Detroit is the ground zero and origin city of Androids. Now its the place you have to call home. There is no choice; your betrayal of the Apex Predators had cost them a pretty paycheque, and living in a city of machines is the safest way for you to...
Having gone through Regeneration several times already, your mind was a little more sensitive then it used to be.
Well, at least when you had something to ground you. Without it, you were at the mercy of your own instincts. Friend could easily be mistaken for foe. Safety could be seen as an ambush. Recklessness would be seen as necessary to stay safe.
However one thing that always stayed with you, was your Protocols.
Little did people know the Protocols that Titans followed; were also adopted by their Pilots. And like Titans followed their programming, Pilots would stand by their values at all costs.
Protocol 1: Link to Pilot. Linking to the Titan was as equally important, and the bond you shared would only grow and strengthen over time.
Protocol 2: Uphold the Mission. The task you were given would be ever evolving. Changing with the tides of war, the risk increasing with every change, too. But whatever it was that you were assigned, you would follow through till the end.
Protocol 3: Protect the Pilot. Probably the only Protocol you argued with. Not that you wouldn't risk your own life for your colleagues, but the fact that they would risk themselves for you...
A bond shared was a two way street. But knowing that your partner would take the same insane risks that you would in order to protect you; made it the most cruel double edged sword that anyone could be burdened to bear.
And with Pilots and their Titans, it was expected.
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Your Pilot Helmet was loosely held in your lap while you sat on a swing. The location choice of reflection was a Playground, dimly lit from distant streetlights with the City being nothing more than artificial stars from your standpoint. A quieter part of Detroit, between the City center and Suburban area.
The perfect mix of urban divide.
Your wounded arm was in a sling, though you had loosened the neck-strap enough to retain movement in your arm. Not exactly the best way to recover, but going without your hand was already proving to be difficult to perform the smallest of tasks. Screw the delayed healing.
Impeccable balance from your training allowed you to slouch on the swing without falling off, but it didn't particularly help your desire to sway. One leg was bent to rest a foot under your thigh; only being moved to swing yourself again.
