a messy kitchen

Our nerves are threaded together. My nose bleeds when I think.

This mech is one of many, and I am one of many pilots. Unremarkable.

The neural load is too much for one pilot. I require a copilot. A partner.

I am floating in the cockpit like an embryo. My lungs are full of fluid.

I am not a human being any longer. I want to pilot my body again.

This is my father's mech. One day, I know I will die in it.

I buckle in and flip the switches. Somewhere, I hear distant metal groaning.

This mech retains the memories of everyone who came before me. They hate me.

The soft floor bleeds under my boots. This living thing yeilds to my command.

No one knows who made this machine, or why. No one but me.

It's bio-organic. Our veins bleed into each other. I'm a part of it, now.

Only the best and brightest become pilots. The rest become the fuel.