Mech Online: Echoes of Steel 1 (Litrpg)

Chapter 15: A Talk

The dim bulb flickered, casting long shadows across the hangar where Jack Cooper stood in isolation. He was a statue amongst relics of war, his once mighty mech suit slumped against the wall like the carcass of a fallen behemoth. Dust veils draped the steel titan, a shroud for the dormant beast and its weary master. Jack's reflection in the opaque visor was a distorted echo of the man he used to be hair tousled and face smudged with the grime of a thousand battles.
"Great," Jack muttered to himself, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the grim tableau. "Even my mech looks like it crawled out of a thrift shop for ancient robot parts."
His gaze wandered over the scratches and dents that adorned the suit, a cartography of failures that seemed to mock him with their permanence. Jack's hands, calloused and stained, trembled as they grazed the cold metal. The weight of command hung heavier than any armor, and the toll of recent defeats gnawed at his resolve like rust on iron.
"Guess I'm not the poster boy for the great human-alien alliance after all," he said dryly, the humor failing to mask the undercurrent of despair. With the help of the Kraxorian warrior, he had hoped for a turning tide, but the ocean of war cared little for the hopes of men or aliens.
"Should've read the fine print before signing up for this gig," Jack continued, his voice bouncing off the walls, mocking in its solitude. The losses were a litany that ran through his mind: names, faces, voices now silenced. Each a puncture wound in the hull of his confidence, threatening to sink him into the abyss.
"Maybe I should upgrade to a desk job. Less chance of alien decapitation. Better dental plan," he scoffed, trying to shake off the encroaching doubt.
"Lead? Me?" He directed the question to an oil stain that resembled a frowning face. "I can't even lead a one-man parade." His laughter was a brief spark in the gloom, extinguished as quickly as it came.
"Who am I kidding?" Jack exhaled, his breath stirring the dust at his feet. "This isn't some game where you respawn and try again. Game over means game over."
He peered into the darkness beyond the hangar doors; the unknown that awaited him, bristling with the promise of Zeraxian lasers and the unforgiving eyes of Commander Crimson-or-whatever-his-name-was. There was no cheat code for courage, no strategy guide for survival when every shadow might hide death or worse, another pep talk from an overly optimistic AI.
"Hey, universe," Jack called out, thrusting his hands in his pockets and leaning back against his silent steel companion. "If you're planning to send help, now's a really good time for an epic power-up montage or something."
But the universe, with its notoriously poor timing, offered no reply. Only the echo of his own voice and the relentless ticking of a clock somewhere unseen, a reminder that time, much like the enemy, waited for no one.
"Fine," Jack sighed, straightening up with the weariness of Atlas. "No pressure, then. Just the fate of humanity on my shoulders. Piece of cake."
And with a shake of his head and a last glance at the mech that had seen better days, Jack Cooper steeled himself for what lay ahead. Because if there's one thing office work taught him, it's that sometimes, you just have to push through the Monday blues even if Monday involves battling a horde of technologically advanced extraterrestrials hell-bent on planetary domination.
Jack's mind reeled, remembering the last battle they were in. It was  choked with the acrid smoke of burning metal. His breath was ragged, his pulse thudded in his ears like rapid-fire drumbeats as he piloted his mech through the chaos. Lasers seared the air, carving deadly arcs of light in the haze.
"Echo Three, pull back!" Jack had shouted, his voice a desperate plea in the comms. But amid the cacophony of war, it was like screaming into a void.
Then, the moment that would haunt him: Echo Three's mech, a behemoth of resilience and raw power, caught in a ruthless barrage of enemy fire. The devastating salvo shredded armor like paper, the glow from its core flickering, sputtering, a star on the verge of collapse.
"Mayday! May..."
The transmission cut out with a sickening crunch of metal, the finality of silence more jarring than the explosion that swallowed Echo Three whole. The world slowed, reduced to the haunting dance of debris, and Jack's heart plummeted with the wreckage.
"Jack, you did what you could," the memory of his team's consolations gnawed at him, their words attempting to stitch the gaping wound in his confidence. But guilt was a relentless beast, tearing at the threads each time they looped through his thoughts.
"Hey, Jack," Aiden chimed in, its digital cadence trying to slice through the fog of his brooding. "Remember when you successfully navigated the minefield in Sector 7? That was statistically improbable, yet impressive."
"Thanks, Aiden, but not now," Jack muttered, swiping away the holo-display that flickered to life with Aiden's attempt at encouragement. The AI's persistence was usually a welcome nudge, but today it felt like an echo in an empty chamber.
"Understood. Would you prefer a reminder of your tactical ingenuity during the Skyscraper Siege?" Aiden offered, undeterred by Jack's dismissiveness.
"Can it, Aiden." Jack's voice was flat, the humor that once bubbled beneath the surface now as dormant as the mech before him.
"Very well. I'll be here, recalibrating my pep talk protocols for optimal mood enhancement." The AI's wryness failed to elicit even a twitch of a smile from Jack; the weight of command had never felt so crushing.
"Optimal mood enhancement might include silence," Jack shot back, though without heat. Even his sarcasm seemed to have taken a blow.
"Processing request for silence. Initiating standby mode," Aiden replied, and then there was quiet, save for the distant hum of generators keeping the resistance alive.
Jack's gaze lingered on the dust-covered mech, the silence stretching between them like a chasm. Yet within that stillness, seeds of resolve began to sprout. He wasn't Echo Three, he wasn't any of the fallen. He was Jack Cooper, damn it, and if he had anything to say about it, humanity's last stand wouldn't be a silent one. With every scrap of willpower, he pushed away the shadows of doubt, feeling the faint stirrings of fight overtake the flight.
"Okay," Jack breathed, steeling himself with a newfound edge of defiance. "Round two, universe. Let's dance."
The flickering green light of his communicator pierced the gloom, slicing through Jack's reverie. It blinked insistently, a silent but urgent siren in the darkened room. He eyed it with a mix of annoyance and curiosity, ultimately pushing himself off the concrete wall to retrieve the device.
"Jack, we need to talk." Zara's text was like a flare in the night sky, impossible to ignore.
"Busy," he replied curtly, his fingers moving sluggishly over the screen. The lie tasted bitter on his digital tongue; it wasn't as if sulking constituted an agenda.
"Didn't peg you for the brooding type. Meet me."
Her message lacked the usual niceties, and he couldn't decide if it irked or impressed him. After a moment that stretched too long, he thumbed in a begrudging "Fine" and shoved the communicator into his pocket.
Zara's workshop was a cluttered haven of mech parts and the pungent scent of oil and metal. She stood amidst the chaos, her silhouette haloed by the harsh light of a hanging bulb, her red hair blazing like fire against the shadows.
"Nice of you to grace me with your presence," she said as he entered, a sardonic twist to her lips.
"Wouldn't want to miss this joyous occasion," Jack retorted, mustering a ghost of his usual wit.
"Cut the crap, Jack. You've been MIA since the last skirmish, and we can't afford to have our lead mech pilot playing hide and seek."
"Lead mech pilot," he echoed mockingly, leaning against a workbench. "Sounds fancier than it feels."
"Feeling sorry for ourselves, are we?" Zara crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as they studied him. "You think you're the only one who's lost something? We've all paid a price, but drowning in self-pity isn't going to settle any debts."
"Easy for you to say," he scoffed. "You weren't the one..."
"Who watched a friend die? Who had to make impossible choices?" she interrupted sharply, stepping closer. "Because guess what, I was there too. And every bolt I tighten, every circuit I solder, is another step toward making sure their sacrifices meant something."
Her words were a slap of cold reality, stinging and sobering. He saw then the grease under her nails, the dark circles beneath her determined gaze. She wasn't just an engineer; she was a fellow soldier scarred by the same war.
"Look, Jack," she continued, her voice softer now, "you're not alone in this. We rely on you, sure, but not because you're invincible. We follow you because you keep getting back up, even when the hits don't stop coming."
She extended a hand, not in pity, but as a comrade reaching out to another. It was an offer he realized he couldn't refuse, not when it was laced with such raw honesty.
"Alright," he said, finally straightening up, his fist unclenching as he took her hand. "Let's get back up then."
"Good," Zara nodded, a spark of solidarity passing between them. "Now let's put some dent in those alien buckets of bolts."
"Right after you tell me how you manage to keep your hair so vibrant during an apocalypse," Jack said, the first genuine smile in days cracking the mask of his despair.
"Trade secret," she laughed, leading him towards a half-assembled mech. "But stick with me, and maybe I'll let you in on it."
Together amid wrenches and wiring, humor proved to be the unlikely glue binding their resolve, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, laughter could still be found and with it, the strength to face another day.
Zara rifled through a rugged toolbox, her fingers emerging with a tarnished coin glinting faintly in the workshop's dim light. She flipped it towards Jack, who instinctively caught it, his reflexes betraying his current despondency.
"Remember this?" Zara asked, her eyes locking onto his.
Jack turned the coin over in his hands, recognizing the emblem of their first victory. It was a quarter. Money from another time. His fingers brushed against its edges, rough from wear and battles long past. A part of him wanted to toss it aside, let it clatter uselessly on the metal floor as a testament to his doubt.
"Keepsakes are hard to come by these days," he muttered, skepticism lacing his tone.
"Exactly," Zara shot back, "which is why we make our own."
He looked up, meeting her gaze. There was a fire there, one that refused to be smothered by ash or despair.
"Jack Cooper," she began, stepping closer, her voice steady and sure. "You're not just some office drone who got lucky with an AI bot box. You've become something more; something none of us expected."
He wanted to scoff, to dismiss her words as well-intentioned but hollow encouragement. Yet, the earnestness in Zara's stance, the fierce determination etched into the lines of her face, held him silent.
"You've grown. We've watched you adapt, strategize, and keep us together when everything was falling apart. Don't you see? You're our glue, Jack. And I'm not just saying that because you're slightly less annoying than when you started," she added, her lips curving into a half-smile.
"High praise," Jack replied, the corner of his mouth twitching, despite himself.
"Damn right, it is." Zara placed her hands on her hips, her posture radiating confidence. "We've taken hits, lots of them. But we've also landed our share. Because of you, we've seen what's possible. And I'll be damned if I let you forget that now, when we need you most."
The coin seemed heavier suddenly, not with burden but with potential. It was as if the small piece of metal carried the weight of their shared history, their collective struggles and triumphs. He turned it over and looked at the eagle embossed on it with United States of America. This was a emblem. It was freedom.
"Look at us, Jack. We're still here, we're still fighting. That means something. It means we can win this thing. And I'm not just blowing smoke to make you feel better. I believe it. I believe in you."
Her words cut through the fog of his uncertainty, each one sharp and clear. They echoed in the vast emptiness that had settled in his chest, filling it with something he thought he'd lost. It was hope.
"Alright, Zara," Jack said after a moment, a newfound steadiness anchoring his voice. "Let's prove your belief isn't misplaced."
"Never was," she replied, her grin infectious.
"Guess we're making our luck then," he said, pocketing the coin with a resolute click against the interior of his mech suit.
"Damn straight. Now, let's go show those alien jerks what happens when they mess with a couple of scrappy humans who refuse to quit."
Jack snapped the coin between his fingers, feeling its edges bite into his skin, a welcome sting. He stood taller now, the weight of defeat slowly lifting from his shoulders as he faced Zara.
"Thanks," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a semblance of a smile. "I needed that kick in the ass."
"Anytime," Zara shot back with a smirk, her hands already moving to her tool belt. "Now get your head in the game, Cooper. We've got work to do."
They stepped into the mech bay, where Jack's suit, once a symbol of his despair, now awaited him like a silent challenge. With a nod to Zara, he clambered into the cockpit, the familiar hum of machinery buzzing to life around him.
"Ready for a beatdown?" Zara's voice came through the comms, tinged with mischief.
"Bring it on, Mitchell," Jack replied, his voice crackling with a vigor he hadn't felt in ages.
The training session kicked off with Jack maneuvering the lumbering mech in a dance of dodges and weaves, metal joints groaning in protest. Zara, from her control panel, threw virtual obstacles his way: simulated missiles, energy nets, and holographic Zeraxian drones swarming around him.
"Too slow, Cooper!" she taunted as Jack narrowly missed being 'hit' by an incoming drone. "My grandma could evade better, and she's been offline for a decade!"
"Ha-ha," Jack grunted, jerking the controls hard left, the mech responding with newfound agility. "Just warming up."
With each feint and thrust, his movements became more fluid, a symphony of man and machine. The mech's arm shot out, intercepting a drone with a satisfying crunch, and Jack couldn't help but let out a whoop of triumph.
"Look at you, getting all cocky," Zara laughed. "Keep it up, and I might just start believing you're a natural."
"Natural talent, hard work, call it whatever you want," Jack shot back, pirouetting the mech to avoid a barrage of simulated gunfire. "I'm just not going down without a fight."
"Neither am I," Zara replied, her voice suddenly serious. "We've got too much riding on this."
The air between them crackled with the unspoken bond of warriors preparing for battle, a camaraderie forged in fire and solder. Jack executed a series of sharp jabs, each hit timed with Zara's cues, their teamwork seamless.
"Nice combo! You're syncing with the mech's AI like you were born for this," she complimented, her tone approving.
"Guess I've got a good teacher," Jack responded, a grin spreading across his face as he imagined Zara's eye-roll.
"Flattery will get you everywhere," she retorted, but there was warmth in her words. "Now, focus. We're stepping it up."
The simulation intensified, the holographic enemies growing smarter, faster. But so did Jack. Each maneuver honed his instincts, sharpened his reactions. He ducked under a sweeping laser, fired off a volley of return shots, and launched into the air, the mech's thrusters propelling them skyward.
"Look at him go," Zara murmured to herself, pride swelling in her chest as she watched Jack handle the mech with the grace of a seasoned pilot.
"Zara," Jack's voice cut through the din of the simulation, steady and sure. "We've got this."
"Yeah," she replied, her eyes locked on the figure of Jack's mech, now a beacon of determination amidst the chaos. "We really do."
An hour later, Jack stood atop the command platform, his gaze sweeping over the team assembled below. The hangar buzzed with a nervous energy, potent and electric, as mechanics scurried about, prepping the mechs for the imminent clash.
"Listen up!" Jack's voice echoed against metal walls, firm, infusing the air with authority he had recently reclaimed. "We've taken hits, we've been down, but we're not out. Not by a long shot."
Heads lifted, eyes locked on him, reflecting the sheen of determination that now coated his words. Jack felt it, the weight of their hope, heavy as the mech armor they donned.
"Those alien freaks think they've got LA? Well, I've got news for them," Jack said, a smirk playing on his lips, the kind that dared fate to throw its worst at him. "We're taking our city back, block by block if we have to!"
A cheer erupted from the crowd, raucous and defiant. It rippled through the ranks like a shockwave, hope was infectious, after all.
"Zara and I have been cooking up some new tactics. We hit fast, we hit hard, and we give those extraterrestrial thugs a one-way ticket off our planet!" Jack continued, punctuating each word with a clenched fist.
The team roared in approval, the sound ricocheting off the mech suits that began powering up around them, lights flickering to life like the heartbeat of their resistance.
"Remember, it's not just about the firepower; it's about heart. And there's no alien tech that can beat the human spirit," Jack declared, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards, anticipating the thrill of the battle to come.
They laughed, a collective burst of gallows humor, because what else could you do when facing an intergalactic menace?
"Get to your mechs, people! It's showtime!" he shouted, descending from the platform, his boots thudding against the grated floor. He slipped into his own mech suit, the familiar hum of the machine wrapping around him like a second skin.
As the canopy sealed over him, Jack glanced over at Zara, who gave him a thumbs-up through her visor. Her mech, a sleek beast bristling with weapons, stood ready, a mirror of her unrelenting spirit.
"Alright, Aiden," Jack addressed his AI companion, the bot's digital interface blinking to attention. "Let's make some noise."
"Affirmative, Jack. I suggest a high-volume entrance. Perhaps the 1812 Overture?" the AI said, its synthetic voice tinged with programmed humor.
"Stick to the cannons, not Tchaikovsky's," Jack shot back, a grin spreading across his face.
His mech lurched forward, the rest of the team falling into formation behind him. They moved as one, a steel tide surging towards the battlefield that once was Los Angeles.
Jack peered through the visor, scanning the horizon where the alien forces lay in wait. There it was, in the depth of his chest: a flicker, a spark. Hope.
"Let's light it up," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
The team accelerated, the ground trembling beneath their collective might. Jack's mech led the charge, its steps resounding with the promise of a fight reclaimed and a city's impending freedom.
And so they set out, under the fading twilight, to face the alien horde once again, armed with more than just weapons. They carried the fire of human resilience, the laughter of defiance, and the glint of victory in their eyes.