
“Exactly right, thank you Merle. Lastly — the twins?” At the end of the table, Lup turns to Taako excitedly.
“Oh my god,” she says, “That’s us. Taako, did you hear that? It’s totally our turn.”
“Oh, natch, for sure. Do you want to tell them or should I?”
“You do it babe, mama needs her beauty sleep.” And with that, she pushes back in her chair and closes her eyes. Taako rolls his eyes and turns back to the reporters.
“Alright dillweeds, I’m only going to say this once. Where did — ah fuck, where did I put it. Okay got it, here we go.” He pulls a note from one of the pockets of his crimson red robes and reads it as fast as he can in a flat monotone. “The Flamecruiser is the third of the IPRE’s newest generation of Jaegers. Arcano-engineered from pure mithril, the Flamecruiser is designed to move, evading even the fastest foes and peppering them from afar with its many armaments. Armaments such as its variable bullet tommy gun, that can shoot burning, freezing, or even acidic or magical bullets; back-mounted napalm artillery, capable of coating whole mountain ranges with sticky fire and — actually, this is just me, Taako, saying this, but some pretty bodacious explosions-”
Beside him, Lup laughs.
“-and a chimera staff with the ability to transmute even the most burning flames into permafrost — or any other material it’s pilots can think up. Topping the whole petrifying package off is the Perseus cloak, a groundbreaking technology that can turn the mech or whatever it’s draped over completely invisible. The Flamecruiser is the ultimate weapon for stealth, destruction, and deadly artillery support. GAH that was boring. Lup. Lup save me please Lup.” Lup, sitting next to him, doesn’t bat an eyelid. Taako rolls his eyes and turns the note into a lollipop before sticking it in his mouth. The mech he was describing is third in line. It's the shortest of them all, painted in blue purples and a red the colour of their robes. It holds a massive staff in one hand, the other hidden by a cloak knotted around its neck and draped down its left side. Its tommy gun is slung across its chest and poking over its shoulders are two long barrels, igniters visible at their ends.
Down the other end of the table, Davenport sighs and stands up on his chair.
“Thank you, Taako. Now —“
A red light blinks on in front of each of the seven birds. The reporters can’t see these lights, but they see the birds react. Lup and Magnus stand up and high five, rushing out of the room with a whoop. Taako follows his sister, but the other three remain seated. Merle turns and whispers to Lucretia.
“What’s the light mean again?”
“It means kaiju, Merle.” A smile comes over Davenport’s face.
“You’re in luck, folks,” he says. “You’ll be the very first people ever to see our crew in action.” The crowd spikes with excited murmuring. “It seems we have a kaiju coming through right now. You are all, of course, welcome to join me in our specially developed mobile control room, the Starblaster, on a few conditions. One! No talking. Two! No flash photography. Three? No fainting when we tear this bad boy apart.”
And then, with matching grins, the seven birds rush in.