Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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It’s the very first thing Bae checks when she gets to her dorm. There’s a letterbox at the side of her door that usually collects campus manifests and advertisements. One time, she had a class send her grades in through this system. It was completely and utterly useless aside from receiving bills or official statements of some merit. 

She checks it and there it is. It’s a folder neatly placed inside next to a travel brochure. She tosses that over her shoulder. It’s the folder she nabs and tucks under her arm. She’s dancing on both feet as she fishes out her keys and shimmies her way into the dorm room. She doesn’t even check to see if her roommates are present. She tears across the room and burrows into the bathroom. She locks the door. 

The folder is carrying the seal. Bae marvels at it, holding it up to the light to get a better look at the chromatic texture. It’s a bloated cross, each rounded end of its points sticking out like shark fins. In the center, an eye. 

A.L.T.R. Relations Office - Recruitment

“Yes.” She breathes. She tears it open with jittery fingers. She’s hoping on her heels as she fishes out the documents. Oh my god, it’s all here. For a single moment, she worries it’s a letter of rejection. The first paper proves her wrong. It’s a long, three-sheet fold-out with a heavy amount of details. She skims it over. A lot of it she already knew from high school recruiters. She searches for what she wants to see. 

-formally accepted into the Aerial Pilot Series-

“Yes!” She whoops, accidentally knocking her knee against the bathroom counter. She grips her leg with a hiss, too excited to take her eyes off the pages before her. It was detailing all the coverage she’d receive, her new place, oh my god she gets a special I.D. too?

“This is the best day of my life.” She announces. 

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The Relations Office greets her like she’s their new favorite toy. She’s not incredibly young compared to the others walking in with acceptance letters, but she’s bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. They like her. She’s practically frothing. 

“So, I’ve been doing tons of research.” She says conversationally. She’s walking with one of the officers. They look more like the med lab kids back on campus with the white coats they wear. So far she’s just been led around to get her picture taken and get her serial code. She’s in the system baby, she’s in! “What kinda series am I gonna get? Is it small? Did I get a bomber?”

“I don’t know.” They look amused at her cheer. “If you were looking forward to higher grade units, they’ve all been taken.” 

Well, okay. That’s not terrible news. She’d seen some of the low 100’s and even those baby birds looked sick to ride in. She’s not discouraged. She only feels more excited when she’s handed off to a fitting room. An hour later, she’s standing in front of a mirror about ready to explode. 

The suit is light. There are gauntlets over her wrists. They’re unfitted, for now, but she’s told they’ll add the full features after she’s completed her drills. She nods through the explanation so hard that her head nearly pops off. The whole suit itself is a mix of red and blue, stripes of yellow down her arms and black undertones. She holds the helmet reverently like a priest at an altar. The Relations Office staff think she’s funny. She’s fine with this. 

It’s a long week. She doesn’t get to move to her new place yet. It’s a dormitory for aerial pilots and boy, that sounds so much cooler than her university dorm room. She’s left to take a shuttle to the office every day. She gets the paperwork signed. She talks with new advisers. She’s brought up to speed on the program. It’s a lot, but it’s everything she’s ever wanted. 

“We got your Altr serial code.” She’s told one morning. She looks at them so fast that her neck cracks. 

“20674.” They say. “And it’s a special one. Our field engineer will bring you up to speed.” 

It’s 200’s. Not bad, but not very big either. There’s a bus that takes her to the hangar. It’s connected to her new dorm. She rides it with a duffel bag over her shoulder. She’s getting emotional now as the city passes by the window. She’s in a jacket and jeans but underneath she’s wearing the mesh for her suit. It’s real. Her dreams, everything that began the moment she sat down with a one-on-one conference with the A.L.T.R. recruiter, it’s all real. 

She wipes her eyes when the bus stops. She would not look like a crybaby to her superiors. She’s led through the facility, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people. Administration, maintenance, engineering, technicians, managers, and other pilots. 

Her hanger. Her hanger, assigned to her, Bae’s hangar. She feels like she’s going to faint. It’s spacious for the mech that resides inside it. It’s a small, helicopter-looking thing. Where the blades of a helicopter would be were sharp maroon crystals. From its back, nearly a dozen much longer crystals. Their length differed between each section. Bae listens to the explanation in her ear dazedly. 

“P.H. is a special project.” She’s told. “Its design is meant for rupturing internal networks. It’s built to withstand a heavy amount of punishment. Your greatest weapon is brutal, front-on damage.”

Oh my god, I’m piloting a glorified ping-pong ball. 

There are two exits to the mech, one on either side of its body. It doesn’t have a head. The entirety of it felt a little cramped. Her cabin and her cockpit were all one large room. She sits in the pilot chair and has to hold back tears again as it sets in, I’m here. 

“Want to take it for a spin?” Her adviser asks. 

Bae thinks she blacked out for three whole seconds before she manages to say, “Yes.” 

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P.H. is an aerial unit. The first flight is spent white-knuckling the controls. Her adviser relays instructions to her through her helmet. She follows them shakily. Her weapons are disabled for now for safety. There’s a central keyboard in front of her. Several knobs and switches are framed around it to mitigate air pressure and the like. The entire front side of the mech is one-way glass with a slight pink tint to it as she’s able to not only see the sky above her head but also look below her feet and see the facility far below. 

Her stomach swoops. She pushes through. The top of the mech has buttons she can press. These are her weapon unlocks for plasma lasers and missiles. Once she’s landed, she crawls out of her mech to a crowd of technicians clapping and cheering. They pick her up onto their shoulders and chant her mechs name. She can’t stop laughing, joy and exhilaration soaring her so far high she doesn’t think she’ll ever come down from this high. 

On her third run, she notices the screen in front of her is dark. She’d largely assumed she’d get these all unlocked at some point. On this run, she was testing the weapons out. A purple bird mech was flying behind her as an escort while she aimed the plasma lasers down on target balloons. Both this panel and the radio were dead. When investigating them, she finds a seal on each one. It’s a flat circle screwed onto the service of it. 

“When are those gonna come off?” Bae asks. 

“Oh.” Her adviser looked at her strangely then. Bae hadn’t known what to make of that expression. “We said P.H. was a special project. We’re experimenting with new things at the moment.”

“So, they won’t come off?”

“It’s temporary.” Her advisor reassures her but never tells her when. That’s fine, she thinks. She has lunch with the other pilots and they laugh alongside her jokes. There’s joy radiating in the air, not just from them, but the techs as well when they join them. 

About her and forty other pilots are gathered around a T.V. and a radio one morning. There’s tense anticipation in everyone. Bae can’t unglue her eyes from the screen. It’s their forward command, the AA mechs taking a brutal beating. The enemy Altrs were breaching the shore. It spelled doomsday for them. 

If they didn’t have aerial pilots. 

“Accelerating.” The radio crackles. “First Squadron entering lethal distance.” 

“You’re clear to engage, first squadron.”

“Give them hell!” Someone shouts in the room. Bae crosses her arms tightly, eyes wide. The T.V. fizzes for a moment. There’s no audio from the drone camera, but she can see when the first missile impacts a bipedal mech walking ashore. It jerks back from the impact. Six more rockets make contact. The other mechs are producing shields and weapons. 

The plasma lasers begin. It’s an array of blue lights, a blinding light show that smokes heavily in the air. There are six aerial mechs. They fly in formation, a flock of prideful birds that don’t break line. There’s smugness in their quiet acceleration, in the absolute calmness of their movement. It’s an insult to the first wound. 

Bae throws her hands up and cheers with everyone in the room. It’s a roar of cries and laughter. People high-fiving. Someone picks her up around her waist and she’s used as a cheering baton. It’s funny. She’s laughing too much to care. 

“The forward command mechs are being relieved of their position for the first time in months.” A pilot tells her one morning. “They’re gonna rest here for a bit. I heard we’re even getting a sub.” 

“A sub?” Bae parrots incredulously. “How are they gonna get that here?”

“It needs heavy repairs.” 

That makes sense. Bae still feels the draw of curiosity. Normal AA mechs walk on two legs or six or the like. Sub mechs have much more different designs. She sneaks down the halls to the hanger it's resting in. 

It’s a shark. Oh, that’s badass. It’s tinted grey with a hint of blue on its flank. A skull had been graffitied onto its fin. Bae walks around it, marveling at the design. It’s resting on a belt in the middle of the hanger. 

She finds the pilot by the nose. The bright pink suit is easy enough to find. They have different suits than aerial pilots. The wet suit is form-fitting and lacks any weaponry on the wrists. This girl is tall. She looks over at Bae as she approaches. Her hands are occupied with a plasma former. 

“Yo.” The sub pilot greets. 

“Yo.” Bae returns. She can’t help but grin. “You got one hell of a beast here.”

“You like her?” The pilot smiles smugly. “I painted her myself.” 

Holy hell, you’re so cool. Bae walks up beside her, watching as the pilot lasers at a cut in the hull. The blue flash of the laser kinda hurts to look at. 

“Do you like being underwater?”

“It’s pretty sick.” The pilot sniffs. “My names Calliope, call me Calli.”

“My names Baelz,” Bae smirks, “call me Bae.” 

Calli glances at her, the apple red of her eyes shining with amusement, “Do you like being in the air, hot shot?”

“Hell. Yes.” Bae claps her hands together with a happy sigh. “Did you see the footage of that frontal assault? Tell me you did.”

“Haven’t had time to,” Calli says, turning her gaze back to the wound. “Besides, I was there.”

Oh right. Bae blinks. “I didn’t think about it, but you subs had to have been the first line of defense, huh?”

“Oh yeah. We were.”

The past tense doesn’t sit right with Bae. She’s not letting it get her down. She boasts, “It’s a good thing our squad came along when it did. You guys would be toast.”

Calli hums, not incredibly interested in that. Bae glances at her and back at the mech. The more she looks it over, the more she realizes it’s been bitten to hell. There are scratches all along its hull. Its left fin looks like it’d been chewed up. Bae’s smile dims a little. 

“Would you say you’re a good pilot?” Bae asks. 

Calli stops the laser. She glances at Bae heavily, “... Not really.” 

“Why’s that?”

“I could be doing more.” She pats the nose of her mech. “For her.” 

Bae looks at the shark quizzically, “For that?”

When Calli looks at her, it’s with wry amusement, like she was a little pebble in a giant sea. Bae isn’t sure she likes this look. 

“We’ve been fighting for a year and a half,” Calli says. “Well. I had a mech before this one and-” She looks away. Her bangs hide her voice but not the strain in her voice, “I’m not gonna lose this one too. She’s brand fucking new and deserves better than this.” 

“Uh.” Bae laughs sheepishly, “We’re still talking about the robot, right?”

“Yeah, the robot,” Calli says flatly, “have you ever tried typing to your mech?” 

“Typing?” Bae echoes. 

“Jesus Christ.” Calli exhales noisily. “The command panel? The radio? Don’t you have a ComPro?”

Bae stares at her in mute bewilderment. Calli looks at her, lips curling. Bae isn’t expecting to get in a fight of all things. Calli catches her expression and winds down, eyes narrowed. 

“... You don’t know what I’m talking about.” 

I think you’re crazy. Bae rubs the back of her head, “I guess. They have seals over the panel.” 

“They have what-” Calli covers her mouth with her hand. Her eyes are wide, outrage coloring the narrow of her brow. “What the actual fuck.”

“What?” Bae belts out, afraid of that reaction. 

“Ugh.” Calli turns back to repairs, her laser lighting up. “I can’t deal with this right now.” 

Bae stares, caught between indignant anger and confusion. Should I be worried about the seals? She’s feeling a little guilty about it even if she’s not sure what she said was wrong. She walks over to the maintenance wall and takes a former for herself. She rejoins Calli, holding down the trigger over a scratch. It comes out too hotly. It makes her yelp. 

Calli snorts. Bae looks at her, ready to snap, but Calli’s expression is softer. She’s reaching over to adjust Bae’s nozzle. 

“Easy, hot shot.” She jokes under her breath. “Don’t wanna lose our star pilot.” 

Bae perks up at that. She smiles, “You really like your mech, huh?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Calli asks, her gaze back to her work like an artist appraising a painting, “They protect us. They care for us. It’s not hard to give them a little love in return.”

You’re so weird. Bae seals over the cut. She stares at it for a while as the red hot metal cools. The plasma leaves nothing behind. She rubs her thumb over it. Smooth. 

“What’s its name?”

“Her name is G.G.,” Calli says. “What’s yours?”

“P.H.” 

“...Did you know that name stands for something?” Calli asks carefully. She sounds like she’s measuring her words and their weight. 

“No, I didn’t.”

“When you get the chance,” Calli says, “You should ask them what it stands for.”

“Who’s them?” 

“I dunno,” Calli says gruffly. “You figure out if you care.” 

Despite her rough exterior, Calli is a bit of a softie. After they run some more repairs, they got to the cafeteria for lunch. Pilots naturally gravitate to her and eventually, they’re surrounded by jokesters and laughter. Calli, she notices, has a quietness to her the whole meal. She speaks when spoken to. She laughs. Most of the time, her expression is down to her food and her thoughts are miles away. The bags under her eyes look a thousand times more severe in this light. 

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Technically, she can do whatever she wants to her mech. She’s the owner now. She’s thought about a paint job but the crystalline texture of it might make it difficult. Maybe the inside? She’s wandering the interior of it thoughtfully. Maybe some LEDs. Something to spruce it up in here. 

She notices the seals in her exploration. 

Well, she grabs a screwdriver, they did say it was temporary anyway. 

She does the radio first. The moment it's off a sharp ringing has her flinching. She’s quick to turn the radio off, wincing as her ears stop bleeding from the octave of that noise. After a second, she turns it back on. Gentle static fills her cockpit. She tunes into each channel thoughtfully. The airspace tower. Fifth squadron running drills. Two pilots are using one frequency to chat. Another between technicians. She turns it to an empty channel. 

“Alright.” She sits down in the pilot chair. She leans forward to grip the command panel. “Get off you little parasite.” 

It snaps off with some wiggling. The screen blinks to life. Bae blinks. It’s a black screen, aside from a winking red line, it’s empty. Oh, it needs command prompts. She sits back in her chair, cracking her knuckles and looking the keyboard over. She doesn’t know a whole lot of inputs. She’s thinking it over when she glances up at the panel. 

> Oh

Bae blinks. Two red letters sit innocuously on the screen. She hadn’t typed that. She tilts her head. 

“Are you really broken?” Bae asks airily. Maybe the seal was there for a reason. 

> I’m not broken 

Bae jumps in her chair. She gasps, “Wait, voice recognition?! What the heck, that’s so cool!” 

There’s a hum underfoot from her mech. She blinks hugely. It felt like her mech was alive, the rumble of machinery more prominent now. She can see both wings flexing in the hangar like someone winding out the stiffness of their shoulders. 

> Finally

> Are you my new pilot?

New? Bae blinks slowly. “Yes?” She isn’t sure how far its cognition goes. She doesn’t want to get stuck in a loop of repeating herself if it doesn’t recognize some words. 

> Nice to meet you

> Thank you for taking those off

> It felt like cough medicine 

Bae sputters. She can’t help but laugh at that. What? She can sort of see why the seals were there now. Her mech was saying some absurdly funny things. “I’m sure you know what that tastes like.” 

> Totally 

Sass! Bae can’t stop smiling. My mech AI comes with sass!

“Well, my name is Bae.” She greets. “Nice to meet you, P.H.”

> Hi Bae 

A new avenue had opened up. Bae kicks her feet in her chair, brimming with enough excitement that she can’t find what she wants to say. She can talk to her mech! Did all the other pilots get this? She has so much to talk about. 

“Did you have a pilot before me?” Bae asks. 

> I did

> They didn’t like me 

> I got muzzled 

“Muzzled?” Bae echoes. She looks down at the seals on the floor. “The pilot did that?”

> No

“Oh.” The techs did then. Bae changes the subject with, “Do I pilot better than them at least?”

> Meh

“Meh?!” 

> I could do better 

“You are the mech!” Bae accuses, “You can’t say that! You aren’t even in the equation here!” 

> Oh okay

> Have fun flying by yourself 

> Puny human 

“Hey!” Bae squeaks, but she’s laughing. She ends up talking to her mech for hours when quiet twilight rolls over the hanger and the technicians clear out. The text on the panel is filled with red. Her mech is smart. It can hold a conversation fantastically. Bae asks a question and her mech answers, though with some degree of jeering that makes Bae grin. 

“I’m so glad I didn’t get a boring AI.” She says companionably. “I can’t even imagine if I got some generated responses.”

Her mech doesn’t say anything. She can see the line blinking at her. 

“How’d you get programmed this way?” Bae asks. “Are all AI different?” She makes a note in her head to ask Calli about it anyway. 

> Entering low-power mode 

Bae startles as the lights of her mech dim. The panel had turned off. Oh. She frowns, disappointed. I guess that was the end of the cognitive responses. Oh well. She’d had fun. She pats the dashboard with a smile. 

“Alright, goodnight P.H.”

She walks backward out of the hangar, looking over her mech as she leaves. The crystal shine of it as the sunsets behind it makes it look beautiful. She can’t stop smiling. 

Being a pilot is so cool.

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Chapter Text

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P.H. has an autopilot. 

That was a pleasant surprise. Bae couldn’t recall ever being told there was such a system. She’s adapting to her job. Piloting is becoming easy. It’s incredible to soar through the skies, P.H.’s wings buzzing like a dragonfly behind her. P.H. is chatty which is just as nice. While she deals with patrol routes and flying in formations, she gets the added privilege of listening to the radio. 

She’d found a nice channel, which is the only channel really, that plays music. It’s this soft, quiet music. It doesn’t fit flying a mech. She’d much prefer rock or something just as hype. This is fine, though. On longer flights where the autopilot takes over, she leans back in her chair and listens to it. There are no discernable words flowing through the radio. It’s just music and it’s soothing. 

Her first mission is a depot reclamation project. An enemy resupply mech needed to be destroyed. Three other aerial mechs are with her on this. Their voices crackle through the receiver of her helmet. 

The supply depot is a six-legged mantis Altr. The cannons on its head target them. Bae grips her controls with sweaty hands. She’s nervous. She’s excited. She barely has to twitch the controls to avoid the first round of missiles. P.H. moves to avoid them all on their own. It gives Bae the opportunity to focus on the artillery. 

P.H. is equipped primarily with plasma. There’s a small missile presence, but only a few. That wasn’t the main point of P.H. Her mech was built to withstand blasts directly to the face. 

“Weakening the hull.” A fourth vision pilot says through the receiver of her helmet. “Forming entry point.”

“Standby,” Bae says. 

She pulls back. The others carve their way forward, lasers casting blinding lights in front of her. The mantis Altr returns fire, but her squadron avoids it. She coasts around the fight, waiting. 

> Hull integrity 67% 

> Breach likely

> Uh

“What?” Bae asks. 

> Are they really breaching the ass?

Bae snorts, gritting her teeth hard against outright laughing. She shakes with mirth. Ass stares back at her on her control panel. She can’t help it. She wheezes. 

> Oh

> Alright there’s a breach happening in the chest 

“P.H.” Bae laughs through tears. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever read.”

> I aim to please

> Especially if we decide to go up the 

> Butt

“Hull breached.” A pilot says in her ear. 

“Roger,” Bae says, strained with laughter. Her stomach hurts from holding it in. P.H. is banking cheekily to the side. Bae has a choice now and she’s coughing, trying not to throw up from giggling. 

> We have two breaches

“The chest.” Bae can’t even wipe the tears from her eyes through her helmet. “Go for the chest.”

> : \

> Fine

Her mech was going to be the death of her at this rate. That was a face! The command input made it look upset too. Bae readies to lasers, unable to rid the smile off her face. She doesn’t feel nervous anymore. She’s happy. 

She’s a god. She can feel the heat of plasma in the air. P.H. increases the thrust. They become a bullet across the air, a monster aimed directly for the heart of the mantis. Bae braces herself. The impact is jarring, nearly throwing her forward against the dash of her mech. The illusion of glass before her makes her afraid for a moment the cockpit will get crushed like a soda can. The crystal hull pulls through. The plasma lights up the breach. It’s only for a moment she feels herself inside the mantis. The resistance of metal and machinery is only brief. 

P.H. frees itself out the other side of the chest in a blaze of smoking plasma. The momentum carries them far past the supply depot. Plasma fire fizzless off the forward windows. Bae exhales, looking over the status of P.H. The temperature needs time to cool down before she can initiate a breach again. The point was to sever and dismantle. Ideally, she’d take out the engine in one go. The supply depot operates on eight. 

Or, they can separate the pilot from the mech. 

Bae turns P.H. to face the formation. The rest of the team is taking care of the crippled head of the mantis. It makes her pause. The humor falls off her as blue clouds below up ominously from the exploding supply depot. Down below, she can see where the legs had been perched. There were vehicles underneath it. 

How many people were in that depot?

“It was just the pilot.” She tells herself. 

P.H. doesn’t say anything the whole way back. 

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She has lunch with Calli every week. 

It’s nice, between missions, to sit down with the sub pilot. Every other day Bae is dragged around by other pilots. They celebrate and laugh and talk shit about other pilots. It’s fun. With Calli, she feels like she’s learning something new. Calli had been doing this longer than anyone. 

The sub pilot pokes at her food typically, sighing through her nose, “We haven’t had a lot of jobs since you guys started flying around.”

“Isn’t that good?” Bae asks. She’s enjoying a sandwich while they sit in front of P.H. She could tell her mech was watching them even without visible eyes on the Altr. Every once in a while, she’ll reach up to pat its side. Her mech would hum. 

Calli watches her do this, her eyes softer than they’ve ever been, “Yeah, it’s good. The sooner we win this war the better.”

“We got that covered.” Bae boasts. “Seriously. P.H. hasn’t even been in for repairs yet.” 

“Wow, that’s impressive.”

“It’s got moves.” Bae scratches the side of her nose. Pride has her leaning her shoulder against her mech. Another hum. She can’t help but smile. “I was nervous, but P.H. is super chill. Every time we Hercules this shit, it’s so cool. I gotta go in for maintenance a lot because the plasma burns up real quick, but it’s so fun. ”

“Fun.” Calli echoes airily. 

Bae grins, “I had someone from the third division record the whole thing on a drone once. It’s so cool to look at.”

“Right,” Calli says. She takes a bite of food. She doesn’t look impressed in the slightest. Bae thinks that would have scared her off earlier if she wasn’t so fascinated with Calli. It’s a nice change from pilots that constantly praise her. 

“What about G.G.? Got any cool moves?”

“None of the moves are cool,” Calli says flatly, eyes down to her food. “I’d prefer not to use any of them.”

Bae tilts her head. She… guesses that’s fair. Calli was so serious about this kind of stuff. She takes a thoughtful bite of her sandwich. P.H. is humming again, the wings above their head flexing up and down. 

Calli looks at her, “Did you get your ComPro?”

“What?” Bae asks. 

Calli sighs lengthily. She takes off a watch on her wrist and presses a few buttons on it. When she hands it to Bae, Bae takes it with a raised eyebrow. Calli runs her through the instructions to connect to the mech. Bae inputs the serial code with ham in her mouth, tapping her feet together as she does. 

> I want a sandwich 

“Oh,” Bae says, looking down at the red text. “Hey, that’s pretty cool.”

“Did they not give you guys any ComPros?”

“I dunno. They were really weird about P.H. being a special project.” 

“Special project.” Calli quotes disbelievingly. “Is that what they told you?”

Bae doesn’t know why that makes her nervous. Something about Calli’s phrasing just set her on edge. She looks back at Calli helplessly. She doesn’t think she’d have an answer that’d satisfy the other pilot. 

Calli closes her eyes. She exhales slowly. When she opens her eyes again, she looks like she’s aged a year.

“Pilot to pilot,” Calli says, “don’t believe jack shit they tell you, okay?”

That sounded absurd. She frowns, “Why would they lie about that?”

“Ask P.H.,” Calli says, dusting crumbs off her suit. “I dunno. They like to make stuff up, a bunch of excuses, a little lie here and there.” 

It sounds ridiculous. Bae opens her mouth but she stops. They muzzled me, she remembers reading. She glances down at her ComPro. 

> I miss sandwiches

Bae snorts. She wasn’t expecting anything insightful. It was a funny little line. It’s not as funny as she’d usually take it. Something about the line feels like a rock in her tummy. 

“Did they lie about G.G.?” Bae asks slowly.

Calli smiles wryly, “They told me the same lie they tell everyone else.”

“What’s that?”

“I dunno.” Calli lies. She takes a bite of her food to avoid answering. Bae squints. Is she being messed with? She wouldn’t put it past senior pilots to give her a bit of hazing. She guesses Calli is just like that too. 

“You like P.H.?” Calli asks. 

“Oh my god.” Bae laughs, happy at the subject change. She pats the hull of her bird proudly. Her mech creaks. “P.H. is hilarious. I’ve got the best AI in the whole aerial program, Calli, you would not believe.” 

Calli smiles, “Yeah?”

“It’s so hard not to laugh over the coms during missions.” 

“I’m glad,” Calli says. “They deserve a good pilot.”

Bae perks up at that. It was the closest to praise Calli had offered her. It makes her chest warm. She ends up running down a list of all the things she’s done with P.H. Jokingly, she runs the idea of giving it a wash. P.H. flutters its wings. Bae likes to think it's laughing too. 

“It’s just nice to talk to,” Bae says. “Not that the coms are, you know, fun to talk through but those are monitored. I tried to joke around once and when I got back my adviser had their hands on their hips, bruh. They were like, that wasn’t funny, but I just ended up laughing anyway.” 

Calli looks gleeful about that, “They can’t get rid of their star pilot. You can get away with anything out there, Bae.”

“Yeah, but it’s just better to chat with P.H.”

“I do the same with G.G.” 

“Do you talk to other sub pilots?”

“Sometimes,” Calli says. “There’s a few I like to hang out with. They just…” She sighs, leaning back on her hands. “It’s hard to talk to pilots.” 

“I’m not hard to talk to, right?” Bae asks sweetly. 

Calli nudges her with her foot. She’s wearing a crooked grin, “You’re a pain in the ass to talk to.”

“Could I talk with you over the radio?”

“The range isn’t built that far.”

“Ugh.” Bae groans. “Well, fine. At least I get to listen to music.” 

Calli perks up at this. It was the first time Bae had ever seen her actually interested in the conversation, “Hey, what kind of music?”

Bae couldn’t even identify what her radio spews out. She guesses, “Opera?”

P.H. groans beside her. She pats it. 

Calli is laughing at her, “Opera? Dude.”

“What do you listen to?”

“I brought my vinyl player-” Calli starts. Bae coughs, nearly spitting out her food as she wheezes. Calli groans, kicking her foot against Bae’s knee. “Stop! Shut up, you and every other damn pilot are always-”

“Vinyl?!” Bae shrieks. 

“I tried to hang some up in my mech, okay?!”

“You got in trouble?” Bae asks.

“Yeah, whatever,” Calli grumbles. “What do you listen to music on?”

“The radio.”

“You brought a radio?’

“I just use the mech radio.”

Calli stares at her. Bae stares back, unsure if she’s missing something. Is that not normal? It hadn’t crossed her mind that her radio might be broken. They did say it needed maintenance. Maybe that’s why it had the seals on it. 

“The radio doesn’t play music,” Calli says blankly. 

“What?” Bae asks. Her brow furrows, “It does though? Like, I tune into it-”

“It’s all communication channels.” Calli says slowly, “Like a walkie-talkie. There literally is no way for music to play over the radio.” 

Bae stares. Calli holds her gaze for a long moment before she smiles. It’s a weird smile. It’s not sincere.

“Thanks for lunch, Bae,” Calli whispers, rising to her feet. She leaves like that, a backward wave as she heads down the catwalk. Bae watches her go. She feels a little floaty, unsure. She feels like her axis is tilted. She glances down at her ComPro. 

> Bye Calli 

“Bye Calli,” Bae whispers. Something about that feels wrong. It’s not as cute and funny as the usual ridiculousness her mech presents.

It feels lonely. 

.

.

Chapter Text

.

.

The radio was playing music. 

Bae had turned it off for two minutes. The silence bugged her. P.H. didn’t comment on it at all, but Bae still felt guilty over something. She turned it back on. The music was back. P.H. flutters their wings. 

She mobilizes with another unit. A bee mech carries alongside her as support. For the most part, this was Bae’s solo part. A supply depot required dismantling. She’d become so efficient at it that she didn’t need a squadron to escort her. She coasts around the mantis mech, smirking as P.H. ducks low underneath missile fire. 

She spots it in the corner of her eye. There’s a news drone hovering by the tree line, a tiny white speck. She glances at her radar. It’s there. She smiles. Well, if they want a show- 

She spins. P.H. whirrs, wings spinning around its body. Plasma lights up each wing. She’s a tornado of death. She gathers momentum, abandoning her flight course. She takes P.H. up above the clouds, high up enough that her radar can barely pick up the mantis mech. 

The bee Altr must be hanging back. Bae grins as she cuts P.H. into low-power mode. Enjoy the show. 

She falls. Interia presses her against her seat. Bae whoops, laughing hysterically as the clouds part below her. Missile fire shoots up around her in bursts. The cockpit rocks from the force of it. Her heart hammers wildly in her ears. She presses down on the controls and accelerates. 

> Increasing speed

> Brace for impact 

Bae grits her teeth. Shooting through the head of the mantis at a speed like that is impossible to break from. That wasn’t the point. Plasma fire burns in sulfurous blues around her. Explosions of dark smoke cover her vision entirely. She feels the impact against the ground, rocking violently in her chair. She’s too disoriented to move. P.H. follows through for her, lifting off their little self-inflicted crater. It’s just in time to avoid the supply depot collapsing around them in a firestorm of smoking debris. 

“Mission complete.” She manages into her com. She laughs, absurdly pleased with herself. Her smile swims as she hears nothing but static over the com. She taps her helmet. “We good to go?”

Still nothing. She sits up, eyeing the radar. The bee Altr was still missing. Did they fly off? She checks vitals. She pauses. 

“Is that right?” Bae breathes. 

> All information is correct

“P.H., run a scan.” Bae quickly reaches up to flick a distress button. Another switch to clean off the visors. She looks over the forest floor worriedly. It’s easy to find it. There’s a plume of dark smoke coming from where it landed. Bae hovers P.H., glancing at the radar with an iron grip on the controls. 

Nothing.

“P.H., signs of life?” 

> None 

> Engine failure from missile fire 

Bae swallows dryly. She didn’t know that pilot. All they’d been assigned to do was back Bae up in case she needed a plasma recharge. Bae wasn’t specifically told she needed to protect this mech. The smoking crater offers no answers. Her stomach feels cold. 

The news drone hovers nearby. Bae stares at it. Her palms feel sweaty. The mission protocol was… to return. The ground crew would recover remains- remains, remains, a dead body- someone had died-

> You okay? 

“Let’s go,” Bae says roughly. She turns the control to the side, leaning P.H. away from the scene. The small dot on her radar of the news drone stays hauntingly for several minutes before it disappears far behind her. 

.

.

The military hosts an air show. 

Bae participates. There’s a crowd bigger than anything she’s ever seen taking up the space of an airport runway. Bae does cheeky maneuvers. She makes planes look like toys compared to what P.H. can do. The entire time, the radio sings, the notes gaining in crescendo. Every loop, every twirl, the radio sings. 

> I always wanted to be on stage 

“Really?” Bae asks incredulously. “In a presentation or something? A museum?”

> No 

> I wanted a show 

> I wanted to sing 

Bae stares vacantly ahead. Other air mechs were doing combat drills, all disguised as pretty dance moves and stunts. There are seven of them. A hole where one mech should be. Bae feels like someone had punched her in the ribs and was digging their knuckles against her lungs. 

“You can sing?” Bae rasps. 

> I can 

> Does it not sound like singing? 

The airshow is spent in a daze. Afterward, they coast merrily over the town, a little aerial parade. Down below, the town sends up confetti and streamers. Banners welcome them. The crowds are in celebration. Street vendors, partying, music, all of it. She can hear other pilots in the coms laughing and joking. She can barely breathe. 

The moment she touches down into her hanger, she can’t even release her grip on the controls. She’s staring at her command panel. The words stay there, taunting her. Does it not sound like singing? The radio is eerily quiet. 

“Has that been you?” Bae croaks. “This whole time? You were the one making music?”

> I’ll stop 

> Or just keep the radio off 

> Don’t tell anyone

“I,” Bae shakes her head in disbelief, “How? Literally, how? I didn’t think your software was that advanced.”

> Is it really that hard to believe that it’s not software

Bae laughs. She stops laughing when the radio fizzles. It’s an odd noise. It sounded like someone scoffing at her. She stares at it nervously. 

“What are you saying?” Bae asks. 

> Nothing 

> Just ignore it 

> Please

“Is that you singing?”

> Yes

“It’s pretty.” Bae belts out. She fumbles, unclasping her hands from the controls to fidget. “Nice, I like it, it’s nice. Calming. Sounds nice.” She’s said that three times now. She panics. “Can I still listen to it? Is it like, government secrets or something? Are you singing missile codes?”

> No 

> Dummy

Bae huffs, “I’m not dumb. I didn’t know my Altr could sing.” 

> I’m not a 

It stops. The control panel turns off. Bae sits up in alarm, staring at it worriedly. After a second, the panel turns back on. 

> Don’t you have a party to go to 

“Are you kicking me out?” Bae asks incredulously. 

> You’re scaring me 

> A little 

“Scaring you? How?”

> I don’t wanna get muzzled again 

“You got muzzled for singing?” 

> Yeah 

Bae leans back in her chair. She felt like she was missing something. It was rooting her to her chair. She could see technicians working on repairs and resupply. Her coms were quiet now. All other pilots had headed inside. 

“You said you wanted to be on stage.” Bae hedges softly. 

A hesitation. A risk. 

> When I was in high school 

> I wanted to perform 

> I was super into pop singers 

Bae stares at the words. She feels like she’s barely registering them. P.H. keeps rambling, each string of text stacking on top of the other. P.H. talks about classes. They talk about the friends they made. They talk about an illness preventing them from getting accepted into the college she wanted to go to. It’s all things a mech shouldn’t know. 

“P.H.” Bae breathes. “What does your name stand for?”

> Project Hope 

“Is that the name they gave you?” 

No response. Bae repeats slowly, almost hoping she won’t get an answer, “Do you have… a real name?”

> Yeah

> My name is Irys

“Oh.” Bae crosses her arms over her stomach. It sinks into her. She’s thinking about the bee Altr now. Not just the pilot. Not just the pilot. It occurred to her, very suddenly, that this was what Calli meant. In the corner of her eye, she can see the screen lighting up. 

> I can’t tell you how many times people have messed it up

> Iris

> I don’t even look like an Iris

“You were named by your parents,” Bae asks weakly, “correct?”

> … Yeah

“You were born, not made, right?”

> Yeah 

Bae drops her head into her hands. It sounded absurd. But it lays itself out before her. Celebrations fall far from her mind. She stares at a command panel well into the night hours. Red text blinks at her, telling her stories, describing a life separate from everything Altr related. A singer. An illness. 

> They told me I would heal 

> So I signed up for it 

> I felt like I wouldn’t be wasting my time

> It felt kinda cool 

“Cool,” Bae repeats. She’s feeling less like she’s about to collapse in on herself. “And you’ll get out when you’re better?” 

> Yeah 

> I dunno when that will be 

Bae relaxes. Okay, that’s good. She was still weirded out by this colossal secret. Irys hadn’t wanted her to go talking about it and Calli didn’t directly share the details either. There’s a reason for that. She needed to talk to Calli pronto. 

> You should get some sleep 

“Yeah.” Bae hesitates. She has a dorm room waiting for her, but there’s a bunk in the mech as well for longer missions. She doesn’t know why it’s compelling to head towards that loft instead of out the door. Her ComPro beeps at her. 

> What are you doing? 

“Going to bed,” Bae replies. 

> Here?

“Is that a problem?”

> You’re not weirded out?

“If you make a big deal outa it, I’ll feel weird.” 

> Bae is sleeping inside me

“Okay,” Bae huffs, knocking her foot against the wall in retaliation. “Shut up, you ping pong ball.” Her mech rumbles. It’s as close to a laugh as she can imagine. She spends her night awake in her bunk, her wrist hovering above her eyes as she stares at little red text wishing her goodnight. 

“Goodnight, Irys,” Bae whispers. 

.

.

Chapter Text

.

.

She gets too ahead of herself. 

Irys was real. She’s a person, a real person somewhere under all the crystal and metal. Bae asks how it works but she’s given the equivalent of a shrug. There’s only one kind of person who would know. She approaches her adviser about it. 

Maybe she should have been more delicate. She isn’t really thinking. She’s startled, but she’s sure there’s a proper explanation. If there are people in mechs, there’s a valid explanation why pilots aren’t told they’re there. 

Those thoughts fizzle as she feels a security baton against her neck. She’s pushed to the floor, shoved down hard enough the metal grate bruises against her cheek. Her arms are forced behind her back. There’s a boot pressing her down, keeping her against the floor. There’s another security officer with a rifle aimed down at her. She’s frozen, her heart pounding. 

She can only see the shoes of her adviser as they say, “Hakos Baelz. Now I’m sure I didn’t hear you hallucinating your A.L.T.R. as an actual person, correct?”

Huh?

“That’d be crazy.” Her advisor continues like this script was rehearsed and meant just for this kind of situation. “If you were under the illusion your A.L.T.R. was real, that’d be grounds for hospitalization. We’d have to have you committed. For your health and safety and the health and safety of your fellow pilots. We can’t have a crazy person out in the sky, right? Nod if you agree.” 

Bae can’t even move. One of the security guards is fisting a hand in her hair. They jerk her head roughly. She’s too scared to even speak. 

“Excellent.” Her advisor says, not a single inflection in their tone. “Oh, did I just hear our good pilot Hakos Baelz volunteer for the next preliminary mission?” 

“You heard correct.” The security officer says. 

“The front lines, Miss Hakos.” The words fill her with ice. “How brave of you. We’ll be making a note of that in your records.”

“Wait-” She chokes out, afraid. The gauntlet fisted in her hair shoves her against the floor, clipping off her words as she feels pain in her nose. She chokes. 

“What was that, Miss Hakos?” It was weird to hear these saccharine sweet lines from the absolute monotone of her advisor. It terrified her. “I see. You’d like to be a solo unit moving forward. The relations office greatly appreciates your efforts to help spread our forces. I’m sure you understand the gravity of working alone, don’t you?”

“She does.” The security officer says. 

“Oustanding.” It’s poison in her head, rooting her in place. “We’ll remember you fondly, Miss Hakos.” 

She’s shoved into her hanger to ‘cool down’. She’s standing there like a ghost, her legs shaking, her cheek bruised. Her world is tilted on its axis. It’s not her hanger anymore, not something she owns, it’s not hers. This is a prison. It’s a cell made just for her, for the mech lying quietly inside. She feels hollowed out.

Her ComPro beeps at her. 

> Your vitals

> Hey, what’s wrong?

Bae stares at the words. It takes her a few seconds to comprehend what she’s seeing. There’s a groan from her mech above. One of the crystals is down to the ground, a few feet away, the closest Irys can get to her. Bae approaches it until she puts her forehead against the crystal. The cool surface grounds her. She breathes, every motion rattling her lungs like she was filled with nails. 

> Bae?

“Do you hear me?” Bae asks wetly. 

> I hear you

> What’s wrong?

> Talk to me

> What happened?

Bae shudders. She whispers, “At the end of the war, they said you’d wake up, right?” 

> That’s what I was told 

Calli’s words float back to her. It makes her nervous. She needed to talk to the pilot. She needed to know more, immediately. Having an objective like that makes her feel better. She breathes. 

> Bae?

“I’m fine.” Bae rasps. She leans back to rub her face, wincing at the sting of her bruise. “Can I sleep in the mech tonight?”

> Inside me? Oh my

Bae snorts. The jesting was nice, but it doesn’t do much for the terrified hammering of her heart. When she crawls her way through the port of her mech, she lays on her cot, her mind far away. She feels like at any moment she’ll be dragged out of this comfort and thrown into a padded room. 

“Irys?” Bae whispers. “Do your doors lock?”

> I can lock them 

A clicking noise and a beep. Bae feels like the tension in her gut has popped like a balloon. She deflates, sinking against her bed bonelessly. 

> You’re really worrying me

“Sorry, I’m okay,” Bae mutters. “... We got a new assignment.” 

.

.

Her next mission is just her. It’s her and four AA enemy tanks firing at her. She’s gripping the controls tightly, her breath locked tight in her chest in fear. She doesn’t have a backup. There’s no support for miles. She works with Irys as best as she can. There’s smoke and debris in the air, plumes of plasma fire that tint the sky electric blue. 

It’s the first time P.H. is admitted for repairs. There are plasma wounds all along the body of her mech. She stares. She feels intangible as the technicians move around her, working on buffing her mech up. She remembers G.G. in one of the hangars, marred down by wounds and plasma. 

Calli, she thinks dazedly, they made you fight solo too, didn’t they?

.

.

Pilots are cheering around her. It feels like a faraway dream, the muffled sounds of revelry right in her ears. Someone is shaking her shoulder excitedly. The TV screens in the cafeteria are showing one of the final battles of the Pacific squadron. She watches it without feeling anything. From the drone's perspective, it’s watching as their fourth division circles and takes out a boat mech, the type used for long-range nuclear strikes. A heavy victory for aerial pilots. 

It has hooks on all sides of its body. Bae stares, watching it happen like it’s a dream. One of the hooks lashes out into the water. There’s a struggle, like a harpoon that’s found its mark. It’s dragging something to its side. The whole cafeteria cheers, oblivious to what’s happening on that side of the boat, focused on the maneuvers of the pilots around it. The shark mech being hauled to the side of it isn’t the problem. 

It’s the way the hooks sink into it, raking down its metal like fileting a fish. It squirms and thrashes, lasers firing off from its fins but not at a good angle to impact the hull. Bae never sees when Callis gets out of the mech. It’s not caught on camera. When the drone looks back at the shark mech, its port door is open wide. It’s struggling fiercely, desperately. 

The aerial strike begins. Explosions that rock the boat mech, riddle it with plasma fire, and shake it until it’s splitting down the middle. The hooks release the shark hanging from its side. It falls gracelessly back into the water with no pilot inside. 

Later, Bae holds the report numbly. It’s a notice of the deceased. An AA pilot from the coast. An aerial pilot up north. A sub pilot, she reads, that breached an enemy A.L.T.R. in hopes of freeing her mech from the side. No remains were found in the plasma field. 

Bae rips the report in half. 

.

.

The months have a dull shine to them, and it’s always Irys waking her up in the morning, her ComPro chirping at her. 

> Rise and shine Bae!

> It’s time to fly!

“Good morning.” Bae greets groggily. She rubs her face with a sigh. Her radio is beeping from the cockpit, a sign that her new orders were waiting for her. She doesn’t have the energy to get up just yet. She feels frayed like the parts of her that had the energy to get up were lost a long time ago. She stares at the ceiling dully. 

> You should eat breakfast

“Not hungry,” Bae whispers. 

> If I could eat breakfast I would 

It’s a little backhanded to guilt trip her, but she knows Irys isn’t above doing it. Bae exhales. She sits up. 

“When you wake up,” Bae says, “I’ll make you breakfast.” 

A happy chirp from her mech. 

> Will you feed it to me?

“Don’t get ahead of yourself now.” Bae snorts. Her mech rumbles with a laugh. It brings a small smile to Bae’s face. It’s enough to get her out of bed. 

.

.

The cafeteria is quiet. 

Bae thinks she should feel something. Anything at all. There’s fear and tension coiled tightly in the pilots around her. Technicians hover in the crowd. Even the kitchen staff is standing nearby, hands over their mouths as they watch the TV. The drone camera fizzles with static from the plasma radiation. Even still, it records it as it launches. 

The massive length of it unfolds, sector by sector. It’s stretching far enough that barely a fraction can be captured on the whole camera at once. The pale white metal looks fleshy to her. The long, flat-looking wings barely look that way. It’s hovering upright like a cross. Somewhere along its disproportionate body and through the bulbous details of the fluctuating metal, there are mismatched colors. Darker greys, lighter greys, all monochrome as if bleached out. There’s a bird talon, tiny in nature but belonging to a lower-grade mech, sticking out of its flank. 

The flank of a bee mech near the shoulder. 

“God in heaven.” One of the technician's oaths. The room temperature felt like ice, sinking into her bones and draining her. It doesn’t look like it’s moving for many minutes, but that’s only because it’s moving so terrifyingly slowly. 

“It’s headed East.” A pilot whispers. “Towards the Pacific.” 

“Fuck.” 

Later, Bae sits in her pilot's chair. The radio is beeping with an assignment but she feels too hollow, too strung out and stretched thin. She knows what’s waiting for her if she picks up the radio. She knows what’ll happen. She’s seen it happen to Calli.

Her stomach is coiled tightly into knots. It makes her nauseous. Somehow along this whole journey, she’d never thought about death being a threat to her. She knew she’d be in danger, but it hadn’t affected her. Not since the bee mech had fallen. Not since the supply depot and the vehicles underneath, not since she realized every mech she’d taken down this whole time had been a person. 

If I woke up tomorrow a different person, would I feel better or worse? 

“What if we ran away?” Bae asks softly. She’s not committed to the idea, but it sounds nice. 

> How far do you think we’d get?

Bae buries her face into her knees. She mumbles, “Not far enough.” 

> I’d go anywhere 

> I’ve always wanted to see a volcano

Bae can’t help but smile. She reaches out and taps the control panel, right over the word wanted. Her mech hums. 

> I mean that 

> I like you 

> If you wanted to go

> I’d go 

“You need your body back,” Bae whispers. “We can’t go yet. We-” She swallows roughly, “We gotta do this.” 

> We might die 

Bae shudders. More than anything, she wants to grab the controls and haul ass out of this facility. She wants to reach for the stars, to fly, but this isn’t it. Irys would be in a metal prison. Bae doesn’t want that for her. 

“I want to hear you sing,” Bae whispers, petting her hand over the control panel. The screen fizzles a little like her mech was shivering. “For real, not through a radio.” 

> Would you dance with me too? 

Bae laughs, “Why?”

> It’d be cute 

> I never got to go to any dances in high school 

“I’ll take you dancing,” Bae promises, her heart wrenching. There’s a lot she’d do for Irys, she’s realizing. She doesn’t know what she looks like but she’s imagining a hand in hers, a dance partner, and the music the mech gives her day in and day out floating in her ears. Her cheeks feel warm. “How does that sound?” 

Another hum, this one rattling her feet like a cat's purr. 

> I like that 

> Let’s not die

> Okay? 

“I like that plan best,” Bae says. 

.

.

Chapter Text

.

.

This is how the world looks when it's ending. 

The sky is mottled gray and black, smog clotting out the stars like a bleeding wound. Flashes of plasma fire light up the darkness, electric blue lasers and green smoke, purple fire, colors that blend and burn together. Colors that die together. 

Bae's heart is beating fast enough that she can't even feel it. Her chest hurts, at least letting her know she's still alive and breathing even if she's panicking. She white knuckles the controls. There's sweat dripping down her neck. 

> It's okay

> Bae?

"It's okay." Bae echoes, her voice hoarse. It's not okay, but seeing the letters in front of her reminds her she's not alone. She wasn't assigned a squad. She wasn't given much direction. She was told to fly. 

We could fly away. It buzzes in her head. It's tempting. She wants more than anything to turn the controls around and fly to safety. 

But Irys would still be a mech. If this battle is lost, there won't be any safe place for them. 

The Grandfather is an apocalypse. It’s mottled, pearly white that looks like maggots infecting the world. It’s a crawling mold, an eclipse so pale it feels like it’s not existing, it’s there but Bae can’t even comprehend it. There’s too much happening. Aerial mechs fall like stars, smoking trails of debris and fire. A night filled with plasma fire and screaming metal. 

Am I going to die here? 

> Bae!

“What?” Bae’s voice tumbles dryly out of her throat. It hurts to speak. She’s frantically checking her radar for anything but the enemy beacon is too loud to find any sense. She doesn’t know if they’re in danger- of course, I’m in danger- but she’s not sure if it’s plasma fire, missiles or-

> BAE

“What?” 

> You’re freaking out!

Her hands are sweating. She breathes. It shudders in her chest. Her viewport flashes with explosions. She grips the controls tighter and presses forward, the inertia pushing her against her seat. 

Irys is built for a frontal assault. How the hell is she supposed to crack that shell? Would Irys even be strong enough to go through its hull? The thought of getting trapped inside that thing drives chills up her spine. Furthermore, where is its engine? The engine would- 

“All mechs are human, right?” Bae asks shakily. 

> I don’t know 

> Maybe? 

“What about that thing?” Bae asks. Her gaze is drawn back to the bee mech, no matter what. It makes her scared. “Is it human?”

> I don’t know

> It’s seriously creepy 

“Where is the engine? Can you find a heat source? Energy, plasma, anything?”

> Scanning

Bae twists the controls. She was coasting around the battle to not get into any mess, but staying outside was starting to twist her stomach. Is she abandoning people to die? She needs distance to build up momentum, but it still felt wrong. 

A minute passes and she gets nervous. 

“Irys? What’s up?”

> I’m

> I think I’m messed up 

“What?” That wasn’t what Bae wants to hear, not now. Ice shoots down to her tummy. “What do you mean? Are you-”

> I’m fine

> Wait no

> These readings are stupid 

> It has over fifty engines

“Fi-” Bae chokes. She stares mutely ahead. A bomber class was disappearing into the smog. The more she watches, the more aerials she sees disappearing. Are they running away? It made her feel better about the idea. The only thing stopping her is Irys. Do they know? Do any of them know their mech is human?

She glances at the radio. So much is feeding through it that it’s become nothing but static. Communication was virtually impossible in the plasma field. Not to mention, if she asks on a public channel if any pilot knows- 

-her advisor would-

What’s more scary? Bae clenches her jaw. Either way, I’d lose Irys. 

> What do we do?

“We,” Bae stutters, “We fly.” 

The text panel winks a few times thoughtfully. Bae feels her fingers aching from how tense she’s become.

> I’ll fly wherever you go 

Bae laughs hysterically, “Even if it’s into that thing?”

> I want to hold your hand

> One day 

It’s not that her fear goes away. It’s not that she’s braver. She stares at those words on the panel, stacked on top of each other, real and tangible, and digging a hole into her chest. She’s holding the controls but it’s not Irys, not actually her. 

What do you look like when you smile? When you tell a corny joke? When you tease me? 

What kind of sound does your happiness make? 

“Irys?” Bae whispers.

> What are we doing?

“We’re going to fly,” Bae says, not feeling like herself but gripped by something beyond her own understanding. “As many times as it takes. You okay with that?”

> We might die 

Bae swallows dryly, “I know.”

> They won’t remember us

Bae closes her eyes tightly. The flash of plasma against her eyelids has her opening them again, staring down hell and its pale flesh. 

“I’ll remember your singing,” Bae whispers. “I’ll remember how safe I felt sleeping in here.”

> …

“Irys?”

> It’s really bad

> I feel like crying

> But I can’t cry

> I want to cry 

> I feel awful 

“You can cry all you want later.” Bae smiles helplessly. “I promise. You’ll be human again.” 

.

.

Six engines. On the seventh, Irys loses her left wing. 

> NO

They fall into a spiral. Bae inhales sharply. She can’t see through the plasma clinging to the viewport, but that’s normal when it comes to their maneuvers. Irys needed time to cool off before they could attempt another flyby. The feeling was jarring. The Grandfather didn’t shred like metal. It burned like flesh. The stench was nearly enough to make Bae sick. 

Irys still had some of her wing, Bae notes, trying to fight the panic thumping away at her chest. The largest wing was missing, but the smaller crystals were still sticking strong. Stabilizing the mech is nearly impossible. 

Bae gets out of her chair. The command panel screeches behind her. She hears her ComPro beeping incessantly at her as she runs back through the cockpit. The smell of sulfur was strong. Her helmet filters out most of the plasma, but she was on a time limit. She couldn’t access the outside for repairs, but that wasn’t the point. She grabs anything she can get her hands on. Toolboxes, supplies crates, storage, all of it. She shoves it to the left side of the mech. She’s a disheveled and sweaty mess by the time she’s able to glance at her ComPro.

> BAE

> NO 

> SIT DOWN 

> THE PLASMA BAE BAE 

> BAE

“I’m alright.” Bae coughs. She’s hoisting herself back up into the cockpit, her arms trembling. Her chest felt like it was caving in. “Status?”

> FILLED WITH DUMBASS

Bae cracks a grin, “We good for another round then?” 

> When I get my body back 

> I’m going to hit you 

“Before or after you hold my hand?” 

The banter felt nice. The sulfurous smell doesn’t leave her mech. She can hear a hiss behind her as Irys starts to filter it out as best as she can. She puts on the acceleration, eyeing the cooling levels as she climbs up their momentum again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Again. 

Again.

There’s someone praying over the radio, frantic whispered mantra as they appeal to a higher power. Bae can’t hear them over their own shaky, terrified breathing. She can’t hear anything through the static in her ears. Breathing is difficult. It takes longer for Irys to build up momentum each time, her mech focused on repairs more and more. 

“What one are we on?” Bae asks hoarsely. 

> I lost count 

> I can’t scan the structure through the fire 

“We can’t pinpoint its location?”

> I have the data stored 

> Left wing, topside 

Bae breathes. The Grandfather is a wreath of purple and blue fire, a hailstorm of death. Lasers light up the smoke around it. She watches an aerial unit try and make a formation, only to be shredded to pieces by plasma. 

“Again,” Bae says. 

.

.

When the Grandfather dies, Bae is barely awake. She’s leaning her head against her dashboard, too weak to look up except through her peripheral. The explosion is blinding, searing white light burning against her eyelids as the world-destroyer begins its fall. 

Bae breathes. Her lungs don’t like it and she ends up coughing, wet copper stuck to the roof of her mouth. She nearly gags on her own blood. 

> Bae? 

“Did we do it?” Bae asks. 

> I’m taking us back

> Scanning other aerie

> othe

> … 18

> 17 

> 17 survivors out of 3415 

> Half do not have a pilot’s life signature inside 

The words are blurring before her eyes. Bae doesn’t feel the mech moving. The viewport is damaged almost beyond usability. She imagines Irys is more of a crumpled tin can now instead of a golf ball. 

> Bae talk to me 

> Please

“What kind of dress would you wear,” Bae breathes, “to a dance?” 

She sees Irys respond. The words are too blurry to make out. She tries to reach up to wipe her eyes- I want to know- but her fingers knock against her helmet. She doesn’t remember anything else. It’s too dark to see. She can’t open her eyes. 

The last thing she hears is her ComPro crying for her. 

.

.

“Hakos Baelz.” 

Bae doesn’t look at them. She keeps her gaze rooted down to her hospital bed sheets. 

“On behalf of the Pacific Squadron, we thank you for your service. You’ve been retired from the program, as has every pilot. We’re going through great care to rehabilitate you after the war, including psychological analysis and insurance.”

“Can I fly my mech?” Bae asks. Her voice sounds rough. She’s told it’ll always be that way, this damaged scratchiness to it. 

A pause. 

“You must not have heard me.” The bureau member says delicately. “You’re retired from the program. All mechs are being put to use elsewhere for restoration efforts.” 

“Let me help,” Bae says. 

“There’s fear and caution surrounding mech and their pilots.” It’s all useless static to her. Her fingers dig into the sheets. “We’ll be happy to put you on tour throughout the countryside to promote the restoration effort.” 

“I want my mech.” Bae snaps. “You said restoration effort. Why can’t I fly Irys?”

“You were assigned to P.H.,” They tell her. Bae tenses, horror curling tight in her gut. “Not Irys.”

“You-” Bae stutters, angrily, whirling on them and their stupid suit and clipboard and emotionless stare. “You said you’d return Irys to her body! Her human body!” 

“I’ll have a nurse called.” They say. “The war affected your mind. We understand. We’ll cover every expense of your therapy.”

“I don’t want that! Give me Irys you son of a-”

“We hope you think long and hard about your healing, pilot.” They say.

.

.

Sana is nice even if Bae doesn’t give her anything to work with. She’s contained to this facility, unable to leave, too ‘sick’ to leave. Sana smiles at her in a way that understands, that knows. 

“It’s hard to believe,” Sana says softly. “A soul inside a robot? That sounds like fantasy.” 

“It’s science.” Bae mumbles. 

Sana perks up, always eager to have Bae interact with their sessions, “Well, it must be very advanced science then. How do you think it works?”

It has Bae stopping. It has her world tilted by one singular thought. How does it work? Irys has a body somewhere. Her mech is on TV being used as a glorified weather balloon in the Midwest, but her body is elsewhere. She does digging into it. She visits facilities, her old numbers still working. She keeps an eye on the media. They’re starting to grill the Pacific Bureau, or at least the remnants of it still around and in the spotlight. 

Where did the surviving pilots go? It’s on the front-line news. 

A turtle mech is also on the news, fully operational, but it refuses to move, even with a pilot. A long, bulky-looking mech shuts down randomly. Another shuts down. They’re shutting down. Dead? 

It’s her second plunge into a facility and she finds the science. She finds offices abandoned with notes that she’s able to steal before security finds her and hauls her back to her asylum. Notes she sits down and pours over for hours, with Sana sitting in a chair beside her. 

“I’m not crazy,” Bae says. “Please. I’m not crazy. They put their bodies in gel and the gel, it’s starting to break down. It wasn’t meant to hold after the war. They’re dying.”

Sana looks wary. She whispers, “Bae, what do you hope to do with all this?”

“The notes describe their containment chambers,” Bae says. “The facility numbers. They’re all here. I have a plan I-” She’s rambling. Sana believes her, but she feels like she has something to desperately prove. Something she needs to show for it. I’m not crazy. Please. 

Sana smiles at her, “They won’t let me approve your release, but if I say you’re staying with me to better acclimate you to society, they’ll have no choice but to say yes.”

“You’ll help?”

“I want to help.” Sana laughs weakly. “It’s not just my job. It’s who I want to be.” 

The plan grows before her. Sana’s place is perfect for preparations. She has everything ready- medical supplies, a mattress, a vehicle, a place for Irys to recover and-

The TV is on. There’s a commotion that has her glancing up from her notebooks. She does a double take. For a moment, she’s back in the cafeteria watching as a shark mech is plucked violently from the sea and shredded to pieces. 

Except it’s there on TV. It’s a small broadcast along with many other mechs working on war restoration. The last sub mech. The broadcaster says. Currently working with the nature and preservation center where its pilot is employed. 

It’s there. G.G. is there. 

Bae stands up. Her plans have changed in nearly an instant. She yells, “Sana?”

“What?”

“Where did you put the papers for the war hero tour?”

.

.