The screen behind the Calypso representative flickered, and a floating white "7" materialized, catching everyone's attention. A hushed silence fell over the room as a crisp and synthetic masculine voice broke through the air, "Good morning." The voice had a velvety quality, reminiscent of warm honey being poured over freshly baked bread. It was an unexpectedly soothing sound, like a gentle breeze on a calm summer evening.

"It seemed sensible to know how I was going to be introduced," the voice continued, displaying a touch of calculated curiosity.

The Calypso representative smiled, responding, "Naturally, we want to provide an accurate introduction."

Confusion permeated the room, with curious and perplexed expressions on everyone's faces. They had anticipated a pilot to make a grand entrance, with that trademark arrogant swagger that often accompanied those who commanded the battlefield, like gods or goddesses.

Attempting to address the curiosity in the room, the representative began the explanation, gesturing towards the Calypso engineering representative, "Seven is in a unique situation due to the experimental nature of the mech. I must apologize in advance, as you will receive more detailed information at a later time, and I may not be the most qualified person to speak on this matter. In essence, Seven is permanently 'plugged-in' to his mech. The last time we attempted to remove him was two years, four months, and eighteen days ago, which resulted in a massive cardiac arrest."

Pausing briefly to gather her thoughts, the representative continued, "This issue was not unknown to us, as other pilots had encountered similar problems. As many of you are aware, remaining 'plugged-in' places an excessive neural load on pilots. However, in the three years since Seven began this permanent connection, he has shown no signs of mental degradation, except for the single occasion when we attempted to remove him. In most pilots, this would create a catch-22 situation. Remove them, and they die. Keep them 'plugged-in,' and they will die. However, with Seven, as long as he is given adequate rest, the neural load is manageable, roughly equivalent to what a normal pilot sustains."

Alessia blinked, her mind grappling with the information presented. She had firsthand experience with the overwhelming strain of neural load. Pilots directly connected to their mechs with specialized implants leading to their brain stems faced a potential death sentence when remaining connected for longer than two days. More than a day of continuous connection could result in paralysis and seizures. Yet, here was Seven, having endured this connection for three years—an impossible feat.

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A man with slicked-back hair and glowing red-black eyes piped up, his voice dripping with snark, "And we are just meant to trust that this ticking time bomb won't implode on us?"

Alessia recognized him. He was one of the top-ranked pilots, commanding the fearsome 'Machine God,' a specialized long-range mech with enough firepower to level a city. He was infamous for his overconfidence and abrasive demeanor.

The Calypso representative responded confidently, "You have our guarantee. Seven's neural load is constantly monitored and is likely lower than yours at this very moment."

The man smirked, unconvinced.

Then, the smooth synthetic voice of Seven resounded through the auditorium's speakers, maintaining the same calm and measured tone, but now emanating from all directions. "I believe I can speak for myself on this one. I am able to limit the neural load by minimizing the number of inputs I make. When I am resting, like I am today, it's essentially as if I am in a multi-billion credit virtual reality setup. I can browse the net and communicate without incurring any additional load. The load only increases when I begin making inputs to the mech. Additionally, I have been informed that I possess a unique style that allows me to further minimize the load during normal maneuvers. For more technical details, you would need to consult the engineering team."

Another pilot, a woman with tanned skin and sharp metal teeth, spoke up, "Are you content being trapped in a mechanical prison? I understand the addictive nature of piloting a mech, but..."

Seven interrupted gently, "I understand your perspective. However, I can still lead a life. Although limited, I do not consider this a prison any more than you would consider your own body a prison. It simply is, and I simply am. We all make the best with what we are given."

Alessia felt her mind churn with questions. There was something more to Seven's response—a depth and acceptance that exceeded that of a normal person. She winced, realizing that mech pilots were far from ordinary individuals.

Undeterred by the pilots' momentary distraction, the Calypso representative interjected, unfazed by the exchange, "I believe that's sufficient for an introduction, Seven. Thank you for your time."

The slowly spinning 7 on the screen behind the representative disappeared, vanishing like a distant star.

"Tomorrow, you will have the opportunity to witness a teaser of Seven's capabilities at the helm. But for now, I will turn it over to our engineering department to address any technical questions that have arisen and entertain any further inquiries within the remaining time today."