#and click with everything else perfectly making a way more complex machinery‚ the sound of the gears more beautiful and harmonious

[fragmentedblade]

I don't know, it's silly, but I really love this story. I fell in love with the details and how everything cohered beyond my expectations, how the little details in worldbuilding made big things click and make sense even though they seemed typical fiction "too much but you have to suspend belief" things at first. And I actually honestly think most of the things some parts of fandom complain about are not only coherent, but some of the best more nuanced aspects of the writing. Everything that I thought and interpreted, even to the most minute details, was confirmed. Even, again, to the most minute details I loved but thought I was being stupid for paying so much attention to, because surely they couldn't mean as much as I thought they did. Yet they did.

[selkieshark]

Your mission is simple: provide fire support from a distance while your comrades engage the primary target. You've been specifically chosen for this job. You've always excelled in long-range engagements, and this is a perfect opportunity to stress test the prototype long-range cannon your sponsor has been developing. You don't know the name of it, you were just given the machine and told to make it work. A piece of cake for you, given your experience.

The cannon you were told to use is heavy. Heavier than anything your suit has ever carried before. There's a twinge of worry that the servos and joints might buckle under the weight, but you trust your machine to carry you and the payload to your destination. It always has.

You arrive at your sniper's nest and prepare the cannon for firing. This thing is massive. The barrel is long, and thick, made of high-quality alloys that even you can't quite recognise. The firing mechanism and bolt action nature of it is simple, yet powerful. Setting this up on the ground is like assembling a mortar. Multiple pieces, big and small, but all forming to make something so much bigger than the sum of it's parts.

You revel in the sounds and feel of the assembly - the clicking and snapping of smaller parts, the sound of friction when metal slides on metal, the delicate nature of it all. There's no way a pilot can do this on their own without their mech, the machinery is simply too large and complex. You work alongside your suit, controlling it as the optical scanner guides your vision and thought process. It is the mind, and you are the hands.

Within minutes, you are finished the assembly. Faster than anyone else could have ever hoped to do it. There's a while longer before the mission is set to start, so you take some time to appreciate this machine of war. Trace the fingers of your mech's hands along it, and feel the grooves and imperfections through the haptic feedback of your controls. Inspect the bolt, the cartridge that holds your ammunition, the scope, everything. Everything about this is perfect to you. It's like this was made specifically for you to use. It's beautiful. It's love, and it's hurt, and it's yours.

It's almost time.

You lay the cannon on the ground, with the tripod attacked to the barrel sticking into the dirt. You use the mech as an extension of yourself in order to position yourself comfortably. Your legs fall to each side of the cannon as you lay above it, almost as if you intend to mount it. Your feet dig into the ground, preparing yourself for the inevitable recoil that firing this artillery will bring. Your knees fall to the ground, for further stability, and your body is mere inches away from touching the hardened steel of this machine below you. Your dominant hand reaches for the trigger, and your free hand holds the top of the barrel down to prevent it from flying away when you fire. You position your head perfectly in line with the scope, and you can see your allies now engaging with the target. You are ready to fire.

Your breath is shaky, heavy and getting faster. This is... exciting. You can't wait to pull the trigger and see how much damage this cannon will do. You're already thinking of names to give it, of how to modify it to make it more reliable, of how to make it yours. All yours. Your eyes are trained on the target, and you're listening to the comms channel for your order to fire, though your focus only allows you to parse half of what is being said.

Finally, you hear the order. Through half-understood chatter, you hear a loud and stern "fire". You pull the trigger.

Time slows.

First, you feel the recoil of the firing mechanism pushing back against you.

Then, the deafening, piercing sound of the combustion that propels the bullet forwards towards your target.

The cannon pushes back against you and pushes you both back several feet, leaving a trail of dug-up dirt and sediment around where you and your weapon are planted. You feel the joints of your suit scream against the strain of the sheer force, and the haptic feedback from your controls is going haywire.

Everything hurts. This hurts to use.

But it's worth it. You feel amazing. You feel alive.

A sudden gasp leaves your mouth, and you start breathing heavily. The ringing in your ears, the tingling feeling in your hands, the pain you feel must be the same way your suit feels in this moment. You are as one. You are together.

But there's no time to revel in this feeling. You have a mission to complete. Another round needs to be prepared before your comrades are struck down. This is what you're ultimately here for.

You don't even have a chance to look at the damage this cannon dealt, you simply start reaching for the next cartridge to load.

You pull back the bolt on the cannon, feeling the friction of it sliding against the body of this gargantuan weapon.

The used cartridge falls to the ground, cracked from the force of this machine, with wisps of smoke trailing off of it.

You hastily slide the fresh cartridge in, holding it in place with one hand as you push the bolt forward to lock it in place.

The strained joints of your suit ache and tremble as you use all of your strength to push, and eventually you load the next shot.

The barrel is still red hot, and dangerous to the touch, but you have no choice but to stabilise it like you did before. There's no time to worry if the heat will melt you suit's hand onto this thing. A small part of you wouldn't even mind if it did.

You readjust your sights and focus on the target again, and finally, you can admire the damage that this cannon did. It's a miracle that your shot didn't finish the job, but that's okay. You have plenty more.

This next one should do it.

Once again, your focus is trained on the comms channel, waiting for the firing order.

Breath getting faster, heavier, warmer. Heart beating out of your chest. Feeling pistons, servos, joints, every mechanism of your suit as a part of you.

"Fire"