Hey fanbase!
here's one of the pieces i'm going to be submitting to Jazz's buddy Josh, it isn't quite finished yet but i just had it reviewed by my class and i figured why not get more feedback on the site. So read it, comment on it, enjoy it. And don't worry, when i actually finish the "final" draft i'll repost the story so things aren't so confusing.

Pilot Wilco

Excerpt

“God damn you bastard! You want some?” Wilco yelled flipping a switch overhead as he pivoted in the replicated amniotic fluid. His arms shot upwards grasping onto more fluid; his hands tensed as the phantom object he grappled with pulled him from one side of the chamber to the next. “Die you ugly piece of shit,” Wilco said revealing a crooked smile while he threw his arms in opposing directions. His canines mirroring the placid blue light emitted from the monitor situated a few feet from his face. “That the best you got Sasha?”

A short static burst from internal speakers crackled till a disembodied voice echoed through the roseate fluid in a Russian accent “It is not quite over friend, I suggest you consider the setting in which you’re in.” Sasha’s final laugh ushered the disconnection of the radio feed formerly established.

“No,” Wilco whispered to himself, “Dammit, those last soldiers baited me right into this fucking kill zone.” Wilco shouted discerning that he complied perfectly with the elaborate trap conceived by the disembodied voice. Wilco shook his head a few times before intuitively moving his hands to shape various symbols. Finishing the flow of familiar movements activated a secondary screen illuminating the left side of his face. The screen flipped sideways revealing a three dimensional grid stacking lines together to form the terrain of the secluded island. As the grid filled out Wilco proceeded with several more gestures to enhance his exact location on the iridescent screen. A yellow dot massed itself in a valley surrounded by a cul-de-sac of high reaching mountains. “So that’s why you disabled my thrusters.” Wilco said aloud, answering a question he previously pondered.

“Alright Sasha, so what do you got for me, More Fontainians or maybe Orok himself?” Wilco bellowed, “Anything you throw at me I’ll tear to pieces.” Wilco’s hands reacted with serine calmness, cutting off the grid screen and igniting another two optical views to provide a full range of vision. His eyes crept across every tree top and cliff edge, analyzing every detail of the secluded forest.

A river of splintered trees and churned earth formed by the previous hostilities drew in all forms of critters and predators inspecting the new scar in their homeland. Groups of birds flew in unison from the thick canopy and circled the sky only to swoop down into the horizon long green sea. The metallic giant, Wilco piloted, refracted rays of sunshine from its titian alloy and the steel chasms embedded in the armour from the former bloody conflict. The effulgent light illuminated the scrap yard of dissembled machines and pools of colourful liquids mixed with bloody entrails oozing from beneath the feet of the mech. Wilco’s muscles flexed in the irradiated ebony suit, lighting the electrodes enclosed within the micro fibre clothing.

Thickets of birds burst forth from the tree lines disturbing the peace and taking flight until they reached a safe distance from tips of the canopies. From the horizon, a chain of birded clouds sprang closer and closer to the soldier awaiting his fate.

Wilco squinted at his monitors attempting to spot the reason for the commotion. With a few hand signals the screen enhanced the images outside of the steel giant. Zooming on the image displayed by his monitors didn’t help him in discovering the disturbance. Every time his eyes would adjust to the new setting, all he could see was a man sized black flash racing across the tops of the trees, bobbing and weaving through the dense forest.

“Alright Sasha, I’ll admit it, you have my attention,” Wilco commented to the disembodied voice that he knew was surely enjoying the spectacle. Focused back on his optic monitors, Wilco created another two signs to start a sequence of yellow numbers coupled with a circular target. The aiming system patiently floated mid screen until the black streak appeared, coming to life to trace the movements of the energetic pursuer until the figure fell back into the thick bush. The yellow numbers correlated accordingly to the aiming system’s sporadic tracking, displaying a sign ‘4000m’ which rapidly counted down. “S’fast,” Can’t use this bulky armour if I stand a chance against speedy, Wilco thought finishing the whisper he initially started with. Another several movements from the pilot forced a screen to appear with a simple question asking if the pilot was ‘sure of operations’. Tensing his fists, Wilco activated a set of loud hissing just outside of his chamber.

Steam burst forth from small seams which fastened the mech together, pushing the metal away from the bulk of the machinery and dropping it against the littered floor creating a thunderous clap which rang against the mountain’s walls. Once the operation was fully complete the orange armour no longer shone from the top of the giant but on the forest floor amongst the graveyard of its mechanized brethren. Without the armour, Wilco’s mech was reduced by twice its original size.

Flashing with a dwindling ‘500m’ the once yellow numbers now turned red. Wilco responded, reaching for his right hip and picking up a short blackened barrelled weapon befitting the monstrous size of his pernicious tool. Wilco pointed the gun while lining his left eye with the targeting system and began pulling an imaginary trigger.

Balls of golden light stormed upon the already damaged earth, creating tidal waves of rocks and trees erupting into the sky and falling down with exuberant ferocity. Wilco grinned with each plasma round fired, laughing as he pulled the trigger repeatedly. A loud authoritative sound paired equally with a potent flashing red light filled Wilco’s senses, ceasing his amusement.

A female voice took to the speakers announcing, “Damage assessment: both legs have been severally damaged depleting all power from lower appendages. In this state you will be unable to move from your location on foot. Suggestion: Initialize thrusters and reengage enemy in aerial combat.” The robotic tone finished with a pop leaving through the chamber’s speaker systems.

“What the fuck is this thing?” Wilco questioned, pondering what his options might be to still come out victorious. Flipping himself to float parallel with the ground of the chamber, Wilco proceeded to activate another optical screen which surveyed the ground below him. Flickering to life the screen revealed gushing azure fluid and a blackened form grasping an old piece of fallen armour and picking it up to waist level. Spinning in a quick circle the enemy launched the titian metal towards the secondary optics in succession with dashing to the right side of the mech. Orange metal was the last thing Wilco saw before rotating another ninety degrees and pointing his left imaginary gun towards the right side of his body.

“See how you like 30,000 tons of shrapnel, you prick,” Wilco discharged two quick rounds into the right side of his mech; blasting and blistering away the right side of his steel humanoid. The deafening blast tossed the mech backwards landing on its back, leaving only a partial torso and left arm still clutching onto the firearm. Wilco lay motionless, a permanent grin plastered across his face shown every time the erratic light flickered. “Nearly got me Sasha, but I still win,” Wilco chuckled, “now give me an extraction”

Erupting from outside the chamber, metal on metal scraped sharply against the thinned layer of protection still separating its pilot from the external world. The sound grew ever louder with each shrill of metal being peeled away. Light burst onto Wilco’s face as he scrambled to the back of the chamber reaching for the pistol holster dangling on the left wall. A long silvery blade cut inwards through the viscous liquid slicing across Wilco’s thigh. A piercing scream rang from his mouth, pushing fluid towards the jagged hole which disrupted the fragile pressure difference between amniotic fluid and external atmosphere. Wiggling the blade maliciously made quick work of the final layer of armour, the blade receding once the whole chamber flooded with natural light; leaving Wilco pointing his gun at the massive opening but with no target to be seen and with his blood clouding the already semi permeable roseate fluid. Each twitch of his muscles disturbed the liquid, sloshing the contents around until spilling through the barbed breach.

With incomparable speed the black flash plunged into the chamber catching the wounded soldier off guard, his equipped hand immediately tasting the venomous bite of the indiscriminate blade. Unable to accept defeat, Wilco swung furiously with his uninjured arm towards the darkened face of his assailant. The undisclosed attacker caught his arm with ease instantly manipulating the sturdy boned wrist into small splinters. Another gasp of pain burst from Wilco’s lips. The black flash slowly pulled Wilco closer as he asserted himself as the clear victor of the skirmish. Wilco’s breath quaked with pain as the rush of fluid cleared the murkiness of the bloody mixture. A torrent of amniotic fluid scrambled for the outside atmosphere racing towards the gaping opening and across the face of his assailant, pulling crimson coating from his face on the way out. The man finally seen in full by Wilco only allowed him to utter one word before carving the malevolently wielded blade up the pilot’s chin and through the skull.

Dante

Machinery clicked and popped with renewed excitement initializing a large egg shell sized chamber to bleed pink fluid into the drainage holes situated consistently across the ground of the black tiled flooring. Iridescent lights flashed as the egg crackled and hissed exposing slits in the smooth siding and raising the curtain on a man in a tightly fitted ebony suit. A helmet covered the man’s face with a similar darkness replicated throughout the room.

A growl began rumbling from within his chest working its way to the throat, gurgling the sounds before igniting through his mouth, “Sasha!” Wilco howled echoing the already accentuated name. Tugging at the bottom of his helmet, Wilco removed his head covering and dropped it into the last dripping pool of amniotic fluid not quite expelled into the drainage system. Wilco stepped from the moist egg onto the tiling, his steps forming a melodic rhythm that tapped throughout the room as he walked. His strides instigated hollow sounds from hanging fluorescent lights beginning an arduous initializing procedure. Each light revealed more of the great expansiveness, exposing rows of egg chambers. Reaching for the zippers on both wrists, Wilco unzipped the suit until only his legs remained covered. On the far side of the egg room, a set of cylindrical doors slid open with his approach.

Glowing from within the next room two separate walls projected silvery light onto the sunken faces of two men sitting with their backs to one another. Speedily tapping away at the keyboards in front of them, the men watched as letters and numbers ran from one line to the next on the brightly attuned screens.

Wilco continued his pace all the way passed the man with the long pony tail of stringy brown hair, grasping onto the greasy unkempt strands as he walked beyond the leather seat. A sharp pull by Wilco forced the man to the floor causing the chair to fall sideways and scuttle across the illuminated tiles. The man’s hands frantically reach upwards digging his grubby nails into the bare wrists of his aggressor. Blood began to trickle down into Wilco’s porcelain coloured hands as he slammed the dangly man against the adjacent wall, knocking several hard drives off a set of free hanging shelves and gaining the attention of the other predisposed programmer.

“Sasha,” Wilco said switching his grasp from hair to neck, “why was Dante in the program?” Bitterness spewed from Wilco’s mouth as he tightened the grip against the beating tissue of Sasha’s neck.

Sounds and words incoherently dribbled from Sasha’s thin lips as he tried to catch breaths of air; drool began to run down his protruded chin when Wilco finally cooled his mind to loosen the blood curdling grip. Sasha collapsed to his knees, gasping for the air that previously escaped him, his coughs echoing throughout the room.

“What is wrong with you?” Sasha asked, coughing with each fleeting word, “Is this the gratitude you show for a man that saved your life?” Rising from the ground, Sasha stumbled towards the chair he previously sat in, gazing all the while at his attacker.

“Save my life? My life?” Wilco retorted, “you had Dante kill me you vodka sipping greasy fuck!”

“If he actually killed you, you’d be dead fluid jockey,” Sasha explained while picking up his chair and swinging back towards his work station, resuming the thumping of plastic, “I extracted you from exercise just before trauma become too much for heart to handle. You should be praising my existence not throwing me from here to there.”

“Alright, so you extracted me in time, Fine,” Wilco said walking to Sasha’s desk, “doesn’t explain why you put Dante in the program.

“I did nothing of the sort, it was your creation. If you’d taken time to read today’s assignment you would’ve known program traces fear of trainee and creates in physical form. Yachoff merely entered collaborative data information once fear was established.”

“I’m not afraid of a dead man, Sasha. You sick fucking krauts probably just wanted me to finally lose your pathetic simulations.”

“Kraut is German, you reverted fetes,” Sasha scolded, “your aptitude for simulation has nothing to do with fact you’re afraid that rumours of Dante are true.”

“Dante is buried in Mainland, I saw it myself” Wilco said unconvincingly, “and besides Dante never was able to take an Oni down with no armour.”

“Yachoff designed your fear with data from Gale database. If you don’t like it, talk to tech support.”

“Funny Sasha, real funny. Talk to the deaf Russian who never learned a lick-a-English. I’m guessing that it was you who had my Oni suggest thrusters after they’d already been disabled?”

“Actually that was Yachoff as well. We had good laugh seeing you sweat with no aerial combat.” Wilco wasted no time for Sasha to finish what he was saying. With only a few steps Wilco fixed himself directly behind the heavier set programmer.

Yachoff, eh?” Wilco asked while simultaneously throwing Yachoff’s balding head into the keyboard in front of him. His head bounced instantly bringing up several broken keys, one of which embedded itself in his forehead. His hands immediately shot upwards to grasp his face as blood began squirting from his nose and freshly formed pressure cuts.

Hearing the percussive sound, Sasha spun on his heels pulling a gun from underneath his desk as he turned, “Step away from my brother Wilco,” Although the gun was improperly proportionate to Sasha’s sickly skinny arms, his aim set true to Wilco’s sweating brow. “I was going to let these outbursts go because I sympathize, but you touch Yachoff and now you’ll be hearing from CU.” Sasha threatened flicking his gun in the direction of a door which read ‘Exit’ in bright fluorescent red paint. “Now leave before I kill you.”

Taking a second to comply with the request, Wilco begrudgingly headed to the door, only turning after he went through the automated exit. “I ever see my brother in a program again, I’ll kill you both.” The exit closed two parties eyeing each other till the very last second.

Tears welled in Wilco’s eyes as he sombrely staggered down the hallway, residual pains flaring from his imaginary gashed leg and lost arm; the pulsing throbs shook right into Wilco’s head making him feel like Dante really had pierced his skull.

“Dante,” Wilco whispered wiping away a rogue tear, “are the rumours true?” finally asking the question aloud prompted Wilco to throw a wayward fist against the metal sheeted walls.

Crackling to life, the intercom shouted a powerful ding, ding, ding before stating, “Wilco, please report to presidential tower.” Wilco longed for a moments rest and although he urged himself to refuse the request, he could not disobey his leader’s wishes.

Sorry for another cliff hangar.

I could use the criticism so feel free to dish it!