I know, pilot. I really do. Days like this are so hard; even when you're not losing a dogfight, you're struggling against so much.
Pilots are at the bottom of the food chain here, as you'd have to be an idiot to not notice. Handlers are, of course, more than justified in cleaning our boots on your plug suit, even if we have to force you to the ground to do it. Forcing you doesn't mean it's wrong, it means you haven't caught up yet.
The hours are shit too, I know. But we all lose track of time here. And budgetary issues affect all of us; you've noticed your plug suit fitting more snug these days around your new curves. You'll have your finally-proper hormone dose to thank for that. Due to the aforementioned budget issues, you won't be getting a new one for a while. Machines like the one you pilot are far too expensive to make such a trite thing our priority. The rounds you waste missing targets alone are more expensive than any suit.
...But do you regret it? Really, really think about that.
You can't?
Does it feel like you just... Came into being one day, fully formed, at attention? Is your earliest memory from inside the cockpit, your chest flatter than it is now? Is it me teaching you how to hold your gun while in your giant metal armor? Or is it a bit sooner, when we assessed your augments and learned your... orientation was successful?
I ask because there's a... Flaw. In that process. It's just a little imprecise, is all. I know it's hard to believe; who in their right mind would elect to be strung out on more drugs than they can name, having every single ounce of independence you've ever had removed. Your entire sense of self bound to your capacity to command that terrible million-dollar machine.
And more than that, your ability to obey is all you have. You live and hope to die at the end of my prod and by the sound of my voice in your earpiece.
I know it's hard. I do. Even when it feels good, it's conditional. Does it feel like a choice when your senior pilot lines her gloves with your blood to prove to me she should be my Ace? When your engineer overclocks you so you burn out mid-fight?
You had to have known I knew about that, pilot. Nothing happens to you without my knowledge. Remember? Everything --- your pleasure, your pain your life, is conditional. Who did you think set those conditions? Did you think it would be someone other than your Handler?
It's understandable to believe this has been your whole life. With nothing before, and trust me, nothing after, what else could you believe? Who would choose this?
Well, that brings us to that flaw we discussed. The one thing I wish "orientation" didn't force out of you. Even if it does bring me some pleasure to remind you.
The last thing you did before we wiped your memory was agree. We told you everything that would happen in no uncertain terms. The shit you'd endure. The horrors you'd be expected to face with a smile. Most pilots take a while to mull it over, weigh their values, find out what their life really is, but you?
You signed the paper before I'd even finished talking.
Pilot, I'm sorry about what you left behind. But I knew, from the second your pen hit that paper and let us change your life, you'd be perfect.
