The 31st Lynx - An Armored Core Fanfiction

Just a NORMAL Day

    Michael entered the building carefully. It was trashed. It had been gutted before being abandoned.  Michael turned on his flashlight and looked around. Everything was gone. A few scattered papers bearing the logo of Collard were strewn here and there, but nothing with important information. Empty filing cabinets were left to rust along with the flat grey walls. This had been a Kisaragi station until its abandonment. He sighed and moved into the next section of the building. Nothing of use here, either. The last place he could check was the server room. 
    The room was locked. He put his hand on the keypad. It flashed on. Words displayed instead of a number-pad. "Enter card-key." Defeated again. There was no way that he could get the Controller to help him with this lock. He pulled out the AC's card-key. It was just the right size. Maybe...maybe it could work. He put the card in. The words changed. "Unidentified user...report to Operations for security access." Michael raised an eyebrow. It was a start. He turned to the wall. Sure enough, Operations was on the other end of the building. Michael made the uneventful trek. He did spy a few rats; large ones. 
    He put on his head set and continued recording. "Day 2, 1000 hours. I've entered the building, owned by the company called 'Collard'. I've found the server room, but I need special access. Heading to Security now..." He trailed off and caught his breath. Inside Operations were a couple of bodies. Now rotted and picked, the skeleton's lay in various positions. "Dead bodies....three - no, four - and they look old." He bent over, suppressing the urge to panic. He noticed small holes on in some of the skeletons. Mainly on the skulls and rib cages. "They look like they were shot. Quite some time ago based on the decay." He shone his flashlight around the room, the panic slowly taking over. Every noise was another person, every shadow a stalker. 
   "I'm alone..." he said, forgetting the recording. "I'm alone in here. There is no one else." He considered running out; leaving the building for good. But that would do no one any good. He swallowed hard and took another look around the room. He spied a small computer near the wall. It was dusty, but still on. He was thankful he didn't have to log onto this machine. "I found a working terminal. I'm going to attempt to create a new Profile for myself." He got to work. Michael was surprised to find that Cortex had a similar system to Collard. He was able to punch in some vague information; just enough to register, but not enough to track him. He put his card-key in. 

    Words flashed on the screen. "NORMAL card-key detected. Please input unit information:" Several options popped up on his screen. 
    "What the hell is a NORMAL?" He saw the options. He clicked one called 'GA-009'. The picture of a super-heavy craft appeared on screen. It looked too bulky to be the model he was using. It was also a fair bit shorter than the Core he borrowed. Michael exited out and thought for a moment. "SA...SA" He scanned the list and found a model marked 'SA-048'. He selected that, and an image of the Core appeared. It was indeed designed for arctic warfare, and it was a heavy-mid class Core optimized for sniping. He turned his microphone back on. "The Core I acquired is designated as a NORMAL by Collard. It appears that these were used by the corporations prior to coming to the surface." 
    Michael took his card key when the process was finished. He hurried back to the server room. He swiped his card-key. The door flashed green, and the room unlocked. The room was somehow more empty than the rest of the building. Only one server remained. And it looked heavily damaged, but operational. Michael put his hand on the server and searched for a connection port. He took out a transfer cable and hooked up his PDA. The server was nearly empty, only 50 terabytes of data. How was he supposed to get any information out of that? A standard Core was able to process nearly ten times that per second. Michael owned mobile games with more information. The transfer would take an hour or so, none the less. Michael found a safe place to mount his PDA and looked around. 
   Against the wall was a map. Next to the map was the emergency response guides. "In the event of a fire, contact blah blah...alright, what else?" He scanned through the list, then stopped. "'In the event of a NEXT attack, report to Garage 21-A?'" Michael frowned. If a NORMAL was an Armored Core, what was a NEXT? Garage 21-A was just around the corner. He decided that would be a good spot to put the AC anyway. He looked back at his PDA. Fifty minutes left. Plenty of time, Michael thought.

    The garage was empty, but Michael was enthralled by the design. There were special rigs to work on a Core, exchange parts with ease, and provide cosmetic maintenance. It was professional and clean. Michael docked his Core, and something flashed across his screen. "AP low." AP was something akin to the integrity of the Core itself. When it reached 0, it essentially meant the core was engaging its self-destruct protocol; with or without the pilot's knowledge. Michael frowned and hopped out. He didn't even know what to find here, but he looked anyway. A small team of robots lay discarded by the entryway. Michael walked over to one of them. A slot for a card-key was mounted on its back. Michael dug in his pack and pulled out a Kojima Cell. These batteries were technically illegal, but the Companies used them when they could. Old world tech, able to provide rechargeable, semi-clean energy. He put one into the machine, which was out of power. The battery fit well enough. Then, he inserted his card-key.
    The drone hopped to life. It vibrated for a bit, then looked towards Michael. "Welcome. Your profile indicates that you are a Pilot. Shall I perform repairs on your NORMAL?" Michael's jaw hung open. 
    "Uh...what kind of repairs?"
    "The armor will be restored or replaced. Broken parts will be exchanged, and ammunition reloaded. However, records indicate that it has been 40 years since this core has been repaired. Some parts may be recalled or unavailable." Michael stuttered again as the mechanical voice kept rambling. "I shall power on the autonomous repair team. Hull integrity can be raised to safe limits in....twenty minutes. Weapons will be operational in....thirty minutes. Missing pieces will be repaired in...thirty-five minutes. Replacement FCS will be available in...twenty-seven years." Michael stopped it there.
    "Whoa, uh...do you have any other control system on hand?" The machine paused.
    "We have a standard BFF FCS. We will need to remove the rear sniper cannon to reduce energy draw, however." 
    "That will work fine. Please do that." The machine beeped. 
    "Orders acknowledged. Estimated work time: Twenty-nine minutes." Michael nodded and began walking back to the building. He had a few more minutes to kill, and searched for documents. A few things here and there; even some office pranks. Michael chuckled to himself and collected his PDA. All the data had been transferred successfully. He would need to carefully sort through all of it when he made it back home. "Day 2, 1215 hours. I have found some drones to repair my Core. All the data has been downloaded to my computer, and I am beginning my return trip now."
    Michael slowly wandered back to the garage, smiling to himself. He not only managed to gather data on the surface, but he also acquired an Old World Armored Core. As he neared the building, an alarm went off throughout the entire sector. "This is not a drill. Repeat; this is not a drill. Kojima Particles detected in the Sector. Enemy NEXT inbound. All pilots, report to your cores".
    Michael heard rumbling in the distance. A building at the edge of his sight exploded. A broken white Armored Core appeared. Its core was open, releasing large green particles into the surrounding area. Its arm was damaged beyond repair, and its other arm was a large-bore shotgun arm part. The shoulder parts extended out like wings. Two scatter missile launchers were mounted on its shoulders. The Core had no symbols on it, but Michael could see that there was no way a pilot was in that machine.
    Then, it occurred to Michael why this sector was abandoned. An autonomous, old world weapon that had been leaking deadly radiation was on the loose. The NEXT turned towards Michael and fired up its OB system.