Pirate Heavy Lance POV
Four pirate 'Mechs moved steadily across the cracked plain, disciplined and confident.
• Orion ON1-K — Commander Raze, leading
• Wolverine WVR-6M — left flank
• Enforcer — right flank
• Trebuchet TBT-5N — rear fire support
They were supposed to rendezvous with Juno's lighter raiding group and continue pillaging settlements on PI9.
But something was wrong. Too quiet. Too still.
COMMS:
Wolverine Pilot: "Commander Raze, still no contact with Juno's lance. They should've checked in ten minutes ago."
Raze: "Probably busy with militia resistance."
Raze didn't believe it. Not with the silence. Not with the strange sensor readings flickering across the haze ahead.
As they crested a low ridge overlooking the city, their scanners lit up with debris signatures.
Not rubble. 'Mech remains.
Twelve hits. No survivors. The whole raiding lance—gone.
Raze slowed the Orion to a halt.
Raze: "What the hell happened here?"
The Enforcer zoomed in on one wreck.
Enforcer Pilot: "Commander… these aren't combat kills."
The Trebuchet's pilot swallowed audibly.
Trebuchet Pilot: "They're carved open. Melted."
Wolverine Pilot: "PPC?"
Raze: "No. Too clean. Too fast."
Then his targeting reticle locked onto a silhouette.
A lone shape stood among the corpses of their fallen comrades.
Low to the ground.
Black armor.
Four-legged.
Predatory.
Enforcer Pilot: "Commander? What is that?"
Raze didn't answer.
Because the shape moved.
It was rising.
And transforming.
——-////—-
Silas POV — Gaia in MA Mode
Silas stood among the wreckage of the first pirate lance.
The Phase Shift Armor was already active, its black-and-red sheen stable across every plate, faintly rippling with residual energy.
Four new contacts appeared on Gaia's sensors:
Heavier.
Coordinated.
Closing fast.
He turned to meet them.
Silas (quietly): "More pirates. Good."
Silas adjusted the controls, shifting Gaia's stance.
Metal folded. Limbs extended. Torso rotated and locked into humanoid posture.
The beast form shrank away; in seconds, Gaia stood at full 18 meters, wings flexing, thrusters humming.
The pirate lance froze.
Trebuchet Pilot: "IT'S TRANSFORMING! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?!"
Silas raised the beam rifle, powered by its internal E-Pack.
The beam discharged in a blinding flash.
The Trebuchet couldn't evade.
The energy hit the torso, melting armor, puncturing reactor shielding, and detonating its core in a fiery bloom.
The pilot didn't survive the initial strike.
Silas pivoted instantly and fired again.
The Enforcer's right torso evaporated, limbs collapsing, gyro feed shredded.
Two kills. Four seconds.
The comm channel erupted into panic.
Raze: "EVERYONE MOVE! CHARGE THAT THING! IF IT HITS US AT RANGE WE'RE DEAD!"
The Wolverine hesitated… then roared, igniting jump jets, arcing toward Gaia.
Raze pushed the Orion to full throttle, AC/10 spinning up.
Silas slotted a fresh E-Pack into the beam rifle.
The Wolverine landed first, SRMs screaming toward him—
Silas transformed mid-stride, dropping to four legs.
He sprinted with predatory speed, dodging missiles with uncanny agility.
Then Gaia struck.
The Wolverine stumbled under the impact. Armor shattered. Gyros failed. Silas leapt back into humanoid form, grabbed the mech by the shoulders, and tore the head assembly off, tossing it aside.
The Wolverine fell lifeless.
Only the Orion remained.
Raze's breathing became ragged. AC/10, LRM-15, lasers—all fired simultaneously.
Silas walked forward, beam rifle holstered.
Silas (quietly): "Time to end this."
He ignited one of the MA-M941 "Vajra" beam sabers. A brilliant blue-white blade hummed to life, casting light across the wreckage.
The Orion fired everything it had, but Gaia's movements were precise, almost preternatural. Lasers scorched armor plates; missiles detonated harmlessly off Phase Shift surfaces.
Silas closed the distance in a single sprint.
First slash — Beam saber sliced through the Orion's right shoulder and gyro feed, sparks and molten metal spraying.
Second strike — Torso split along the reactor housing, vaporizing internal systems.
Third strike — Cockpit caved completely; the pilot was incapacitated instantly.
The Orion collapsed with a thunderous crash.
Silas deactivated the beam saber, watching the last of the enemy fall silent.
He stood alone among four smoking wrecks, breathing easy, yet not without reflection.
—-////-
Silas POV
The thrill of battle slowly bled out of me, replaced by a steady calm.
It still didn't make sense.
I had zero real training with this machine… yet Gaia moved like it was an extension of my own body.
Reflexive.
Instinctive.
Natural.
I wouldn't be surprised if that entity made me a Newtype… or even a Coordinator.
It was the only explanation that didn't involve me losing my mind.
I looked at the ruined pirate 'Mechs around me—still burning, armor slagged, reactors venting fire.
And I felt nothing.
Not guilt.
Not regret.
Not sympathy.
They had to die.
Anyone listening to me would call that naïve… or childish.
"War is war."
"People die."
"Get over it."
But deep down—beneath everything—the part of me raised by my mother knew one thing:
This was fucking wrong.
Slaughtering civilians?
Shooting people running for their lives?
No.
I wasn't going to watch that and do nothing.
That was why I fought.
Even if it made me look like a fool.
DEEP… DEEP… DEEP…
My comm panel lit up in bright amber—an incoming transmission ping trying to force an open channel.
I flipped two switches, adjusted the frequency dial, and patched it through.
Static burst.
???: Th—s… zzzz… This is… captain Theodore of the Third Militia Regiment… to unknown battlemech… please respond…
The signal quality was terrible.
But the desperation?
That came through loud and clear.
I exhaled and thought.
What the hell was I supposed to say?
"Hi, I'm a guy from another universe piloting a custom Gundam that shouldn't exist in this setting?"
Yeah.
That'd go over real well.
So I adjusted the frequency again and made a decision.
Silas: "This is mercenary commander Silas, callsign Gaia. I hear you loud and clear now. You should be coming in stronger on my end as well."
A pause—then relief.
Captain Theodore: "Huh—oh! Right. Much better. Thank you. I've been trying to reach you for the past thirty minutes."
Of course they were.
I'd blown up two lances of their problem.
Captain Theodore: "After you dealt with that second lance… well… I figured if you're not fighting with the bastards looting us, maybe you could fight for us?"
He hesitated, then added carefully:
Captain Theodore: "Mercenary commander… I assume you're for hire, yes?"
I thought about it.
I needed resources.
I needed support.
I needed a place to start.
So yeah—why not lean into the role?
Silas: "Yes. But I doubt your people can pay my full rates. So let's make it simple—you pay what you can in C-Bills, and whatever you can't cover, you pay in salvage weight."
Silence.
A long one.
Then—
Captain Theodore: "That's acceptable. We're not rich… but I'll be damned before I turn away the kind of help you just gave us. Your conditions are approved. I'll have my remaining crews secure what salvage they can."
He shifted to business mode.
Captain Theodore: "Now—according to our scouts, the pirates still have two lances left north toward the port. One medium lance. One heavy. And frankly… I still don't know how pirates got their hands on this much hardware."
A beat.
Captain Theodore: "But that's our problem for later. I assume you plan on heading that way?"
Silas: "Correct. And I accept the terms of the contract. You can forward it to your superiors later. I'll collect my salvage afterward."
I turned Gaia toward the north.
The compass flickered, then pointed the correct heading.
A path set.
A job accepted.
A war to fight.
Silas: "Time to go earn my money."
Gaia's thrusters flared as I began the march toward the port—toward the next two lances, toward the next battle.
And toward whatever future I was about to carve out with my own hands.
END