“We’re obviously very disappointed with the election results, it’s sad that the Dinner Time Party weren’t front and centre in the minds of the voters…”
With every crashing footstep of Sphecidae's stumble back on to the corporate base more of the bases technicians and researchers turned to watch Syli Helis return. Eyeing off their next meal. What did they expect, a masterpiece from someone using a brand new body?
The radio screeches on and some eager part of Syli's thoughts perk up in eagerness that immediately disappears when the voice isn't the handler, instead some radio operator with a monotone sneer "wasp to docking bay 2". Relief floods the rest of their thoughts they'd despise her voice right now. Syli despises Her.
The modifications to Sphecidae's body was more than enough to disorient any attempt to assess their damage, system diagnostics offer no clarity. It's the first time Syli has taken her out since the modifications. The adrenaline fading from their meat gives way to unnerving alarms, the screams of an unfamiliar limbs. All they can see is the coolant and oil leaks leaving a glistening rainbow trail of their combat miscalculations and clumsy attacks leading directly to Sphecidae's open wounds.
"Shut up" Comes out almost by accident, Slamming her fists into the new console trying to shut up the parasitic screaming.
Their stares are ugly. Something in the back of Syli's minds however enjoys it, lapping up the attention. It's as sickening their stares. They however are more worried about their equipment, their precious data than the war machine it's attached to. For the pilot who just defended them.
Each of their strides forward are struggles to find footing that won't make them buckle under their own foreign weight. There is whining, grinding, and screams with each labourious movement. Just meters from the dock a pin drops, some part that wasn't altered just gave way. Syli can feel it like it was their own body, bracing for a thunderous collapse. Their hind leg's joint just gave way collapsing Sphecidae in the middle of the mech bay, new alarms start sounding in Slyi's ears and new warnings light up on the console.
IT'S TOO MUCH. Syli punches their control panel, hard. You shouldn't do that but it FEELS better when they did, even if it was just a little bit. The alarm however only got louder and with their anger released Syli shut off power. No point pitifully crawling it's way to it's dock in view of the corp pilots and their judgy looks, their piercingly hungry looks. Syli will get them anyway, no doubt. But it will be on their terms.
Sphecidae breathes a sigh as her systems shut down leaving her core air cool and for a second to catch their own breath.
It's warm, sticky and wet with the sweat of battle and vapourised coolant. The only noise is the metal contracting from the cold air on it's heavy frame and Syli's breathing. She's breathing in the only way a war machine can, Through it's pilot. It's these moments that reminds Syli why they're here. This thing has to go, their little mind worm. They are Sphecidae NOT it, even though it loves them.
Before they could notice the thought a loud bang fills the cockpit from the right side. The noise now recognisable as footsteps slowly make their way to the entrance hatch and stop. When the hatch opens a rush of air forces it's way in cooling the damp, warm heart of the broken machine. An intrusion of light and air, an opening to that outside world and her
Her.
She stands over Syli sitting in their cockpit like an animal in a cage, silhouetted yet unmistakable with poorly hidden eyes and a face that read only pity and disgust. It is most unbearable when She is here. The only reason Syli is even putting up with Her is the promise that they'll get this parasitic program out of their brain.
Her angelic voice bounces on the metallic interior, as predicted the words piss Syli off.
