Gunslinger, criminal, terrorist. These are just a few names to describe him. A young pilot and his Legion class Titan has had enough of the war. In an effort to escape it all, he commits one last crime to escape to an unknown world filled with death...
The more I fell into the eternal darkness of slumber, the more I see those vague memories come back to me, clinging, refusing to get off me, infecting every fiber of my body like a virus.
Krieg: Get out!
Ah. I remember this one. The jungles of Harmony, before the Militia established the planet as its base of operations. I was a young infantry grunt back then, working for the IMC to become a pilot. For some dumbass reason, they thought to use trench warfare and guerilla tactics to our advantage. I had sprinted towards my men, a backpack filled with survival gear as I had learned that the Militia had zeroed in on our location.
Krieg: Get out of the trenches!
By the time I had reached them, it was already too late. A Militia Scorch unit had already gassed the trench and opened fire, lighting the trench to a burning blaze.
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50 men died screaming in agony that day, each and every one of them under my command. The only reason I had survived was the tall grass that I had used as cover. Their screaming growing louder and louder until I myself began screaming in pain.
My body is sweating, breathing heavy, my blood shot eyes widened in fear. I did not ask for the things that I've been through and I certainly did not ask my mind to paint and repaint those memories over and over again. As I opened the door to the main area, I could hear Morior speak to me.
Morior: ANOTHER NIGHT TERROR PILOT?
Krieg: Yeah. Trenches.
Morior: HARMONY.
Krieg: Ironic name, but yeah. That.
Morior: THERE ARE PROCEDURES YOU CAN TAKE TO PREVENT THESE SYMPTOMS FROM FURTHER WORSENING PILOT.
Krieg: I just won't sleep for the night.
Morior: EVEN WITH STIM IN YOUR BLOODSTREAM, THAT IS A TERRIBLE IDEA... I RECOMMEND COMMUNICATING WITH MISS BELLADONNA.
Krieg: Alright, where's the wrench?
Morior: IT IS INSIDE THE 40MM CANNON PILOT... CARE TO TAKE A LOOK?
Krieg: Ha ha. So funny.
Morior: AT THE VERY LEAST, YOU COULD HAVE LUNCH WITH THEM IN THE CAFETERIA... IT IS AROUND THAT TIME ANYWAY.
Fine.
Krieg: Yeah, fine. I'll go. I'm grabbing my stuff from the chassis. Not a fan of the school uniform anyways.
Embarking Morior, I changed into the pilot's uniform, leaving the helmet aside. I began placing various gadgets into the injection points, talking to distract myself from the painful process.
Krieg: If they could've just replaced stim with Nyquil, that would be fantastic.
Morior: STIM, THOUGH HIGHLY ADDICTIVE, CAN DO MUCH MORE THAN NYQUIL PILOT.
