It was like being in a daze.
One moment, Curtis's mecha was sliding backward, grinding helplessly into the ground after being pummeled by the Marshal. The next, his vision was abruptly filled with white.
A mecha.
Not just any mecha.
That mecha.
The eerie, gleaming thing loomed over him like a phantom, framed in light and smoke, its shape just unnatural enough to short-circuit the brain trying to understand it.
"Huh?" Curtis managed.
And that was the last thing he could clearly recall.
He'd tried to eject. He really had. But something had malfunctioned—maybe due to the impact, or maybe because of his bad luck.
So someone else made the choice for him.
From the stands, it looked horrific.
The white mecha reared back, spider-like limbs slithering into formation. Then, in one fluid motion, it stabbed its gleaming appendages straight into the mangled chest of Curtis's broken mecha.
