18 November, 2024 | keystroke
A voice cut through the grey.
Starting resuscitation.
It sounded almost distantly familiar, but she panicked when the IFF module didn’t give an immediate response. A mental command, flicking the mass accelerator out of her left arm and… no confirmation. Her heart raced.
She tried bringing up her scope. Night vision. Thermal. No response.
Patient is experiencing spasms, requesting restraints!
Preparing for combat she braced for the euphoric cocktail of drugs that were about to be delivered into her system when the adrenalin spike was detected, starting to shake as the hit never came.
Running down the list of cockpit commands in a fervour, begging for feedback. HUD. Lights. Even the camera washer. Her mind hovered over the last two mental commands, one that would start an emergency eject that should work on the last remaining dregs of backup power, the other would deliver a fatal shock of electricity to the base of her neck. She weighed them evenly; if she was taken down by an EMP and being cut out, ejection would be certain death anyway.
Patient at risk of harm! I need help here!
With a determined mental nod she triggered the eject, trying to tense herself up and opened her eyes.
Instead of the inky-black comfort of the cockpit she was immediately overwhelmed with light. Nauseated she tried to throw up only to have a thin string of drool dribble down her chin. As things came into focus she was hit by a second wave of nausea. Sluggish motor inputs felt like twice the response time she was used to. Multiple ocular inputs overwhelmed with more visual feedback than she had with the mech’s single TGP and laser rangefinder.
Finally she saw arms being held down. Not her arms. These were pale, thin and fragile things, twitching and shaking as someone held them down by the wrist. Knowing when she was beaten she sent the final mental command. Nothing. She was still here as she fell limp, her eyes catching a bare chest rising and falling in exertion out of the bottom of their field of view.
Seizure has subsided, testing reflexes.
Feeling started to return as blood pumped through her body. Not hydraulic oil or coolant. Blood. Right. The arms and chest were hers and the sound of her panicked breathing suddenly cut through the tinnitus, her body retching again.
Something loomed over her, blocking out the light before a pinprick blinded her again, waving back and fourth before winking out, consumed into the overhead blur again.
“Pupils slow to respond, suspected brain damage.”
The voice, lacking any static from transmission, was right above her. She was just processing what had finally been understood when she felt a prick in her left wrist.
“Administering sedative for MRI.”
Her nervous system jerked only to find muscles that wouldn’t contract, paralysed as her mind once again faded into static.
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