Back and forth. Stomp and gait. The easing sound of steady advance. A column of armor and mechanical equalization stretching to horizons both for and back. Maytag filling the radio with barely encrypted songs from the older days long since ancient. Familiar tunes with different words written over them by… by someone. But who?

It didn’t matter, the horizon did. The stomping did. That trained escape from the empty expanse of brush fire waste that just seemed to stretch on and on. The little souvenir jelly egg on the dash sloshing with the beat, swaying complementary to the rhythm imparted. The radio buzzing something about ‘operational security’ and quieting back down the passage of time. The stomps becoming more prominent as silence filled out what was left. The road fading in and away as those ahead fires grew nearer. A burst of static saying nothing but “Stay sharp”.

Like they already weren’t.

An errant *stomp* sending the tiny eft on the dash swirling around its rounded enclosure. Something was off, a squishy grip tightening around the control stick, weapons priming with a paired flexing gesture. A black hand scanned the smoke filled horizon for anything the sensors could pick up more direct. Another burst, different. Wrong encryption conflicting and highlighting. Enemy comms, barely a word out but “Spotted it.”

A frantic look to every dark figment *stomping* into view. Filling that horizon with dreadnaught shadow. A frightened aerial spun out of the newt clinging to her cracking egg. A pleading gazing trying to reach a wordless bond. A strawberry red streak grabbing too much attention. To the horrid whistle of hypervelocity break-

Of this recurrent swaying dream.

Those once content blue-green eyes bolting and locking to the barren dash ahead of them. Looking without seeing something that used to be there. Faces fading away with the small motion imparted into his slightly ripped chair. A claw had dug in for some security but found only regret. A reconciling numb flex tearing into the fabric without conscious understanding why. But a full body gurgly sigh softly acknowledged that the past was long- *stomp*

That motion returned as the silence of his serene prison was broken apart by an echo all too familiar. Heavy metal on unprepared asphalt. Another mech on approach. Trained instinct flashing his chair up to battle position, hands grasping and reaching… and slamming snout first into his own disappointed palm. Decayed reality snapped away the last of that dream. Demanding more reevaluating of his course of action. Another stomp, slow careful moves. Not too close but close enough. Definitely close enough to have been… His radio! A widened shock found it bouncing to life in silent ping, telling someone just where he was. But harboring more in thankful universal system architecture. Breaking encryption off of someone else’s transmissions. His approaching adversary. Just needing to be turned to-

“fff-ot everything is hostile out here Nieba. Especially not rusted hulks of scrap metal.”

“Then why are you slow walking your approach Rezz? Could it be that maybe you’re worried too?”

“Well I’m not stupid enough to go trouncing through a grove willy nilly. Sarg would make me clean it all off myself… again. And if you’re so worried too, then stay high and keep a tally. But it sure seemed pretty quiet.”

“hrrmmm… Just don’t stay long. You’re bingo and I can’t get any closer than I already have. Practically feel the Sieverts cooking my-“

Another stomp snapped Micha out of his analyzing trace and the radio back to silent. A duo team, one overwatch and one in the field. The man farther away and lower power, a safe distance but a clear view of the situation meant drones and no way in hell he could sneak out. The other, a woman, far stronger and getting closer by the *stomp*. Another reevaluation, it was way too late to kill the radio and he had to hide, fast!

A panel set in behind his seat eyed as a contender. A maintenance hatch squared off for the drive systems. A claw already hooping around its *snap* rusted pull. That same claw digging hard to catch the seam and wrench this safe haven open. A squealing reply eking in more fear, but no time allowed for doubts. A slithering crawl into dark rusting space, tail barely even given time to fall in before the panel closed shut to yet another rocking stomp.

The darkness near total but for small indicators and peeking through daylight. Old wounds finding none of their marks. But getting close. Yet their outward caricatures saying enough as to his home’s state. Not a threat, and yet still an object of desire? The radio bouncing like crazy as its obsessor closed to too *STOMP* close. Rust sprinkled free off every open air surface, clouds stinging Micha down and as close to innocuous as he could manage. Just a void in the void, nothing to see here.

A shorter stomp closing ever tighter. Aligning motions way sooner than expected making the easing silence fraught. Her mech was terrifyingly quiet for being at such a short distance. And she was planning on invading his home without a second thought. Or even resistance on his part. The alternative not worth turning his little peace into blood stained territory. He had to stay down, had to stay quiet. Let her see that there’s nothing left worth a damn and move on to safer green pastures. If those even still exist anyw- No! No time for musings, just stealth! And focus.

A thrum hovered just below range, just below feeling it in his cut down bones. A scan to make sure the coast was clear maybe, but the engine on that thing should be ringing his head so that was more likely. The hiss of a release and narrow scrape against his hull put the time table in order, light steps and a mild dejection the possibility of a passive rebuke. A rust locked door only two feet open is one hell of a- *SCREEEEEEE* Well it was a deterrent! The whir of mechanical addition putting a lot more fear into that balled up void hiding beneath nothing better than rusted tinfoil. Yet still light steps followed, intruded, crept into the dim cockpit streaked with sunlit dust. A separate click and that light was outshined, artificial filling the gaps. And only just muffled words from a helmet filled in the silence.

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“Well something certainly enjoyed itself in here, but what the hell is putting out that heat?”

“Thermal’s showing the seat, but these readings? Please tell me you still have your-“

“Yes, the seals are tight. Though if it was a rad leak it would have puddled a bit more not turned some cushions into a space heater. Also you know, there’s no ticking.”

“You say that but I am picking something up.”

A tense squeeze and a whole extra throttle pumping his heart to its max.

“Radio, dead ahead. Your little guiding light in the flesh.”

And that tension falling back in a still restrained sigh as those steps squealed toward his traitorous box.

“Heh, how long have you been just a hair off-“ “JUST A HAIR- bbzz” “The fuck?! Why the fuck was it tuned to our frequency!?”

A tense reversal, those steps scraping to the dark before-

“Hold on! Hold on!! We’re good. It’s a warfare suite, it’s meant to intercept everything in range. It’ll even decrypt it apart itself. These old models had a lot of centralization so they could be independent for long stretches of time. But the fact it still has enough power to manage that means something’s a hell of a lot more interesting.”

“Hmph…”

The tension curtailed, but Micha’s heart just couldn’t stay calm at the notion.

“So now you care once the tech is salvageable.”

“Oh I wouldn’t touch that thing with a ten foot pole, that little beepy boy is gonna get you followed everywhere you go. But a steady source of power means it’s getting the good juice and not some old RTG leak. This things still got a viable reactor somehow.”

Reactor… Something there. Memories trying to be reknown through fog and chill. Something like… numbers. A code? That mission again. Hard voices melting into apathy but what they said egging at something. Something interrupted by- *SCHREEeeSREEeee* by a wholesale blasphemy. Beating all else flat as artificial light tore into the darkness. A hole ripped out of the rusted crawl just a few pipes and gear cores ahead of him.

Right where his chair used to be.

“Sorry ya slimy bastard, but you’ve got something we need to… see-“

Micha’s wetting gaze, his obliterated comfort zone turned up to the barely visible peephole shining on to him. This callous invader had destroyed his true sanctuary, tore it away like it was nothing at all. And yet stopped in her tracks like she understood the unmitigated crime against peace she’d just committed. Yet what little he could see, through tearing eyes, was not so much regret. But awe. Armored hands descending in from the light, slow careful reach landing on the outer case of something buried amid the compartment. Something… something he knew. Those numbers…

“P… 55Z… Holy fucking shit Dan…! Holy fucking shit!”

“Rezz… opsec… but who gives a shit…”

“This is the fucking one! This is the fucking Petunia! The god damn perpetual motion reactor!”

“How the fuck… Who the fuck… What the FUCK!?!”

That thing, that so wide heptahedron. Those numbers and letters. A need, a destination, a mission to get it… get it somewhere away. Someplace that someone wouldn’t find it. Something… something that refused to break through as the clamps on its housing chunkily released. Twin handles provided for just such a retrieval, size no bigger than the woman pulling it free. Connections, most corroded, breaking loose. Indicators and starlights fading to black and rusted orange. And that sweet warmth allowed to cool and chip away at a body not ready to let go. A claw hesitant but pleading, hovering just short of the meager view port it was allowed. Forced to just let this travesty happen. And set in motion this one last loss.

*chunk* “Hgrr…hehhehee. ♪You know what this means Nieba♪.”

“Huh Urr- No! No, this doesn’t not fucking count! You do not get to call hail marys like that!”

“Yeah… but I still told you so!”

“You- Grrrr…”

“Heheh, this is gonna turn the commander inside out! She’s gonna owe me the goddamn fleet!”

“Uggghh, let’s just stick with getting it out for now alright. You’re still damn near out of fuel and in the weeds remember. Very deep in the weeds.”

“Yeah yeah, fine. Retrieval first, then celebratory gloating. Gotcha.”

The coated floor complained as the weight imparted upon it doubled, near enough to a metric ton all focused onto two lackadaisical boots. Whirring mechanisms only cementing the unsustainability of her presence, and expediting her retreat back to her own vessel. The whole of Micha’s mech squealing as imbalance propagated and ill maintained supports signaled their dismay. But she still bounded free before this crime became one step more cruel, her own walking fortress more prepared and able to take this new weight. Leaving poor Micha alone… in the slowly cooling dark.

Alone, as her mech resealed its hatch in a heartless hiss. Cold, as its motors revved up to an even deeper silence and filled it over with weight insurmountable. Without, as his once pleasant home was rocked in redshifted stomping. Tarnished, as the echoes filtered away farther and farther. And the dust settled to an emptying pit of despair.

The hatch above his head lifted light in sympathy, but could only do so much. His once warm hollow broken open and desecrated. His nest ransacked and his hopes dashed without even a protest. His bed rent to scrap and tossed to the wayside. His heart allowed to wallow in sorrow and shame. And the cold allowed to seep into his bones. Eyes forced down to the hole ripped into his home, to the boot prints buckled into his floor, to the outside let in and the inside let out. The light rays filled with rust and dust. And the weak pitiful clench that beat with his heart.

He’d done nothing, just ran and hid like all of this past self was worthless. A cold tangle yanking from the fog say this was just who he was. A coward who ran, a deserter who couldn’t fight. A failure who couldn’t live up to this grand vantage. But something equal stirred in counter, the opposite to that jumble of blind memories pulled free. A fire, a purpose, justification tightening pieces of that mission back together. Nothing hard but too much to just leave in shame. Too much not to feel that cold snap back.

A full body force, a breath like a racehorse set to tear down a track rippling those rays. A searching, remembering seek denying the crime scene attention. A compartment separate and sealed tight. Door wrenched free and contents spilling forth. Emergency long overdue but preserved for ill fate such as this. Clothes packed spare and kept away from the rot. A pack of little need but storage space. That traitorous box pulled from its unpowered socket, a clear intent and trained procedure refusing to be faded. The transmitter cut and pulled apart, unneeded and guilty. But the rest paramount and pressed to the cause.

Knowledge and knowhow finding footing out of the cold, spare battery pack unwound and wired in to provide. The whole of this ramshackle apparatus stuffed halfway out. Headphone output plugged in and worn as best it can, squishing but providing clear channel to his defilers. To the thieves he’d be following until he got back what could only ever be his.

Peace still some nebulous prerogative, sequestration still faded intent. But his dignity wasn’t theirs to take and wasn’t theirs to ply. And his duty was still staunch in this gangrenous blind.

Cut out pants and smooth jacket made cover from the elements expected. Low visibility colors set to cloak away the green that highlighted his form. A sneaking suit of desperation but necessity demands. He would have his warmth back no matter what it took to get it, but knew better than to search in violence. Whatever war that brought him here was long over and this was not a fight worth winning. So theft for theft was the only agreeable means.

The only path he had back to his home.