Sam'ika

Because I'm in this episode of ForceMajeure Pod!
We're playing Mecha Hack, and my character is a nonbinary pilot with more tech parts than meat parts!
(They're not cat ears, they're antennae)

Mech Pilot who demands everything they operate needs to be refitted with a standard transmission. Even the ejection seat.

the mechanic placed her hands on her hips and quirked an eyebrow in disbelief, "you want to do what to your mech?"

"Manual transmission."

"I heard that part. I'm just— trying to wrap my head around why. Our unit flies the most advanced mechs to ever grace this side of the milky way. Why do you want a downgrade?"

The pilot puffed out her cheeks as she blew out a breath, "it's not a downgrade. It's just, you know, a different way of piloting. I happen to like it."

"You want me to make unauthorized changes to your mech because you like it?"

"Yes."

"No. I'm not doing it."

"Please?" The pilot asked, trying to get her eyes as wide and doey.

The mechanic rolled her eyes, "not unless you can come up with a better reason than you just like it."

"Well! It's a better connection between me and the mech. I get a better feel for how she moves, what she needs while I've got a hand on the stick."

"You're still describing it in terms of feelings. I need something empirical to put on the maintenance report."

"Really? Shoot"

"Yup. Last chance before I walk away."

"Uh," the pilot said, stalling for time, "I have ADHD."

"Well yeah. Anyone who spends five minutes with you could diagnose that."

"The stick shift helps me concentrate. Automatic transmission, my mind wanders while I'm piloting. It's dangerous! Stick shift keeps my mind occupied! Eyes on the road!"

The mechanic was silent. Lips pursed. "Fine. But you owe me dinner, too."

"Yes! Thank you! Can you add a shifter to the ejection seat, too?"

The mechanic pinched the bridge of their nose in frustration. "Fine. Two dinners, though. No, five."

"Deal!"

Mech Pilot who kept their bone fragments to decorate their cockpit.

The orderly wringed his hands, nervously. He had been tasked with keeping the pilot in the medical wing during her recuperation, but pilots like Stacy 'Tanks' Stennerman didn't earn the reputation they did by sitting idle. "We really should get you back to your room."

Tanks shook her head, "no way. Not yet. Did you see the report? They extracted my ride. Or what's left of her, anyway. I need to be here when they bring her in."

"You're supposed to be resting, not reading reports."

"It's fine. I'm fine! My body is taking to the new arm well. Even my eye is adjusting! I hardly have any double vision anymore!"

"Still. Pushing yourself unnecessarily can cause... complications."

"Can. May. Not will. Besides! I'm going slow. And not like I'm gonna hop in a mech and bail. We're not going farther than the hangar. I promise."

As though to add emphasis to the end of her sentence, the sound of a buzzer pierced the bay. Red lights strobed as the vast doors rumbled to life, light spilling from the seam as they parted.

"This'll be them!" The pilot said, excitedly. Moving towards the empty bay as fast as her still-injured body allowed, cane ringing off the concrete.

The Decker, a flat deck recovery vehicle and crane combination turned into the hanger. Mud flew from its two storey tall wheels. The driver exited the cab, and slid down the ladder in a smooth motion. When she saw Tanks and the concerned orderly approached, she held out a hand to stop them. "Hold up. Can't let you close. Wreckage is supposed to be secret until the intelligence types can go over it."

Tanks gestured wildly with her mechanical arm. The motion snappy, unpracticed, "wreckage my ass! That's Beatrice! She's my mech!"

"Oh!" The driver said, understanding dawning as they took in the state of both Tanks and Beatrice. She pursed her lips, thinking before coming to a decision. Drivers and Pilots were, for all intents and purposes, rival branches of this military. But trucks were precious to Drivers, and she knew pilots felt the same way about their bipedal vehicles. "Tell you what." She gestured with her clipboard, "I have to take this paperwork over to shipping and receiving for a signature. Usually takes about 17 minutes, there and back. You had best not be on my truck when I get back, but while I'm out, well—" She shrugged and let the implication hang in the air as she strode past the pilot and the orderly.

"You are not climbing that ladder," the orderly said, sternly.

"Try and stop me." Tanks said, tucking her cane into the tie of her hospital gown, and reaching for the ladder.

The orderly did not respond, and simply continued his hand wringing.

At the top of the ladder, Tanks hauled herself over the edge of the deck and lay for a moment, catching her breath.

From below, "Miss Stennerman?"

"I'm good! I'm fine! Just catching my breath." She rolled onto her stomach, and used her flesh arm to push herself to her feet. Now standing, she was able to truly take in the remains of her beloved mech. "Shit, girl." She whispered, "not sure which of us is worse off after that."

She ran a hand along the jagged edge of the hole where her canopy had been. The metal bowed out from the heat and pressure of the explosion that had nearly taken her life. Inside, the cockpit was wrecked. Unrecognizable. A single strut jutted out from where the pilot's seat had once been. Memory flashed behind her eyes as she was forced to relive the moments of terror she had experienced before she had escaped the wreck. She reached in, and placed a palm on the dirt that halfway filled the cockpit. The mud that nearly drowned her dried to dust by the explosion that nearly vaporized her. "I wonder..." She thought aloud. Picking a place where the jagged metal wasn't likely to cut her to shreds, she crawled into the body of the wrecked mech. She crawled over to near where her chair had once been. Digging her cane into the dirt she began to dig.

"Miss Stennerman?" The orderly called up. "The Driver will be back soon."

"Yeah. I'm done up here. And hey, catch." She tossed something down to the Orderly, who promptly screamed, and dropped the item.

"WHAT THE FUCK!?" The orderly shouted.

"Did you drop my arm?" Tanks asked, as she eased herself onto the ladder.

"IT'S DESICCATED!"

"Well yeah—" She paused halfway down the ladder to catch her breath again, "it's been out there for nearly a month."

"What the fuck!?"

"You've said that already. Now help me down the last couple rungs. I'm about to fall off."

Leaning on professionalism, the orderly reached up, and under the pilot's arms, assisting her to the ground, and supporting her weight. "Are you—" they paused to nod down at the nearly rotted forearm that was kicking up quite a stink, "going to keep that?"

"Yeah. Gonna strip the flesh, and keep the bone. It's mine afterall."

"Isn't that kinda morbid?"

"Yeah. But I got wind the higher ups authorized a replacement mech for me. Given the state of Beatrice up there, I'm not surprised. I'll miss her, but she's beyond repair. Gonna mount this over the hatch of the new one. A reminder of the kind of bullshit I'm capable of surviving. A reminder of what I'm willing to do to survive."

Before the orderly could respond, the Driver arrived, clipboard tucked under her arm, "Glad to see no one is on my— what the— you know what. Never mind. Guess it's true what they say about pilot's. Y'all are a different breed."

Tanks smiled, and repositioned the thumb on the hand that had once been attached to her, and showed a thumbs up at the Driver. "Hey! As long as we've got a reputation! And thanks. Really. Meant a lot to say goodbye to her."

"Don't mention it," the Driver said.

Tanks and the orderly began crossing the hangar to return to the medical ring. The Driver called out to the pair, "HEY PILOT! NICE ASS! IT'S HANGING OUT OF YOUR GOWN!"

"THANKS!" The pilot grinned over her shoulder, "I DID A SQUAT ONCE!"

~ Stacy "Tanks" Stennerman, currently on forced medical leave

0/10
Worst game. Can't pet the dog.

But actually this game is really fun, only 2 missions in.
Daemon X Machina the exact kind of mech feel I've been looking for since VirtualOn