‘I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.’

Revelation 22:13

The wargear of a mech pilot is built for safety and comfort, a loose jumpsuit overlain with padding in areas that might need it, a consideration to being sat in a chair for hours at a time. A helmet was included of course, along with a supply of air that could be disconnected from the machine itself in an instant, running off a temporary supply if that was disabled or the pilot had to eject in a low-oxygen environment.

Lyyr was thinking wistfully on that as moved about in her new uniform, rolling the shoulders and moving her arms and legs to get used to feel of the thing.

‘S’a little tight,’ Kasey grumbled, pulling at the material around his crotch.

He wasn’t wrong. Their new uniform was a black bodysuit that hugged every curve and contour, leaving no scrap of loose fabric to snag or catch. It was a perfect fit, concerningly-so in fact – Lyyr had no memory of having been measured for something like this. She tried not to think about it too much. Whatever it was made out of was stretchy but tough, unlikely to rip or tear, putting her in mind of a Juggernaut’s under-armour, or a hazardous-environment suit, with the addition of bands of sturdier material in some places to provide reinforcement.

All things considered, it was surprisingly comfortable, if a little... awkward.

Adyan, after struggling to get his new leg in, now stood confidently, next to Ivey, who would have hidden behind him if she could, arms crossed over her torso.

At this point, Lyyr was just itching to get on with things. Five more days since their arrival and they had not set foot back in the hangar once, their days consisting of endless physical training that left them aching in muscles they never knew existed, pushing them further and further until their limits were reached, then pushing them beyond even that.

But now it was time.

‘Alright, corpses, enjoying your new threads?’ Ford asked as she entered. She was wearing the same as them and it definitely suited her in a most unfair way, emphasising every bulge of muscle on her Olympian figure.

The pilots snapped to attention. Discipline had been reinforced, old ranks erased and reformed into a new command structure that was just them and Major Ford.

She looked them up and down, assessing them like they were on parade, walking once around the room and uncaring she did not receive an answer.

‘Looking good, for dead folks,’ she admitted. ‘Follow me.’

She led them through the complex, out into the furnace of the morning sun, and back into the shade of the hangar. There was noise in here now, and more people than they had seen in days, a small army of white-suited technicians fussing over the machines and performing last minute calibrations or adjustments, calling to each other as they worked.

Onto the gantry they went, a short climb that brought them level with the upper chests of the new mechs, revealing armoured hatches now opened to curious cockpits, the insides softly-lit, some of them obscured from view by even more technicians. They ignored the pilots as they passed, just like the ghosts they were.

Stopping before the first in line, Ford turned to the others with a grin. She looked genuinely excited and, truth be told, Lyyr was feeling a thrill of anticipation in kind. Craning her neck to look over the big woman’s shoulder and trying to get a peek inside, she frowned when she saw nothing that resembled a mech cockpit she had ever seen.

‘Focus!’ Ford snapped, and all four pilots’ heads whipped round. ‘This is how things are going to go: I’m going to get into this mech and you are going to watch me. I’m going to then move this mech and you are going to watch me do that too. Then, if I’m feeling generous, you will do the same with your own.’

Lyyr, despite herself, felt a thrill work its way down her spine.

‘Finally,’ she heard Kasey mutter.

Ford’s eyes flicked to him but made no comment. She was clearly in a generous mood today.

‘Watch and learn,’ she instructed, turning on her heel and whistling at the technicians, who promptly fished up and evacuated the cockpit.

Crossing the unfolded piece of torso from the gantry like a bridge, Ford passed into the cockpit, her huge frame small compared to the colossus. She turned, a smirk on her lips, and put her feet into brace-like contraptions that expanded and enclosed up to over the knee, the movements smoothly mechanical. She then leaned back in what looked like a thin, padded chair, settling as it seemed to push back and reform to match the contours of her back, keeping her in a semi-standing positing yet supporting her weight before strapping herself to it. Next, she winked and took a helmet from one of the technicians, placing it over her head and allowing something to be done behind her. The woman jerked for a moment, her whole body going tight, shivering once and then relaxing. Lastly, she held out her hands and armatures unfolded from the top of the cockpit to enclose her arms, much like had happened with her legs.

Then, without preamble, the hatch closed with a whine of servos, the crank of locks, and hiss of pressurising seals, hiding the Major from view beneath thick plates of armour.

‘Better move back,’ one of the technicians advised, pointedly hurrying back to one side of the gantry. The pilots followed, keeping a curious eye on the Einherjar.

‘Omega-One-One motile test number fourteen is about to commence,’ a robotic voice announced over loudspeaker. ‘Please stand clear. Hangar doors are now opening.’

With a grinding rumble the huge doors of the massive building began to fold inwards, one entire wall collapsing away to let in the outside world, the endless sunlight of this dry world flooding through the gap.

‘Omega-One-One motile test number fourteen commencing, gantry release in three, two, one,’ the voice spoke and the gantry restraining the mech unfolded and pulled back, giving it a clear path. ‘Path is clear. Warning: unit in motion. I repeat, unit in motion.’

‘This is Omega-One-One,’ Ford’s voice announced from some kind of loudspeakers built into her mech, a fairly standard piece of kit as far as things went. ‘Fusion engine critical, system readouts in the green, synaptic feedback within acceptable ranges. Commencing walk.’

Slowly, ponderously, the Einherjar began to move out of its gantry, plodding through and out of the hangar at a particularly unimpressive speed, the motions stiff. Upon exit, Lyyr was surprised to see the head move, like it was looking over its shoulder at them.

Then, it began to pick up speed. Steadily at first then faster and faster, the mech broke into a run. She had hit some turns of speed in her Ajax over the years but nothing like this. The legs were pumping, the arms – those arms! – were actually moving, and the shape of the whole thing looked just like a person out for a jog, except three stories tall and eighty tonnes heavy, each and every step thudding on the concrete apron as the astounding machine ran to one end, turned in a tight circle, then ran back to before the open hangar with its row of four open-mouthed pilots.

It came to a halt, thankfully having to slow its speed first rather than sliding to a standstill – Lyyr could only handle so many impossible things before breakfast – and returned to its impassive, statue-like mode.

Then bent its arms inwards, flexing like a bodybuilder.

‘Fucking hell,’ Kasey swore.

‘Uh-huh,’ was all Adyan could comment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Ivey was wide-eyed and gripping the rail, her face a picture of wonderment.

All Lyyr could do was put her hands on her hips and shake her head in disbelief.

‘Pilots, if you could accompany us to your mechs, we’ll get you settled in,’ one of the technicians said, a gaggle of them peeling them off into individuals and assigning them machine. Lyyr’s was apparently “Omega-One-Two”, judging by the designation stencilled on one black-painted shoulder.

Next in line, next to go, she realised.

For a moment she hesitated, looking at the still and silent head of this thing. They were going to be paired for god knows how long, wading through the fires of war until one or both of them died. Again.

She rubbed her arms, set her shoulders, then set foot into the cockpit.

‘Feet there, please,’ her technician advised, pointing at the braces in the floor. Lyyr complied and forced herself to remain still when they expanded up and around her legs, the grip firm but not uncomfortable.

‘Alright?’ the technician asked. Lyyr nodded. ‘Good. If you could just lean back there... great.’

The back support was surprisingly comfortable, very much so, creating a pleasant, almost-weightless feeling. After giving it a quick once-over, the technician strapped her in, checking the tightness was satisfactory before handing her a helmet.

It was an odd thing, blank-faced and light-weight, with panels on the face that could be retracted to reveal a visor. She made to move them but was interrupted by the technician.

‘Leave it,’ he said with a knowing smile. ‘You’ll see.’

Lyyr gave him a quizzical glance then put it over her head, trying to relax as her whole world went dark. It was too much like lying in her bed, trying to get to sleep, dreading the nightmares that would be sure to follow, those distorted memories of death and pain, of burning and screaming...

‘Just connecting the air,’ the technician announced, derailing her train of thought. She was suddenly grateful to have him around, if only as a distraction. There was pressure on her neck as one of the man’s hands secured her head, interfacing something at the back of the helmet with the other, releasing it with a faint hiss as pressure began to stabilise and the headgear automatically formed a seal around her neck. It was surprising but still not uncomfortable.

‘This bit might hurt a little.’ The technician’s tone was apologetic. ‘Will definitely be disorientating, so... brace yourself. Interfacing in three... two...’

That bastard of a man didn’t bother hitting “one” before he shoved the interface spike into the port at the base of her skull.

Lyyr thrashed as her whole body shot through with, pain, pleasure, and other, more unidentifiable sensations, flooding her brain with feedback that was overwhelming, her vision obliterated into a field of excruciating whiteness. She scrambled frantically for the back of her neck and found her hands caught and stopped by the technician.

‘Leave it!’ he told her sternly, ‘Ride it out!’

Breathing frantically, trapped and terrified, Lyyr tried to calm down, arms gripping each other, scrubbing and rubbing, as the sensations subsided to a faint tingle, her vision blinked off, then on, revealing a wall of text that sped past at bewildering speed, blinking out again and on one final time.

She could see.

She could see the hangar outside. Breath rattling in and out of her chest, she moved her head, but the field of vision stayed the same. Calming down, her mind quickly analysing the situation, she realised her view was attenuated slightly, as if coming through a vid-feed, and she finally noticed the diagnostic read-outs at the edge of sight, the comforting familiarity of a standard HUD.

She was looking out of the mech’s eyes.

‘What the fuck,’ she breathed.

‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ she heard the technician say, her human ears picking up the sound at odds with the aural feedback from the mech’s sensors. ‘The mech’s systems are now yours. You feel what it feels, as it were.’

‘What the fuck,’ she repeated. The technician laughed.

Lyyr closed her eyes but the vision remained, which was unsettling. Relaxing her body and breathing she tried to turn her senses inwards, feeling the beat of her heart in time with the chained star that was the mech’s fusion engine. She was it and it was she.

A broad grin crossed her face.

‘You good?’ the technician asked.

She nodded, the movement stiffer than expected.

‘Great. Arms straight out to the sides please.’

She acquiesced, and felt the armatures close over her hands, expanding and gripping from her fingers right down to her shoulders, tight and firm as on her legs.

‘Move them.’

Bringing her arms in and out, round and down, the movement was similar enough to her old Ajax to provide a point of reference, if smoother with a wider range of motion.

‘Okay, we’re going to close up now,’ the technician advised, his voice sounding further away. ‘We’ll release control of your head but keep the rest of you locked down until you get the go-ahead to move; don’t want any accidents.’

‘Uh-huh,’ was all Lyyr could say.

Feeling more than hearing, Lyyr could tell when the torso hatch closed, sealing her in.

++RELEASING HEAD CONTROL++ flashed across her vision and she tried turning this way and that, almost giggling manically when her vision moved with it. She tilted her head at the white-suited technician on the gantry below her, standing back so he was just in the bottom of her view, his outline highlighted in green by the mech’s systems.

He held up his thumbs. She nodded. He grinned widely and gave her another thumbs-up before leaving the gantry.

Looking to the side, she looked at Omega-One-Three, their head also looking about.

‘Alright corpses, this is the moment of truth,’ Ford’s voice appeared, unsettlingly bypassing her ears to end up straight in her brain. ‘Do me proud.’

‘Omega-One-Two motile test number ten is about to commence.’ The robotic voice returned.

++RELEASING FULL SYSTEM CONTROL TO PILOT++

Lyyr’s breath caught as the strange rig she was in quickly pulled and settled, leaving her body feeling as if in a standing position. No, she not only felt like she was standing, she was standing, with a body seventeen metres tall and eighty tonnes heavy. She didn’t dare move. She barely dared breathe.

‘Omega-One-Two motile test number ten commencing, gantry release in three, two, one. Path is clear. Warning. Unit in motion. I repeat, unit in motion.’

The gantry folded out and moved away, granting Lyyr a clear path out of her bay and through the hangar.

‘Hoo boy… Oh fuck…’ she muttered.

‘Come on One-Two, we don’t have all day!’ Ford chided.

‘Right, here goes nothing,’ Lyyr told herself. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck…’

Tentatively, carefully, and steadily, she moved one foot forward, then the other, the rig offering some small resistance. Each movement was accompanied by the thrum of servos, the hiss of hydraulics, and the stomp of colossal feet on concrete. It was smoother than expected, almost natural, like moving her own body, and by the third step she was laughing out loud at the sheer euphoric rush of it all, positively cackling as she exited the hangar and out into the sunlight, reborn in a body of steel.