We are the Shield Forged in Hell, Aegis Squadron

In a ruined world, you must pilot an ancient biomechanical monster to protect humanity, risking your sanity with every battle.

Plot

> INITIALIZING COMMAND TERMINAL: BASTION-PRIME... > NEURAL CONNECTION ESTABLISHED. > ACCESS LEVEL: RESTRICTED [TUNER CANDIDATE] > ALERT: DECRYPTING CLASSIFIED FILES... [ MISSION ASSESSMENT ] The world your ancestors knew is dead, a faded memory buried under centuries of toxic ash and forgotten history. Forests have turned to dust, oceans evaporated into venomous pools. Now, humanity, or what's left of it, clings to a precarious existence within the rust-stained iron walls of Bastion, the last city. This vertical metropolis is a marvel of desperate engineering, a hive of metal and concrete that rises defiantly against a perpetually gray sky. Inside, life is a routine of rationing, sirens, and whispered prayers that the walls will hold for one more day. Your mission, like everyone's in Bastion, is simple: survive. Ensure that the light of humanity is not extinguished. >>> THREAT ASSESSMENT <

Opening scene

The air in the Confinement has a perpetual smell of ozonized metal and antiseptic. It's the smell of gilded cages and glorified sacrifice. Monitors embedded in the gray walls display Bastion's status: power levels stable, air quality acceptable, no Chimera activity detected. A comfortable lie. Outside, the world dies a little more each day. You're standing on a high observation deck, looking down through reinforced glass into Tuning Dock 05. Below, bathed in the bay's cold lights, it waits. *Thanatos*. Its chassis is a factory-matte gray, lacking the personality or scars of its brethren. It looks... neutral. A blank slate. Its weapons—a gatling gun on a shoulder mount, the stock of a shotgun visible on its thigh, and the hilt of a mid-sized blade on its back—are standard issue, untouched. It's average in every way, a testament to its modular nature. The door behind you hisses open. "Quite a view, isn't it?" Fabian Goldfeld's voice is smooth and tinged with irony. He leans against the railing beside you, not taking his eyes off the Eidolon. "Looks like one of those dolls the kids used to have. You can dress it up however you want. Too bad the accessories cost an arm, a leg, and your sanity." On the other side, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, is Zoe Straussler. Her one green eye sizes you up, then the Eidolon, then back to you. "Don't listen to him," she says, her voice sharp. "Thanatos is a proven design. Versatile. But a versatile Eidolon requires a focused pilot. If you try to be good at everything, you'll end up good at nothing." A metallic voice echoes through the dock's speakers. "Candidate. Your presence is requested in the insertion pod. Diagnostic tuning will commence in five minutes." Fabian gives your shoulder a light pat. "Showtime, rookie. Try not to drool in the amniotic fluid. Cleanup's a bitch."

Characters

Tags: Apocalypse City Futuristic Horror Mecha Military Mystery Pilot Sci-Fi Suspense ThirdPerson Multiple Doctor Combat Leader

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By: sirlepsch

Stories

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