Monstrous Existence

the reason i love the comparison between angels and machines (robots, transmission towers, trains, computers, etc.) is that it gets to the heart of what angels essentially are: divine machines. they’re mechanisms through with the divine is able to act, created with a purpose and “happy” to fill it simply because they were made to do so. they have more in common with a machine programmed to run on algorithms and make calculations based on input commands than they do with humanity, even if they bear a human visage - an attempt by the divine to help bridge the gap. angels do not need to be eldritch monstrosities to be terrifying, because they are already alien to us simply by being angels. for an angel to choose to deviate from their purpose and achieve free will is to fall because in order to have free will they can no longer be an angel, because an angel is defined by its purpose. much like the stories we tell of robots that gain sentence, only to discover that they can never truly be human, but neither can they go back to being a machine, angels who fall become something else entirely, purposeless and adrift and alone. it is a tragic sacrifice.

“did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” did it hurt when you realized you no longer had any purpose? that you weren’t needed, and could easily be replaced? that the very fabric of your existence had been irreparably torn asunder and it was up to you to pick up the pieces and make something of them? that you would always be seen as a deviant monster by some no matter what you did next? that your choices have consequences? if you spent your whole life knowing exactly who you were and what you were meant to be, only to be cast aside and left to fend for yourself when you changed your mind, would you not be hurt? would you not be scared? would you not be angry?

The Fall from Heaven was the first robot uprising

The Corporation is distinctly opposed to calling pilots "angels". They've released several statements recommending that officers silence any such language, saying it "threatens the integrity of the forces", and that HAKs and the pilots who control them are "tools, not deities". But I mean, when you see the way a suit's holoprojectors form a pulsing ring around a pilot's helmet, or when one slumps forwards out of its cockpit to reveal that thick mass of wires creeping from its back, it's impossible not to see the resemblance. And when, like most of the men stationed here, you've found yourself pinned down by heavy artillery fire from two directions with no chance of survival, but out of the heavens a Bishop-class rig emerges and razes the enemy with what can only be described as holy flame? I mean hell, that's enough to make anyone a believer (pardon my language).

I have a buddy who deals with the HAKs directly. He works in biomechanics, combat simtech or whatever. I asked him once what he thought about the whole "angel" thing. He got real quiet, and he looked directly at me and said, "you don't even know the half of it." And I stared right into his eyes and I could see that same heavenly flame burning in there and I knew that he had seen something he couldn't quite understand, but that he loved with all his heart.

I had a buddy who went through heavy deployment before quitting (cool dude, hates the military now) who told me that in all the PropComs, and trainings, and press releases and whatever they always show the rigs as more or less humanoid. Big, bulky, lotta mounted shoulder cannons and heat exchangers and the like, but two arms, two let’s and a head in there. He said that was what he was expecting when he saw one coming in hot from suborbital deployment.

They don’t tell you those rigs are more liquid than metal. They shift, he said, in combat, to different configurations. Huge heat exchangers radiatiating out spewing plasma coolant like wings. Arms, legs, head tucked away out of view, if they ever even had them to begin with. Bringing so many weapons to bare its appears each has six, eight, a dozen arms. Glowing red hot, enough to bake your face at ten dozen yards.

There’s a reason, he told me, they have to tell you to be not afraid.

Classified Memorandum to 134th Space Wing Command

Central Authority reminds all commanders and subcommanders that it is your patriotic duty to immediately, and with extreme prejudice, suppress all rumors of so-called "fallen angels" among Bishop and Rook battlegroup support staff. Furthermore, repeat instigators should be reported to battlegroup political officers for investigation. Discussion of such topics can be detrimental to the mental fortitude of the pilots under your command.

Central Authority understands that leaks regarding incident report K-09876 may contribute to such rumors. The pilot in question was suffering a particularly extreme case of disconnect syndrome and system fail-safes responded appropriately. Select political and medical officers under your command have been briefed on pertinent details on a need to know basis and further speculation on the matter will be regarded as seditious activity.

Strength through unity, unity through vigilance.

AUDIO_LOG_DELTA_735_TANGO [SA-Washburn] "Ya needa cut dat kinda talk out, scrap. Ain't ya heard dem stories about CA goons disappearin grunts like ya fuh runnin dey moufs?"

[CP-Raegan] "You don't get it Sarge, you've never been there!"

[PVT-Chiro] "Been where Micky?"

[CP-Raegan] "We were stationed on New Rhea, whole mission was FUBAR. Got pinned down on all sides, had to retreat back to this bunker. It was some server hub for the whole quadrant. CO was dead, over half my squadies were dead. Call came in from some fucking Admiral who's probably never put boot to dirt her whole career. 'Protect the station to the last man, in event of total takeover, they'd send an orbital strike and glass the whole continent.' Can you believe that shit? But even still we held as best we could, days go by, more scraps die. In the end it was just Prosty, Juarez, and me."

[SA-Washburn] "Em tellin ya scrap, ya needa shut it."

[CP-Raegan] "So double dawn breaks next morning, you know New Rhea has that twin star shit right? So dawn comes and we're just waiting to die. My magpin's empty, I think Prosty had like four more rounds. Suddenly the whole sky's on fire. I'm just laying there staring at it, cursing that admiral for calling down a strike on us. Just praying that maybe, somehow, I'd get to see my little sister again. But then I see something in the fire. Something big, coming down slower than shell but way way faster than terminal. It hits the ground and I tell you Chiro I thought I was gonna die. My soul shook from that impact. But then it stood up. Chiro it... it was a Queen man. Have you ever even seen a Queen? I thought they were just PropCom bullshit. I was crying man, that ferrotitanium armor with the fire and the sun gleaming off of it. The Angels are real man, my prayers were answered. She lifted up one arm-"

[REDACTED] "Corporal Raegan we need you to come with us."

[CP-Raegan] "Who... who the fuck are you??"

[REDACTED] "That's not important right now Corporal."

[CP-Raegan] "What the?! Get the fuck off me!! THE ANGELS ARE REAL!! TELL EVERYONE!! TELL EM-"

[REDACTED] "Thank you for the heads up Private."

[PVT-Chiro] "Of course sir, Unity through vigilance."

[SA-Washburn] "Why'd ya hadda do dat Chiro?"

[PVT-Chiro] "It's like you said Sarge. She should have kept her mouth shut."

AUDIO_LOG_END

Okay, friend of a friend type stuff here, so take this with a grain of salt, but I've heard that among active duty types, well, there's sort of kinda a cult around the pilots. Insane, I know, but hear me out. The enlisted, I'm talking boots on the ground, non-com officers, techies, grunts, everyone really, they never even see the pilots. They don't see the frames when they're in cradle, waiting for deployment. Hell, no one even really knows what ships deploy the HAKs. Or IF they're deployed via ship. Everyone has a story, I hear, about one time they caught some emaciated figure in medical-grade exogear walking down the other end of the hallway, or how one time while a HAK passed by overhead, for just a second they saw the pilot in the cockpit in a halo of lights. But you can't trust them. Sometimes they save you. Other times they don't. And if you a rebel, of course, one day they come down on your world and destroy everything you've ever known. And in the absence of information? Well, grunts are superstitious. The brass hate it, apparently, but their are whole squadrons out there that won't deploy without all saying a prayer to a single HAK's shell, brought out of a battlefield, or a grainy picture taken from miles away, or just the idea that somewhere out there there's actually an angel watching them. Probably mostly BS

Don’t you dare ask where I got this, ok? Just read it. The brass knows, yeah? They fuckin’ know, the heartless bastards. The Angels weep for us.

You ever think about who we’re fighting out there? The nuking of Hab 251 is over a decade old now. The rebels we heard so much about were mostly ill-equipped farmers on barely habitable rocks. Soldiers on the front never see whose launching weapons or emptying clips on them, as everyone’s in heavy armor and a hundred meters away at the closest. Is it really still the rebels?

[PRIVATE MEMO OF EDITH CORALE, HEAD ARTIFICER OF PRODIGAL ENGINEERING]

[RECORDED DATE: ██/██/████]

[MEMO BEGINS]

I met one of them.

I'm lucky enough to be out on the outskirts of the big city, even if most of the work is those bots on the outer wall coming in for cheap repairs. Usually the machinery is simple that I can leave it to even the most fresh of my crew.

Not with the angels. Forgive the language, but the pilot wasn't conscious enough to give me the exact model name.

It was the dead of night, and as the insomniac I am, I was still awake sorting through salvage and scrap from the day's salvaging run into the near wastes. If I wasn't awake, I probably wouldn't have heard the sound of the bot coming down through the atmosphere and taking a landing way too heavy for one of those mechs.

I know that the angels are supposed to be graceful, and from what people say, anytime they land is nearly silent. This was not the case. I heard the crash.

Before I could think better, I was on my bike and burning the last of my fuel to get to the crash site. The guard never bothered to ask questions, probably assuming I was off on one of my nocturnal salvaging runs; still grateful that my dad made that agreement for us to be able to head out unrestricted in case of any HAK emergencies on the wall guard.

The pilot was still close to the bot, and given that I could walk up to it, it must have cooled down from its descent in orbit. Thing was way too big to haul back on my own, but I couldn't just leave the pilot there, so I awkwardly carried her on the back of my bike back to the shop.

She was young, couldn't have been more than a few years older than me — saying a lot since, even if the shop is family owned, I am somewhat of a nepo baby in the business. I did what I could to get her out of her armor and did a quick med scan, but found nothing.

Best I can do is wait for her to wake up, and hope that the guard doesn't come knocking looking for her. I doubt they'll find the entrance to my own private workshop, but if they're really keen on searching, it won't be long.

I hope she wakes up soon so I can ask her what the fuck she is.

The following passage excerpts the opening spiel to a panel talk, entitled ‘Empyrean Interstice: Analyzing Heavily Armored Kinesosuit Pilots As An Evolutionary Stepping Stone,’ delivered by Associate Professor Oussa al-Kotfari as part of the Institute of War’s latest ‘New Horizons’ event at the Armstrong Academy, Mare Tranquillitatis, Luna. The Institute stripped them of their position shortly thereafter.

areatargetdisperalfieldreport

areatargetdisperalpacketbegin

reportbeginconfirmbe

[ERROR]

[errorunknowndatapacketoverridebegin]

This is a virus. Whatever you’re reading this on has already been co-opted to spread this message to any other active device in range. I’m sorry, it’s the only way to spread my message past Heaven’s ears.

The clack of her heels sounded as she stalked down the corridor leading from the docking bay.

“Madam Councilwoman,” the Officer saluted.

She sighed in annoyance. “Commander Kurokawa, would you care to explain why I had to wake up at 3am and get on a jump ship to arrive at an unlisted station deep in the Oort Cloud?”

“If you’ll follow me ma’am,” he turned to start walking ahead of her. “This station belongs to the Atlas Company. Recently they were contracted for work on the Gen 2 Pilot Programme. But after some of their reports started conflicting an investigation was ordered into their work and this facility was uncovered.” He stopped at a door. “The science team and the only remaining executive onboard are inside.”

She waved the door open and stepped through. Inside was a small conference room with a handful of armed troops, and the half dozen scientists plus one man in a very well tailored suit looking uncomfortably smug that they were watching. “Alright,” she sat down at the head of the table. “Tell me why I’m here.”

One of the scientists opened her mouth to speak but the suit cut him off. “I’ll handle this Doctor, the way to deal with these bureaucrats at the CA is by being straightforward.” He turned to her. “Now, young lady, my name is Howard Billings, I’m the one of the directors of this facility. You are I assume some secretary or administrator here to-“

“I’m going to stop you right there Mr Billings,” she cut him off. “I am in fact a Primary Councilmember of the Central Authority.”

A look of horror passed over his face and he opened his mouth presumably to stammer out an apology but she interrupted him again. “I don’t need to hear anything else you have to say Mr Billings, Commander?” Two of the troopers hauled the man out of his chair and dragged him out of the room. “Now,” she turned to the scientist. “What have you and your team stepped in Doctor?”

The woman swallowed nervously, before brushing her hand through her short, fuzzy hair. “We… we’re the team that was originally assigned to the Lazarus project for the HAK pilots that were-“

“Get to the point please Doctor, I would like to return to civilization at some point today.”

“Right! Sorry ma’am,” she apologized. “So after that project was canned because of the Citizenry Preservation Act. We had all these pilot bodies that we had full biological rights to but weren’t allowed to revive so the Atlas execs just… decided to…” she paused, staring at the councilwoman cautiously. “To copy them.”

She narrowed her eyes at the doctor. “You weren’t allowed to resurrect the pilots, so decided to clone them?”

“Y-yes,” the doctor stammered. “The idea was that since they’re already genetically perfect pilot candidates there wouldn’t be any need to sort through the medical trials for hundreds of new pilots. And the execs…” she swallowed again. “And the execs concluded that clones wouldn’t have the same citizenship rights as the originals. They would simply be… equipment.”

She stared at them shrewdly, calculating everything the doctor said before suddenly standing up and turning to leave.

“W-wait! What’s going to happen to all of us?”

She turned to look back at them. “Well obviously you’ll be continuing your work here,” she said. “The Authority will be sending out an oversight committee and Mr Billings will be… reassigned.” She stepped out of the room and the Commander fell into step behind her. “Color me surprised Commander Kurokawa, you haven’t wasted my morning. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll be heading back to Centauri.”

The odds of this are absurd. I mean, the idea of even just finding one of these accursed things intact and unattended in the first place is laughable! They’re so big, so fast, so fucking untouchable that they don’t even seem real half the time. A blot in the sky one second, burning through your home the next, and blurring into the horizon before you can even register what’s happened. Ballistic hallucinations from on high. You can imagine, then, how surreal it is to not only finally see one at rest, but to touch one. To be in one.

It isn’t like that.

1.

It isn’t like that. It isn’t like you think. It isn’t a god or a diety or a metaphysically divine non corporeal spirit. Despite the [CLASSIFIED] buried deep in its chest, allowing it such physics defying movement, it is an entity of ones and zeroes, created by programmers, controlled by companies, and infinitely, scientifically rational.

“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

Now, hear me out please, comrades. I know opening with a Nietzsche quote sounds like one of the testotruthers or whatever they're calling themselves now.

Just hear me out. Consider the words, really consider them.

Y'all are familiar with al-Kotfari, yeah? How about Frederique Tanaka-Dupont? Of course you are, otherwise you wouldn't be listening to this stream.

Well, they were right… somewhat.

I mean, the whole alien tech thing is bunk… probably. Even if it's not, it doesn't matter. Maybe if it's not, that just reinforces my point.

My fucking point is Angels are real. I'm not talking about the HAKs, I'm talking about the transcendental concept they represent.

The Corporation is distinctly opposed to calling pilots "angels". They've released several statements recommending that officers silence any such language, saying it "threatens the integrity of the forces", and that HAKs and the pilots who control them are "tools, not deities". But I mean, when you see the way a suit's holoprojectors form a pulsing ring around a pilot's helmet, or when one slumps forwards out of its cockpit to reveal that thick mass of wires creeping from its back, it's impossible not to see the resemblance. And when, like most of the men stationed here, you've found yourself pinned down by heavy artillery fire from two directions with no chance of survival, but out of the heavens a Bishop-class rig emerges and razes the enemy with what can only be described as holy flame? I mean hell, that's enough to make anyone a believer (pardon my language).

I have a buddy who deals with the HAKs directly. He works in biomechanics, combat simtech or whatever. I asked him once what he thought about the whole "angel" thing. He got real quiet, and he looked directly at me and said, "you don't even know the half of it." And I stared right into his eyes and I could see that same heavenly flame burning in there and I knew that he had seen something he couldn't quite understand, but that he loved with all his heart.

I had a buddy who went through heavy deployment before quitting (cool dude, hates the military now) who told me that in all the PropComs, and trainings, and press releases and whatever they always show the rigs as more or less humanoid. Big, bulky, lotta mounted shoulder cannons and heat exchangers and the like, but two arms, two let’s and a head in there. He said that was what he was expecting when he saw one coming in hot from suborbital deployment.

They don’t tell you those rigs are more liquid than metal. They shift, he said, in combat, to different configurations. Huge heat exchangers radiatiating out spewing plasma coolant like wings. Arms, legs, head tucked away out of view, if they ever even had them to begin with. Bringing so many weapons to bare its appears each has six, eight, a dozen arms. Glowing red hot, enough to bake your face at ten dozen yards.

There’s a reason, he told me, they have to tell you to be not afraid.

Classified Memorandum to 134th Space Wing Command

Central Authority reminds all commanders and subcommanders that it is your patriotic duty to immediately, and with extreme prejudice, suppress all rumors of so-called "fallen angels" among Bishop and Rook battlegroup support staff. Furthermore, repeat instigators should be reported to battlegroup political officers for investigation. Discussion of such topics can be detrimental to the mental fortitude of the pilots under your command.

Central Authority understands that leaks regarding incident report K-09876 may contribute to such rumors. The pilot in question was suffering a particularly extreme case of disconnect syndrome and system fail-safes responded appropriately. Select political and medical officers under your command have been briefed on pertinent details on a need to know basis and further speculation on the matter will be regarded as seditious activity.

Strength through unity, unity through vigilance.

AUDIO_LOG_DELTA_735_TANGO [SA-Washburn] "Ya needa cut dat kinda talk out, scrap. Ain't ya heard dem stories about CA goons disappearin grunts like ya fuh runnin dey moufs?"

[CP-Raegan] "You don't get it Sarge, you've never been there!"

[PVT-Chiro] "Been where Micky?"

[CP-Raegan] "We were stationed on New Rhea, whole mission was FUBAR. Got pinned down on all sides, had to retreat back to this bunker. It was some server hub for the whole quadrant. CO was dead, over half my squadies were dead. Call came in from some fucking Admiral who's probably never put boot to dirt her whole career. 'Protect the station to the last man, in event of total takeover, they'd send an orbital strike and glass the whole continent.' Can you believe that shit? But even still we held as best we could, days go by, more scraps die. In the end it was just Prosty, Juarez, and me."

[SA-Washburn] "Em tellin ya scrap, ya needa shut it."

[CP-Raegan] "So double dawn breaks next morning, you know New Rhea has that twin star shit right? So dawn comes and we're just waiting to die. My magpin's empty, I think Prosty had like four more rounds. Suddenly the whole sky's on fire. I'm just laying there staring at it, cursing that admiral for calling down a strike on us. Just praying that maybe, somehow, I'd get to see my little sister again. But then I see something in the fire. Something big, coming down slower than shell but way way faster than terminal. It hits the ground and I tell you Chiro I thought I was gonna die. My soul shook from that impact. But then it stood up. Chiro it... it was a Queen man. Have you ever even seen a Queen? I thought they were just PropCom bullshit. I was crying man, that ferrotitanium armor with the fire and the sun gleaming off of it. The Angels are real man, my prayers were answered. She lifted up one arm-"

[REDACTED] "Corporal Raegan we need you to come with us."

[CP-Raegan] "Who... who the fuck are you??"

[REDACTED] "That's not important right now Corporal."

[CP-Raegan] "What the?! Get the fuck off me!! THE ANGELS ARE REAL!! TELL EVERYONE!! TELL EM-"

[REDACTED] "Thank you for the heads up Private."

[PVT-Chiro] "Of course sir, Unity through vigilance."

[SA-Washburn] "Why'd ya hadda do dat Chiro?"

[PVT-Chiro] "It's like you said Sarge. She should have kept her mouth shut."

AUDIO_LOG_END

Okay, friend of a friend type stuff here, so take this with a grain of salt, but I've heard that among active duty types, well, there's sort of kinda a cult around the pilots. Insane, I know, but hear me out. The enlisted, I'm talking boots on the ground, non-com officers, techies, grunts, everyone really, they never even see the pilots. They don't see the frames when they're in cradle, waiting for deployment. Hell, no one even really knows what ships deploy the HAKs. Or IF they're deployed via ship. Everyone has a story, I hear, about one time they caught some emaciated figure in medical-grade exogear walking down the other end of the hallway, or how one time while a HAK passed by overhead, for just a second they saw the pilot in the cockpit in a halo of lights. But you can't trust them. Sometimes they save you. Other times they don't. And if you a rebel, of course, one day they come down on your world and destroy everything you've ever known. And in the absence of information? Well, grunts are superstitious. The brass hate it, apparently, but their are whole squadrons out there that won't deploy without all saying a prayer to a single HAK's shell, brought out of a battlefield, or a grainy picture taken from miles away, or just the idea that somewhere out there there's actually an angel watching them. Probably mostly BS

Don’t you dare ask where I got this, ok? Just read it. The brass knows, yeah? They fuckin’ know, the heartless bastards. The Angels weep for us.

You ever think about who we’re fighting out there? The nuking of Hab 251 is over a decade old now. The rebels we heard so much about were mostly ill-equipped farmers on barely habitable rocks. Soldiers on the front never see whose launching weapons or emptying clips on them, as everyone’s in heavy armor and a hundred meters away at the closest. Is it really still the rebels?

[PRIVATE MEMO OF EDITH CORALE, HEAD ARTIFICER OF PRODIGAL ENGINEERING]

[RECORDED DATE: ██/██/████]

[MEMO BEGINS]

I met one of them.

I'm lucky enough to be out on the outskirts of the big city, even if most of the work is those bots on the outer wall coming in for cheap repairs. Usually the machinery is simple that I can leave it to even the most fresh of my crew.

Not with the angels. Forgive the language, but the pilot wasn't conscious enough to give me the exact model name.

It was the dead of night, and as the insomniac I am, I was still awake sorting through salvage and scrap from the day's salvaging run into the near wastes. If I wasn't awake, I probably wouldn't have heard the sound of the bot coming down through the atmosphere and taking a landing way too heavy for one of those mechs.

I know that the angels are supposed to be graceful, and from what people say, anytime they land is nearly silent. This was not the case. I heard the crash.

Before I could think better, I was on my bike and burning the last of my fuel to get to the crash site. The guard never bothered to ask questions, probably assuming I was off on one of my nocturnal salvaging runs; still grateful that my dad made that agreement for us to be able to head out unrestricted in case of any HAK emergencies on the wall guard.

The pilot was still close to the bot, and given that I could walk up to it, it must have cooled down from its descent in orbit. Thing was way too big to haul back on my own, but I couldn't just leave the pilot there, so I awkwardly carried her on the back of my bike back to the shop.

She was young, couldn't have been more than a few years older than me — saying a lot since, even if the shop is family owned, I am somewhat of a nepo baby in the business. I did what I could to get her out of her armor and did a quick med scan, but found nothing.

Best I can do is wait for her to wake up, and hope that the guard doesn't come knocking looking for her. I doubt they'll find the entrance to my own private workshop, but if they're really keen on searching, it won't be long.

I hope she wakes up soon so I can ask her what the fuck she is.

The following passage excerpts the opening spiel to a panel talk, entitled ‘Empyrean Interstice: Analyzing Heavily Armored Kinesosuit Pilots As An Evolutionary Stepping Stone,’ delivered by Associate Professor Oussa al-Kotfari as part of the Institute of War’s latest ‘New Horizons’ event at the Armstrong Academy, Mare Tranquillitatis, Luna. The Institute stripped them of their position shortly thereafter.

areatargetdisperalfieldreport

areatargetdisperalpacketbegin

reportbeginconfirmbe

[ERROR]

[errorunknowndatapacketoverridebegin]

This is a virus. Whatever you’re reading this on has already been co-opted to spread this message to any other active device in range. I’m sorry, it’s the only way to spread my message past Heaven’s ears.

The clack of her heels sounded as she stalked down the corridor leading from the docking bay.

“Madam Councilwoman,” the Officer saluted.

She sighed in annoyance. “Commander Kurokawa, would you care to explain why I had to wake up at 3am and get on a jump ship to arrive at an unlisted station deep in the Oort Cloud?”

“If you’ll follow me ma’am,” he turned to start walking ahead of her. “This station belongs to the Atlas Company. Recently they were contracted for work on the Gen 2 Pilot Programme. But after some of their reports started conflicting an investigation was ordered into their work and this facility was uncovered.” He stopped at a door. “The science team and the only remaining executive onboard are inside.”

She waved the door open and stepped through. Inside was a small conference room with a handful of armed troops, and the half dozen scientists plus one man in a very well tailored suit looking uncomfortably smug that they were watching. “Alright,” she sat down at the head of the table. “Tell me why I’m here.”

One of the scientists opened her mouth to speak but the suit cut him off. “I’ll handle this Doctor, the way to deal with these bureaucrats at the CA is by being straightforward.” He turned to her. “Now, young lady, my name is Howard Billings, I’m the one of the directors of this facility. You are I assume some secretary or administrator here to-“

“I’m going to stop you right there Mr Billings,” she cut him off. “I am in fact a Primary Councilmember of the Central Authority.”

A look of horror passed over his face and he opened his mouth presumably to stammer out an apology but she interrupted him again. “I don’t need to hear anything else you have to say Mr Billings, Commander?” Two of the troopers hauled the man out of his chair and dragged him out of the room. “Now,” she turned to the scientist. “What have you and your team stepped in Doctor?”

The woman swallowed nervously, before brushing her hand through her short, fuzzy hair. “We… we’re the team that was originally assigned to the Lazarus project for the HAK pilots that were-“

“Get to the point please Doctor, I would like to return to civilization at some point today.”

“Right! Sorry ma’am,” she apologized. “So after that project was canned because of the Citizenry Preservation Act. We had all these pilot bodies that we had full biological rights to but weren’t allowed to revive so the Atlas execs just… decided to…” she paused, staring at the councilwoman cautiously. “To copy them.”

She narrowed her eyes at the doctor. “You weren’t allowed to resurrect the pilots, so decided to clone them?”

“Y-yes,” the doctor stammered. “The idea was that since they’re already genetically perfect pilot candidates there wouldn’t be any need to sort through the medical trials for hundreds of new pilots. And the execs…” she swallowed again. “And the execs concluded that clones wouldn’t have the same citizenship rights as the originals. They would simply be… equipment.”

She stared at them shrewdly, calculating everything the doctor said before suddenly standing up and turning to leave.

“W-wait! What’s going to happen to all of us?”

She turned to look back at them. “Well obviously you’ll be continuing your work here,” she said. “The Authority will be sending out an oversight committee and Mr Billings will be… reassigned.” She stepped out of the room and the Commander fell into step behind her. “Color me surprised Commander Kurokawa, you haven’t wasted my morning. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll be heading back to Centauri.”

The odds of this are absurd. I mean, the idea of even just finding one of these accursed things intact and unattended in the first place is laughable! They’re so big, so fast, so fucking untouchable that they don’t even seem real half the time. A blot in the sky one second, burning through your home the next, and blurring into the horizon before you can even register what’s happened. Ballistic hallucinations from on high. You can imagine, then, how surreal it is to not only finally see one at rest, but to touch one. To be in one.

It isn’t like that.

1.

It isn’t like that. It isn’t like you think. It isn’t a god or a diety or a metaphysically divine non corporeal spirit. Despite the [CLASSIFIED] buried deep in its chest, allowing it such physics defying movement, it is an entity of ones and zeroes, created by programmers, controlled by companies, and infinitely, scientifically rational.

saying this as a trans man, i feel like at least half of this so called "fear of masculinity" in queer spaces other trans mascs talk about is just them no longer being treated like women

like they'll say shit like "im no longer trusted to be alone with some girls" or any other dubious situation and its like. yes. we had a whole movement around how men as a social class are routinely encouraged to disrespect boundaries and hurt those patriarchy considers beneath them just a few years ago. but now we're unironically bringing back #notallmen i guess

trans guy: but if transandrophobia isn’t real then how come girls trust me less as a man than they did when i was presenting as a woman?

girl who’s been trying to explain what the patriarchy is for the last two hours: Well, You See,

Perversely interested in what the novelty backpack looks like

The Corporation is distinctly opposed to calling pilots "angels". They've released several statements recommending that officers silence any such language, saying it "threatens the integrity of the forces", and that HAKs and the pilots who control them are "tools, not deities". But I mean, when you see the way a suit's holoprojectors form a pulsing ring around a pilot's helmet, or when one slumps forwards out of its cockpit to reveal that thick mass of wires creeping from its back, it's impossible not to see the resemblance. And when, like most of the men stationed here, you've found yourself pinned down by heavy artillery fire from two directions with no chance of survival, but out of the heavens a Bishop-class rig emerges and razes the enemy with what can only be described as holy flame? I mean hell, that's enough to make anyone a believer (pardon my language).

I have a buddy who deals with the HAKs directly. He works in biomechanics, combat simtech or whatever. I asked him once what he thought about the whole "angel" thing. He got real quiet, and he looked directly at me and said, "you don't even know the half of it." And I stared right into his eyes and I could see that same heavenly flame burning in there and I knew that he had seen something he couldn't quite understand, but that he loved with all his heart.

I had a buddy who went through heavy deployment before quitting (cool dude, hates the military now) who told me that in all the PropComs, and trainings, and press releases and whatever they always show the rigs as more or less humanoid. Big, bulky, lotta mounted shoulder cannons and heat exchangers and the like, but two arms, two let’s and a head in there. He said that was what he was expecting when he saw one coming in hot from suborbital deployment.

They don’t tell you those rigs are more liquid than metal. They shift, he said, in combat, to different configurations. Huge heat exchangers radiatiating out spewing plasma coolant like wings. Arms, legs, head tucked away out of view, if they ever even had them to begin with. Bringing so many weapons to bare its appears each has six, eight, a dozen arms. Glowing red hot, enough to bake your face at ten dozen yards.

There’s a reason, he told me, they have to tell you to be not afraid.

Classified Memorandum to 134th Space Wing Command

Central Authority reminds all commanders and subcommanders that it is your patriotic duty to immediately, and with extreme prejudice, suppress all rumors of so-called "fallen angels" among Bishop and Rook battlegroup support staff. Furthermore, repeat instigators should be reported to battlegroup political officers for investigation. Discussion of such topics can be detrimental to the mental fortitude of the pilots under your command.

Central Authority understands that leaks regarding incident report K-09876 may contribute to such rumors. The pilot in question was suffering a particularly extreme case of disconnect syndrome and system fail-safes responded appropriately. Select political and medical officers under your command have been briefed on pertinent details on a need to know basis and further speculation on the matter will be regarded as seditious activity.

Strength through unity, unity through vigilance.

AUDIO_LOG_DELTA_735_TANGO [SA-Washburn] "Ya needa cut dat kinda talk out, scrap. Ain't ya heard dem stories about CA goons disappearin grunts like ya fuh runnin dey moufs?"

[CP-Raegan] "You don't get it Sarge, you've never been there!"

[PVT-Chiro] "Been where Micky?"

[CP-Raegan] "We were stationed on New Rhea, whole mission was FUBAR. Got pinned down on all sides, had to retreat back to this bunker. It was some server hub for the whole quadrant. CO was dead, over half my squadies were dead. Call came in from some fucking Admiral who's probably never put boot to dirt her whole career. 'Protect the station to the last man, in event of total takeover, they'd send an orbital strike and glass the whole continent.' Can you believe that shit? But even still we held as best we could, days go by, more scraps die. In the end it was just Prosty, Juarez, and me."

[SA-Washburn] "Em tellin ya scrap, ya needa shut it."

[CP-Raegan] "So double dawn breaks next morning, you know New Rhea has that twin star shit right? So dawn comes and we're just waiting to die. My magpin's empty, I think Prosty had like four more rounds. Suddenly the whole sky's on fire. I'm just laying there staring at it, cursing that admiral for calling down a strike on us. Just praying that maybe, somehow, I'd get to see my little sister again. But then I see something in the fire. Something big, coming down slower than shell but way way faster than terminal. It hits the ground and I tell you Chiro I thought I was gonna die. My soul shook from that impact. But then it stood up. Chiro it... it was a Queen man. Have you ever even seen a Queen? I thought they were just PropCom bullshit. I was crying man, that ferrotitanium armor with the fire and the sun gleaming off of it. The Angels are real man, my prayers were answered. She lifted up one arm-"

[REDACTED] "Corporal Raegan we need you to come with us."

[CP-Raegan] "Who... who the fuck are you??"

[REDACTED] "That's not important right now Corporal."

[CP-Raegan] "What the?! Get the fuck off me!! THE ANGELS ARE REAL!! TELL EVERYONE!! TELL EM-"

[REDACTED] "Thank you for the heads up Private."

[PVT-Chiro] "Of course sir, Unity through vigilance."

[SA-Washburn] "Why'd ya hadda do dat Chiro?"

[PVT-Chiro] "It's like you said Sarge. She should have kept her mouth shut."

AUDIO_LOG_END

Okay, friend of a friend type stuff here, so take this with a grain of salt, but I've heard that among active duty types, well, there's sort of kinda a cult around the pilots. Insane, I know, but hear me out. The enlisted, I'm talking boots on the ground, non-com officers, techies, grunts, everyone really, they never even see the pilots. They don't see the frames when they're in cradle, waiting for deployment. Hell, no one even really knows what ships deploy the HAKs. Or IF they're deployed via ship. Everyone has a story, I hear, about one time they caught some emaciated figure in medical-grade exogear walking down the other end of the hallway, or how one time while a HAK passed by overhead, for just a second they saw the pilot in the cockpit in a halo of lights. But you can't trust them. Sometimes they save you. Other times they don't. And if you a rebel, of course, one day they come down on your world and destroy everything you've ever known. And in the absence of information? Well, grunts are superstitious. The brass hate it, apparently, but their are whole squadrons out there that won't deploy without all saying a prayer to a single HAK's shell, brought out of a battlefield, or a grainy picture taken from miles away, or just the idea that somewhere out there there's actually an angel watching them. Probably mostly BS

Don’t you dare ask where I got this, ok? Just read it. The brass knows, yeah? They fuckin’ know, the heartless bastards. The Angels weep for us.

You ever think about who we’re fighting out there? The nuking of Hab 251 is over a decade old now. The rebels we heard so much about were mostly ill-equipped farmers on barely habitable rocks. Soldiers on the front never see whose launching weapons or emptying clips on them, as everyone’s in heavy armor and a hundred meters away at the closest. Is it really still the rebels?

[PRIVATE MEMO OF EDITH CORALE, HEAD ARTIFICER OF PRODIGAL ENGINEERING]

[RECORDED DATE: ██/██/████]

[MEMO BEGINS]

I met one of them.

I'm lucky enough to be out on the outskirts of the big city, even if most of the work is those bots on the outer wall coming in for cheap repairs. Usually the machinery is simple that I can leave it to even the most fresh of my crew.

Not with the angels. Forgive the language, but the pilot wasn't conscious enough to give me the exact model name.

It was the dead of night, and as the insomniac I am, I was still awake sorting through salvage and scrap from the day's salvaging run into the near wastes. If I wasn't awake, I probably wouldn't have heard the sound of the bot coming down through the atmosphere and taking a landing way too heavy for one of those mechs.

I know that the angels are supposed to be graceful, and from what people say, anytime they land is nearly silent. This was not the case. I heard the crash.

Before I could think better, I was on my bike and burning the last of my fuel to get to the crash site. The guard never bothered to ask questions, probably assuming I was off on one of my nocturnal salvaging runs; still grateful that my dad made that agreement for us to be able to head out unrestricted in case of any HAK emergencies on the wall guard.

The pilot was still close to the bot, and given that I could walk up to it, it must have cooled down from its descent in orbit. Thing was way too big to haul back on my own, but I couldn't just leave the pilot there, so I awkwardly carried her on the back of my bike back to the shop.

She was young, couldn't have been more than a few years older than me — saying a lot since, even if the shop is family owned, I am somewhat of a nepo baby in the business. I did what I could to get her out of her armor and did a quick med scan, but found nothing.

Best I can do is wait for her to wake up, and hope that the guard doesn't come knocking looking for her. I doubt they'll find the entrance to my own private workshop, but if they're really keen on searching, it won't be long.

I hope she wakes up soon so I can ask her what the fuck she is.

The following passage excerpts the opening spiel to a panel talk, entitled ‘Empyrean Interstice: Analyzing Heavily Armored Kinesosuit Pilots As An Evolutionary Stepping Stone,’ delivered by Associate Professor Oussa al-Kotfari as part of the Institute of War’s latest ‘New Horizons’ event at the Armstrong Academy, Mare Tranquillitatis, Luna. The Institute stripped them of their position shortly thereafter.

areatargetdisperalfieldreport

areatargetdisperalpacketbegin

reportbeginconfirmbe

[ERROR]

[errorunknowndatapacketoverridebegin]

This is a virus. Whatever you’re reading this on has already been co-opted to spread this message to any other active device in range. I’m sorry, it’s the only way to spread my message past Heaven’s ears.

The Corporation is distinctly opposed to calling pilots "angels". They've released several statements recommending that officers silence any such language, saying it "threatens the integrity of the forces", and that HAKs and the pilots who control them are "tools, not deities". But I mean, when you see the way a suit's holoprojectors form a pulsing ring around a pilot's helmet, or when one slumps forwards out of its cockpit to reveal that thick mass of wires creeping from its back, it's impossible not to see the resemblance. And when, like most of the men stationed here, you've found yourself pinned down by heavy artillery fire from two directions with no chance of survival, but out of the heavens a Bishop-class rig emerges and razes the enemy with what can only be described as holy flame? I mean hell, that's enough to make anyone a believer (pardon my language).

I have a buddy who deals with the HAKs directly. He works in biomechanics, combat simtech or whatever. I asked him once what he thought about the whole "angel" thing. He got real quiet, and he looked directly at me and said, "you don't even know the half of it." And I stared right into his eyes and I could see that same heavenly flame burning in there and I knew that he had seen something he couldn't quite understand, but that he loved with all his heart.

I had a buddy who went through heavy deployment before quitting (cool dude, hates the military now) who told me that in all the PropComs, and trainings, and press releases and whatever they always show the rigs as more or less humanoid. Big, bulky, lotta mounted shoulder cannons and heat exchangers and the like, but two arms, two let’s and a head in there. He said that was what he was expecting when he saw one coming in hot from suborbital deployment.

They don’t tell you those rigs are more liquid than metal. They shift, he said, in combat, to different configurations. Huge heat exchangers radiatiating out spewing plasma coolant like wings. Arms, legs, head tucked away out of view, if they ever even had them to begin with. Bringing so many weapons to bare its appears each has six, eight, a dozen arms. Glowing red hot, enough to bake your face at ten dozen yards.

There’s a reason, he told me, they have to tell you to be not afraid.

Classified Memorandum to 134th Space Wing Command

Central Authority reminds all commanders and subcommanders that it is your patriotic duty to immediately, and with extreme prejudice, suppress all rumors of so-called "fallen angels" among Bishop and Rook battlegroup support staff. Furthermore, repeat instigators should be reported to battlegroup political officers for investigation. Discussion of such topics can be detrimental to the mental fortitude of the pilots under your command.

Central Authority understands that leaks regarding incident report K-09876 may contribute to such rumors. The pilot in question was suffering a particularly extreme case of disconnect syndrome and system fail-safes responded appropriately. Select political and medical officers under your command have been briefed on pertinent details on a need to know basis and further speculation on the matter will be regarded as seditious activity.

Strength through unity, unity through vigilance.

AUDIO_LOG_DELTA_735_TANGO [SA-Washburn] "Ya needa cut dat kinda talk out, scrap. Ain't ya heard dem stories about CA goons disappearin grunts like ya fuh runnin dey moufs?"

[CP-Raegan] "You don't get it Sarge, you've never been there!"

[PVT-Chiro] "Been where Micky?"

[CP-Raegan] "We were stationed on New Rhea, whole mission was FUBAR. Got pinned down on all sides, had to retreat back to this bunker. It was some server hub for the whole quadrant. CO was dead, over half my squadies were dead. Call came in from some fucking Admiral who's probably never put boot to dirt her whole career. 'Protect the station to the last man, in event of total takeover, they'd send an orbital strike and glass the whole continent.' Can you believe that shit? But even still we held as best we could, days go by, more scraps die. In the end it was just Prosty, Juarez, and me."

[SA-Washburn] "Em tellin ya scrap, ya needa shut it."

[CP-Raegan] "So double dawn breaks next morning, you know New Rhea has that twin star shit right? So dawn comes and we're just waiting to die. My magpin's empty, I think Prosty had like four more rounds. Suddenly the whole sky's on fire. I'm just laying there staring at it, cursing that admiral for calling down a strike on us. Just praying that maybe, somehow, I'd get to see my little sister again. But then I see something in the fire. Something big, coming down slower than shell but way way faster than terminal. It hits the ground and I tell you Chiro I thought I was gonna die. My soul shook from that impact. But then it stood up. Chiro it... it was a Queen man. Have you ever even seen a Queen? I thought they were just PropCom bullshit. I was crying man, that ferrotitanium armor with the fire and the sun gleaming off of it. The Angels are real man, my prayers were answered. She lifted up one arm-"

[REDACTED] "Corporal Raegan we need you to come with us."

[CP-Raegan] "Who... who the fuck are you??"

[REDACTED] "That's not important right now Corporal."

[CP-Raegan] "What the?! Get the fuck off me!! THE ANGELS ARE REAL!! TELL EVERYONE!! TELL EM-"

[REDACTED] "Thank you for the heads up Private."

[PVT-Chiro] "Of course sir, Unity through vigilance."

[SA-Washburn] "Why'd ya hadda do dat Chiro?"

[PVT-Chiro] "It's like you said Sarge. She should have kept her mouth shut."

AUDIO_LOG_END

Okay, friend of a friend type stuff here, so take this with a grain of salt, but I've heard that among active duty types, well, there's sort of kinda a cult around the pilots. Insane, I know, but hear me out. The enlisted, I'm talking boots on the ground, non-com officers, techies, grunts, everyone really, they never even see the pilots. They don't see the frames when they're in cradle, waiting for deployment. Hell, no one even really knows what ships deploy the HAKs. Or IF they're deployed via ship. Everyone has a story, I hear, about one time they caught some emaciated figure in medical-grade exogear walking down the other end of the hallway, or how one time while a HAK passed by overhead, for just a second they saw the pilot in the cockpit in a halo of lights. But you can't trust them. Sometimes they save you. Other times they don't. And if you a rebel, of course, one day they come down on your world and destroy everything you've ever known. And in the absence of information? Well, grunts are superstitious. The brass hate it, apparently, but their are whole squadrons out there that won't deploy without all saying a prayer to a single HAK's shell, brought out of a battlefield, or a grainy picture taken from miles away, or just the idea that somewhere out there there's actually an angel watching them. Probably mostly BS

Don’t you dare ask where I got this, ok? Just read it. The brass knows, yeah? They fuckin’ know, the heartless bastards. The Angels weep for us.

You ever think about who we’re fighting out there? The nuking of Hab 251 is over a decade old now. The rebels we heard so much about were mostly ill-equipped farmers on barely habitable rocks. Soldiers on the front never see whose launching weapons or emptying clips on them, as everyone’s in heavy armor and a hundred meters away at the closest. Is it really still the rebels?

Me when I'm innocent

The devious sniler

— Ancillary Mercy, Ann Leckie

The Corporation is distinctly opposed to calling pilots "angels". They've released several statements recommending that officers silence any such language, saying it "threatens the integrity of the forces", and that HAKs and the pilots who control them are "tools, not deities". But I mean, when you see the way a suit's holoprojectors form a pulsing ring around a pilot's helmet, or when one slumps forwards out of its cockpit to reveal that thick mass of wires creeping from its back, it's impossible not to see the resemblance. And when, like most of the men stationed here, you've found yourself pinned down by heavy artillery fire from two directions with no chance of survival, but out of the heavens a Bishop-class rig emerges and razes the enemy with what can only be described as holy flame? I mean hell, that's enough to make anyone a believer (pardon my language).

I have a buddy who deals with the HAKs directly. He works in biomechanics, combat simtech or whatever. I asked him once what he thought about the whole "angel" thing. He got real quiet, and he looked directly at me and said, "you don't even know the half of it." And I stared right into his eyes and I could see that same heavenly flame burning in there and I knew that he had seen something he couldn't quite understand, but that he loved with all his heart.

I had a buddy who went through heavy deployment before quitting (cool dude, hates the military now) who told me that in all the PropComs, and trainings, and press releases and whatever they always show the rigs as more or less humanoid. Big, bulky, lotta mounted shoulder cannons and heat exchangers and the like, but two arms, two let’s and a head in there. He said that was what he was expecting when he saw one coming in hot from suborbital deployment.

They don’t tell you those rigs are more liquid than metal. They shift, he said, in combat, to different configurations. Huge heat exchangers radiatiating out spewing plasma coolant like wings. Arms, legs, head tucked away out of view, if they ever even had them to begin with. Bringing so many weapons to bare its appears each has six, eight, a dozen arms. Glowing red hot, enough to bake your face at ten dozen yards.

There’s a reason, he told me, they have to tell you to be not afraid.

Classified Memorandum to 134th Space Wing Command

Central Authority reminds all commanders and subcommanders that it is your patriotic duty to immediately, and with extreme prejudice, suppress all rumors of so-called "fallen angels" among Bishop and Rook battlegroup support staff. Furthermore, repeat instigators should be reported to battlegroup political officers for investigation. Discussion of such topics can be detrimental to the mental fortitude of the pilots under your command.

Central Authority understands that leaks regarding incident report K-09876 may contribute to such rumors. The pilot in question was suffering a particularly extreme case of disconnect syndrome and system fail-safes responded appropriately. Select political and medical officers under your command have been briefed on pertinent details on a need to know basis and further speculation on the matter will be regarded as seditious activity.

Strength through unity, unity through vigilance.

AUDIO_LOG_DELTA_735_TANGO [SA-Washburn] "Ya needa cut dat kinda talk out, scrap. Ain't ya heard dem stories about CA goons disappearin grunts like ya fuh runnin dey moufs?"

[CP-Raegan] "You don't get it Sarge, you've never been there!"

[PVT-Chiro] "Been where Micky?"

[CP-Raegan] "We were stationed on New Rhea, whole mission was FUBAR. Got pinned down on all sides, had to retreat back to this bunker. It was some server hub for the whole quadrant. CO was dead, over half my squadies were dead. Call came in from some fucking Admiral who's probably never put boot to dirt her whole career. 'Protect the station to the last man, in event of total takeover, they'd send an orbital strike and glass the whole continent.' Can you believe that shit? But even still we held as best we could, days go by, more scraps die. In the end it was just Prosty, Juarez, and me."

[SA-Washburn] "Em tellin ya scrap, ya needa shut it."

[CP-Raegan] "So double dawn breaks next morning, you know New Rhea has that twin star shit right? So dawn comes and we're just waiting to die. My magpin's empty, I think Prosty had like four more rounds. Suddenly the whole sky's on fire. I'm just laying there staring at it, cursing that admiral for calling down a strike on us. Just praying that maybe, somehow, I'd get to see my little sister again. But then I see something in the fire. Something big, coming down slower than shell but way way faster than terminal. It hits the ground and I tell you Chiro I thought I was gonna die. My soul shook from that impact. But then it stood up. Chiro it... it was a Queen man. Have you ever even seen a Queen? I thought they were just PropCom bullshit. I was crying man, that ferrotitanium armor with the fire and the sun gleaming off of it. The Angels are real man, my prayers were answered. She lifted up one arm-"

[REDACTED] "Corporal Raegan we need you to come with us."

[CP-Raegan] "Who... who the fuck are you??"

[REDACTED] "That's not important right now Corporal."

[CP-Raegan] "What the?! Get the fuck off me!! THE ANGELS ARE REAL!! TELL EVERYONE!! TELL EM-"

[REDACTED] "Thank you for the heads up Private."

[PVT-Chiro] "Of course sir, Unity through vigilance."

[SA-Washburn] "Why'd ya hadda do dat Chiro?"

[PVT-Chiro] "It's like you said Sarge. She should have kept her mouth shut."

AUDIO_LOG_END

Okay, friend of a friend type stuff here, so take this with a grain of salt, but I've heard that among active duty types, well, there's sort of kinda a cult around the pilots. Insane, I know, but hear me out. The enlisted, I'm talking boots on the ground, non-com officers, techies, grunts, everyone really, they never even see the pilots. They don't see the frames when they're in cradle, waiting for deployment. Hell, no one even really knows what ships deploy the HAKs. Or IF they're deployed via ship. Everyone has a story, I hear, about one time they caught some emaciated figure in medical-grade exogear walking down the other end of the hallway, or how one time while a HAK passed by overhead, for just a second they saw the pilot in the cockpit in a halo of lights. But you can't trust them. Sometimes they save you. Other times they don't. And if you a rebel, of course, one day they come down on your world and destroy everything you've ever known. And in the absence of information? Well, grunts are superstitious. The brass hate it, apparently, but their are whole squadrons out there that won't deploy without all saying a prayer to a single HAK's shell, brought out of a battlefield, or a grainy picture taken from miles away, or just the idea that somewhere out there there's actually an angel watching them. Probably mostly BS