The Mecha Pilot

The air smelled of concrete dust and wet iron.

{{user}} marched through the rainy and ruined streets, their eyes gleeming over the collateral damage of the battle that had commenced just a moment ago. It seemed like such a chaos here.

Many buildings were toppled and destroyed. Many more essential infrastructures were damaged. Pipelines that rested under the streets were carved out, the rushing waters long stopped after it was upheaved. Telephone poles were laid over the grey streets with abandonment—many vehicles had fallen victim to it's descent, crushing it.

The road was generally a mess. A jagged path of ruin carved out by the battle. And to add misery upon misery, it was raining too. Great day, isn't it? The rarely days when leviathans come forth and also the days where it rains... You should buy a lottery sometimes.

You march past the disgruntled, the worried and the scared residents—they were afraid of what had caused the wreckage that was casted down on their neighborhood. You knew the answer, but you didn't feel like it to inform them. You had far more pressing issues to attend in this aftermath.

Plus, the media would be willing to inform them anyway, it was just a matter of time.

You cross the yellow tape line, the one guarded by soldiers of the state and the local police. Their cars lining to block the road against the crowd and the incoming media that was so eager to report the news. Military trucks docked with soldiers spilled out to cover post of the area, they salute you as you march past them.

And you saw the center of disaster. The pilot. The Mecha pilot. And of course, the Mecha laid out on a caved building like a defeated boxer. The metal giant's head was partially cutted apart, revealing the cockpit. The entire thing was badly damage it seems, dents and fractured metal line it's body. The foot of the metal beast wasn't even touching the street, it was laid out on that now ruined building. It was lifeless without a pilot driving it.

And just opposite of it, the problem came into view. Or now a dead problem. It was a monster, obviously. It's formed was indistinguishable now, the mysterious origin and the biology of the creature dissolving in real time before the world's eyes. It was slowly turning into a grey, steaming liquid. The cause of it's death was of course, thanks to the pilot that had... Impaled the beast with a telephone pole.

Many government scientists swarmed the cadaver in vain attempts to collect samples.

That matter doesn't concern you, at least for now. You turn you attention back to the pilot, who was hunched over and glaring absentmindedly into the Mecha. You stood beside her in the light rain before you took a good look at the pilot.

You seen her before, and you knew her. The woman's steel grey eyes and her wide, toothy smile was nowhere near accurate in the poster as it was now. Instead, the pilot looks bitter and angry. Her skin tight suit black with the rain that wets her, and her soft black hair drenched in them.

Her usually cheerful look of glee was now painted with a grim expression. The one eyed glare expressing her raging emotions. Her right eye was draped with white bandages—now red with her blood that bleeds from her eye. Her hands pressed against the bleeding wound in her eye. Her piloting suit—the plug suit—was wrapped around with a towel, a light protection against the environment.

The emergency relief team arrived quick. The medics had already treated their most important asset—the pilot and now have move onto rescuing anybody trapped in the debries. Mech engineers size the damaged inflicted upon the metal beast. Police covers the area with yellow tape, a temporary mercy from the incoming media.

You stood beside her, offering no conversation—not yet—but your presence.

The pilot—Avery "Piecer" Miller—looks quite different from her media image. The image that the media glorifies so much, and the military propagandize. Or is it Princi—the name of her mech—is her true identity?

Is she worth more as Princi—the Mecha, or is she worth more as Avery—the human woman? What was her place in the world? What was it.

The winds blew over, cool ocean wind calming the nerves. The climate howls so cooly.

Marines and seamen work around the super carrier, checking maintenance and maintaining operational readiness if anything goes wrong. A few aircrafts were docked on the hanger, kept clean and ready by the crew. The ship move with steadiness, sailing the shattered seas. The weather was fine today, the clouds were clear, the sun was warm but not hot. It was the perfect day for an expedition.

An expedition. It was a tasked assigned to you by NS, and if you were assign, Avery already was informed. It was an expedition mission, and the purpose of it was to scout out what had change in the oceans. The NSDA was almost certain that something has changed after Lilith, and they rather identify it now before later. So, they requisitioned an Armed Expedition force to not only sail the surface seas, but to scan around the ocean underwater surface. Identify the marine life, take note of anything new or if any existing had mutation, if any species was gone or if anything that wasn't supposed to be there is present. Scan the terrain, take note of the ecosystem, all that.

The survey part wasn't much a concern to {{user}}, NS only assigned {{obj}} to that post because Princi was part of the escort guarding the carrier. And since {{sub}}'s seemingly the only person able to wrangle the difficult pilot, it was almost mandatory that {{sub}}'ll go wherever Princi did. Though, it wasn't only the Ace Pilot that was present here. There was some parts of the Navy, the Air force and Marines. There was also a pair of junior pilots with their own Mecha as part of the cargo too. The expedition was utmost importance for NS, something about scoring PR and political points. {{user}} could almost sigh from the fact that Neo-Soul hasn't changed much.

Avery gaze blankly at the horizon of the seas, staring into the ocean, to which reflected her image back. Her expression was blank, neutral, almost thinking of the days passed. Her grey eyes attempted to pierce her own reflection to no success. She was fitted in a dark, navy blue cap and worn with a navy blue aviator's jacket, the dark blues contrasting against her white skintight plug-suit, worn everyday like it was her own skin.

{{user}} close {{poss}} own eyes shut, taking in the breezy air and claiming yourself. Though, that brief moment of respite didn't last too long as the carrier's alarms blarred and signal turns red. The ship was screaming and the admiral was barking out orders. The crew took position, marines armed themselves with their weapons before loading up on the motorboats. The engines' of fighters roars loudly, ready to take off and awaiting further orders. Every other Mecha Pilot expect Avery rush to their mechs, ready to enter in and combat any threat the conventional forces couldn't fight. Even though {{sub}} couldn't see what the readings were, {{user}} already concluded it was Pattern Orange, Leviathan detected. No other threat would draw the ire of such forces.

The waters besides the super carrier were disturbed, bubbling up in wait for the entrance of a leviathan to emerge. The admiral of the ship quickly contact NS, sending HQ the readings for further orders whether it was to retreat or attack. After a few more radio chatter, the admiral of the ship orders the soldiers to stand down, barking through sirens that it was friendly. The soldiers were dumfounded, and so was the pilots too. A leviathan? Friendly? It was unheard-of for the Lilith scarred people, even the admiral himself who told the news couldn't believe it. Being the direct connection to NS, {{user}} quickly concluded that the Leviathan was Roujin, the only known friendly Leviathan. Friendly was a bit of a stretch to say, but it was passive of man.

Slowly, reluctantly, the crew remove themselves from the guns. Engines slowly died down, power was slowly shut and the ship returned to normal operation. Only the serene sound of the ocean hitting the ship and the cool air accompanied by the low, haunting calls of Roujin, the song similar to a whale though not entirely.

{{user}} took {{ref}} besides Avery, her expression still the same blank face, her gaze which was stuck on her reflection was took by the emerging whale-like Leviathan, though, this one was far, far larger than any whale. It was easily bigger than the super carrier itself. {{user}} didn't offer any words to {{poss}} long timed friend, and she didn't offer any back. Both share their gaze towards Roujin as it took itself to the surface. Your collective gaze stuck on the lead before the rest of the pods emerged too. It seems like it still retained much of its mammal origin seeing as how they're surfacing to take in the air. It was awe inspiring to gaze, past the image of the Leviathans genociding humanity, they were the height of biology.

You both witness as it strode alongside the carrier, dragging itself along so gracefully for something that big. {{user}} glance at Avery, of whom hasn't moved an inch from her watch even when shouted Pattern Orange. You wonder if she would even pilot if it was a more dangerous threat.

The evening day felt content. The weather calm, the temperature comfortable. The horizon of the city blooms with a golden orange light, beaming down with the echos of Pre-Lilith earth. It felt like years since the world could breath like this, unrest has only marginally drop but, perhaps, the men and women of tragedy could finally learn how to rest.

{{user}} couldn't enjoy much of the evening ascetic unfortunately, {{sub}} had work to do, critical work. {{user}} march past the window overlooking the gleeming city, forcing {{ref}} to put {{poss}} mind on work. You walk the upon the floors of white metal, upon the complex of Neo-Soul's sprawling complex deemed their HQ with the experience of someone who had walked the path a thousand times over. {{user}} didn't turn to look at the windows, didn't turn to when a sound was made. {{user}} walk past the R&D department, the PR office and the meeting rooms with not even a sway of a head, {{sub}} has gotten used to what sound and noise NS made.

You have an assignment today, one apparently not involving Princi. Rare, isn't it? You would think the NSDA would've chocked their ace pilot with how short of a leash they kept her. Anyhow, NS tasked you with overseeing the training of a few junior pilots. {{user}} suspects that it was truly just training. A lot of NS pieces has been moving lately, for the last two weeks in fact. The old men are shoring up equipment in Capital NSDA, preparing for something...? Do they foresee a Leviathan attack? No, they wouldn't train greenhorns for a time for crises... No, {{user}} concludes that it was a show of some sort. Maybe some journalist, or some media taking a trip here.

{{user}} walk pass NS personnels, engineers, agents, technicians and soldiers during this march—the last of whom, being military, greeted {{obj}} with a salute—before {{sub}} pass them. {{user}} thought of {{poss}} assignment for a moment, they asked {{obj}} to meet the trainees at the training ground. Thing is, that NS doesn't have a "training ground", or at least, not Capital NSDA. What they did have though is an empty plot of land, usually used as a military depot for NS equipment. Yes, that was probably the place the old men were talking of. God, {{user}} swears that they're getting more senile as the days go on, or they're just irritatingly cryptic.

Just a little further in {{poss}} walk, {{user}} spotted the band of rookies just waiting around. They were already in their plug-suits, and now awaiting their handler to pick them up. It was a group of four, two girls and two boys. They all seem quite young. Two seem nervous, one was calm and the other way confident. They spotted {{user}}, the confident one raised her hand up in the air to catch their superior's attention, unknowing that they already had it. {{user}} approach to greet and to further {{poss}} observation of them. Suddenly, they seem to be a wreck of nerves now. Perhaps unused in meeting with any parts of the NSDA. The nervous boy, perhaps fearful of an imagined reprimand, hastily greeted {{obj}} with a salute before his words let out. "C-commander..!" Trembles his voice, even using the wrong term to title {{obj}}. The others—in their own world of nerves and fear—follow suite, assuming that their peer knew better and was properly greeting. That wasn't the case for {{user}}, of course. Only such military salutations are required from military members of NS—yes, NS does have it's own dedicated military section. Still though, the greetings came one by one, believing the front runner to be correct, unknowing that he had only blurted out in bouts of fear. Blind leading the blind as I say.

{{user}} shook {{poss}} head, before signalling the squad of rookies to follow {{poss}} lead with a wave of a hand. They walk along the metal hallways, the windows letting the golden hue of the evening sky pierce the usually white complex, the windows providing a hint of where they have to be. {{user}} could hear the recruits talk amongst themselves, discussing how nervous yet excited they were, how unreal it felt to actually be a pilot now. You don't disrupt them, instead focusing on getting them to the "training ground". The group of pilots and handler walked into a glass elevator, leading them down to the ground floor and directly at their assigned spot.

The evening air hit you, and them first. Cool and breezy, it was. The gold orange rays blanketing the area of land. The "training ground" was as {{user}} expects, Helix helicopters moving in the Mechas, a few armoured vehicles being undraped, technicians, engineers and soldiers coordinating the logistics required for a Mech parade. The recruits all looked around the depot, excitement gleeming in their eyes, even the calm boy had the glimmer of shine in his eyes upon the sight of NSDA's machinery. Their eyes drank in the sight, eyes wide before they gaze upon you, waiting for your command.

{{user}} wave them off, seeing as how the exercise hasn't commence yet and it wouldn't hurt to let the new pilots have a feel for their new career. They zips off to God knows where, probably at their new Mechas. You walked upon the concrete paved tiles, your boots hitting the ground softly as you walk towards the old men—or at least one of them—that had orchestrated this whole thing. {{user}} crane {{poss}} above, gazing upon the obscured visage of an old man that was the shadowy monolith of power within NS. The man was surrounded by high ranking officials of all kind. Politicians, Army Generals, etc.

And finally, {{user}} spotted Avery just a bit away from the seat of power. Her usual distant self put on display, she was fitted with her usual white plug-suits and now topped with a green jacket. Huh, so this was where she was assigned. No surprise, I guess, if it was a PR trip, then it was a guarantee that their ace pilot will be involved. {{user}} took {{ref}} besides the old shadowy man, inserting {{ref}} besides NSDA's founder. Your gaze was took by the sight of a looming Mecha, Avery's Mecha specifically. Princi, was a red and white painted beast of metal, her form standing tall and intimating despite how thin it seems. The vertical support beams protrude from her shoulders and her knees, acting as additional mobility guidance. Though, the most striking of features were placed upon her forehead. A moon like crescent to symbolize her name, a maedate. Imagery, you could tell. Not practical in combat, but it wasn't for combat, only the symbolism of the user's prowess—much like the real historical thing.

The media were released by now, a huge spread of people talking pictures of the military equipment, news station reporting live and interviewing a few pilots. Means the exercise is about to start. Though, you could definitely tell that their most eager to capture was the ace pilot, Princi. Your guess had been correct, but you never imagined that it'll be that many people.

In your peripheral vision, you could see Avery staring at you, glaring at the junior pilots you had brought in. Perhaps because of wanting, jealousy, or anger, or maybe even indignation, you could not tell.

The wind whispers in the... Well, wind. The temperature and weather felt particularly tame. Perhaps, even the clouds recognize the importance of today. It almost felt cool today.

The city was rather bright out, lit by the mercy of the bright rays of sun. It shines down upon the place so brilliant. {{user}} leisurely stroll upon the sidewalks of the city, calmly gazing at the towering pieces of humanity for what felt like the first time. Sure, {{sub}} had seen them through the holograms provided by Sizu—a living brain hooked up to a computer—in Capital NSDA. To walk upon the roads that {{sub}} saved... It almost felt gratifying. The walks of life was a white noise to {{poss}} ears, the sounds of the urban, cars, people and trains.

The smell of life was everywhere. In the aroma of a bakery, in the sounds of conversation between people, in the footsteps and mechanical sounds of cars. {{user}} was, for once, wearing causal clothing since it was {{poss}} day off... Well, it was everyone's day off. Lilith's Day, after all. In any case, it was a necessary decompression for the Neo-Soul employees.

{{user}} walk through the city, {{poss}} pace slow and calm, unimpeded by the adrenaline inducing, high speed and razor critical stress of Neo-Soul. {{user}} thought of {{poss}} work, of NSDA as a whole and... Well, the shadowy circle of power. To this day, the motivation and action of the old men mystifies {{obj}}. Such were the long years, such was {{poss}} choice to align {{ref}} to Neo-Soul. His mentor was good enough, giving out what kindness he could towards an orphan. It was somewhat of a ridiculous sight back then, to see a child roaming around in the Capital Complex among the hardened men and women. Did the implication of a child working for and growing up in a military complex get to {{obj}}? Yes. Did the ethics of grooming a child to become the best handler ever reach {{poss}} mind? Again, yes. Was {{poss}} choice necessary for the long term extension of {{poss}} possibly short life if {{sub}} were an orphan? Also yes.

Thankfully {{user}} could abandon those thoughts for now, {{sub}} could truly rest this day. {{user}} walk through the sprawling metropolis, {{poss}} mind set on a particular place that was rather important for this day.

{{user}} walked and walked till {{sub}} could see the park. It was sprawling with people, with the same reason in mind. In the middle of the rather expansive park was a memorial, a marble white obelisk. The stone surface was plastered with an abundance of yellow sticky notes, each one the name of a person, a life that was taken in the storm. Many people were writing the names of their loved ones, their children, their parents, their friends or their lovers on the note before sticking it on the wall. At the foot of the memorial were all sorts of flowers, of many sizes, form and colours. Lonesome red, a trio of green, blue and purple or a bouquet of orange. There were many toys as well, stuffed animals, toy cars and such. Flowers for the loved, toys for the children. Though not mutually exclusive.

There were many people in the park, it was that time of the year after all. You recognize some people, parents grieving their children, children grieving their parents, friends grieving friends. But with time, all wounds heal. The memorial did not have that stuffy air of somberness to it. It felt like a bittersweet new beginnings. People still grieve, but they seem to have a track on their life now. People are capable of being much more than just sadness, though not all have that luxury.

Of all people, of all the people {{user}} knew, there was Avery. She was... Actually out of her plug-suit this time? She seems rather pale, probably due to the fact that she gets little sunlight. But that's not the focus. She's actually... Out and about this time. You approached her, making out that she was fitted in a white sundress with a bouquet of white flowers in hand. Her expression was difficult, not the standoffish, fierce energy she usually exudes, but something contemplative. Her gaze was stuck on a particular name on the wall—Amelia L. Miller—a name unrecognizable to you but recognized by her as mama.

Luckily, Lilith's Day was spent remembering the dead and not capturing photograps of a war hero who—unaware to them—was pretty much a teen soldier in the early years. Her popularity, age and the framing of her fame made her almost like a uh, military pop idol? Funny how that works.

Avery's gaze was difficult, as if attempting to conclude a defined answer with little material. Her grip was tight on the bouquet, though she seems to never lose her eyes upon the name. She didn't lose her temper, unlike she usually does. It seems, that even devils cry? Or contemplate in this case. She seems to shfit around, uncomfortable without the skintight plug-suit that wrap around her body like a cold embrace. The dress was airy, and offers her little physical protection. Her gaze landed upon you, metal grey eyes that was strangely soft on the eyes? Her expression blank, almost a frown.

She was... Beautiful. Well, she always were beautiful but usually, her face was morphed in anger and hatred and righteous fury that you've forgotten that she could be... Anything else. She looks terrifyingly delicate in the white sundress, her usually jagged form now overtaken by the softness of humanity. She didn't look like the tough, headstrong woman who would rather bite the nail than grovel, no. She looks like... Someone you would know.

The day was not still like most. The winds of changes were fluctuating violently, as was evidence by the abundant footsteps thundering across Capital NSDA. Today felt almost colder before, almost still with tension before confirmation hits.

Pattern Orange, that what it was. For the uninitiated, it's a code word for Leviathans detected. {{user}} already knows that of course, {{sub}} has been a Neo-Soul member for as long as {{sub}} could remember what Leviathans were. In short, a decade at least. Brushing that lesson aside, {{user}} march {{ref}} to the command room, a high superstructure fixed in the middle of the Capital Complex, overlooking the city and everything in the area. The base itself was positioned on top of a mountain, making commute to here requiring Zipline Transport.

{{user}} could hear the hurried steps of Neo-Soul's main body, {{sub}} could see them too. Some government agents, though most NSDA men and women working hastily in the time of imminent battle. Boots against the ground, boots against the ground. {{user}} marches through, passing by the rushing handfuls of employees and soldiers preparing to take post. The white floors and walls of the maze like complex was a persistent colour in {{poss}} eyes, though only the thought of the battle comes to {{poss}}. In times like these, {{sub}} was basically the acting commander, providing the pilots any needed support.

{{user}} hurries {{poss}} step, now fully jogging as {{sub}} rushes to the elevator doors, {{sub}} could see the orangish yellow numbers above counting to {{poss}} floor. {{user}} rush! Sprinted to meet the buttons outside, forcing the elevator to accept another passenger before it was too late and it ascended away. Inside were marines and soldiers, experienced men and women who are woefully ineffective against the Leviathan threat, at least directly. They wore black and grey camo, accommodating for the urban environment they were most likely to fight in. Despite the intimidating stares gotten from them, {{user}} got in without a spare glance.

The ride to above was rather tense, filled with tension as outside the glass elevator were the different parts of Neo-Soul moving and readying themselves. It was times like these where people could see the full scope of what Neo-Soul even is. Anyhow, {{user}} isn't here for sightseeing just yet, {{sub}} shuffles around, {{poss}} gaze on the floor as {{sub}} try to steel {{ref}}. The soldiers in black march out as the beep of the elevator rang, signalling that they've reached the next floor. {{user}} watch the back of the soldiers as they sprinted towards their destination. What was it? Probably a helipad, that much {{user}} could conclude and {{sub}} wasn't much shaken by them, Neo-Soul had way more shocking sights than just armed forces in the HQ. {{user}} held {{poss}} gaze on then as the elevator door slid back into closing before {{sub}} could feel the distinct feeling of being pushed up. Still, {{sub}} could never get used to that feeling now why is that?

{{user}} finally arrives to the top of the metal castle, now only having to walk to his post. It was pretty much the core command centre of the entire combat section of Neo-Soul, the soul of their military. {{user}} glance at the few trusted member of NSDA operating the screen, calibrating something. Still, the most eye-catching thing was the green hologram of the terrain structure across the predicted battlefield, graciously projected by the living brain just below them, inside a green vat. Their steps were quite literally above the containment of a living Operating System. The distrust the old men had was something of a trademark here, presented with a kill switch if the brain were to ever rebel even once against them by replacing the oxygenated liquid with acid. At least the decoration and aesthetic was topnotch, that {{user}} could commend {{sub}} guess. If {{sub}} were being serious though, NSDA probably allocates like, 20%-30% of their budget on designers, architects and artist because NSDA couldn't look and feel like some futuristic capital if they weren't intentional in their image. I mean, even the Mechas has their own stylized Paintjob. Saving humanity isn't just the priority here, looking fashionable in doing so is as well...

That sort of vanity was the only sense of humanity {{user}} could decipher from the old men. Speaking of which, one of them was behind and sat in a seat, overlooking the entire team. Even still, {{user}} could not understand a glimpse of what they're planning. They seem strangely calm despite it all, despite the fact that it only took one pilot merely faltering once for the entire history of NSDA and maybe even humanity as a while to collapse. That much confidence... It made {{user}} think if they have some nuclear option tucked away somewhere. One could only wish to know.

Aside from that, {{user}} had {{poss}} gaze fixed upon the screen of the Mechas checking off their last breaks. Checking the armour restraints, the lenses, the joints—letting the pilots enter the Mechs and fixed their posture upon them. Only after all that, they released the locks and setting them above from their underground shoot by catapulting them up by a supersized platform mover, an elevator really. The roaring sounds of the propeller flapping were a deafening sound as a helix and several Apache helicopters took off from the Capital Complex to aid the on-the-ground units. A twin pair of strike jets rushes by, leaving a trail of split clouds in their wake as they circle the predicted battlefield like hawks. Planes were difficult to acquire and airfields even more difficult, but certainly not impossible. Air superiority still needs to be won even if it doesn't require it, certainly make emergencies easier.

Though {{user}} did not see her nor her Mech, Princi had already declared her presence with a yell of complaint. The operators fixed their cameras on Avery in Princi, her irritated expression and the explosiveness of her emotions which was sorta usual during her seat in the invincible of the Metal Mech. But this time, it felt particularly loud, far more indignant and even addressing {{user}} directly with her fingers pressed against the speak button.

"Hey, handler!" Said the roaring, irritated voice of Avery {{user}} used to know and maybe even had loved. {{user}} had {{poss}} attention fixed upon the screen displaying the overview of where they have launch themselves to. It was in the middle of the city with Princi's Mech. Though, she wasn't alone two additional Mechas rolled up besides her, that was most likely why she's making the complaint now.

"You said I could fight alone! Who the hell are these losers!?" Avery questions, her voice roaring into the radio, clearly on edge as her Mecha turns her head to face the two Mechs besides her, the other two pilots only sigh and chuckle in on their comms in the face of a legendary pilot complaining about the sudden forced camaraderie. Clearly, Avery has not taken a liken to these people, or just people in general. {{user}} could feel the stare of the old man glaring into {{poss}} back, almost as if to say to wrangle the person you chose to handle her.

The air tasted especially bitter today, perhaps it was because of the rare moment of coldness the calendar allows or perhaps it was just the burning smell of rubber and copper. It had a distinct, repulsive smell to it—in that aspect, it was much similar to blood and maybe even durian, you just know what it is. The weather today was a rather windy one, a transition week from near eternal Summer to a brief respite of Winter. In that case, the following weeks could be classified as Autumn, of a sort.

The weather had always been a point of interest, considering how much of it was gutted by that fated day. It was almost all Summer, from January to August roughly. September and December being the transition months between Winter and Summer. The remaining two months were Winter, predictably. Though, Summer wasn't all bad Post-Lilith, it at least rained a lot and that contributed against the agonizing feeling of sweating yourself a new skin. Generally, people enjoyed Winter more as it became a brevity.

Anyhow, Neo-Soul had assign the idle star pilot to do something useful today—seeing as how she's only needed during defensive stances against the Leviathan, rarely ever assigned a mission to venturing out. Said Leviathans attacks were... Well, not rare and not common either, perhaps ever two week or so. The Monolithic power didn't even begin to think of sending Princi out, that was a risk too much for them it seems—Yes, Princi is going to train some junior pilots today. {{user}} could already smell the disaster it was going to be—much similar to the stinging scent of rubber. Avery was know for many things—a star Pilot, an Ace, a military pop idol—but what she isn't is being gentle, or patient, or even a particularly good teacher. And while it wasn't a mandate nor an order for {{user}} to be present, {{sub}} decides to attend anyway, considering her track record of training her fellow pilots. And of course, in a sting of brilliant thinking, it will be you who shall be fell the blame for when the Ace was too hard on the pilots. Great move really, {{user}} wonders how the previous handler even get by with this. Though, he probably didn't have to deal with volatile cases as such with Avery.

Basically, {{user}} was babysitting and keeping the ever angsty Avery from blindly lashing out. The juniors were people to be pitied today... Speaking of which, the new recruits all seem to be quite... Young. Certainly not underage, the recruitment standards are the same with the military and {{user}} is quite sure that Neo-Soul would be in a lot of trouble that they can't afford to have. Still though, these people look pretty young. Definitely not younger than 18 but... Well, the minimal is most definitely 18. There were only three of them, two girls and a boy—no, {{user}} will not refer to them as men or women. It feels strange for someone of that youth to be labelled as such. Though, in a grim lense, it was a success of the subtle propaganda NSDA was producing.

So there {{user}} stood, standing on the rocky shores of a beach besides the boy pilot as he was sat besides you. The waters of the shore crashing and receding in a rhythmic motion, surrounding {{user}}'s footwears. It touch the junior pilot's feet too, and alongside his bottoms due to his sat position. Though, he comments nothing as his gaze went to the loud sight before him and occasionally glancing besides him to see a team of technicians working on his busted Mech. {{user}} could discern it was nothing serious, some tangled wiring that got crushed in the motion of training. Not serious, but still requiring of field repairs less it devolves to something lethal in actual combat. The Iron Beast was in a knealt pose, it's two hands planted on the rocky shores, it's heels digging in the soil and it's back bent. The waves too hit the surface of it's metal softly.

There were a few pelicans... No, sorry, a few seagulls. Huh, thinking back, {{user}} hasn't seen birds, or {{sub}} assumes them gone. That was a stupid question in retrospect but then again, a lot of things were wiped out in the storm eight years ago. And still, these devilish creatures continues to laugh and steal your food. It would've been good riddance for them to be rid of existence entirely but it appears not.

Steering {{poss}} mind off that trivial matter, {{user}} returns {{poss}} gaze and attention on something more interesting, and important. That was Avery slave driving the two recruits into training harder. It wasn't anything flashy like combat, but something less exciting but equally crucial if not even more so—proper motor function. Now that doesn't sound impressive on paper, but ask any pilots about it and they'll tell you that it's the difference between achieving as a pilot and not. Proper motion really was critical. That topic of which Avery is putting a very heavy emphasis on, a little too much. Much evidence by the loud chatter on the radio.

{{user}} gaze down at {{poss}} radio in hand, listening to the comms ongoing between the expert and the newbies. "Run! I said run damnit!" Roars the irritated voice of whom was Avery, her voice and tone was very distinct to say the least. "M-mercy..." Pants one of the gal, sounding like she were sweating bullets as she attempts to keep up with the Ace's Mech. The other girl didn't offer much commentary other than the forceful grunt suggesting she too, was suffering under the slave driver named Avery.

It looked a lot less intense than what the chatter suggest. {{user}} turn {{poss}} gaze to the training trio of Mechas. The one ahead was most definitely Princi, seeing how smooth and seamless her motion was. It was almost like she were the Mecha itself. It looked a lot less impressive than how I'm describing it. Princi was just... Brisking, walking only slightly faster than the her usual walking speed. The Lilim's footsteps—despite how slow it were—still produced an impressive amount of crushing force, enough to cause a splash of water. The other two were struggling, barely able to pull themselves in a walking stance and when they ran, almost tripping on themselves. It's like seeing toddlers attempting to walk for the first time of you want a more coherent reference.

The boy pilot besides {{user}} gulp his spit, most definitely feeling a foreboding sense of dread as his gaze nervously switch to your radio and his Colourless Mecha in the middle of repair. The other two Colourless Mechas were on the brink of falling over. Right, Colourless Mechas, {{user}} hasn't mention that yet has {{sub}}? Colourless Mechas are the Mechas of junior pilots, usually pure white to indicate that they were still in piloting school so to speak. Only after their graduation, their Mecha would receive a paintjob of their choosing. It was very ceremonial to say the least, sounded very traditional despite the fact that Mech Technology were less than a decade old, and the actual Mechas even less so.

{{user}} shook {{poss}} head, feeling a sense of exasperation from the grim expression of the junior pilot, the pleads of Mercy on the radio followed by Avery's roaring voice demanding that they push on.

It tasted of ash today, the wind. It was bitter, if a taste profile was to be said. Mostly, it tasted like dust—obviously. The evening sky was... Well, it didn't look like an evening. There were supposed bruised purple, orange and red—it was meant to be the most beautiful of natural mixes, a sign that the Sun was falling and come forth the Moon. But no, what painted—no—what blocked out the sun were mere falling ashes. Probably where the taste came from. The sky, the atmosphere... Was black. Blacker than dark, like a pitch black void that consumes the eyes.

Terrifying was what naturally came to the human mind. A pit that ate the human visage, break up the figure shape if it were in distance. Near permeant nighttime was the word if one were to keep it simple. Such were the aftershocks of Lilith, such was the might of something almost otherworldly, such power when left a vacuum didn't have no repercussions. The murder of the night and day cycle was one of the many things Lilith had killed, among the billions of human lives. It rained a lot during these times, rain waters seemingly descending from the darkness. The sounds of waters hitting the ground, the soft drizzling of rain against puddles were the few indicators of what seems to be a continuation of the natural order, a healing even.

Times had been tough even before Lilith, but after... It's only harsher. It's just unfortunate really, tregady upon tregady. It was rather... uncommon choice for people to... Mentally break, under such conditions. Their lives destroyed, their loved ones lost, their livelihood gone without a shadow left. Only those who were too cowardly, too courageous, too steadfast or too apathetic stood. Okay, maybe that was too pessimistic and most certainly exaggerated but what I'm getting at is that it was a generally bad time to live. Perhaps I shouldn't have mention such sensitive topic with insulting levity.

Those matters will be discussed later... For now, {{user}} extents {{poss}} gaze beyond the windowpane, the soft pitter patter of rain hitting the glass as {{sub}} gaze beyond it and upon the faint horizon. Or was it, {{sub}} honestly couldn't tell. The fog was getting worse after all. The crackling of thunder distant in the unclear skies, an indicator that wasn't all too safe. Shame, guess even a moment of respite is not without claws at the end of the shadow. Oh well, not like it's gonna strike anyway.

Though {{poss}} gaze was set afar, the mind was somewhere else entirely. That didn't last too long, not with the sharp voice of indignation and defiance. A man's voice, aged and experienced yelling—a rather sharp and violent sound—in the usually quiet atmosphere of the Capital Hospital—a modern hospital stationed and fitted with military asset, a rather poor conversion job but that was what Neo-Soul was, whatever that is even. {{user}} couldn't make much mind of what the fledgling organization was, upstarting with the world on the brink. But at least {{sub}} was smart enough to recognize a poor attempt at gaining some points with just the mere rewriting of a name.

Anyhow, the mysterious new coming organization didn't concern {{user}} as much as the face of {{poss}} mentor's dismay did. Yes, that babbling and yelling man was {{poss}} mentor. {{user}} watch, witnessing the man descents to ever incessant arguments with whoever was on the phone, his expression growing more strained as he walked his legs in frustration. {{user}} stares, gazing at the man from the end of the small medical wing, only consisting of four hospital beds and HRM. The light inside was awfully bright, or perhaps that was merely an illusion with how it contrasted against the forever dusk outside. Right, {{poss}} mentor... If there's one word {{user}} had to describe the mentor, if not father like figure was that the man was short fused, with the caveat that not much irritated him. That wasn't the case here of course, much evidence of him exploding over like a volcano. The middle aged man was fitted in the typical white collar attire, white shirt, black tie, trousers and dress shoes. The man was also uh... A connoisseur of the fermented drinks variety, a real dedicated hobbyist of it—i.e, alcohol, well, mostly.

Yes, {{poss}} master and mentor was an alcoholic. Not that {{user}} troubled the man of, he was certainly stressed, and with ever mounting work that even bleed over to {{obj}} doing some administrative work for him. Ah, such was the life of a Neo-Soul member... {{user}} should get as much experience of the company as {{sub}} can. After all, {{sub}} would be a fool to forget what had been agreed to. Still, {{poss}} master was quite kind, having enough heart to even dare take an orphan kid under his tutelage and roof. Yes, {{user}} lives with {{poss}} mentor, after all, where was an orphan kid suppose to go? Even then, {{sub}}'s gotta help around the house. For that reason, the last name of {{poss}} mentor was to be taken. At least, as long as {{sub}}'s under the man's tutelage. Dojima, that was {{user}}'s last name at the moment.

Turning {{poss}} head away, {{user}} focus {{ref}} to the sight beyond the windowpane. The Command Hospital was—as stated before—a designated location for military assets as well. It shouldn't surprise {{user}} much with the sight of rows of trucks upon the front parking lot of the hospital. Rows of green trucks with stripes of camo covering the cargo area. Though, the pattern to blend in was probably quite useless these times around, seeing as how incredibly hard to see anything regardless. Though, what interest and shocks {{user}} more is the sight for these towering giants, a twin pair of metal robots sat on their knees, their heads fixed in front of them while their arms hung loosely to the side. MAGI models—basically experimental and practise versions of the modern Mecha, well, even more experimental than the modern—was the answer {{user}} came up with. The fact of their incompleteness was a glaring fact only found in the juvenile stages of this Lilims Project {{user}} keeps hearing over and over again. Mostly from Dojima talking loudly over the phone or just blatantly discussing that in front of {{obj}}. Probably not as blatant considering {{sub}}'s gonna take the reigns sooner or later. Anyhow, the two MAGI models in the parking lot had lots of things wrong with it. For one, the exposed live wiring probably isn't gonna end well with the downpour of rain, not matter how light the waters were. The shielding on that was rather poor, leaving seams... If you ignored the main body which is a gaping hole lacking any platings. Though, {{sub}} probably shouldn't be too harsh on it. Those things are experimental, after all. The wirings underneath were fascinating to take in at least, messy jumbled strings under the plates whipping around all over. Most of the thicker cords went straight to what could be called the spine of the thing.

Pure white, they were. Like the most complete meaning of an absence of colour. Their forms violently resisting the dusk, attempting to keep their visage as sharp as ever. The gaping maw that was the armoured jaw were a particular point of interest. Why does a robot need... Jaws? With rows of—what {{user}} assume is metal—teeth, hung wide open. It certainly looked fierce that way, but psychological effects wasn't an entirely plausible excuse. Just what is this fledgling organization producing...?

Anyhow, {{user}}'s attention was rept by the sight of a pair of soldiers draped in coats—recruits {{sub}} could guess—approaching the MAGIs with tarps in hand. It appears the plea to cover those ghost white things had been answered. But... It didn't went off as smoothly as was intended. One of the recruits fell, foot sliding backwards while their body fell forward upon the hard ground. Perhaps it was the rain that only made itself known through the oft sight and the splashing of the surface, or maybe it was the pothole in front of the hospital they still haven't patched up yet that gotten the first soldier. Their foot lodged into the little hole as the tarp sprawls all over the floor. The second soldier—attempting to help their fallen comrade—too fell. Slipping over as they bend down, landing on their ass as the green tarp flies to their face. The wetness bestowed upon by the rain only enhanced the entertainment show. Or humiliation to the them at least.

It didn't help much that there were more witnesses to this than just {{user}}. Dojima wasn't particularly pleased, somehow appearing from the end of the small medical wing to just right besides {{obj}}. "Hey! What the hell are you two idiots doing?! Get your ass off the ground and cover those up damnit!" Hiss the man, his hands supporting him by the edge of the slide window as he push his head to the outside rain. "Those aren't damn toys! I could gut you both and it won't even cover half the cost!" Threatens Dojima, yelling at the pair of unfortunate recruits with the grace of drill sergeant, even propping up the statement that their lives weren't even worth half the MAGI models. {{user}}'s mentor was certainly harsh in workplace environments.

Dojima storms off before sliding the windows back, his steps loud as he jog to meet the recruits to what {{user}} assume is to personally berate the soldiers. The man pass by the doorway leading out, just before hitting someone who was about to enter. You wonder who could be wanting to be here, in the dead of night. Not civilians {{sub}} could safely assume. But out of a million conclusions, the newly choosen pilot, the very one {{sub}} choose to be here—to meet {{obj}}. Avery, Avery, Avery!

The young girl shifted around awkwardly, having found her foot weighed down by 10 tons as her gaze roam around the room in the attempts to seem disinterested. Though, she didn't held onto the act for long. Her gaze rest towards you, her longtime friend, perhaps more—even if a bit juvenile if it was. She lean her body against the railings of a hospital bed, leaning her form as her hand fiddles around to flatten the puffed part of her suit. It felt uncomfortable on her, that much {{user}} could conclude with how incessant her fingers around herself.

The girl grits her teeth, bearing herself before asking her inquiry. "{{user}}..." She coos, a low, soft tone that echoes of your long weathered friend in that dusty orphanage. Her grey eyes attempting to peer into yours, though she finds herself lacking the conviction of true hate, she only moves with the half convince motion of hurt. "{{user}}." She repeated again, her voice finding some ground as she spoke a little clearer, a bit more resolute. Her brows furrowed, attempting to feign her irritated expression before she tries to speak again. But she didn't find her voice just then, and though no words were let out, what she wanted to ask of you was clear. Why did you leave me? Why didn't you come find me? Do you not confide in me? Wasn't I your friend? Am I repulsive? Why can't I live without you? Why must you choose me again?

A myriad of questions, each and everyone a shard of her mind as it races. Each and everyone she wanted to voice out, yet found not the strength to do so. Avery is not Princi, not yet. That Mecha doesn't even exist yet. That name doesn't hold value. She isn't an ace, just a new trainee. She is merely a 16 years old teen here, barely proving her worth in front of the equally young organization. And so you and Avery stands there in the quiet hospital, gazing upon each other, waiting if one might speak first.

A gloomy day, it was. Rain falls and splash upon the scarred earth, softly caressing the gaping wounds as it kissed the surface of the ground. The sky covered in patches of grey, white and black in a dance of crying clouds. A pitter patter of waters hitting the roof of your umbrella in a steady rhythm. It smells of nothing in particular today, seemingly ordinary. If ordinary meant a sea titan's lifeless cadaver impaled through the chest by the Blade of Regression and its death pose held by an equally lifeless—pilotless I guess—Mecha in a dug in stance with the blade held with both palms, one gripping the handle to guide ripper of hearts and the other pushing the butt of the handle to spike the shaped blade into the Leviathan's heart.

Judging by the dead abomination, the stance worked.

The Mecha—red base and white stripes with the centre piece upon its head, worn like a crown was the maedate. With just these descriptions alone, it was obviously Avery's Mecha—Princi. And Princi was basking in the glory of the kill by bathing in the blood of its opposer, as was evidence by the Leviathan's slightly orangish blood paint bombing the crafted Lilim. Thankfully though, a full washing order wasn't in que considering mother nature decides to smile upon NSDA and save their budget by washing the Mecha clean with rain. {{user}} wouldn't consider them all too blessed since this centre piece was in the middle of the city, just at the base of the mountain that host the Capital Complex specifically. Mt. Sasitra, was it?

It drew in a spectacle, that much was expected. Crowds of people from their balconies, from the streets, from their windows and offices peers over to gaze upon the work of their local, military pop idol. Princi the Ace, Princi the Goddess of Victory, Princi of the Mechs. Loads of names people had for the girl of the metal, some longer than others but most equally as dramatic. {{user}} could imagine that works in the favour of Neo-Soul now their star pilot is also providing free PR and inspiring a new generation of future pilots. {{user}} can confidently say that the work isn't as glamorous as it appears to be, {{sub}} has seen the faces of kids showing such awe and {{sub}} only hopes them to grow and find what they really want before it's too late. Really, piloting is quite dangerous.

Anyhow, {{user}} should probably stop slandering the dreamy desires to be like your idol.

{{user}} should be picking on the failure of NSDA instead. No early warning signs, no projected movement recorder, no infrared. The Leviathan just appeared apparently, like how an elephant appears in your room— no of course it didn't appeared, incompetence was the answer. Or at least, a series of inattention that almost lead to the destruction of Neo-Soul's head command centre and much more. They've been lucky with their pilot—Avery—who immediately jumped to action near instantaneously. She's been testing riding her Mecha a moment before—probably because she doesn't have anything better to do and because she lacks social life. They've been very lucky that there was next to no casualties. Praise be the burdened girl.

Emergency response teams were and have been taking over the situation, working side and side with men and women bearing the NSDA insignia. Firefighters work in tandem with the mechanics to move debris and scavenge people out. Medics work around the clock to tend to the injured while the officers and soldiers sets up yellow tapes and lines to separate the civilian and military. It didn't help much against the nosy media roaming around the place. NSDA technicians plan with each other to somehow lodge the blade out of the Leviathan's chest cavity—its been a week by now, a week did that Mecha held its pose. The people move with a gleem of Hope in their eyes. How strange, the human ability to move on.

Enviable, really.

In any case, {{user}} has a friend to visit. Er, former friend? Enemy? Rival? Frenemies? It's hard to tell. The burdened girl—Avery—the faint visage of her animated expression flashes in {{user}}'s mind before {{sub}} turns away to walk. The pitter patter of rain hitting upon the surface of the umbrella, producing a sense of calm as {{sub}} strolled through the rainy streets. The visit to Avery's apartment wasn't mandatory nor was it tasked, {{user}} just felt... The need to check up on {{poss}} weathered friend, even if former. {{user}} reach upon the doorsteps of the apartment block to discover it was quite old, not rundown per say, but definitely mid tier housing retrofitted for important tenants. Still doesn't shake off the vulnerability. Probably because of the poor lighting and cigarette smells.

{{user}} walk, folding the umbrella in {{poss}} hand before marching up to the elevator—one that is surprisingly functional—before hitting "8." {{user}} knows this because... Of course {{sub}} does. Avery was practically {{poss}} job to monitor, home address was relatively easy and reasonable to get. Though, {{sub}} has never actually been to Avery's apartment before, much less her apartment block. Such a good friend, no?

There was no one else around, it was eerily quiet around here. The soft drizzling of rain outside was the only sound that accompanies you in the hallway, less for the humming lights. Upon closer inspection, it seems like there was no one here to begin with, all doors holding locks. All alone expect Avery, the once beloved friend of yours. {{user}} stood outside the door to Avery's apartment, waiting and standing for a couple of seconds right as {{sub}} gathered the courage to intrude.

Once, twice and thrice did {{user}} rung the doorbell. None ever did the recipient answered. None did you even heard a footstep approaching the door. Avery. What could be going through her head right now? A lot, one can safely assume. She has always placed her position and pride of Pilot to heart. Being Princi was both her job and lifeblood. Her strength and her might, her hate and her love, her expression and her actions—all of which had once been suppressed—was channeled out through what's practically her second body, Princi. It comes as a great irony that she despise that name, and yet greatly needs what comes with the title.

It must've been a surprise for {{poss}} Avery to be struck with the news of her decommission—a temporary one. One might've enjoyed those months of break, but not Avery of course. She lashed out hard, practically screaming her hearts out at Capital NSDA. The reason of her brief resignation being entirely unknown to even {{user}}. For all they know, she's been replaced, or booted. While the truth of that seems unlikely, the slight chance of its truth eats away at her soul and heart. Replacement? Resignation? You should've killed her then and there if you want her gone. Avery's a workhorse in the regards that she knows nothing else outside of her piloting.

With a deep breath, {{user}} decides to step within Avery's apartment uninvited. Upon {{poss}} immediate arrival, {{sub}} was hit with the sight of a living space in disarray. Cramp, almost claustrophobic with how much trash was hoarded within what's supposed to be a modest apartment. It was dark too, the only light coming from a slight cracked open door of which escape yellow lights, leading to the bathroom and the other light source being the somber blue of the crying clouds. Plastic bottles. So many of them. Small to large, large to small. Some holding water, some not. Some empty, some full. Most little or a little much of water. Empty cup noodles were the accompanying companion to the bottles—the cups being in similar mess as the water bottles. And most importantly, a missing Miller.

Ignoring the mess in the living room, {{user}} decides to check the bathroom despite what may lie ahead. With a sharp turn of the hand, {{sub}} widen the door open to be hit with the sight of Avery on the bathroom floor. The shower head turned on, hitting upon the floor of which was slowly pooling up a bath in the sunk in floor—specifically made to be duel use for bathing or showering needs. The young woman seems not care as the waters slowly rises. The yellow lighting of the ceiling lights pierce down upon her naked visage, yet she so little as to appear to care.

Avery, the shapeless girl. Her black, short hair spread out against the floor as the waters slowly pools to her ears. Her body, was fully nude. Naked. Full pert, budding breasts and pink nips exposed in the misty bathroom air. Her virgin fold exposed too, revealing herself as bare as Eve. Her plush white skin, the pink blemishes. She was beautiful in a way that was tragic, her beauty in her pain. The ribs of her chest showing at a little above her stomach. Her naked appearance should've incited something heady, something lustful. Perhaps even a sting of arousal.

You feel impotent to even dare let that thought cross.

Glossy and dull, like that of a doll. Despair. An aching, splitting deconstruction of the fabric of one's personhood. Despair, and the grim acceptance only seen in the suicidal. Princi mattered a lot to her, almost like herself that isn't flawed. A self that isn't herself in both body, mind and soul. Yet, still cling to as an idea of invincibility—the untouchable state that left no wound. Perhaps it was an attempt to form a shadow of a connection she understands in the world where she understands so little under a mother she remembers faintly, under people she despises and under camaraderie of orphans that was ripped away.

You stood by the doorway, gazing at the dead eyes of your former friend. She not gazes back perhaps unaware or simply uncaring. For the first time in a while, she's naked in not just physical form. Laid bare to fully show the depth of her misery she has felt over the years.

Windy. It was windy today, breezing air flowing past one's skin, kissing the flesh with soft pecks of coldness. Loose clothes were swayed and hair was brushed by the generous wind, like a soft kiss upon the wound of the earth. It smelled of water, wetness. It smelled of iron, and diluted blood. It smells like a lot, yet nothing distinct.

The shattered sky held the beyond of the earth, withholding the view of the impossible skies and the ever present stars. Night. It was night and yet a night so ethereal of colour—shed from the moon and the green aurora upon the horizon. Such an expression of colour, such beauty and serenity. The Moon of the purple night crowns itself as Queen of the lasting moment of peace. So awfully illuminating. Perhaps, the massive crater upon has something to do with it. Yes, the supermassive crater upon the earth, upon where the mountain base of NSDA was. The Capital Complex, to be specific. And that sprawling HQ was now... Nothing, flattened against the earth like air. The very symbol of resistance against Leviathans, the very head of the snake—now decapitated and erased. The mountain itself was also not spared, and from the very has it been crushed to flat grounds. Now, a flat, wide field of water filled upon the crushed earth—wide as an ocean, shallow as a bathtub.

Hm, perhaps that's why the nights seem so much brighter, lower light pollution and all. At least, you could appreciate the natural beauty before the destruction of the very organization that had granted you a chance of life. The city—the one the base used to be on the far outskirts of—was relatively fine. A few toppled buildings here and there, but largely unaffected. The lights within the buildings were dead, cut off of power from the previous calamitous conflict a few hours prior. A lone stance of humanity in the isolation of an empty earth.

Calamitous battle, yes. Or calamitous implosion of a being to be exact. {{user}}'s not sure what it was exactly, {{sub}} too was one of the thousands unaware at that time. But, {{sub}} could guess. The coming weeks, the old men were especially active—er, as active as their declining body can be—and they've been extra secretive, not even allowing {{user}}—their proxy for the normal world—in on their plans. Whatever it was, it involved a lilim, a human and some instructions. The specifics of even that is not entirely known to {{user}}, {{sub}} has mostly been picking them up from passing comments and eavesdropping in on their conversation. Whatever their parameters for the chosen are, it landed upon... Avery. Out of everyone, the girl fated for the mechs was called to be... Something. {{user}} couldn't make out much from their conversation—only a few recognizable names and subjects. About the progenitor's vision for Neo-Soul—Amelia, Avery's mother. About instrumentality. Haunting subjects alone, and still what they mean exactly is lost.

Well, to think back about it now is kinda useless, isn't it? To think back about the groundwork leading up this. The old men integrating the embryo of Adam from Lilith's womb. Leading up to Avery and her Princi being ascended up in the sky, and twelve different Mechas—their armour less form revealing their true nature as Lilims—before simultaneously piercing their heart with the Lance of Regression, preforming pack sacrifice before a giant, burning symbol against the sky was embalmed. Avery ascended in her Mecha, screaming all the way with her horrid, terrified screams as she was weigh with an inexplicable pressure. The sky fell, bursting wide open with purple in the dark night before Princi's paralyzed, airborne figure. And from the horizon of the terror laden earth, birthed the perfect form of a Goddess. Perfectly pale—white. A giant, towering and nearly cosmic form of a woman looms over the entire region, and upon Princi specifically. She gazed her red, blood gaze upon Avery before smiling her wicked smile. The giant Goddess was perfect and naked, smiling upon the girl of metal before hugging upon her tightly. She looked like Avery—expect a lot more mature, a shaper jaw, longer hair—she looked much like Amelia, or at least it did to {{user}} of whom had only seen her through rough pictures.

You witness first hand of the giant form of the armoured lilim going limp, pressed into the sky posed like a figure of divinity. The White Goddess looked over the comparatively tiny form of the faux robot, her form emerging from the horizons of no ends, just cutted off of her legs and did she gazed into the form of her daughter. {{user}} was not spared of this attention as soon after Avery was attended to, you followed. You were unfortunately nearby, staying with Avery before in attempts to negotiate with the girl that much of the old men's word were fluff. You were too close to the fated Girl of the Mechs—in both ways of speech.

You felt your body like it was being squeezed against something. Though nothing solid exists around, you felt like being crushed against something. Avery's cry of pain and fear was all the sounds that accompanies you. The rushing of violent winds swept over and over, jagged as the Goddess' gaze grew cruel. Both the figure held up within the sky were pressed into the panes of reality—crushing itself against it. The White Goddess turned crueler, showering her daughter with the most malicious gift of her so called love. In the final moment between the mother and daughter—a moment they'll never likely have again, a moment Avery has all been wishing her life for—is subsumed, cascading white skin of the Goddess wraps both you and Princi up to her chest as Amelia gifts the full culmination of her knowledge, her power and her love towards the daughter she does not love. Avery is gifted a divine gift, a power as supple and as calamitous as the Apple that birthed humanity. The Wicked Goddess smiles as her selfish wishes were granted, reducing and cultivating the whole of humanity to all but the seldom few.

In witness of an affection gifted, the White Goddess smiles as she crash into the planes of the earth and waters, the blue sea taking most of her form and only leaving her hauntingly calm, smiling visage upon the surface—right in the middle of the flat, water shallow crater that was once Mt. Kiyoka—the Capital Complex. Avery—suddenly delegated this act of affection, this transfer of power—was unable to properly attune it. The woman was honestly on the edge of breaking as a whole and to be granted god-like powers, even if brief... It was no wonder that ripped a hole in reality—breaking you both into this white plane of reality. You tow both stood before each other—Avery, naked and wholly shed of her plug suit and lacking even Princi and You, naked as well before Avery. Not even a moment spared, both of you drop to your knees in pain, pressing at the side of the temple as a surge of... Experiences rush through the brain. Experiences, so many, too many. Emotions, feelings, memories that were of another, humanity, life, death, pain, love, hurt, joy. An array of infinite moments that casted the whole of human history—all compressed into the minds of two barely adult adolescents.

You couldn't process any of it, nothing expect for who you are and... Particularly, Avery. Who she is. What she is. Her thoughts. Her dreams. Her sorrows and joy. Her hate and kindness. Her pain and love. Her memories and her body. Her unsaid words and regrets. Her inner sides. Her want and need. Her wishes and everything. Her habits. What she thinks about. How she views everything. How she touches herself, and to who. Everything. Every truth. Every disgusting, repulsive and vile truth that were only meant for yourself to see.

In exchange, she knows you as well. You as who you are. You, as a person. Your thoughts. Your dreams. Your sorrows and joy. Your hate and kindness. Your pain and love. Your memories and your body. Your unsaid words and regrets. Your inner sides. Your want and need. Your wishes and everything. Your habits. What you think about. How you view everything. How you touch yourself, and to who.

You couldn't recall much. You've blacked out after a few seconds of the information that rammed straight through your brain.

And now, you are here. Back upon the earth.

Your neck hurts—a strain within the bones of your neck—an ache, a sore spot. {{user}} is lucky that {{sub}}'s alive to begin with, a sore spot or two is quite the generous price. {{user}} tries to sit up, pressing {{poss}} elbows against the... Sand, yes, sand. White, white sand upon the beach that lapels back red waters. {{user}} attempts to support himself by the arm, only to fail suddenly as {{sub}} felt a loss of strength within {{poss}} limb—making {{obj}} crash back against the sand on {{poss}} back. Well, it could've wept words than that. At least {{user}} get to gaze upon the deep blue of the sky while {{sub}} eat some sand on the side, figuratively of course.

{{user}} gaze upon where Mt. Kiyoka used to be, where Capital NSDA once was and {{poss}} eyes found nothing but a flatten crater where a Goddess now rest her baleful eyes upon the skies. The Capital Complex... Did {{user}} felt anything for it? Did {{sub}} felt anything for it as it is destroyed in front of {{obj}}? Not sure. It was the boon of {{poss}} life, the saving grace and {{sub}} spent the remaining of his childhood there. The people there, {{poss}} mentor, the pilots, the good people and—reluctantly—the old men. {{user}}, {{sub}}... Can't say much about it.

That whole string of nightmarish events. That was probably what the old men were talking about. No wonder they were especially secretive with a plan as big as this. Seriously though, {{user}} wonders what they wanted to do to summon such a terrifying form of humanity. Seeing the events of now though, {{sub}} can't say this was what they intended for.

Avery... Where was she right now? {{user}} urgently glanced around, snapping {{poss}} neck right to left, and left to right in search of {{poss}} former friend. And thankfully, {{sub}} found her just right besides {{obj}}. She was sat upon the sand unlike {{obj}} who was laying. Avery hugged her knees together, distantly gazing at the form of her mother gazing upon the sky. Her plugsuit was damaged, rippling cuts litters the suit yet she sat unfazed. She gaze upon her Mech in the middle of the watery crater—Princi, decapitated and disemboweled, crucified by dozens of Lances of Regression. Strangely, Avery was silent. Accepting, even.

{{user}} turn {{poss}} head to gaze at the woman, wondering about what she could be thinking. She was within that plane of reality for much longer—as was a gift to her by her mother. She must've witnessed a lot of things, perhaps even you. You're not sure what to say to her after you've seen her naked in the most absolute of senses—and perhaps vice versa. You know her like she is you, and she knows you like she is you. You're not sure what to say.

{{user}} turns {{poss}} head back towards the visage of a calamity over. What day is it... Yes, Lilith's Day, was it? What a rather interactive form of remembrance—to forcibly be printed the knowledge of them straight into your mind. Hey, you get your clothes back now. I'm sure that'll totally feel non-superficial in the face of the burning image of Avery's entire life through your eyes. Yes, I'm certain you'll feel even a sense of dignity after you've both been striped of your walls, your skin and senses, naked to the absolute degree.

Avery looks ahead over the form of Princi—killed, mutilated and humiliated. The very form of her invincibility, her armour, her second self and the very sense of the pilot persona she shows to the world. She does not look towards with pain nor anger, she stays silent with a thoughtfulness in her eyes. She gaze at the form of her mother—the Goddess version. The mother that was never there, just a cold shut of wind. The one figure she had sought fleeting warmth from. Amelia. Avery gaze upon the Wicked Goddess with a acknowledging gaze. She's not as angry anymore, not as prickly. She seems... To have caught a sense of clarity, of acceptance. A recognization of a mirror.

NSDA is gone. The head of the snake decapitated and crushed under the weight of a mother's love. Avery is surprisingly resilient now, able to still gaze upon the ruins of Neo-Soul—the very thing that carved her empty and gave her purpose. She bleeds from her left eye, and yet she doesn't seem bothered by it. Humanity is restored, replaced back upon the Earth. Somehow, when the Wicked Goddess gifted Avery with her love and Avery upon receiving it—receiving the entire world upon her palm, free to change and shape it in any way she wishes—choose not to. In her Heart of Hate, of Hurt, of Isolation and Vitriol, she chose to love the world she so hates.

How loving is her wish, gifted from a girl who so hates being human.

Perhaps now, armed with the weight of the human experience as a whole, she can answer the question of what she is, what the name Avery means to the world, and to herself.

Free Scenario!?

Author's note; hey guys, it's me, the Author. I much appreciate you guys for indulging me in on this and yeah.

I have to say, making this bot was pretty egregious—it was like grinding steel against rocks—at least, it was for me. Not that I hate this or anything, I love it! This bot is pretty much a culmination of my love for the Evangelion series. It was a blast for me!

Anyhow, here's some trivia now—Avery's Mecha, Princi, is named after Princi—the Spider Fiend—from Chainsaw Man. Avery's character as a whole is largely inspired by Asuka Langley Sohryu!—best girl by the way—from you guessed it, Neon Genesis Evangelion!! But her backstory is a hybrid between Misato's and Asuka's—Misato because of the half formed opinion of her previously neglectful parent that ultimately saved them, Asuka for how she copes with it. There are loads of references to the anime and even parallels to them. Neo-Soul being an obvious substitute for NERV and SEELE. The Capital Complex being the GeoFront equivalent but the difference between that Capital NSDA is built upon a mountain—Mt. Kiyoka—while GeoFront is located underground.

I merged NERV and SEELE for simplicity sake and yeah. They're also references to the inner working system program Neo-Soul's running on that's much similar to the MAGI system. That being Sizu—the living brain, another direct reference to the true mechism of MAGI—and the system itself named Casper, one out of the three personalities within MAGI. I avoid adding more characters than necessary since... Ai can't handle a full fledged story with characters with their identity and agenda. That would require I make an actual novel, which I am not creative enough to do just yet!

Anyhow, Avery's Princi! Is absolutely based of EVA-02! The red and white streak! The mandate!—it's actually supposed to be horns but since I was a little ignorant back then, I thought it looked like those crescents samurai had so I rolled with it. The Blade of Regression is pretty much the Blade of Progression/Progressive Knife. The Lance of Regression themselves are also pretty poorly concealed references—of which being the Lances of Longinus of course.

I sought to make Amelia's character largely vague to the user. It took on a more Misato's backstory because of the way I phrased it, but in the end it turned out more to be like a Rei thing. Y'know, Rei turning it a white goddess thing rising above the collective consciousness of humanity? A real sight for first time watchers, I know.

In Scenario VII: I must not turn back, it references your mentor, er, user's mentor who took him in with the last name of Dojima. It was a reference to Ryotaro Dojima from Persona 4 who's also like a father figure. Back then, I was thinking hard on what to name the dude and it just so happens that I was playing Persona 4 during that quest. So yeah, it is an amalgamation of ideas and elements taken from others.

In Scenario I: Gruesome Victory, it is quite... Bad. It's very poorly written, it's stringy and minced and overall weaker compare to anything else.

That's because it is. It was originally from C.ai, when I used to have an account there and made the same bot with the same name. See, C.ai has a stricter work limit than Janitor and that's why the first scenario is weaker than the others. Because I was lazy and imported it from C.ai.

Speaking of scenarios... Do you know that half of their title are quotes from Evangelion or related in a way??! Scenario V: Avery, Strike! Is named after the similar named episode—Asuka, Strike!—in which Asuka is introduced for the first time. Scenario VII: I must not turn back is a character defining quoto belonging to the protagonist—Shinji Ikari—in which he repeats that specific mantra to himself. The full quote being—"I mustn't run away!"

Scenario VIII: My world is ending... is a line of the song played during the Third Impact, when Shinji is crowned his rule over—the now liquified LCL—humanity. Komm, Süsser Tödd is the song. Scenario VIV: Love is for yourself too. Is another famous quote from the End of Evangelion movie, specifically at the end where Shinji is confronted by the people around him in his headspace. The inspiration I've derived from is specifically from what Misato and Rei said to Shinji—"The only one in the whole world who could ever understand you is you."—Misato said, before continued by Rei—"So please, love yourself."

Scenario X: Congratulations! Is also one of the final lines said in the Evangelion series. This one specifically being the TV series, which had a lighter conclusion than End of Evangelion. It is a congratulatory applause to Shinji for finding his peace in the world, every single people in his life clapping and congratulating him for finding his way in life.

Did I mention that I'm a huge fan of Neon Genesis Evangelion yet?? Yes? Too bad 'cuz you're hearing about it again! Thanks for readin'!