Lag Time

So you're really going to do it, aren't you.

The pilot slouched in the cockpit, hands slack on the triggers. The engine was on - an otherwise silent space broken by the constant humming of controlled energy. Light reflected off the pilot's helmet, its source a dimmed monitor that only served to outline a lean figure pressed against the back of the cockpit chair. The pilot sighed.

Something that you had previously yearned for so earnestly, now attained, seems so meaningless. Quite ironic. Quite tragic. Is this not the fate of one such as yourself?

The pilot chuckled. The bitter taste of coffee, mixed in with something else he could describe, settled at the back of his dry throat. He sat forward, moving his legs onto the pedals.

You have been disillusioned. Led astray by promises of glory, fame, and eternal memory you had believed that this was what you had truly wanted. And yet, even now you will pull the triggers and jump back into the fray.You fight for something that you do not want; you will die for a cause that you have come to believe is false. So, pray tell: are you not without regrets?

The pilot gritted his teeth; his grip tightened on the triggers.

Are you not wanting? Are you not in anger? Does your blood not seethe at that which you are about to do? Why is it that you must be the one to do this? Why must you be the sacrifice?

The pilot pulled the triggers back, causing the monitor to flash. The cockpit lit up. As the mech lurched forward, the pilot said, "Shut up, Enek."

To be continued...

-- by Enek --

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