>> One With The Machine

## [Pilot] Acknowledged

## Engine Systems :: [Online]

## Drone Combat Systems :: [Online]

## Primary Weapons Systems :: [Online]

## Secondary Weapons Systems :: [Online]

## Initiating :: Pre-flight Diagnostics

## Awaiting [pilot] commands…..

The razor-thin edge of the stealth-field burns with layers of folded light. A sandwich of images, floating atop halos of roaring golden energy. Each hovering above an open, golden, eye that burns with flickering radiance. Projecting a fragment of false reality, they hold suspended in the air. An image built of bent light that twists my eyes with fake depth. Fake distance.

I grab at the edges of the floating hole, and pull myself up.

Into the cockpit of The Night Tyrant.

Our very slightly stolen black-ops gunship.

Missile systems unfold around me. Weather diagnostics. Jets. Rotating detonation engines. Micro-rocket swarms. The huge machine waking with a great, sub-audible, thrum. Echoes of power vibrating the pads of my fingers and toes. Readouts leaping into the air. Switches and buttons blinking around me as I land my ass in the pilot seat.

I tap the controls on reflex, and a huge virtual screen lights up. Holographic crosshairs locking to my eye. Stacking themselves into a tunnel that shifts like a digital snake with every turn of my head. Servos juttering as it shifts the massive, holy-shit, anti-air cannon to point wherever I look.

And, the mother of it all, the grand prize….

Working heat!

I flick a claw toward the door-close switch, leaning back and ready to enjoy-

A horribly, hideously, soggy Tufty leaps right into my lap. Shakes himself absolutely everywhere. Mewls, once, in apology. Then scrabbles his rough-footed, pointy-clawed, way over me. Doing terrible things to my precious, PRECIOUS, seat in the process.

“You-! You little-!” I screech as Idiot No #2 lands right on top of me, laughing with hysterical glee. Me, and my cabin, are subjected to a second - more Badgery - shake. And I cop a sopping wet dork to the face as he paws his way after. Kicking the back of my very helmet-free head as he slides into the crew cabin. “Ooooh goooody!” I moan.

Which is when big bulky Demon peers round the door.

I boggle at him.

I squeak.

I shake my head furiously.

But he gives me that wan little smile of his, and droops back into the rain. Relief soaking me almost as fully as Tufty.

And I almost get the door closed before Kami gets right up in my face. Glaring absolute, capital-offence, Murder-hate at me.

“Hi…..” I lean back.

One handed, not breaking eye-contact, she stabs a slider on the controls. Half-opening the main crew door on the side of the Thunder. “Thanks. So much.” She smiles, sweet as poisoned chocolate. Dropping out, with a wan little wave.

“Yeah, well! Well! You sabotaged our bloody helmets!” I stutter. Slamming the damn door behind her, and melting - downward - into a sloppy, gross, puddle in the footwell. Dimly aware of the bangs and tantrums behind me as they bundle in and slam the doors.

Quietly, unerringly, I raise two fingers. Wiggle them a bit. Then, guided by centuries of synthetically-implanted flight-experience, I stab down on the console and woosh the slider all the way. Electing a horrible scream as the doors fly wide and proud - blasting one last woosh of rain, right up her ass.

“SPOOK!!! YOU-!! YOU-!! SCREW YOU!” Kami screeches as a metal arm jams itself over the back of the seat. Swiping madly above - and finding nothing.

“Tough tits, ya spidery bitch!” I yell from the footwell, flipping her a couple of very rude gestures - backwards and upside-down. She makes a noise like engine-failure, right behind me. Stomping. Yelling. Throwing boots. Cursing my linage.

I laugh manically.

“Oh yeah? Don’t mess with my bloody helmet then!”

A stinky clodhopper comes wizzing over the back of the seat, and I laugh even more. Wanging it right back - with gets me a feline yowl, and a Badgery shout of “Bullseye!!”

“Ooops….. Uh….. Yeah..... Sorry Tufty?”

I slide a little more downward as Kami stomps about in the painted cargo area, looking for a way to jangle my bells about. Finally settling on a fully-redundant shriek of “Bloody open the MAIN door, too! You idiot! Don’t just bloody leave us out there!!!”

“Haha, whoops!” I cackle. Which she takes…. uhhh…. pretty poorly, to be honest…. I dive into my HUD settings, and finally get my bloody helmet up. And it’s just as well I did, ‘cause she detaches that broken arm and starts flailing it about over my head.

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But there ain’t much she can do to me down here.

Well, except flip me off with every remaining hand and storm off - hunting for towels.

Which I wish her bloody luck with.

It’s still bloody soggy from last week.

I strip out of my sopping rags and cloak, baring the shining-black custom armour beneath. It gleams in the blinking lights, which shine in its surface like Christmas day…..

I let the mushed fabric splat to the floor, along with the rest of my outer gear. Grenades. Guns. Knives. Ammo…..

One, moist, ear twitches upright.

Kami’s gone quiet…. Hmmm…. I peep around the side of my chair.

Yep she’s changing…..

Guess she’s calmed down.

Slowly, I ease my way outta the footwell and back into my seat. Hitting a virtual button that causes a rippling shudder through my armour.

## ERROR :: Dominion Armour unlock [failed].

Grumbling furiously, I slap at all of the joints on my suit to loosen them. Ramming the back into the wall, careful of my tail. Then crouch, flex, bend, and-

Click.

The armour unjams with a shudder. Slick panels stuttering on badly-fitting joints. Locked bolts spinning open as the system realigns its muscle-augmenting servos. These grab parts of the suit, and - jerkily - dissemble it. The spine compacting, as muscle-shaped plates slide off of me in sections. Crawling over my shoulders in waves. Spilling me out in a rubbery, skintight, underlay that gleams with fine gold circuitry…..

Ahhhhh, yeah.

That’s some good blood circulation….

I stretch like a rubber band as the chest-pieces and arms fold up like leaves of paper. Reforming into a weirdly tight ‘package’ that flips over, like it’s alive, and scuttles away on the stumps of its arms and legs.

“Any updates, Pol?”

Random shards of holo-light above me resemble into a triangular eye. “I have upgraded and refined the basic blueprints for the team’s armour and weapons." The Machine Mind states, bringing up a new model for our standard kit. The design is mostly the same black, glassy, ceramic-layered plastic. But slicker. Sharper. Faster.... "Tests indicate this will improve speed by 10%, and reducing jamming by 78%. Ballistic resistance has also been enhanced with updated materials.”

“Damn cool." I grin, damply, kicking my feet under the heat. "Can we fabricate it?”

“Unfortunately not. 3D Printer resources are running low. We would have enough for two sets, only.”

"Dammit….. Money again…."

“I also require more time to upgrade, and adjust, other parameters. Particularly the onboard AI.....”

I nod along, basking in the cranked-up AC heat blasting my face. Dehumidifiers humming as our heavily-modified bird strips the water from the air to shove it back outside. I squeegee off my wet tail, flicking it up into a languid loop beneath the overclocked heat. Strands of fur parting as the roaring air does its work.

I stretch, slowly, in the limited space.

Claws grasping air. Vertebra cracking.

Then I curl myself up into a cosy ball on the seat, and yawn wider than most humans can manage. Sinking my scrawny ass deep into that fat foam…..

‘Into’ being the operative word - there’s big bloody claw-holes! I groan, furiously, but what can ya do? Least there’s still a lot of legroom. It’d be tight for an adult, but….. I doze a little as the heat rolls over me, like the opposite of a bath. Steaming away droplets of water, and soothing the hurt of outside. “Mmmm.” Feels good after such a long day…..

And nothing left to do tonight. Not with that storm battering about overhead….

Even packed down, tight, in our hole I can feel The Night Tyrant rocking - quietly - in its throes.

"Yeah.... No way we’re taking off in that...." But I don't mind.

I let the chaos behind me sink into a sleepy haze. A little (moist) wave, and the front vScreen dissolves into blank stealth-grade armour. Shutting off the controls. Dimming the lights. And hiding away the crazy freakin’ night we waded through.

Though I still hear it beating on our hull. Raging and roaring and eager to get in…..

But I don’t care. I always feel safe in here.

I don’t know why.

I’m so terrified of heights out there…. but in here? I’m untouchable…. Which is bloody weird, because flying The Night Tyrant is like balancing a ball on your nose. In a high wind. While some bugger shoots you.

And that’s when it ain’t like this out there.....

A day when nobody’s flying nowhere.

My ears twiddle toward the yelling match going on in back. Something about Badger loosing a tiny, angry, mushroom. And, no, I didn’t say ‘lose’.

“He’s called Gus!!”

“I don’t care! He wants to eat you!”

“I know!!!! That’s why he’s AWESOME!!!”

I tune it out, and doze. Dimming down the lights even more as I slink my way towards dreamland…..

Which is, of course, when a huge - nasty, stinky, rancid, ass-flavoured - pile of old towels splatters down on my head. Causing me to scream, roar, curse, and flail as I fight to get em off. “Oh gahhhh! NOOOO! Oh, God! No!!!! It’s all freakin’ over me! Oh God!!!” Oh God! It's in my mouth! I can TASTE it!!! I scream as I fight my way towards air. Heaving the huge mess of dank, stinky, goopy grot off me, into the footwell.

Sh~lop.

Flop.

Splut.

I bash open the door to kick em out. Plus some nasty, angry, little mushroom thing chewing my arm. (Where the heck did that come from??) Then I rinse myself off, best I can, and snap it shut. Panting hard. Groaning. Shaking. As I sink, slide, and generally splatter my way back down into the footwell. “Blurrrrrffffffffff. Youbastard…..”

Gales of laughter resound, and the monster within me stirs.

Slowly. Darkly.

My narrowed eyes rising, like vengeful fairytale moons, over the back of the chair. Glaring down at her with terrible wrath. “Y’really think ya funny. Don’t ya?”

“Y-y-” She snorts and howls. Heaving too hard for words.

“Quite the grand jape. Right?”

Kami slaps the back of the chair, and howls with glee. Vibrating it horribly.

“Y’know this is how The Murders start?”

She flips me off with two left hands, wheezing horribly.

“Ya got no idea what you’ve unleashed, is what I’m sayin’.”

“Go- choke on it-!” she howls, finally forcing it out. “I’ve got video, and video is forever!”

“Reap the apocalypse.” I growl, ominously, sinking back into my now-pungent abode. Claws groping under the console. Ripping free a fat, braided, fibreoptic cable.

Y’see, there’s another reason I feel happy in here.

A reason that makes any violation of my little nook a violation of me…..

And it’s not just the flight-chip in my skull - feeding me the instincts of a dozen ace pilots. Or because I say where we go…..

….it’s because the machine is part of me.

And I mean that very literally.

My hand snakes up, on automatic - dragging the cable to the implant buried in the side of my head.

I pop the skull-hatch, and slot it in - with a bone-vibrating CLUNK.

That never stops feeling weird, lemmie tell you. It’s not just the click that wobbles your whole brain-box, it’s the feeling of…. Being poked deep inside your head, is as good as I can describe it.

But I slot the cable, and my body dissolves into metal. Into gears. Into weapons, and sensors, and systems, and engines and POWER. My mind expanding from one small meaty-flavoured shell to fill the entire machine.

## Initiating :: neuroJump

## Connection :: stable.

The cyberworld folds me up in its digital embrace. Wrapping me in wires. Warming me with batteries. Empowering me with engines, and with guns.

My new flesh is titanium. My new body is steel.

My fingers are wheels, and rotors, and guns.

Every part of the machine merging so deeply into my mind that I feel the rain ticking on my hull. My treads gripping the ground. Not a disjointed mess of imagery, like the bar or the Carriers - but alive.

With fire and devastation, but a gesture away…..

I open my dozens of eyes.

And I am The Night Tyrant.....

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