Chapter 1

Fulcrum's ship glided silently across the vast darkness of space, slowly easing towards Vorsten 2 with her new Hound. Fulcrum sat in the pilot's chair, reading reports on the various subsystems of the ship. Many were in need of service. Nothing dire, but she would likely need to dock with a port before another long journey. She turned to the primary display, tapping the icon for command input.

“Validate Identity.” A synthetic voice spoke.

“We're getting close. Prep the dog for orbital insertion.” Handler Fulcrum replied in her typical monotone voice.

“Identity Confirmed. Preparing C4.364 for orbital insertion, Handler Fulcrum.”

C.364's stasis pod sat in the cargo hold, quietly humming as the asset lay within. Upon receiving the command from Handler Fulcrum, the stasis pod whirred to life. Inside, several IV lines feeding into the base of C4.364’s skull were filled with a clear liquid, as wires connecting to various points of its body began receiving signals from the ship’s computer. The thin layer of frost coating the pilot’s body began to thaw as the body and pod began to warm up. After a few minutes, various hydraulics hissed as their pressure was vented, and the top of the pod split in two, slowly opening up and exposing the asset to the stale air of the ship’s cargo hold.

The IVs in the asset’s skull emptied, having injected their cocktail of drugs to wake the pilot, and slowly began to retract into a small mechanical arm housed within the bottom of the pod. The pilot was awake now, but still unmoving. For space efficiency, their augmented limbs had been removed for stasis. One less step for preparations to be inserted into the armored core of their weapon. A pilot's true body.

Behind the pod sat the armored core, held vertical by a cargo crane. Loud clanks and more hydraulics could be heard as the front access hatch to the core was unlocked, slowly opening in preparation to receive its pilot. A mechanical arm similar to the one within the stasis pod extended a few feet outside of the cockpit as several larger arms lifted the pilot from their pod. Carefully maneuvering the asset, the arms connected the base of the pilot’s skull to the cockpit’s extended arm, establishing the interface necessary for it to control the weapon. Several small audible clicks echo throughout the hold as the arm latches itself in place securely. The last thing a pilot would want would be for this interface to come loose. Once the connection was secured, the pilot was gently retracted inside of the cockpit, placed into a padded receptacle which slowly changed shape to embrace the asset, snugly fitting around each curve of its body.

With the pilot securely placed in the cockpit, the access hatch slowly closed, followed by the clanking of its locks sealing, and a small hiss as the hermetic seal is created. The core was then moved to a different part of the cargo hold, where its extremities sat waiting to be connected. As this happened, the pilot’s mind was filled with information about the upcoming mission. The experience was similar to seeing a slideshow at a hundred slides per second.

The mission was a simple one. One of the factories on Vorsten 2 was under siege by a militant group of workers, known as the Union. Using stolen MTs from the assembly line, undercover agents within the factory were able to overwhelm most of the on-site defenses and open the door for a larger external force. The occupiers released a message upon securing the facility, containing their demands.

The message is a static image of several hands in a circle, grabbing each other's wrist. The emblem of the Union. A gruff female voice speaks over the image.

“This message is for the corporate roaches of BAWS. We have conquered your facility after years of complaints have fallen on deaf ears. Our demands are simple, you will release a grievance package to the families of those killed by your inhumane guidelines. You will revise said guidelines to prioritize human life before all else. Finally, you will double the pay of each of your employees within your planetside facilities. You have three days. Every six hours, we will destroy more of your inventory here. Don't make us run out of toys to break.”

While the pilot was receiving the briefing, the machines within the cargo bay had not stopped working to assemble the armored core and prepare it for the mission at hand. The core was lifted several stories in the air as two legs were rolled into place by small teams of cargo bots. Connecting with a clunk to the bottom of the armored core, several mechanical arms tightened the dozens of bolts around the joint to secure them in place. Simultaneously, two arms were hauled into place by another pair of cargo cranes. Gently pushed into their sockets by a set of mechanical arms, the core’s limbs were then also secured by the same set of arms.

Just behind the core, a wall of components was wheeled in, containing the thrusters and generator, arguably some of the most important components of the core. The wall pressed the thrusters into their attachment points as the generator was slowly lowered into an open hatch on the back of the core. More mechanical arms tirelessly worked around the connectors of the components, fastening their connectors firmly and ensuring the generator was properly connected to the rest of the core by starting its internal combustion engine.

As the engine roared to life, several small clicks and hisses could be heard from all over the armored core as its systems came online. Within the cockpit, the pilot’s muscles tried to jolt around from the sudden rush of sensory input received from the machine, but the core held the asset firmly in place. The hatch to the generator closes before being sealed shut.

Now fully assembled, the armored core stood five stories tall, coated in bluish gray steel from top to bottom. The cranes holding it aloft were released, and it fell a short distance to the bay floor. Immediately, it began walking forward to the weapon rack on the far wall of the cargo bay. It glanced at the small arsenal before it, before selecting two assault rifles, a pulse blade, and a four count, shoulder mounted missile launcher from the wall. It placed the pulse blade within a receptacle on its left shoulder while another crew of small arms fastened the missile launcher to its right shoulder, securing it in place and connecting it up to the core’s targeting systems. A separate team of arms and conveyor belts began stocking the core with ammunition, filling ammunition compartments on the arms and legs as full as possible with the relevant firepower.

Once the loading was complete, the core stomped its way over to another section of the cargo hold, near the rear of the ship. A platform with two clasps sat waiting for it as it approached. The core stepped on top of the platform, and the clasps sprang upward, securing the core to the platform as various machines and cranes began to build a capsule around the outside of the core. Fuel tanks, armored plating, thrusters, RCS systems, all were assembled around the outside of the core to create a re-entry vehicle sufficient to survive the re-entry in addition to the occasional acid rain storms Vorsten 2 was plagued by.

As the machines worked, a voice appeared in the pilot’s head. It’s Handler’s voice.

“364. I’m sure you’ve received your briefing and have had time to think it over. BAWS is paying us based on three factors. First and foremost, they want the Union running for the hills and control of the factory handed back over to them. Second, they’ve put a bounty on each one of the Union members individually. So, the more you take out, the more we earn from this contract. Third, they’re willing to pay us a bonus depending on how much of their stock is undamaged, not including stolen weapons in use by the Union, of course.”

As the Handler spoke, the neural connection began to feed a small drip of a translucent blue liquid into the port. The asset could feel its effects almost immediately. Every last one of it’s Handlers words stuck in the asset’s mind. The more she spoke, the more the pilot felt the need to gain her approval. To perform well. To show its Handler what a true Hound can do. These feelings were unfamiliar to the asset, but welcome. Augmentation surgery may have destroyed most of the pilot’s emotional capacity, but some still lingered.

“You’ll be dropping in about half a mile outside of the Union’s defensive line. No doubt they’ll see your landing, so don’t delay once you’re on the ground. They’ll likely be entirely outgunned, but BAWS has been rather… uncooperative when I asked what kind of hardware was being stored in the facility. So proceed with caution. Good luck.”

The connection then terminated as the final seals were being created on the orbital insertion pod. The pilot could see some of what was outside, thanks to externally mounted cameras, but it was nothing compared to the suite of sensors contained within its armored core. But, for the task at hand, it would do. As the mechanical pit crew pulled away from the completed insertion pod, a computerized voice echoed throughout the cargo hold.

“Augmented human C4.364. Orbital insertion preparation complete. Approaching drop zone.”

“Prepare for planetfall.”