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Jesus of Mecha - a tale from the future
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<blockquote data-quote="Roudi" data-source="post: 2785558" data-attributes="member: 12423"><p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p><p></p><p>The controls came to life in Locke's hands. He was seated (more correctly, standing) in the cockpit of a UCM model 2A1 “Everyman” mech, one of thirteen stowed in this decommission facility. Finding the mechs here was part of Junin's plan; for the past three weeks, Locke and his father had been conducting major repairs on the Dictat's mecha force. They had “scrapped” as many operational units as they could, and those units were sent here before being salvaged. The facility's guards were all followers of Locke, so gaining access to the mechs was no problem.</p><p></p><p>The front hatch closed with a hydraulic hiss. Locke's body was suspended upright by the waist in a body rig that covered him from neck to toe. He controlled this twelve-foot-tall walking war machine with his own body movement; making a walking motion with his legs would propel it forward, and he could bring the Everyman's weapons to bear by moving his arms. Controls for communication and sensors were literally at his fingertips. This mech even had a graphical user interface he could operate simply by looking at the icons and blinking. Everyman mechs were so easy to use they practically piloted themselves.</p><p></p><p>That was perfect; Locke had never piloted a mech before. Repaired plenty of them, sure... but he had never actually been inside a mecha cockpit except to check a faulty body rig.</p><p></p><p>Darkness engulfed the cramped cockpit space as the hatch sealed tight. Seconds later, the cockpit around him illuminated with the glow of the decommission facility warehouse. Mecha cockpits were almost always equipped with a 360° liquid crystal display over the entire interior surface. Tiny cameras on the mech's outer hull relayed images to the interior LCD, making the surface of the cockpit seem to disappear; it looked to the pilot like he was floating six feet off the ground.</p><p></p><p>Locke walked his mech forward and out of the warehouse, testing the arms' range of motion as he went. He had been the last one to suit up; Junin, Phil, Solmin, and the rest were already gathered outside, waiting patiently for Juma to arrive with the weapons. Naturally, these Everymans had been stripped of their armaments once they were decommissioned. Juma worked at the local UCM production plant, and he had assured Junin he could smuggle out enough weapons to arm tonight's raiding party.</p><p></p><p>Their target was the Dictat's headquarters. Security around the headquarters was sparse at this hour; most of the Dictat's personal guard were at the Stadium as the Dictat himself presided over the death games. The plan was to storm the headquarters and overpower the few left to guard it. Then, they would wait to ambush the Dictat when he returned, and hold him hostage while they dismantled his entire tyrannical infrastructure.</p><p></p><p>It was a risky plan at best. There were so many unknown factors, so much room for something to go wrong...</p><p></p><p>Locke wished Junin and the others had listened to his plan instead. Locke and his father serviced nearly all the Dictat's mechs at one time or another. A simple remote shutoff device could be installed in each of them whenever they came in for repairs. In eight months, maybe a year, they could have one installed in every mech in Tor; then they could neutralize the Dictat's forces without firing a shot.</p><p></p><p>It would take too long, they had told him. They didn't have that kind of time. Any number of factions could assault Tor tomorrow, and they might have a new Dictat to deal with.</p><p>Time. They wouldn't have any time at all if they all died tonight.</p><p></p><p>A bright red exclamation mark appeared on Locke's screen, just up and to the right from his center of vision. A message underneath the warning symbol told Locke that an object was targetting his Everyman with an infrared designator beam. The screen even highlighted the object: a truck, rushing towards them.</p><p></p><p>Locke sighed in relief. It was Juma with the weapons. Junin had told them to use IR beams as a way to tell friends from foes; Juma was just letting them know he was on their side.</p><p></p><p>The truck pulled three trailers, each as long as an Everyman was tall. Juma slowed as he approached the gathered mechs; the rest of the group lined up on either side of Locke, eager to arm themselves.</p><p></p><p>The men emerged from out of nowhere. By the time the warning sensors went off in Locke's Everyman, hundreds of soldiers were surrounding the group of mechs. They each fired rifle weapons that tossed electrical arcs; four or five of them opened up on Locke simultaneously. There was a burst and crackle as all the Everyman's electronics shorted out. The LCD screen went black. Locke was bathed in darkness once more.</p><p></p><p>The young mechanic's assistant was still in shock. <em>What in the hell just happened?</em> He screamed internally. There was a sudden groan, and a sliver of light illuminated the mech's interior. Hopeful that Junin or Juma was trying to rescue him, Locke called out. He was answered by a pistol muzzle, shoved into his face from the crack in the Everyman's hatch.</p><p></p><p>“Shut the hell up, kid,” shouted an unfamiliar voice, “'les you want yer brains paintin' the insides o' this cockpit. Y'understand?”</p><p></p><p>Words had abandoned Locke. She nodded his head, the only gesture fear would allow him, even though he wasn't certain the other person could see his response.</p><p></p><p>Something exploded near his head and the hatch sprung wide open; the force blew apart the hatch hydraulics and showered Locke with fluid. Peering through the grime, he could see a masked soldier bearing the Dictat's colours leveling a pistol at him. Beyond that Locke could see the trucks, and Juma, who was conversing with another one of the masked soldiers.</p><p></p><p>Clairity returned to Locke with sudden force as the realization struck him. They had been betrayed. They had been betrayed by Juma.</p><p></p><p>The soldier in front of Locke was grinning; Locke could tell even though the man's face was covered. “Can't believe yer jus' a bleedin' kid,” he began. “Think maybe yer pal down there marked up the wrong one o' ya's on the infrared. But orders'r orders...”</p><p></p><p>With that, the soldier brought the butt of his pistol down onto Locke's skull. There was a brief moment of pain, and then Locke felt nothing at all.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Roudi, post: 2785558, member: 12423"] [center]* * * * *[/center] The controls came to life in Locke's hands. He was seated (more correctly, standing) in the cockpit of a UCM model 2A1 “Everyman” mech, one of thirteen stowed in this decommission facility. Finding the mechs here was part of Junin's plan; for the past three weeks, Locke and his father had been conducting major repairs on the Dictat's mecha force. They had “scrapped” as many operational units as they could, and those units were sent here before being salvaged. The facility's guards were all followers of Locke, so gaining access to the mechs was no problem. The front hatch closed with a hydraulic hiss. Locke's body was suspended upright by the waist in a body rig that covered him from neck to toe. He controlled this twelve-foot-tall walking war machine with his own body movement; making a walking motion with his legs would propel it forward, and he could bring the Everyman's weapons to bear by moving his arms. Controls for communication and sensors were literally at his fingertips. This mech even had a graphical user interface he could operate simply by looking at the icons and blinking. Everyman mechs were so easy to use they practically piloted themselves. That was perfect; Locke had never piloted a mech before. Repaired plenty of them, sure... but he had never actually been inside a mecha cockpit except to check a faulty body rig. Darkness engulfed the cramped cockpit space as the hatch sealed tight. Seconds later, the cockpit around him illuminated with the glow of the decommission facility warehouse. Mecha cockpits were almost always equipped with a 360° liquid crystal display over the entire interior surface. Tiny cameras on the mech's outer hull relayed images to the interior LCD, making the surface of the cockpit seem to disappear; it looked to the pilot like he was floating six feet off the ground. Locke walked his mech forward and out of the warehouse, testing the arms' range of motion as he went. He had been the last one to suit up; Junin, Phil, Solmin, and the rest were already gathered outside, waiting patiently for Juma to arrive with the weapons. Naturally, these Everymans had been stripped of their armaments once they were decommissioned. Juma worked at the local UCM production plant, and he had assured Junin he could smuggle out enough weapons to arm tonight's raiding party. Their target was the Dictat's headquarters. Security around the headquarters was sparse at this hour; most of the Dictat's personal guard were at the Stadium as the Dictat himself presided over the death games. The plan was to storm the headquarters and overpower the few left to guard it. Then, they would wait to ambush the Dictat when he returned, and hold him hostage while they dismantled his entire tyrannical infrastructure. It was a risky plan at best. There were so many unknown factors, so much room for something to go wrong... Locke wished Junin and the others had listened to his plan instead. Locke and his father serviced nearly all the Dictat's mechs at one time or another. A simple remote shutoff device could be installed in each of them whenever they came in for repairs. In eight months, maybe a year, they could have one installed in every mech in Tor; then they could neutralize the Dictat's forces without firing a shot. It would take too long, they had told him. They didn't have that kind of time. Any number of factions could assault Tor tomorrow, and they might have a new Dictat to deal with. Time. They wouldn't have any time at all if they all died tonight. A bright red exclamation mark appeared on Locke's screen, just up and to the right from his center of vision. A message underneath the warning symbol told Locke that an object was targetting his Everyman with an infrared designator beam. The screen even highlighted the object: a truck, rushing towards them. Locke sighed in relief. It was Juma with the weapons. Junin had told them to use IR beams as a way to tell friends from foes; Juma was just letting them know he was on their side. The truck pulled three trailers, each as long as an Everyman was tall. Juma slowed as he approached the gathered mechs; the rest of the group lined up on either side of Locke, eager to arm themselves. The men emerged from out of nowhere. By the time the warning sensors went off in Locke's Everyman, hundreds of soldiers were surrounding the group of mechs. They each fired rifle weapons that tossed electrical arcs; four or five of them opened up on Locke simultaneously. There was a burst and crackle as all the Everyman's electronics shorted out. The LCD screen went black. Locke was bathed in darkness once more. The young mechanic's assistant was still in shock. [i]What in the hell just happened?[/i] He screamed internally. There was a sudden groan, and a sliver of light illuminated the mech's interior. Hopeful that Junin or Juma was trying to rescue him, Locke called out. He was answered by a pistol muzzle, shoved into his face from the crack in the Everyman's hatch. “Shut the hell up, kid,” shouted an unfamiliar voice, “'les you want yer brains paintin' the insides o' this cockpit. Y'understand?” Words had abandoned Locke. She nodded his head, the only gesture fear would allow him, even though he wasn't certain the other person could see his response. Something exploded near his head and the hatch sprung wide open; the force blew apart the hatch hydraulics and showered Locke with fluid. Peering through the grime, he could see a masked soldier bearing the Dictat's colours leveling a pistol at him. Beyond that Locke could see the trucks, and Juma, who was conversing with another one of the masked soldiers. Clairity returned to Locke with sudden force as the realization struck him. They had been betrayed. They had been betrayed by Juma. The soldier in front of Locke was grinning; Locke could tell even though the man's face was covered. “Can't believe yer jus' a bleedin' kid,” he began. “Think maybe yer pal down there marked up the wrong one o' ya's on the infrared. But orders'r orders...” With that, the soldier brought the butt of his pistol down onto Locke's skull. There was a brief moment of pain, and then Locke felt nothing at all. [/QUOTE]
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