The hulk in front of them cost more money than either pilot would make in several years. The coffee that disabled it, now soaking straight through the machine's interface, was about seven dollars.
Utah was in a panic. Nicky, their scout, was decidedly calm about potentially being sent to a debt slavery corp to break rocks for the rest of his life, which in some small way offended Utah.
"What in the god damn are we going to do?"
Nicky's machine, a smaller recon unit, turned to face the DULLAHAN C2 drone he had since ordered to perform a full system maintenance cycle. Without a word, he readied his rail rifle and put a round straight through the drone, blowing their only link to command into dust.
This did nothing to assuage Utah, ears ringing from the blast. "Wait, we aren't deserting, are we!? That's insane!"
Nicky powered down his scout and clambered out of the cockpit. Utah was a good kid and a better shot, but they were too honest for their own good.
"We aren't deserting. We're covering our ass. You ever hear of 8-Ball?"
Everyone who sortied for UMS seemed to know 8-Ball except for Utah and the other new hires. Rumors said terrible things about this mystery pilot - a BSW specialist, somehow able to ID and disable DULLAHAN drones from a mile away, infiltrate assault platforms and kidnap the pilots, and incapacitate mechs without firing a shot. 8-Ball wasn't just a ghost - they were a nemesis, a full-metal cryptid that strikes without warning and vanishes without trace. Why on God's green earth was Nicky bringing that killer up now?
"Yeah, but..."
"8-Ball hit us from behind, is what happened. They disabled your SA with an ECM burst, then holed the DULLAHAN drone immediately afterward. Then they vanished behind the treeline. That's what happened."
Utah felt their head begin to spin. "Wait, no, my coffee-"
Nicky burst in. "Do you want to spend the next thirty years doing hard labor, or do you want a commendation?"
"Wait, wait, wait! Seriously, I do not follow. Why would you report an attack by 8-Ball? They're an HVT, corporate will want details about their approach, their armament..."
Nicky sighed, and pulled the combead out of his ear, slipping it into his pocket. He quietly motioned Utah to do the same. With DULLAHAN down they were useless plastic anyway, but one couldn't be too careful.
"You're right, 8-Ball is an HVT. UMS's dossier on them describes a broad-spectrum warfare specialist that uses extremely unconventional methods to sabotage, delay, and incapacitate corporate forces. 8-Ball, as UMS understands them, only exists in that dossier."
"You're saying you made up 8-Ball? The anti-corporate terrorist that has been active for the last seven years?"
"Not me specifically, no. We all pitched in to make up 8-Ball. Whenever a pilot has an accident or fuckup that would normally get them discharged or sold off, we all blame 8-Ball. Think about this - UMS policy and procedure holds pilots responsible for most, if not all, mechanical or technical failure not resulting from environmental or enemy fire, correct?"
"Yeah, I remember asking after that part of the contract..."
"And I bet they told you these machines only break down if under heavy fire. 'Practically invincible hermetically isolated control panels', and whatnot?"
"Patently untrue, apparently."
"Exactly. Those terms were put in there to protect the bigwigs in Procurement and Engineering. Pilots are expendable, senior engineers and C-level execs less so. 8-Ball is how we fight back."
Recognition dawned. Hope for a future outside a debt corp danced across Utah's face. "Wait, so the Antilles defections, the Whirlpool disaster, the November blackout..."
"Yep. All 8-Ball's doing according to UMS, but actually just human error. The corporation does not recognize or accept human error, because to do so would admit that not every problem can be solved with new management paradigms or closer employee surveillance. What they lack in understanding we will supplement with terror, spinning yarns about an invincible, magical, guerilla pilot that can't be killed or algorithmically predicted."
Utah brightened. "Okay! Damn that 8-Ball, they disabled my machine. You better carry me back to the FOB, I think I took a wound..."
Nicky stifled a laugh. "Sure, kid, climb aboard. Let's get you some PTO."
