Memo from EarthGov Central to all outlying officers;

Subject: Status of Electromagnetic Pulse Devices in EarthGov Controlled Space

Authorization: Secret II, Encryption Scheme Aqua

Message:

To all servants of the EarthGov federation,

It has been brought to my attention that a fair amount of you have not been briefed as to the use of Electromagnetic Devices and their use on the battlefield. As many of you know, EarthGov and Free Space coexist in the galaxy in a tenuous symbiotic relationship. We provide them with materials to build and equip the units of their fleet, contracts to stimulate their rather... volatile economy, and are the sole manufacturer of Legal A.I. cannisters in the galaxy. In exchange, they provide their services as talented pilots and warriors to us at a generous discount when compared to the everyman. This relationship has stood firm since the initial corporate uprising all those years ago and I'm happy to say that we have yet to have an intergalactic incident since that relationship was first formed. Still, let me make one thing perfectly clear; these people are killers. Savages that will use any means necessary in order finish the job and receive their pay. As such, some have, in the past used rather barbaric methods of dispatching their targets. This includes weapons that have been outlawed since the early 2100's, before A.R.M.S. units were even created. I'm speaking of course about EMP weapons. These weapons are not just mere disabling tools... they are a barbaric contingency that not only disrupts and kills the various electronic devices inside of an A.R.M.S. suit, but, due to the load an AI/VI takes on when it comes to operating the mech, they force the unit to go into shutdown mode, locking up and crushing the pilot to death underneath a mountain of steel. EMPs are among the most abhorrent weapons you can encounter in the galaxy and as such, EarthGov has taken measures to counteract their use, making it a capital crime for even possessing these devices. It is your duty as servants of EarthGov to be vigilant in your respective sectors and keep these tools far away from the battlefield. I have included below a snippet of "The Life of a Pilot" a fictional satire written by the late King of the North, Marevack Nome. Often described as sensationalized pulp, Marevack was known to sprinkle bits of truth within the pages of his novel. This section about what an EMP can do to a pilot is one such truthful report, said to have been inspired by an eyewitness account of an EMP activation. I hope you read these words and remember them well, for even though they are not of this federation, they ARE still people and deserve the courtesy to never have die like this.

Regards,

Rudolfo Cortez

President of EarthGov

***

Do you know the worst possible fate that can befall a pilot? The one horrible disaster that, although rare in occurrence, is a nightmare that few who even witness it come back from? It’s not the disemboweling blade of an enemy on a battlefield, nor the cold emptiness and crushing weight of the ocean depths. No, the worst fate that can befall a pilot comprises not just one death, but two. A digital death to preamble the countdown of the clock on a person’s existence. And no matter how badly he wished to escape it, that clock had started its countdown on another pilot’s life.

It was supposed to be an operation like any other. A simple revolt that the powers that be, needed snuffed out. So the pilot reached out, offering his services to the highest bidder, and before he knew it, he was on a planet he couldn’t name, slaughtering revolutionaries by the dozens. It was a tedious, intensive task, but someone had to do it. At least it paid well. Even as the hours turned into days and he pushed back the insurgents all the way to their base of operations, his mind was filled with one thing; all that silver just for him. How he would trade it all to go back and turn down the job.

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The rebels were well fortified, that much was for certain. Built into the side of a mountain, it was a near impregnable fortress designed to weather the worst this world had to offer. But the pilot wasn’t from this world. Inside of his mech, he was akin to a god. His virtual intelligence, connected to him through a synaptic link at the back of his skull, a seraphim of death, providing him with information and analysis of his surroundings as he bathed the outpost in fire and blood.

He towered over the mortals below, his ten meter mass of steel and hydraulics functioning as the harbinger of destruction for the masses that dare to disrupt the status quo. His massive sword, the size of a mighty oak crashed into buildings, tearing them apart like they were made of paper. Taloned mechanical feet, crushed their soft, squishy bodies as they tried to flee. Everything was going to plan. Until it wasn’t.

Whether it was due to complacency or ignorance, the pilot didn’t see where some of the rebels were running too. He didn’t register the fact that they weren’t fleeing; they were repositioning. Unleashing a weapon that had long since been thought forgotten. He should have realized that he needed to run, to hide and avoid its blast. But he didn’t. He stood there as a wave of electro-magnetic energy washed over him like a tidal wave crashing onto an island.

And the countdown began.

It started with a scream. A tinny, digital crackle that ripped through his mind as his Virtual Intelligence was eradicated in an instant. His eardrums ruptured and his brain seized at the sudden disconnection. Opening his eyes, and blinking away stars, he no longer saw the blazing fires and scattered rubble of the rebel outpost. Instead, it was the blank wall of steel that was the shell of his cockpit. He realized then that his synaptic uplink had blown, cutting off visual and audio input from the outside world.

That was when reality set in, his eyes going wide, as a ball of fear settled in his stomach. He tried to eject from the cockpit, tried to remove the uplink jacks screwed into the threads grafted onto his arms, legs, and back, but they wouldn’t budge. Why would they? The VI controlled all such systems inside of a mech. It was a part of their function. But now, his VI was gone, and as such the mech had nothing to keep it activated. There was nothing else for it to do now, but shut down.

The pilot felt it then. The pressure of hydraulics being returned to their original state. The cockpit was compressing in on itself, trying to return to a position of unused slumber. It squeezed and pressed on his threads, causing him to cry out in agony as the uplink jacks slowly pressed further into his body far deeper than they should ever go.

Tears streamed down his face as his arms and legs were crushed under the mighty weight of the steel that encompassed them, reducing his once athletic and toned appendages to boneless masses of jelly and blood. He felt his spine beginning to crack and eventually shatter as the uplink jacks forced their way into his body, before breaking through his chest and abdomen, unapologetic in their machined brutality.

His skull was the last to suffer, as the head plate that surrounded it squeezed around him. He felt the cartilage in his nose turn to dust, his eyes juiced like grapes, as his last moments on this mortal plane were filled with nothing but the sense of fear and unyielding pressure.

To the rebels watching on, they were unaware of what they had just done. They were desperate to live, to carry on their goal of usurping those that had kept them downtrodden for so long. But even they winced and averted their gaze as the Pilots screams of agony ripped through the air like a howling wind. Even they gagged when they saw the condensed thick sludge of blood and viscera seeping through the seams of the mechs chassis. Even they felt sympathy for the pilot who had tried to slaughter them.

The worst fate that can befall a pilot is not a simple death at the hands of an enemy or even nature. It is a death at the hands of everything they hold dear. Their livelihood and their future coming to an abrupt end at the hands of that which gives them power and prestige. It is a fate worse than death. And it all begins with a scream.