Dominic sat in the darkened cockpit of the UOP battleship, staring at the cracked visor of his mech's helmet. It had been hours since he'd been dragged back to the hangar, his crippled mech abandoned on the bay floor, its left leg still sparking weakly. The mechanics and techs had swarmed over the machine almost immediately, their hands moving with practiced efficiency, but Dominic knew it would be days, maybe longer, before it was ready for combat again.
He could still feel the tremor of the malfunctioning systems in his limbs, the memory of the battle's brutal end echoing in his mind. His body ached, and every breath seemed to come harder than the last. The core's whispers had grown louder, too, now a constant undercurrent in his thoughts, reminding him of its presence—its power—gnawing at his sanity. But for now, he focused on the mission at hand. He didn't have the luxury of time to dwell on his broken mech or his broken mind.
The door to the hangar bay slid open with a hiss, and a low voice echoed over the intercom, breaking his trance.
"Dominic, report to the briefing room immediately," the voice commanded, sharp and authoritative. It was Captain Harlan, the leader of the UOP mercenary team.
Dominic sighed, disconnected from his mech's neural interface, and pushed himself out of the cockpit. His legs felt heavy as he staggered toward the hangar's exit. As he moved, he saw the damage his mech had taken—the deep gouges along its frame, the scorched exterior from the Juggernaut's energy blasts. It wasn't just a machine anymore. It was a symbol of the brutality of war.
When he reached the briefing room, Harlan was already waiting, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared at a large holographic display. A small warship was projected in front of him, its sleek design radiating efficiency.
"You're late," Harlan said, his eyes flicking up to meet Dominic's as the doors shut behind him. "Your mech is down, but the war isn't waiting. We have a new assignment for you."
Dominic said nothing. He simply stood there, his arms crossed, listening. The captain didn't seem to care for pleasantries.
"You've been reassigned to piloting the Eagle's Talon—a light assault warship. It's equipped with heavy artillery and long-range missiles, built for engaging enemy mechs from a distance," Harlan explained, tapping a few buttons on the console. The hologram flickered, showing a detailed schematic of the ship.
Dominic raised an eyebrow. "You want me to fly a ship now? What about my mech?"
"Your mech is under repair. It'll take time. We don't have time to wait. The Eagle's Talon is the best we've got for this mission. It holds up to five people, and you'll be part of a crew targeting CMC's smaller, faster mechs from orbit. They're trying to break through our lines with quick strikes, and we need to hit them before they reach our main fleet."
Dominic frowned, but there was no arguing. The battlefield was relentless. He'd done the unthinkable with his mechs, but this time, he would need to adapt.
The captain continued, "Your role will be strategic support—using the ship's long-range capabilities to weaken their forces from a distance. It's a simple enough mission. You'll be working with our best gunners and tacticians."
Dominic nodded, still processing the shift in his assignment. He had never been one for piloting ships. Mechs were his domain, and the thought of being stuck behind a control panel, firing from afar, didn't sit well with him. But a mission was a mission, and he had learned long ago not to question the orders. He was a soldier, a mercenary—a tool to be used until his usefulness ran out.
Harlan's voice broke into his thoughts. "We're launching in twenty minutes. Get to the hangar and prepare for takeoff. You're the pilot."
Dominic didn't answer immediately. He was still fighting the fog of his own thoughts, the weight of exhaustion, and the quiet fury that surged in his chest at the thought of his mech—his creation—being out of commission. But when the captain turned away, Dominic knew that there was no choice. He had to move forward. The war waited for no one.
The hangar bay was filled with the usual hustle and bustle of soldiers and mechanics. Dominic walked briskly across the bay, passing the technicians working frantically to repair his mech. He barely glanced at it, his mind already on the new assignment.
He entered the docking bay for the Eagle's Talon, where the crew was preparing for launch. The ship was a sleek, agile vessel designed for quick engagements and swift retreats. The exterior was matte black, its hull reinforced with advanced composite plating capable of absorbing most energy fire from enemy mechs.
Inside, the cockpit was a different beast altogether. Instead of the vast neural interface he was used to, there were multiple console screens, tactical maps, and a series of complex flight controls. The ship was fast, and its firepower was impressive, but it wasn't meant for close combat. It was a support vessel—a sniper in space, not a brawler.
Dominic slid into the pilot's seat, strapping himself in. The systems booted up, and a calm female voice greeted him.
"Welcome, Captain Dominic. All systems online. Preparing for launch in T-minus five minutes."
Dominic didn't reply, his fingers moving instinctively over the controls. The cockpit hummed to life as the targeting system locked onto his retinas, the interface syncing with his neural implant. It wasn't the same as piloting a mech—there was no direct connection with the machine, no immediate sensation of power flowing through his body. But it was something. And for now, it had to be enough.
As the countdown began, Dominic could feel the weight of the war on his shoulders. The UOP needed him. The fleet needed him. He could feel the pressure mounting in his chest, but this time, there was no time for hesitation. The battle was waiting for him to make his move.
"Launch sequence complete. Engaging thrusters."
The Eagle's Talon shot forward, its engines roaring to life as it broke free of the battleship's gravity. Dominic guided the ship through the atmosphere, the stars stretching out before him. The familiar hum of the core in his mind had faded, replaced by the cold clarity of the mission.
Out there, waiting for him, was an army of smaller mechs—fast, elusive, and deadly. Dominic would have to use everything he knew to fight them. He would need to be precise. He would need to be ruthless.
The Eagle's Talon accelerated toward the battlefield.