Chapter 9: The More Things Change…

Combat MTs are differentiated from their lighter and more common cousins by several aspects.

Their shape and size, to begin with. Combat MTs are almost always larger and bulkier than common MTs, with thicker armor plating to survive hits that could mission-kill ordinary MTs. Their quadrupedal legs also assist with movement as well as allowing them to field heavier weapons; the four additional limbs allow for easier recoil control and dispersal that bipedal models simply don’t have.

There is the fire control system, which is much more advanced than the one in a standard MT; allowing Combat MTs to track and hit targets with much greater reliability and accuracy over longer distances. This compounds their use of heavy weapons, allowing them to become significantly more dangerous and even pose a threat to ACs in sufficient numbers.

And rarely are MTs deployed alone, with most battlegroups operating as cohesive and well-structured teams to leverage their numbers advantage. A single MT battlegroup can have up to 20 such mechs, and working together under good leadership they could be more than a match for any opposing force

But all this means nothing to a sufficiently skilled Raven in a custom Armored Core.

Leon moves, guided by the memories of his past life– thrusters carrying him across the ground as he dodges incoming howitzer fire from the MTs. His mech accelerates forward, weaving through the incoming fire with the movement and grace of a figure skater; sparks flying in the wake of his AC’s movements as he jinks left and right or twirls across the floor.

Shells scream past, missing by mere inches as the mech dodges left and right. The AC brings up its right arm and the laser rifle whines before firing; streaks of light lancing outwards to the right-most MT.

They hit home, coring through armor and damaging sensitive internal systems. The mech spasms and shudders, staggering backwards a few steps as electricity arc and flames spew out from the holes where the lasers had hit . But still it fires, not yet disabled. Two more shots finally take it down for good, the mech catching fire before detonating violently.

The remaining two MTs scatter, sliding across the metal floor with their thrusters pushing them along.

One MT darts in close, energy blade bright and blazing. Leon rockets forward to meet it halfway.

The MT lunges, blade swinging and trailing light. Leon ducks low and quick-boosts under the MT, then spins around and slashes upwards while standing up. Two legs come flying, and the enemy mech lands off-balance from its lunge, sliding across the floor until it comes to a sudden stop.

Its howitzer comes up and fires, forcing Leon to dodge. Two shots from his rifle stuns the MT, before he boosts forward and finishes it off with a stab from his energy blade directly through the MT’s front plate.

He quick-boosts backwards, evading the MT’s destructive end and dodging fire from the last remaining MT; the mech moving as it fires at Leon. Shells scream past or explode on the ground around him, but none actually hit. The AC weaves through incoming fire, spinning and sliding and ducking and hopping, waiting for the right moment.

That moment comes when the MT’s howitzer clicks empty.

Immediately, Leon opens fire; his last two shots striking home and burning holes through the mech’s front plate. Now empty, he tosses aside the laser rifle and boosts forward.

The hostile mech, to its credit, activates its energy blade before engaging all thrusters; zooming forward to impale Leon’s mech on it’s high-temperature length. The young man laughs and boosts upwards as he jumps; clearing the incoming attack with ease.

Then, while airborne, he engages his thrusters as he falls; smashing down into the mech and forcing it to the floor. The MT’s leftover momentum carries it forward, sparks and bits of its armor flying off as it slows to a stop. Only then does Leon ignite his own energy blade and stabs down.

Seconds later, the MT explodes; engulfing the AC in flame. Leon only loses 3% of his total AP, his only damage during the fight. He laughs as he steps out of the flames, stomping forward unharmed and unhindered.

//MISSION ACCOMPLISHED – ENTERING STAND-BY MODE// the AC announces as the fire control systems disengages and his energy blade locks.

In the cockpit, the young man lets himself slump into his seat as the adrenaline fades and the familiar afterglow of victory settles in. The rush of endorphins, the knowledge of having survived another life or death battle, takes him back to his past life as Leos Klein; when he was only just beginning his career as a Raven. The relief of a completed mission, the thrill of a well-earned victory– oh how he misses it.

He supposes that there are some things death couldn’t take from him– the love of the fight among them.

//well done// the screen reads again. //you passed with flying colors, well beyond even my own expectations. from this day onwards, you are a Raven//

At the far end of the room, a set of lights come on. Leon spots a set of doors open, its brightness beckoning him to enter.

//step into the elevator– it will bring you to the command center// the screen reads. //verification of command rights and leadership transfer will take place there//

Leon follows through muscle memory of another life and powers down the AC. The mech kneels as the cockpit swings open, letting Leon step out. He takes a deep breath and coughs.

“Right, three burning MT wrecks in an enclosed space with no ventilation. Not good for a pair of lungs.” Leon winces. “Yeah, gotta get outta here.”

He jogs to the elevator and steps in, the doors closing after him. It lurches as it carries him upwards, the lights ticking up from ‘Ground’ all the way to ‘18’ – the floor name tag reading ‘Command Center’. Leon takes deep breaths to slow his anxious heart and calm down, nervous as to what may be waiting for him at the top.

Possibilities fill his mind and he slowly works through them one at a time, discarding impossible or implausible options after accounting for all the factors, both good and bad, that a place like Holtfort may present for… whatever it is that controls this place.

A person? In that case, it would likely be some kind of secret organization or conspiracy group working in the shadows. A machine? Possibly an intelligence inhabiting a body or whatever functioning bits of this facility were left. Something else, like a… sentient monster? No, that couldn’t be– monsters were too dumb, dumber than animals at times. It had to be one of the previous two, and Leon couldn’t decide which is better.

The elevator doors open and Leon shelves all his thoughts for later. With a deep breath, he raises his shotgun and steps through; slowly and cautiously.

He finds himself in a corridor filled with skeletons dressed in fancier variants of the uniforms worn by the dead in 8B East Living Quarters. These have chevrons and insignias indicative of higher ranks on the corporate totem pole, maybe leaders or somewhere thereabouts. Leon makes sure to step over as many of them as he can on his way to the command center, following the lights illuminating the path.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Eventually, he reaches a set of thick metal doors surrounded by powered armor-wearing guards and two unmanned weapons platforms; both inactive and rusty. He moves past them both to the door and it opens for him, revealing the command center proper.

It is a big place, with an operations table and over a hundred computer terminals spread out all over the room. At the far end are windows, partially covered by vegetation and greenery; but still offering a good view of the island interior. He steps inside, cautious and careful, shotgun raised and sweeping left and right for any potential enemies. Thankfully, he finds none.

More skeletons lay here, primarily technicians and leader-types. On the floor or slumped down in chairs, their flesh and skin having long since decayed to nothing; leaving only their bones. Leon walks past them, past the operations table, to the six rows of inactive terminals that occupy a good third of the room’s space. In the sixth row of terminals sits a command ‘throne’, if Leon had to describe it; elevated over the other terminals, with a set of stairs leading to a chair and it’s own dedicated terminal.

A skeleton occupies that chair, bedecked in a suit rather than any cheap uniform.

A sudden hiss has Leon spin around and take aim at a section of wall paneling that opens up to reveal a robot with white synthskin and the same cheap uniform as the technicians. It is bald and appears androgynous enough to pass as either gender.

Then parts of its body start to swell, giving it wide hips and a feminine bust. Hair starts growing out of the previously bald head, white at first but slowly darkening with color. It’s eyes open and reveal themselves to be plain white with no visible irises.

The gynoid gives Leon a once over and sighs.

“So this is the best that humanity has managed to produce.” she– it, says. “Not my first choice, but you will have to do.”

“Who are you?” Leon demands.

“I am the controlling intelligence of this base.” the gynoid walks past Leon to the command ‘throne’, but the young man keeps his gun trained on it. It grabs the suit-clad skeleton and unceremoniously tosses it out of the chair. “I will help you with the leadership and command right verification. Over a thousand years has passed since this facility was last active, and several errors are to be expected.” it glares at him. “And do put down that gun before you hurt yourself with it. No weapon in this day and age can hurt me, not truly.”

“Yeah?” Leon snorts. “I doubt you can withstand a hit from an Armor-scale weapon.”

“Armor… is that what humanity calls the modified Muscle Tracer model you arrived here with?” the gynoid snorts, activating the console. The back of its neck clicks open and it pulls out a wire that it connects with the console. “Unsurprisingly uncreative. Typical New Human thinking.”

“New Human? Is… Is that what we are now? Humanity, I mean?” Leon blinks, lowering his gun. “If there’s a ‘New’ Humanity, then there has to be an ‘Old’ Humanity too. What happened to them? To this world?”

“My, aren’t you inquisitive?” the gynoid drawls. “I will answer all your questions, but first we need to give you the command and leadership rights to this facility. The sooner we do that, the sooner you can get your answers and I can get mine. Now come here.”

Leon buries his apprehension and walks over. The command throne’s console opens up and a series of scanners come up.

“We will need to fill your basic information before anything can happen.” the gynoid says, eyes starting to darken; forming proper irises. “Name?”

“Leon Fou Bartford.” Leon answers. “Noble of the Kingdom of Holfort.”

“Kingdom of– they degenerated into feudalism?” the gynoid groans. “What’s next, do they have some kind of strange social structure?”

“Well…” Leon trails off. The gynoid stares at him and sighs heavily, disappointment apparent. “I can explain…?”

“Later. We can get to that once we’ve set you up.” the gynoid grumbles. “Stupid meatbags and their dumb brains not making things easy– age?”

“13.”

“13?! What the fuck is wrong with this era’s humanity?!” the gynoid distresses. “How the hell...?! No. No, no, nevermind that. We can talk later.” it shakes its head roughly, trying to dislodge whatever thoughts it has. “Gender is male. Height at 5’4” inches. Black hair, dark eyes… okay, put your hand on the console.”

Leon complies and watches as a light passes under it. The gynoid narrows its eyes at nothing before nodding.

“Alright, all we need now is a DNA sample– some bodily fluid from you to finalize everything.” it says. “Any kind will do.”

“Would saliva be enough?” Leon smirks. The gynoid huffs, amused.

“I supposed I could reward you with a kiss– you’ve survived so much to get here after all.” the robot teases, eyes finally settling on a proper color– crisp blue. “Or perhaps… you’d like something more?”

Leon… considers it. Then shakes his head and produces a knife to prick his finger. As attractive as the gynoid looks, he has questions that need to be answered and that takes priority.

Afterwards, though? Heh.

He forces out a bead of blood to gather from the tiny prick and offers it to the gynoid. She swipes it off with a finger and puts it in its mouth. Leon watches, anticipation rising as the robot’s hair color finally settles; turning a bright blonde. Something stirs in his past life’s memories, of a familiar head of blonde hair and two crisp blue eyes telling him of things and matters relating to his status as a Raven. An important memory.

A bad memory.

“Strange. There’s a partial match to your DNA profile in my database.” the gynoid narrows its gaze at Leon as the young man does the same at it. “An old entry, though.”

“Yeah? I have to say, you look familiar too.” Leon notes. “Blonde hair, blue eyes, great bust– I think I knew a broad like you once. Her name was…”

Then it clicks.

“Lana Nielsen.” Leon murmurs, finally remembering the gynoid’s face as well as the intelligence controlling it. “Hustler One…!”

“Database entry confirmed.” the gynoid gawks, blue eyes flashing red for a brief moment as information filters through. “Leos Klein…!”

Man and machine stare at each other in naked shock for a long moment; amazed that their respective archnemesis’ still lived in the current day and age long after their supposed demise.

Then their gazes turn downright murderous.

“You’re still alive?!” / “You’re still alive?!” they both roar, hate and rage surfacing. “Bastard!” / “Bitch!”