Seven hummed a tune under his breath as he effortlessly connected to the blacksite's network, deftly bypassing a couple of firewalls, and initiated the download of mission data. Meanwhile, his sensors alerted him that Moonraker had abandoned Symphony, allowing the lighter mech to make swift progress towards his location. Moonraker would arrive before the download completed, turning this into a race against time. Seven's objective was simple: stay alive and within range of the blacksite's network until the transfer was finished.
It should have been a trivial task.
Seven ached; it caused physical discomfort to impose limitations on his arsenal, restricted to what was publicly known. He found himself drumming his fingers metaphorically on an imaginary desk, contemplating the situation.
With only two enemies remaining, things had become more manageable. Perhaps he could afford to showcase his skills a little, to impress others. This wasn't just about corporate contracts or winning battles—it was his life on the line. He needed someone capable enough to take this contract, to maintain his mech, and to be genuinely impressed. Merely winning wasn't sufficient. Crushing his opponents, especially those who hadn't taken the threat seriously from the start, became a personal mission.
This battle would make a statement.
Ascending to the top of a nearby building, Seven took cover and swiftly disassembled his assault rifles. These weapons deviated from standard issue for a reason.
After a minute, Moonraker appeared on his sensors, drifting closer. Seven lifted his newly rebuilt sniper rifle, its barrel linked directly to his mech core for enhanced rail-gun power. He steadied his breathing, resting the rifle against Overkill's shoulder, counting silently—one... two... fire.
The impact of the shot propelled Moonraker's mech into a nearby building, resulting in a violent explosion as its core was pierced.
Seven calmly dismantled the sniper rifle, knowing he might need them for the next phase of the mission. Descending to ground level, he resumed walking eastward, pausing the download at 99%.
As he strolled, Seven observed the hesitation of the radar pip that was Symphony as he registered his sudden change of tactics. Pilots were typically evaluated based on skill, which was a combination of mission statistics, and piloting hours. In essence, a pilot with more hours was considered superior to one with fewer hours. However, as one climbed the ranks, the value of hours diminished, as the quality of experiences varied significantly.
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Pilots patrolling dead zones versus gladiators seeking fame for their quarterly reports held distinct attitudes towards risk and flamboyant maneuvers. Neither group felt particularly incentivized to truly understand their mechs. After all, most mech skills were transferable, and genuine mastery was sought only by the exceptional few who were passionately devoted or obsessively driven.
Seven belonged to that elite category. He lived and breathed within his mech—it defined his existence. His veins pulsed with oil, his skin adorned with armor plates, his legs housing shock absorbers and boosters.
These other pilots, though veterans in the eyes of others, didn't have even a tenth of his pilot hours.
Symphony remained composed, having detected Seven's approach on its sensors. He repositioned himself at the center of the dried-up riverbed, an ideal spot for a mech boasting superior firepower and resilience, forcing enemies to confront them head-on.
Seven tightened his grip around his rifle, the metal joints creaking. Taking a deep breath, he activated his boosters for a burst of momentum, propelling himself out of cover. Swiftly darting to the side of Symphony, he strafed the mech with precise gunfire.
Unfazed, Symphony adjusted its cannons, unleashing a relentless barrage like a rolling broadside—always firing one cannon while the other reloaded. The intent was clear: to make dodging every shot an impossible feat. But Seven proved faster than Symphony had anticipated, evading the initial volleys with nimble maneuvers that carried him past his opponent, who struggled to rotate and keep up with the rapid movements.
And so, the dance commenced. Each time Symphony redirected its guns towards Overkill, Seven utilized his boosters to swiftly change direction, forcing Symphony to readjust once again. All the while, he rained rifle fire upon the heavily armored mech. Given enough time, this onslaught would wear Symphony down, eventually overwhelming it.
Seven knew his cannons possessed even greater destructive potential, but utilizing them would limit his ability to evade attacks.
Fortunately, Seven possessed multiple solutions, unknown to his opponent. Thus, he kept firing and maneuvering, narrowly eluding Symphony's cannons at the last possible moment. The explosive rounds unleashed from Symphony's weapons turned the once-pristine riverbed into a pockmarked battlefield.
Finally, a well-placed shot from Seven's rifle found its mark, causing Symphony's left leg to collapse, throwing the entire machine off balance. As Symphony struggled to regain stability, Seven closed in, forcefully shoving the disabled mech forward. Symphony's face bore the brunt of the impact, a harsh reminder that all its weapons were oriented solely towards the front.
With his opponent incapacitated and desperately trying to reorient itself, Seven seized the opportunity. He fired at point-blank range, targeting vulnerable regions between armor plates. This left Symphony technically functional but effectively neutralized.
Returning to the blacksite, Seven completed the final 1% of the download and awaited the inevitable debriefing, his expression grim. He knew he would face reprimand for his showboating at the end—an unnecessary confrontation that had risked the mission's success. Yet, he hoped it would catch the attention of those overseeing the operation.
Indeed, Seven needed it to.