Bio-Mech Warrior

1200 Hours — Camp Citu

Andrew and Jennifer's SynthMechs stood motionless, towering over the training field. Unlike the newer exoskeletons, these were 3rd Gen models—without neuralink capabilities. Every movement had to be manually triggered through cockpit controls, making precision and timing all the more critical.

Andrew shifted his Viking into a fighting stance. Jennifer's Lancer mirrored him, the servos in her unit whirring to life. Without warning, she struck first—her SynthMech launching a sharp hook toward Andrew's side.

He dodged cleanly and countered with a front kick aimed at her knee actuator, but Jennifer evaded just in time. What followed was a brutal exchange of strikes, parries, and evasive maneuvers as the two SynthMechs clashed, steel against steel. Sparks flew, dirt kicked up from the force of their steps.

After several minutes, they disengaged and circled each other warily.

A crowd had formed. Mercenaries and technicians watched in awe as the two pilots demonstrated their skill. Few expected Jennifer to match Andrew move for move—but she did. He hadn't faced an opponent this challenging in years.

Even without a neuralink, she kept up with him.

Inside his cockpit, Andrew's expression shifted from surprise to determination. She's not playing around... alright then.

Jennifer's voice cracked over the loudspeakers. "What now? That all you've got?"

He smirked in response. No words—just action.

Andrew lunged. His Viking surged forward with surprising speed for its bulk, unleashing a flurry of blows that blurred before the eyes of those watching. The crowd erupted into cheers as Jennifer's Lancer reeled under the onslaught, armor plating denting under the pressure.

Still, she held her ground. Dodging a final blow, she countered with a sweeping leg kick, aiming to topple him. But Andrew anticipated it, leaping back several meters just in time.

Jennifer steadied her Lancer, panting inside her cockpit. So this is the difference... Neuralink versus manual. Damn.

The match was fierce—but not without consequences.

Two inspectors appeared on-site, alerted by the growing commotion. They didn't look impressed.

"Who authorized this?" one of them barked at the nearest technician.

Ronald stepped forward, calm but clearly cautious. "That would be me, sir. We needed test data—"

"This isn't a simulation lab, Mr. Ronald. Shut it down."

Ronald sighed and opened a comms channel to the pilots.

"Andrew, Jennifer—pull back. We've got inspectors on-site. They're not happy."

"What!?" Jennifer's voice protested. "We're not done!"

"Not my call," Ronald replied flatly.

Jennifer gritted her teeth, her Lancer shifting back into combat stance. "I'm not stopping!"

Andrew didn't follow. His Viking stood tall, relaxed.

"I think we should stand down," Andrew said calmly, warning her.

Before she could respond, a new voice cut through the comms—angrier, official.

"This is Inspector Halvors. Are you out of your minds? These units are corporate property! I want a word with your commanding officer—this ends now!"

Andrew sighed. "Told you."

Jennifer let out a frustrated growl. "Fine. But this isn't over. I swear—I'll beat you fair and square next time. You better be ready."

---

1400 Hours – Colonel Gray's Office

"Suspended?" Andrew repeated, protesting the Colonel's decision.

"That's the lightest penalty the board agreed on," Colonel Gray replied calmly. "Your unsanctioned test sortie caused significant property damage. You're lucky they didn't make you pay for it."

Andrew let out a breath and nodded reluctantly. "Three days, huh?"

"Take that time to reflect on your actions," Gray added, gesturing for him to relax.

"Yes, sir. I'll do that," Andrew replied.

Colonel Gray narrowed his eyes slightly. "After your suspension, there are people who would like to speak with you."

Andrew furrowed his brow. "Who?"

"You'll know when you return," the Colonel said curtly.

"Understood, sir." Andrew gave a crisp salute and exited the room.

On his way back to his quarters, Andrew passed by a pair of individuals in pristine white uniforms—a man and a woman. Their attire didn't match any military branch he recognized, nor did they look like civilians. He cast a curious glance, but kept moving without slowing his pace.

The two turned to watch him.

"Is that him?" the woman asked quietly. "The pilot who handled the Viking EX-9?"

"I believe so," the man responded. "We'll confirm it with his commanding officer. This should be his office."

She nodded, and the two entered Colonel Gray's office without hesitation.

Colonel Gray stood as they entered, eyes narrowing in surprise. "Can I help you?"

"We're from Riverdale Defense," the man introduced himself. "Mark Harrison, senior liaison. This is my associate, Emily Gale. We're contractors affiliated with the Oceanic Union of Fereldia."

"Defense contractors," Emily added with a polite smile. "We'd like to discuss the officer who operated our unit earlier today."

Gray studied them cautiously—Mark, with neatly combed black hair and sharp green eyes; Emily, red-haired and poised, tablet in hand.

"We saw potential in that pilot of yours," Emily continued. "We'd like to extend an invitation—"

"I'm afraid I can't speak on his behalf," Colonel Gray interrupted. "If he were available, I could have arranged a formal meeting."

"That's... unfortunate," Mark said with a slight nod.

"Unfortunate, yes—but policy. I report to my own superiors, and I won't bypass protocol without clearance," Gray said firmly.

Mark and Emily exchanged a glance, then faced him again. "Very well," Emily said. "We look forward to a proper meeting in the future, Colonel."

With a courteous nod, they turned and left.

Once they were gone, Colonel Gray wasted no time. He contacted base security and requested a background check on the visitors.

Minutes later, confirmation came: they were legitimate.

Even so, Gray couldn't shake the unease tightening in his gut.

Something about them doesn't sit right, he thought, leaning back in his chair. If they were telling the truth, why did it feel like they were hiding something?