1.1

The stench of blood and oil filled Logan’s nostrils as he engaged the enemy pilot. His legs felt numb and heavy, straining even more than usual to walk, the uplink screws slotted into his piloting threads demanding more of his strength with every step. It could have been worse though. Crusader’s shield had taken the brunt of his opponents ferocious barrage, letting only a few swings from the berserker’s hand-axes slip past his guard. One had cut deep enough through his armor to shave a chunk of flesh off of his thigh, but not enough to cripple him. The stim delivery system he had installed a week prior had proven to be well worth the silver he spent, pumping adrenaline and pain killers directly into the neural uplink port at the nape of his neck as soon as blood loss had registered. All that was left for him now, was to put the asshole who did this in the dirt.

He looked out across the battlefield, eyes straining to see through the darkness and smoky haze coming from the wreckage surrounding him. He caught an outline of a blocky figure, its metallic shell glinting in the moonlight, and focused on it.

“Vic, give me a vision scan,” Logan said, his voice a deep growl. Almost instantly, his vision was tinted with a slight green hue, as the disembodied voice of the mech’s Virtual Intelligence rang out throughout the cockpit in a posh, dignified accent.

“Right away Sir,”

There was a flash of light as a horizontal beam of infrared light was across the environment. As it did, the outline of his opponent shined with a dull white-green light, giving Logan full view of his adversary. It was a berserker model, boxy in shape and built low to the ground standing only eight meters in height as opposed to the standard ten. Its legs were long, taking up most of its size, ending with a pair of taloned feet that were dug into the upturned dirt. Boost jets flared around its ankles, signifying its ability for an explosive burst when needed. Its arms hung limp to its side, a hand-ax the size of an I-Beam in each gauntleted fist.

“Vic, what’s our probability of success here?” Logan asked, taking in a deep breath, steeling himself for the moments to come. The VI was silent for a moment, a sign that Logan knew meant he was working in all possible variables. A few seconds later, he got his answer.

“Depending on pilot rating,” Vic began, “We have a 67.72 percent chance of survival against any pilot Beta rank or lower. Naturally those odds will decrease for any rating above that. Dropping to 15.23 percent for Gamma, and .15 percent chance for Sigma. Omega class ratings are zero of course.”

“Thanks,” Logan said sarcastically, exhaling with an exhausted sigh.

“Naturally Sir,” Vic said, ignorant to his Pilot’s tone. “May I ask, how do you plan to proceed?”

If it was possible, Logan would have shrugged. Instead, he kept his eyes set on the Berserker, and walked towards it. “I’m gonna do what I always do, Vic. Improvise.”

The Berserker was the first to act. The second Logan left the smoke, it dropped its body low, boost jets priming and igniting in an instant as it leaped through the air, closing the space between them in the blink of an eye, as it brought its two axes down in an arc.

Logan cursed and jumped back, narrowly avoiding the blow as the axes impacted the ground, kicking up dirt and debris, before retaliating with a strike of his own. He swung in a chopping motion, fingers gripping the orange Physilight construct in his hand tight, signaling for Crusader to mimic the motion with its mace as he aimed for one of the Berserkers arm joints. Instead of hearing the dull crunch of a pulverized arm however, Logan heard the sharp clang of metal on metal, felt the aftershock reverberate through his bones and vibrate his teeth.

“What the-” He said, eyes wide. Before he could finish the statement, his opponent countered, pushing off the ground and delivering an iron clad knee strike straight to Logan’s cockpit. Another burst of the mech's boosters multiplied the force from the blow, sending Logan staggering back while the Berserker chased after its prey.

“Shit! He’s fast!” Logan said aloud through gritted teeth as brought his shield up to tank a flurry of swings from his attacker. One strike. Two strikes. Six. Twelve. The barrage seemed to go on forever and Logan could feel his muscles screaming for a reprieve.

“Your right arm is under tremendous stress Sir,” Vic’s voice, as calm and polite as always, rang out through the cockpit, breaking up the muted thuds of ax swings outside. “If it stays in this state of stress much longer, I’m afraid you risk a compound fracture”

“Gee ya think?!” Logan shot back. “I hadn’t noticed!”

He centered his footing, ignoring the pain that shot through his arm as he did so, and leaned forward, pushing his shield into the ax swings, bashing his opponent back and causing him to stagger. Timing his moment to strike in time with his movements he burst forward diagonally, round the Berserker’s side and driving his mace into its hip joint. He was rewarded with the sound of crumpled metal and the feeling of something sturdy giving way.

The mech lurched and jerked awkwardly as the pilot no doubt tried to free himself from the spiked flanges of Logan’s mace. This was the moment Logan was waiting for. He let go of the Physilight rod in his right hand, the construct of orange light dissolving into particles, as Crusader dropped the giant slab shield to the ground. He quickly closed his into a fist, feeling the motion mimicked by his mech, and delivered a devastating haymaker to his opponents head. The sound echoed throughout the battlefield like a clap of thunder, and Berserker went flying through the air, completely lifted off the ground. And still, Logan had more to give.

“I’m not done with you yet!” He growled out, and used the booster jets on Crusaders back to surge forward like a predator finding its next meal. He shot up to the side of his free-falling adversary and brought his mace down hard onto its cockpit, yelling out a battle cry as he forced the Berserker to impact the ground with a powerful slam.

In an instant, everything had stopped. The only sound that reached Logan’s ears was that of his own labored breathing. He looked down, analyzing the damage he had caused, his eyes resting on the head of his mace buried in the cockpit of his enemy. He knew the Pilot was dead, he could see it with his own eyes. Pieces of viscera that looked like they had been squeezed from a tube of red paste oozed out of bent metal seams. He could recall a time, when a sight like this would have made him sick to his stomach. He would have felt a wave of guilt and shame wash over him that wouldn’t come off no matter how many showers he took. He could remember the nightmares that left him shivering in a cold sweat. How he missed those days. To be able to feel… anything. But this was his life, his path. Numbness was both a necessity and a curse. He wouldn’t mourn this faceless pilot, nor did he feel sorry for them. At the end of the day, it was just business.

He stood up straight, yanking his mace free from its resting place in the enemy's cockpit, and looked around. All around him, he saw the destruction that was bought and paid for by people who’d never set foot on this world. Once proud and powerful units and pilots now reduced to crumpled corpses of both metal and meat. He sighed, shaking his head, taking a minute to gather his thoughts.

He couldn’t even recall the name of the planet he was on, nevermind the side he was fighting for. No, the only thing that he remembered clearly, was the pay. Maybe that didn’t justify the things he did today, the lives he took, but they weren’t around to pass judgment. It didn’t matter if they were though, right now, all Logan wanted was a hot shower and a soft bed.

“Is everything alright Sir?” Vic said, interrupting his thoughts almost as if on cue.

Logan could only offer a soft nod, as he flicked a switch on his palm, transferring the controls to the VI.

“Yeah Vic… I’m good. Take us home.”

Whether it was from blood loss or battle fatigue, Logan was asleep inside his mech until Vic had docked it inside Logan’s ship Fenris. His eyes slowly opened to the sound of the locking mechanisms engaging, holding Crusader upright and stationary as a walkway whirred to life, expanding its length until it connected to the mech's waist just under the backplate of the cockpit. He looked around, slowly becoming more lucid as he took in his surroundings. The docking bay was large and brightly lit by fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Across the way, a large screen bolted to the wall sprang to life, displaying the local time-zone, as well as the topography of the land below, being scanned from the ship’s sensors from low orbit.

Suddenly, his vision distorted, crackling and turning hazy as if looking at a broken datapad, before going completely black. He winced and blinked away the darkness until his eyes adjusted and he found himself staring at a dull metal slab; the sides lined with rivets and dented from years of abuse, the true view from where Logan hung suspended in his cockpit harness. He felt a painful click, before watching the ocular uplink cable retract up into Crusaders headpiece, snaking its way through the environment until wrapped around a large metal spool.

A hiss of pressurized air came directly behind him, and Logan closed his eyes tight, gritting his teeth as the mech’s back plate rose, segmented plates sliding up and nesting inside the ones above them. Then the pain started. A shrill whine filled the air as his uplink spikes unscrewed themselves from his Pilot threads. His body twisted and lurched as the uplink frame forcibly removed its spikes from Logan’s body, giving no reprieve, merely increasing the force it applied whenever a screw was hung or stuck until all fifteen spikes were removed from his arms, legs, and spine.

Logan gasped, his breath coming in short bursts as he sucked down air. His body shook from both shock and pain while he fought to gain his bearings. He hated this part. The uplink and de-link processes were necessary of course, but necessary didn’t mean it had to feel like his skin was on fire every time he entered the cockpit. It never got easier either, he just grew accustomed to the pain.

Logan exhaled slowly, getting his bearings before he reached back and gripped a handle, pushing off of the pegs that held his feet, and slowly turned himself around, before stepping out onto the grated platform, successfully extricating himself from his Crusader. His vision swam and blurred as he stepped into the bright light of the hanger bay. A side effect of an extended deployment. Aurora should have known better though. He must have been gone a few days at least.

“Aurora!” He called out, yelling to be heard over the industrial sounds of repair and maintenance. “Dim the lights already, dammit I can’t see!”

“Sorry!” A distant, sing-song voice replied. Within a few moments the brightness of the bay dropped to manageable levels and Logan was able to blink away the stars that floated in his periphery. As he did, he saw Aurora walking towards him, wrench in hand, a goofy smile plastered on her face.

She was young for an A.R.M.S. mechanic, her face still radiant and full of excitement, with features that seemed to contrast one another. She had bright blue hair, tied back into a ponytail and her eyes were a dull brown, framed behind a set of thick glasses that made her look slightly bug eyed when she wore them, which she rarely did. Her nose was thin and came to a prominent point, while her chubby cheeks, still clinging to some baby fat, accentuated her youthful appearance. All in all, she could have passed for a girl of around nineteen or twenty, instead of her actual age of twenty-five. Her maturity or lack thereof didn’t help her in this department either much to her employers irritation. It seemed to Logan that if she wasn’t busy here, she’d keep herself entertained by making Logan’s life a living hell. Still, she was the best mechanic this side of the sector, and she worked cheap. That went a long way in Logan’s book.

“Good to have ya back boss,” She said, eyeing him up and down before looking past him to where Crusader stood. Logan watched her eyes light up as she no doubt saw the marks of battle that ran all over the mech’s frame. He turned to see what the damage and had to stifle a wince. Dents and slash mark ran the length of the mech, as some minor burns in a few places had turned the off white paint scheme into a charred black.

Logan shook his head and turned back to face her. “Brought you some work it seems. This should keep you busy till we reach the fleet don’t ya think?”

“Hell yeah! You can count on me boss, I’ll make her look good as new!” She said, her thick twangy accent taking over, a by-product of her homeworld of Merrin. She took a step, then stopped herself, a quizzical look taking over.

“What is it?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at her.

She smacked her own head, making a face that said she had just remembered something important. “I almost forgot!” She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a datapad, swiping through with her thumb until she found what she’d been looking for. “Message came for you over the net a day or two ago. Used your Captain’s Code and everything so I figured it must have been important.”

Logan’s eyebrow raised higher as he approached her, and took the datapad from her hands, his eyes reading through the message quickly, growing wider as they did so.

“What’s wrong boss?” Aurora asked, her face tinged with concern and sounding far away. Logan ignored her, having to read through the message again, just to confirm who it was from.

*“Logan,

It’s been a long time. I apologize for my lack of communication. You know how things are, we get busy and things tend to go by the wayside. Still, fifteen years is a long time, and you deserved better. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry again, that the reason I’m reaching out is that I need your help. It’s about Cameron. Things are changing around Ketris and I fear he’s not ready for the role he’s ascending too. But if anyone can straighten him out, I figure it’d be you. Please write back when you have the chance and I’ll explain more then.

Your Friend,

Augustus Pellyn”

Logan sat there for a long time, reading and rereading the message. Had it really been fifteen years? Time flies when you're having fun, but it must go faster when you’re fighting for your life, he supposed. Still, it was hard to believe that he’d receive any contact from people back home. Why him? Why now?

“Boss?” Aurora’s voice was meek and pensive, cutting across Logan’s thoughts like the sharpest blade. He shook his head to clear it and looked up at her. She was staring at him, worry plastered on her face, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“You alright? What is it?”

Logan forced a smile, his mind running wild with thoughts of a life, long dead. Or so he had thought. Clearly, that wasn’t the case anymore.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just a job offer from some old friends.”

She blinked, some levity returning to her face. “Oh. Well… what do they want you to do?”

“Go home.”