Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Battle of Typhon was supposed to be a routine mission for Jack Cooper, Rifleman Class 3 of the 9th Militia Fleet. Escort the bigshots to battles, give them supporting fire, reclaim planetspace, and stay out of trouble. But his carrier, the MCS James MacAllan, was shot down mid-orbit, scattering Cooper and his squadron across enemy territory. The evac pod kept him safe, but he wasn’t on the ground for a minute before being thrown into action, fighting for him and his comrad’s lives. Thankfully, backup was called for, and his mentor Captain Tai Lastimosa had come to their aid. Not before he was injured and nearly slaughtered by Blisk’s mercenaries, but Lastimosa showed up in the nick of time to fend them off.

And fend them off he did. It was one of the most epic battles Cooper had ever laid eyes on! Clashing steel on steel, the twenty ton powerhouses fought elegantly, a near dance. But the Captain was outnumbered and surrounded. Just as Cooper lost consciousness, he watched a Ronin’s sword run through the cockpit of Lastimosa’s titan. And when he finally woke up, he was alone. He approached the broken titan to find his mentor with an enormous impalement wound through… important looking parts of his abdomen. His titan had somehow kept him alive until now, but the man was clearly dying. Cooper kneeled underneath the canopy of an immobile titan and held Lastimosa as he directed his dying breath to give Jack the responsibility of his rank, and the titan that came with it.

The next day and a half was a whirlwind of battles and victories, hardly any rest and no time to dwell on memories. The missions eventually lead Jack and the titan, BT, to an item that drew the Militia to that godforsaken planet in the first place: the fold weapon. A superweapon capable of cracking planets apart with one shot, powered by an immense volatile energy core aptly named the “Arc”. Storming the facility, he and BT bent time itself as they strove to stop it from launching. In a desperate attempt to uphold the mission, BT sacrificed himself to overload the unstable energy core, throwing Jack from his cockpit mere moments before BT himself dissolved into the arc reactor. The reactor overloaded as intended, cracking Typhon into planet chunks hundreds of miles wide, with a rippling thunderous crack Jack that would haunt his dreams for years to come.

The destruction of Typhon saved Harmony: the planet that the Militia called headquarters, as well as 40 million others that called it home. After the dust settled, and the evac jets reconvened, they boarded the shuttle for home. Commander Briggs of the first militia fleet had explained that base protocol required Jack to finish proper pilot certification. He could enter the field with a new titan, and a new link, as soon as he passed.

“A lot of people owe their lives to you, and to BT.” Briggs spoke reassuringly. “Barker, take us home.” The dropship sped off into open space, on a course for Harmony. But even with her reassuring words, he definitely didn’t feel like a hero… Not without BT.

________

Chapter Text

Cooper landed with a grunt, and scrambled to keep his momentum as he barreled down the course. The over-unders he’d woven through led him and his competitors around a bend, angling them towards the final straightaway of the 2-mile test. The wooden railing to his left outlined his path as he pushed to pass Martinez, a fellow pilot-in-training, who was ahead of him by just a few strides.

They were by no means near the lead, but one placing higher in the final rank sheet meant a lot to Cooper right now. For reasons unbeknownst to him, his times were increasing despite the daily training with his squad. As far as he could tell, no one else noticed (other than his instructor) but the trend was certainly frustrating, and he didn’t want his teammates to recognise him lacking. He had to pass this guy.

He rounded the bend, all focus honed on his burning muscles to push a little harder.

The matter of his stagnant fitness was a point of pride, if anything. To prove that he wasn’t a washout. That he deserved to be there, training with the pilots who had worked so hard, even though all he had to do was be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Come on, come on, he thought as the finish line approached. But with each passing step, he could feel his legs weakening.

A shout rang out ahead of him, “Martinez, twenty-one forty. Good work, Diego”. Concentrating on keeping his legs from giving out, Cooper dashed through the markers and stumbled to a stop, chest heaving as his body attempted to catch up with his mind.

Damnit! He thought, leaning on his knees. The stern voice of his Colonel boomed from somewhere behind him, shouting “Cooper, twenty-one forty-six. Good effort”.

Yea, good effort, he thought with a spike of annoyance aimed at no one in particular. Cooper acknowledged the comment with a short nod as he straightened, bringing himself to move to where the rest of his squad had gathered.

“He-hey, Coop! Nice finish back there!” spoke a friendly voice from the group.

Cooper acknowledged the pilots before him. Martinez, who had been the one who spoke to him, had rejoined the group as well. Vanarsdale and Espinoza, both fiddling with their camelbaks at the moment, were always pretty friendly with him. They seemed to clash like oil and water, but it was always entertaining. Carey (one of the most extroverted girls Cooper had ever met) and McLennan were in the middle of some banter with each other, and seemed itching to rope in any poor soul who was nearby. It certainly kept the squad’s spirits high on rough days, though, so no one minded. Kelley and Vazquez were more withdrawn, keeping to themselves most of the time, but Cooper knew the two ladies had more years in the field alone than all other members put together.

“For sure, you really hauled it there at the end, Martinez.” Cooper replied.

“It was a heck of a lot better than watching these deadbeats trot to the finish!” McLennan snipped, making a face.

“You two were neck and neck, I almost had Espinoza convinced to place a bet!” teased Carey. Espinoza rolled his eyes.

Cooper, not sure who they meant to bet on, responded with a small chuckle. He sidestepped through his squad to find his camelbak, legs feeling very unstable as he moved. He hoped nobody was watching too closely. Chest cramping and throat sticky, he frowned at the state he found himself in. Not too long ago, he could run a course like this in sub-20, all while barely breaking a sweat.

He rifled through the team’s scattered pile of packs, hunting for his own. He picked up Martinez’s and his own, and stood for a moment, taking a deep breath. Settle down, Coop. There’s always tomorrow he thought, wrestling down his building self-depreciation. He shook out his arms, pretending he was shaking out his muscles, and made his way back to the group.

“Here, you look thirsty” he said in a sarcastically dry tone, pushing the pack into Martinez's chest, still catching his breath himself.

The man grinned at him, expression lax and proud. “I PR'd today, Cooper, it’ll take more than that to bring me down”.

The group continued chattering, passing time until they were given their next task. Cooper observed silently, holding a face he hoped would convey amusement. Him and Martinez were the last two finishers, and their Colonel was still scribbling notes on the bottom of her clipboard.

Colonel Cassandra Ford was their designated squad leader, and the instructor for this base's ongoing pilot training courses. Cooper didn’t know much about her history, only that she had fought both in the battle of Demeter and Typhon, returning with a bunch of ribbons and recognitions. Standing tall, with broad shoulders and expressions sharp enough to cut steel, Ford moved with purpose in all she did, including in how she walked towards them now, seeming to prepare to address them.

“A lot of personal records broken today, good work team. And congratulations to Vanarsdale for finishing first. You’ve won bragging rights for the foreseeable future”. She said firmly, but Cooper thinks he heard some undertones of pride in her voice. “Here in a couple days, we’ll have you running through the gauntlet with your jumpkits, but for now, use this course as an estimate of what you should expect. Now, that’s all I have for you today. Head back to the lockers and wash up. And please for the love of all things holy, use soap.”

Carey snickered at McLennan behind Cooper, the two rightfully assumed it was directed at them. The team gathered their remaining gear, and began the trek to the hangars.

From behind them, Colonel shouted “Remember, oh-eight hundred in the north mechanics bay!”

Cooper rolled his shoulders as he walked, trying to release some tension that’d built up. To his right, Kelley and Vazquez were already deep into a breakdown of each other’s star moments of the day, as well as comments on areas they wished had gone better. Carey and McLennan lead the pack, practically rubbing elbows as one said something to the other, who responded by leaning back, shoulders bouncing with laughter. Vanarsedale and Martinez were on either side of him, with Espinoza trailing a few paces behind.

“Ugh, crap, the mechanics course” Vanarsedale groaned from beside him, responding to the Colonel’s reminder. “Weren’t we supposed to be studying that manual they gave us?”

“V, we were given that weeks ago. Yes, you were supposed to study it.” Cooper replied.

“I don’t see the point of us learning all this crap anyways. Especially when I don’t plan on breaking my titan anytime soon.”

“We gotta know how to do field repairs. It’s required for certification for a reason” Espinoza quipped from behind them.

“SOME PEOPLE might need to do tons of field repairs, but MY titan and I will be unstoppable.”

“That’s the spirit!” said Martinez enthusiastically.

“Don’t egg him on…” Cooper replied, smiling and rubbing his achy arms. “You say this now, but when you run into a trigger happy grunt with an MGL, you’ll wish you’d done your homework.”

Vanarsedale shrugged. “I guess I’ll flip through it tonight. But you’d know better, huh Coop, fighting at Typhon with your titan?”

BT.

From his other side, Martinez mumbled “dude…” as Vanarsedale made a “what” gesture. Martinez gave a warning look that said Drop it.

Cooper, standing in between them having their silent conversation, spoke up. “Nah, it’s okay. He’s right, I could have used a mechanic a couple different times out there. It’d have saved me a world of trouble.”

Cooper paused, opening his mouth like he was going to say more, but shut it. They were almost at the hangar, and talking about this now would not set him up well for the walk through it.

“Well, I suggest you use your evening wisely, V, or Colonel will ream you out the second she realizes you didn’t prep.” Espinoza smirked, bringing the subject back to the surface.

The walk back to the quarters wasn’t too far, having been located near the training grounds intentionally. The team herded off of the trademark turf of the training grounds and began following a wide road, passing the same transport and loading docks they do every day. The hangar they were heading to, hangar 4, was located in the titan wing of the base. The “titan wing” was a popular colloquialism for the erratically structured titan-focused labor divisions. Mechanics, techs, R&D, and of course, the pilots quarters. Depending on who you asked, the titan wing made up half of the entire base. Said base paled in comparison to the rest of Harmony’s sprawling headquarters, of course, but the M-COR was known for its powerhouse of a titan division. Hanger 4 was the unit assigned to the fourth platoon of the 9th militia fleet, which included trainees like Cooper and his squad.

The 8 pilots-in-training neared the massive openings at the face of the building, in which they could see hundreds of people bustling about within. The sunset cast gold on the walls, and illuminated the cavernous room in a way that some might call beautiful. The main deck of the hangar was lined with row after row of racks housing the giant humanoid war machinery, as well as supply crates and workstations scattered throughout. Many individuals stood on platforms and catwalks that wrapped around idle titans, power tools in hand. MRVNs were scattered around as well, assisting people with various tasks. The titan racks themselves were broad and tall enough to store any variant, all of them displaying massive ID numbers painted in bold white lettering on the rims, meant for easy location and identification of whomever's occupying it.

Upon entering the hangar, they could hear shouts of conversations echoing across the cavernous ceiling, and the whirr of grinders and drills made it hard for the squad to continue their conversations. The smell of smoke and metal hit Cooper with a skin-crawling wave of nostalgia, and he trained his eyes to the walkway a few feet beyond his dragging feet. He could faintly hear Martinez and Espinoza shouting to each other about some new titan upgrade that was passed through regulations recently, but with each step he took down the corridor of titans, his heartbeat thumped louder in his ears. It’s not like this was his first time walking through here, but repetition didn’t seem to make it any easier. Everything brought up too many memories. It reminded him too much of Lastimosa. It reminded him too much of BT.

Cooper, now deep in his own mind, was moving without paying any attention to his surroundings, body on autopilot, mind blank. He was thinking he should probably reach the end of the corridor, but jarring him out of his thoughts, he walked face first into the broadside of a steel wall.

“Oompf, ah crap.” Cooper startled, bringing a hand to his battered nose. What did he just run into? His eyes ran up the giant chassis of a titan, and he met the smoldering glow of a yellow SERE kit, which was now staring him down. A chill ran up his spine and a feeling he could only describe as panic seized him. The titan took a small step back, probably to let him pass. But he stood as his eyes began to blur, body frozen still as he was unable to look away from the intense gaze. A blazing yellow glow. So, so familiar, but so different. So wrong…

Behind him, he heard someone approach, followed by a hand lightly squeezing the back of his arm. “S’cuse us, friend. We’ve had a long day.” Martinez was speaking to the titan. He then turned, “Let’s go, Coop.” Martinez said casually, giving him a questioning look. So casually, so easy and relaxed. Why was he not more like Martinez?

Cooper blinked, snapping out of the trance. As he reassessed, embarrassment washed over him as he realized what this looked like to others. He chuckled dryly, trying to shrug it off. No one seemed to notice other than Martines, thankfully, and he didn’t ask him about it either. Not yet at least.

His team neared the end of the racks and veered left to climb a staircase leading them to the upper platform. The hangar must be slightly underground, then? If there’s stairs? Cooper thought, using meaningless inner commentary distracted his still-racing heart. On the raised platform, he was level with most facilities connecting directly to base. The platform branched into isles bordering the inside of the hanger walls, giving access to rooms adjacent to the hanger itself. To his right, past the workshops and detailing stations, he could see the head mechanic’s quarters. To his left, well over a dozen doors lined the walkway, with metal mesh staircases allowing access to a second and third row of doors above the first. They were the official pilots quarters, built adjacent to the hangar to allow for a lightning-fast response time of pilot-titan teams. Cooper blinked hard at this, pushing down a funny feeling in his stomach, and glancing at his watch. 1714. No wonder it’s so busy in there, it’s not even dinnertime.

In the past, the team worked up until at least mid-evening, trying to channel every bit of daylight into productivity, but he supposed the Colonel let them go since they all ran for bests on the course. An unspoken reward that Cooper was displeased he was receiving. Training and routine kept him from having to choose how to spend his time.

In front of him, a set of doors channeled the squad into the rest of Platoon 4’s sector. R&D centers, offices, conference rooms, living facilities, he was pretty sure he’d even seen a lap pool once. Cooper’s squad had begun chattering again, now that they left the resounding echoes of the hangar. They made their way to the locker rooms, which were in the same hallway as their temporary apartments. The junior hall, designated to all pilots-in-training. Cooper thinks it's just so upper command can corral them easier.

“McLennan, you ‘ave any extra soap? I’m out.” Carey said, speaking with a slight accent.

Poking his head from behind an open locker door, McLenan snarked “Resupply was literally yesterday dude, you don’t have any soap?”

“Only shampoo and conditioner,” she replied with a sigh.

“Only that? Gee, well in that case…” McLennan tossed a small green bottle to her, which read 5-in-1 Irish Spring.

There was a pause. Carey stared at McLennan with a dumbfounded look, and replied “you’ve got to be joking mate”. McLennan chuckled and ducked back behind the locker.

A few feet away, Vazquez and Kelly slammed their lockers closed and were seemingly trying to trip each other as they dashed to get to the showers first. Moments later, Cooper could feel steam billowing, and quickened his own pace, hoping to catch a shower before the water heaters were emptied. He grabbed his own 5-in-1 soap bottle, and stepped into an open stall. The tiles were cold and the air was thick with humidity, and in his distasteful mood, it felt most uncomfortable. The spout creaked as he turned the water on, he let the water run through his frazzled hair and down his back. He could hear his squadmates chattering, but he didn’t have the social battery to participate. Usually showers made him feel better, as long as he took his time and wasn’t spoken to. He resigned himself under the lukewarm water and washed off the mud, sweat, and emotions from the day.

Chapter Text

Shaking his head to uncling hair from his forehead, Cooper dug through his locker for a change of clothes. The outfit in question consisted of a pale green t-shirt and a pair of loose gray sweats, which was standard for his off-duty appearance ever since his return to base (despite recent reprimands from Colonel Ford, but nothing ever came out of it). Once dressed, he only had to wait a few awkward minutes until the others were finished themselves. Shouldering his lightweight backpack, Cooper head to the cafeteria with the others. Although, Kelley and Vazquez left earlier without them, loud conversations about stovetop-grilled quesadillas and lukewarm beer in their apartment had echoed through the lockers before their departure. Maybe they had social batteries too, Cooper thought. Or maybe they were going to screw, like Carey suggested after they left. Cooper didn’t care enough to participate in the gossip.

They made their way into the mess hall and waited in an aggravatingly long line, before finding a table. Cooper collapsed on the bench with his chosen sauce-covered pasta and water. He felt hungry, but no parts of the food looked appealing as he picked through it. The others had piled the food onto their trays, of all smells and sizes. Cooper knew he should try to eat. Not eating would only do him worse for wear, and avoidable difficulties are something he couldn’t endure right now. He looks up from his food.

“-all I’m saying is that a proper pilot won’t have the time to take a long, elaborate shower. We got places to be, people to see. You know MacAllan? I’ve heard that guy never took showers longer than two minutes. And now he has a freaking aircraft carrier named after him.” Epsinoza seemed to be in the process of defending Cooper and McLennan from an onslaught of slander from Carey.

“A couple extra minutes won’t change anything, especially if you’re not in a warzone. You’re just lazy pigs that don’t give two hoots ‘bout what ya look like,” snapped Carey.

“It’s best to prepare for a fight before it starts. And if we’re using this evening as an example, I had to wait over ten minutes for you ‘cause of your harebrained 20-step hair care routines.” Espinoza said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Why fight them so hard on this, Espinoza? Either way, the job gets done, isn’t that all that matters?” Vanarsdale cut in.

“That's some confident talk coming from a man who hasn’t read a single manual even if it meant his literal career.” Espinoza got more intense as he spoke. “I hope you don’t have that attitude in battle. When you become a pilot, you ought to give 100% to the missions: do more than just the minimum, exceeding standards, right?” Espinoza quoted, while glancing at Cooper for backup.

“It’s soap dude, not a test of initiative… but I used to be the same way.” He paused and took a breath before continuing. He was supposed to be the experienced vet among them, right? Might as well act like it. “As long as you can adapt when you need to, you can use whatever shampoos you want, even out of the field.” Cooper said firmly. This conversation was ridiculous and he just wanted to be alone to recoup, but some small part of him enjoyed the banter. The older part of him. Not the new, hollow parts. He felt more… himself around the squad. I mean- come on, when did soap usage become so deep? Spouting advice at his fellow trainees as if he knew what he were doing.

“Pilots are expected to do more than what is asked. Initiative is a strong quality, Pilot Cooper.” The memory of BTs advice appeared without warning, and immediately overshadowed the light spark he only just managed to see. He frantically checked his composure, and swallowed hard to push down the panic.

Espinoza continued on, none the wiser and gesturing wildly. “I’m not talking about showers anymore, I’m talking about ideology!” Espinoza and Carey continued their back-and-forth as Cooper quickly receded away from the conversation. A glance around the room showed Martinez giving him a look that said he was tolerating the conversation about as much as Cooper was. Cooper cleared his throat and sat up as if he had the energy to be here. “Can you believe this?” he said, exasperated.

Martinez gave the table a glance. “Personally, I’m with you. Switching up routines out of base is pretty easy, especially with the constant threat of death on the battlefield. Great motivator… and besides,” he added, smiling, “the conditioner does wonders for my hair.”

Cooper huffed and forced down another spoonful of the flavorless pasta, frantically thinking of a conversation starter. “So… you ready for tomorrow’s mechanics eval?”

Martinez chewed a bite of his own meal before responding. “I suppose I am, I’ve certainly prepped more than… some of us.”

“Hey- at least I can climb the rockwall in one go, ehem Diego ehem.” Vanarsdale returned. A few snickers followed before Martinez continued on, ignoring the insult. “I think I’ve got the system functions down, which is what Colonel warned us about.” Martinez shrugged. “I’ll skim through everything again before I hit the hay. I’m not worried.”

Cooper half-smiled. “I’m just hoping there’s no pretest.”

Martinez chuckled. “Not too confident, huh. Well if you don’t have other plans, I’ll be wasting my evening in my apartment. We could run through the manual together?”

Cooper widened his eyes in surprise. Martinez was trying to hang out with him. Outside what was necessary. He took a second to regain composure before scrambling an unintentionally stiff response. “Oh, thanks Diego. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Soon the crew finished dinner and ambled back to their sector of the living quarters, talking quietly amongst themselves. “Time to go educate myself.” Vanarsdale announced sarcastically, as he keyed his door open.

Carey responded first. “I’ll see you lot tomorrow, yeah?” This garnered a wave of “see ya later”s and “g’night”s as they all parted ways to their own apartments. Cooper stood at his door, stalling, until all of his squad had left, and he remained alone in the quiet, empty hall. Alone.

Chapter Text

Cooper fished for his key from his pocket, and swung the door ajar. A weak lock when working with the technology they do, but the militia didn’t have endless resources, and they had a lot of dormitories to construct. Or at least, that’s what Cooper told himself as he fumbled with the key, struggling to remove it from the door.

The key didn’t come out easy, needing an aggressive yank causing a loud rap. The momentum of the key freeing knocked Cooper’s bag off of his shoulder to land on his forearm. He growled at the door as it swung closed, and moved to put his bag down.

His apartment held little extravagance. Many of the features are identical to his old rifleman’s barracks, but instead of cubicle-like wall partitions, he got real drywall! The rooms bore identical pale flooring, and the same minimalistic furniture style. Approaching his kitchenette counter, where his notary screen lit up upon his approach. He had a message:

COMDR. C. Ford, SRS, M-COR, Plt. 4, PIT Sq Inst.

Pilot Jack Cooper, SRS, M-COR, Plt. 4, PIT Sq

Callsign: N/A

SUBJ: Marauder Corps Personnel Assignment

LOC: Room 17, N. Mechanics Bay, Sector 4

TIME: 0800 2715 Oct. 30 [ED]

ATTN: Bring your manuals.

Oh. It was just a far-too official order from Ford telling him to show up to class tomorrow. What else would it have been?

These types of notices are usually filtered and rerouted to his pilot’s helmet, but Colonel hasn’t set up the squad’s helmets yet. He was offered special-circumstance helmet authorization, but with his old rifleman’s helmet decommissioned and not willing to use Lastimosa’s, he will receive them just like everyone else.

On the shuttle away from Typhon, just after the mission was completed, Commander Briggs had assured him that he could keep Lastimosa’s helmet as his own, as long as he let the techs reset it. The helmet, she explained, was exposed to a lot of energy in the arc explosion, and it still carried a lot of his old mentor’s data on it. And BT’s linked data. That was there too. He was told that he would crash the helmet if it ran too long without being wiped, and told to visit the techs workshop ASAP.

And here he was, with a free evening. The perfect chance to “debug” Lastimosa’s helmet, and he was just wandering into his bedroom deciding he had plenty of time later. He found himself thinking of his riflemen unit, and how it was never quiet or still in their shared field barracks. Maybe he missed the close comradery of his squad. He worked well with his new squad, but they all have different backgrounds and masteries, and none of them really knew each other yet.

He tossed his jacket onto the bed and tugged off his boots while the heater clicked on and powdered into a gentle whine. Listening to the buzz of the heater, he thought it sounded like the ambient hum of… no, no, he wouldn't think about that right now. He stood and looked around, distracting himself by deciding what to do with the next few hours.

He could unpack. It was a bit overdue: in the whirlwind commotion of pilot’s training, he hadn’t ever gotten a chance. Really, he was only in his quarters to sleep. He looked at his things, a massive duffel and a few awkwardly bent boxes representing the carelessness at which he packed, and set upon the first box before he could change his mind.

The first box held civvies, the next had knickknacks and loose paperwork (that was promptly thrown onto a countertop to be ignored). As he worked, thoughts filtered through about the day.

Ever since finishing the endurance course, something had been bothering him. He already knew he wasn’t improving, despite working himself to the bone during PT, but he could tell that he didn't have the same drive like he did in the infantry. I was right next to Martinez, he thought, I know I could have passed him. The more he mulled on this, the lower his confidence dipped. At its root, he wanted to pass Martinez to prove something to himself. Except he didn’t pass Martinez. He’d lost. A few weeks ago, he would have beat a guy like Martinez by a landslide. But now… I’m so much less than when I was a rifleman. No…I’m so much less than when I was with BT. He doesn’t deserve to be a real pilot, he never even qualified for the training program, with his “circumstantial admission”. As an acting pilot, BT had done most of the work. And now he’s gone. At this rate, he’ll never make it through training.

Cooper felt sick to his stomach. He doesn’t get hungry, he doesn’t feel thirsty, and if he knew any better, he’d say he was depressed. But he knew better. Pilots are heartless, ruthless, and tough. They aren’t depressed. Now unpack your bags and get over yourself.

He pulled the duffel to his knees and unzipped it, finding his old gear: strappacks, his rifleman holsters, a few pairs of gloves, a couple well-designed knives he had honestly forgotten about, and lastly, his inheritance from Typhon. Pulling out Lastimosa’s helmet, the SERE pistol, and his data-knife felt surreal. With trembling hands, he removed the pieces one by one. He swallowed hard. He was a pilot, after all. He was above getting sentimental.

But despite his efforts, a familiar feverish grief twinged in his chest. Somewhere amongst the grief, there was a new sense of anxiety, almost urgency like he needed to check on the helmet. Make sure it was, he didn't know, safe?

He lifted the helmet with a hand and glanced it over. The scuffed green plates covering the dome donned familiar orange stripes. Centered between them, a gray lifeless X of a visor. As he stared, a panicked grief budded in his chest, nearly identical to what he felt earlier in the hangar. The heater across the room turned off with a clank, and he felt like the lights hanging from the ceiling grew a shade brighter. He started gnawing on his lip, but tasted salt. Am I crying? he criticized as he felt a streak down his cheek. I… I… His thoughts rushed through his mind indistinguishably, and his hands started trembling again. C’mon Coop, pull yourself together. He gripped the helmet with his hand and leveraged himself to stand.

With his free hand, he ran his hand through his hair and took another deep breath. But instead of calming him, Cooper suddenly felt like he had just finished a training course with Ford and his squad and needed to catch his breath. More than that, his lungs seemed to shrink with each breath sucked in. The fingers clutching his helmet began tingling as if they were asleep, and Cooper paced back to his bedroom. What’s happening to me? His vision blurred and he fumbled his way to his bedside, propping himself up against it and blinking hard. A few seconds passed, and Cooper realized his eyesight was jacked because he was crying. He fisted the fabric of his shirt, glancing down into his hand. Into his mentor’s helmet. Into BT’s helmet.

Whatever grip Cooper held onto slipped away. Shaky groans spiraled into sobbing wails, as he fought to stifle them. He gave up on standing and slid to the floor, tensing and clutching the helmet hard into his chest. BT. BT please… The pain was unbearable. His muscles, his lungs, his heart. Please… I just want it to stop. More tears squeezed through tightly clenched eyes, and he buried his face in his elbow. Stars, BT, why did you do that? Why did you leave? I promised I would stay. He groaned, a guttural slow groan, and struggled to inhale. A new panic erupted as the moments stretched.

For a terrified moment, he sat wide-eyed with arms clutching his helmet, thoughts of BT fading as a primal will to survive overcame him. I can’t breathe, oh God, I can’t breathe. Pulling against his lungs, a sputtering gasp squeezed through. A few hitches in the inhale, and he repeated the action. Relief oozed into him as he slowly regained control, one breath at a time.

With air once more, he wept overtop his helmet, clutching his wrists and curled inward. He sat unmoving, frozen and soul crushed, for what felt like a long, long time, until finally his cries settled into a sniffle. What’s going on with me… is this heartbreak? No relationship I’ve ever been in has hurt this bad. He repositioned himself on the floor, to lean against the wall with one leg tucked under him and one kicked out. Setting the helmet at his feet, he angled it towards him. He gazed into the visor with a thousand-yard stare, then closed his eyes. He drew a slow, shuddering, deep breath, this time achieving the initial goal of composure. Maybe he should put it away, get it out of sight so he didn’t have to remember anymore. The past has passed, and there’s no going back.

As his blood pressure lowered and his limbs relaxed from their long-tensed state, he contemplated whether he should bother getting up. Adrenaline from the ordeal faded and left him exhausted. No one would know if he just stayed down here… slept… but then a flicker of light filtered through his closed eyelids. Blue light. He blinked open his tear-swollen eyes and saw the helmet's visor flashing uncoordinatedly.

…the heck? Is it bugged? A spike of shame hit him for not taking his helmet to be reset. Did the delay of the data wipe deteriorate the helmet? Did he permanently bust it by putting it off? He grabs the helmet and sets it on his knees, at eye level. Maybe he just accidentally activated it, and it wasn’t busted but instead scanning for a pilot.

Maybe the helmet could tell me what’s going on. The thought came abruptly, and he turned it over in his hands. Did he really want to though? The last time he wore it, he was escaping the arc explosion. And besides, who knows how it’ll react to him since the helmet was exposed to all that energy. Emotionally drained, he concluded that he didn’t give a crap what happened anymore, and slid the snug fabric-covered padding over his head. The visor fluttered on, and the typical HUD startup began reading in his left peripheral:

USER FOUND

FIRST NAME: JACK
LAST NAME: COOPER
SERIAL NUMBER: 201314727

COMBAT UNIT: 41 MRB-E-P4 PIT

RANK: PILOT

Skimming his info, he suspected the helmet flashing was a fluke, brought on by scrambled data or fried circuits. He rapped his fingers on the sides of the helmet, feeling the reverberations, and tried knocking some of the weariness out of him. His eyes narrowed as he fought off sleep, but as he did, something new flashed onto his hud.

ACTIVITY: DOWNLOAD COMPLETE

RECEIVING ENCRYPTED MESSAGE…

TRANSLATING…

…

…

J A C K ?

Chapter Text

Cooper strained his eyes to the corner of the HUD, all weariness blasting from his limbs as the message faded. Did the helmet just say my name? No, it can’t do that. It can only receive messages. But… messages from who? It’s supposed to be offline, anyways. Not connected to any of our servers, or any sender for that matter. And why on earth was it encrypted? Was the sender a spy? A hacker? Is this some sick joke? And what did the helmet finish downloading? The thoughts ran through his head lightning quick as he tried deciphering what the heck just happened. The only things left after a lack of established servers were the data already stored. His battle records, transmissions, pilot equipment connections, and… BT!

He tore the helmet from his head. Oh no. No no no no no. There’s no way BT had anything to do with this. His datacore dissolved in the explosion. The same explosion that tore an entire planet to pieces. Thousands of their own had died, not even being adjacent to the ARC site. Nothing survived. Nothing. Well, nothing apart from himself, he supposed. But the remains of BT’s system internetworking would still be tied to Cooper’s helmet. The neural link would still have threads in the helmet’s software too, and that hasn’t been wiped from anything yet. Not even from Cooper. Could it… could it be BT? Some kind of final transmission?

He fumbled with the helmet, pushing back over his head. He needed clarification, an explanation, anything to answer his frantic questions, but he saw nothing. The messages didn’t reappear, and the visor remained idle. Cooper sat wide-eyed and breathing heavily, letting the maelstrom of emotions ebb away, until his chest didn’t feel so tight. Eventually, Cooper removed his helmet and let it fall to the floor. What else did he expect?

He sighed and grunted as he leveraged himself against the bed frame to stand. Limbs creaking, he moved into his kitchenette and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Something had to send that message. It can’t have been from our servers, and it can’t have been from the IMC. Not through the base’s firewalls, not this specifically. Not unless someone seriously wanted to mess with me. The sink hissed and sputtered as it filled the cup. The message had to be something sent before my helmet went offline. That’s probably why it said it downloaded something. Cooper chugged from the glass in large slow gulps. My helmet was online for hours before pilot’s training. If anything was sent, it would have appeared already. Maybe the arc explosion fried the receivers. Maybe this crap is just my helmet glitching out. He pushed off of the counter as a wave of frustration and helplessness overcame him. I should have taken it to the techs when I had the chance. Now I’ve broken the last thing connected to him. Both of them…

He began pacing through his cramped apartment, mind now flooding with grief-surrounded memories of his mentor and friend. Lastimosa was the wisest wild card he had ever met: he always had answers, or at the least a snarky comment or two. And no one had ever looked at him with so much pride as Lastimosa did. His standards for men weren’t based on gauntlet records or range hours. Lastimosa saw something in Cooper that even he didn’t recognize. Cooper radiated respect for him, and then the man went and died protecting him. Deep down, he couldn’t help but feel honored at the idea, but muddling the oddly-sourced pride was immense waves of guilt and regret.

This thought pattern wasn’t healthy. He had gone down this road many times already, and he could feel it in his tingling fingers and lightheadedness how unproductive it was. After about ten seconds longer of taking three steps just to turn at a wall, he decided that a walk through the base would be to his benefit.

He laced up his boots that he’d left by the door, and grabbed a dark green windbreaker. Just before he stepped into the hallway though, he hesitated, then turned heel back to his bedroom. He located the glitching helmet and clipped it to his hip. There’s no way I’m gonna let myself miss another one of these “flukes” he thought belligerently. It was kind of a desperate move, but hey, he was desperate.

After double checking that his door was locked behind him, he walked briskly down the hall. He felt callous about letting his emotions get the best of him again, and walked with his hands in his pockets and drifted through the halls. The lights were dimmer than they were during the day, and the usual buzz of activities had quieted to a dull hum. A MRVN was moving from section to section, mopping the floor. It chirped as he passed by.

The next half hour passed in a haze as he wandered through all the main corridors in platoon 4’s Titan wing at least twice. His mind was just as riddled with thoughts as when he started, and he wondered if changing route would help. Maybe explore the base beyond platoon 4? But the potential of getting lost and having to ask for help shut the idea down instantaneously.

Pacing past the cafeteria for the third time, Cooper wondered why the halls felt so empty. There were usually quite a bit of comings-and-goings, even in the evenings, but the most living thing he had seen tonight was the MRVN. Cooper blinked, checking his watch. 23:46. Crap, when did it get so late? His ever-foggy mind was seriously frustrating him. After a couple more minutes of walking the same hallway for the fourth time, he determined that these white walls wouldn’t get any more interesting. He had an impulse idea, something small and nagging, that was separate from the weight of everything in his mind. It felt light and fresh, and strong, and before he could second guess or overthink it, he let his feet carry him to the last unpaced corridor in platoon 4’s sector: the hangar.

The renewed sense of destination made time go by quickly. He passed a weary mechanic in oil-soaked overalls on the way and avoided eye contact. He did feel a bit of consolation that he wasn’t the only night owl tonight.

He entered the hangar at the same equipment-covered platform from earlier that day, pushing uncertainly through the hinged doors. The vast room had almost no lights, aside from a light glow from the mechanics bay and a little moonlight through the far windows. Cooper decided it was enough to see the ground under his feet and descended a set of stairs. In the meantime, a battle was quietly raging in his mind. What was he doing here? He had a literal physical reaction when he usually had to walk through the hanger. There were too many memories that he didn’t know what to do with. The amount of times Lastimosa met him here with BT far surpassed the amount of times his pilots-in-training had worked amongst the titans, but he couldn’t stand the thought of working here without them. He had actively tried avoiding the place up until now, not wanting to remember anything more than necessary. Cooper caught this thought spiral: he was doing it again, bringing on more self-directed frustration. I can’t even go for a walk without getting emotional anymore. I need to stop, he thought, gritting his teeth, It’s just a room. A room I will soon have to work in full-time. A room with titans. Vanguards. And pilots. Real pilots. Not Cooper.

Objection: Cooper is my pilot. The memory resonated in a familiar way, and Cooper closed his eyes until it passed.

Cooper felt that perilous ache again, the one that he only felt after the sun went down. And he was certain it was because he was in the hangar, because what else could it be? But there was no chance he would bail now, though. He was far too stubborn for that. He didn’t have to think about Lastimosa or BT if he didn’t want to.

Thinking about not Lastimosa and not BT, Cooper trailed along the border of the hangar. Once nearing the corner, he turned down an aisle. Docking pads and titan bays line both sides, most housing inactive titans. Most titans were set to go into a sort of sleep mode when they were on-base at night, nearly completely powered down minus a few alert triggers. So even though he passed the massive stagnant silhouettes of the one thing he wanted back more than anything, the only thing he had to worry about was not thinking.

Amidst all of his not thinking, he found himself feeling. Since Typhon, he held an empty, slightly fuzzy sensation at the base of his skull where BT once resided. Oddly enough, it wasn’t a place of disdain though. He found relief in focusing on the feeling it brought, the kind of relief that looking through a photo album or the mementos of a loved one long gone. It’s a mindset that he recently learned to retreat to when… undesirable thoughts pushed their way to the surface. The sensation seemed to be a steady constant since Typhon, but was hardly noticeable unless he specifically thought about it. When Cooper did think about it, to distract from certain surrounding scenery perhaps, he noted that it felt like TV static. It was a centralized feeling, making him wonder if it was remnants of a head injury, and not just where BT’s neural link used to be most active. If that were true, then like his helmet, he was neglecting repair on grounds of his desperation-soaked nostalgia.

As Cooper briefly revisited the idea of whether speaking to a medic would be worthwhile, in addition to a technician investigating his helmet, something in his peripheral caught his attention. A little light, hovering in one of the many docking pads. A dim but solid yellow beam that a moment ago was definitely not pointing this way. His training pulled him to alertness, and he tensed as if this unknown prepared to attack. He usually isn’t so on edge in base, but hey, it’s been a hard day. Cooper can work on potential undue triggers another time. For now, he could only hope it was another night owl.

He honed in on the light, trying to decipher who else was in the hangar, who pointed that flashlight at him? His eyes widened as he finally recognized the origin for what it was.

Cooper spoke first. “It’s you.”

He stops dead in his tracks, right across from a 33 foot tower of a vanguard. The yellow optic peering down at him matched the titan he saw on the walk back from training earlier that day.

It’s optic darts around, looking over and past Cooper as if searching for something else. And to Cooper’s dismay (what did he expect?), it doesn’t respond.

A different but thankfully non-paralyzing fear bubbled in him now: awkwardness. He could just ignore it, just keep on walking. Walk to the other side of the hangar, walk back to his room. But something kept him there. Maybe it was the all-too familiar silhouette, or the way this titan’s optic shuttered just like BT’s. Besides, titans were supposed to power down when they weren’t working or on missions. It was standard resource conservation protocol. So why was this one still on?

Cooper cleared his throat and swallowed. “Why are you awake?” he said gruffly.

After a pause, it answered Cooper’s question. Its voice sounded stilted and formal, and its voice module was lighter and less sure than BT’s. “I am currently on standby for localized activity within hangar 4 of the 4th Platoon. I also have orders to monitor certain data that require alertness and connection to the intranet, no matter the hour.” It paused, and glanced down the aisle before adding “I was awakened by your entering the hangar.”

For his first conversation with a titan since Typhon, Cooper felt less than he thought he would. Face to face with this machine, he began to feel distant and empty, prior awkwardness melting into detachment. Although unsure as to why, it bothered him that this titan wasn’t doing what it was supposed to, being dormant and out of his concern. But this titan was given busywork by its pilot’s higher-ups. He just wanted a walk in peace; he was too busy not thinking to deal with this. Cooper realized he was the one who started the conversation, but whatever. He was frustrated again and the late hour left him with little patience.

“Why’s your pilot making you do that?” He said bitterly. He didn’t know why he couldn’t just walk away. But he was irritated, borderline mad at this titan now.

Another pause before it responded. “I am not currently linked to a pilot. I am on standby for any instruction, and as such must be alert when a pilot is near.”

“I’m not a pilot.” Cooper said gruffly, looking away.

The titan responded easily this time. “Facial recognition identifies you as Pilot Jack Cooper, previously linked to the titan BT-7274, vanguard class. Is that not your pilot’s helmet there, as well?” The titan questions, pointing lightly to Cooper’s waist.

He responded by digging his hands deeper into his pockets, narrowing his eyes into a near-glare and looking away from it’s optic. He wasn’t about to give this bot the satisfaction of acknowledging his denial. Besides, it wasn’t real denial, he was still in training: he wasn’t a pilot yet, not really.

A pang of grief welled in his chest as he accidentally imagined what BT would think of Cooper disclaiming his pilot’s title.

Before Cooper could muster up another snarky response, the titan before him asked “Do you have a request, Pilot Cooper?” That question sounded disturbingly close to a too-obvious conversation change to Cooper, and on top of that, it hadn’t dropped the pilot title. He clenched his fists and started to say something along the lines of fuck off but he stopped himself. He knew his frustration was not originating from the titan, but it was only more frustrating to know that he still felt hostile despite knowing as much.

The titan likely won’t care one way or the other if he asked it about rocket science or just walked away mid-conversation. Or that’s what Cooper told himself. It didn’t know Cooper. It didn’t care about Cooper. It’s just doing what it’s been told to do. It wasn’t personal. Calm down.

The titan just watched him.

The stretching silence that was only slightly awkward gave room for thought, and for an instant, he wondered who exactly this titan was. How long has it been active? Maybe BT knew it…had it fought in the Battle of Demeter? Humanity flickered through his expression and he found the titan’s optic again. He found himself wanting to fill the silence again, despite his better judgement.

“You said you don’t have a pilot? That’s unusual for vanguards… what happened?”

“My former pilot was recently lost, and there have been minor complications in restoring my neural link functional capacity. I remain functional outside of linking to a pilot, so I maintain activity until repairs can be made.”

“...minor enough to keep you grounded?”

The titan doesn’t respond.

Cooper’s anger fizzled out, realizing the loss the machine and him had in common. He cleared his throat and said the only thing he could think of. “I’m sorry. About your pilot…”

The titan’s optic shutters spun.

“I understand what it’s like.” He added, looking down the dark, quiet aisle of the hangar.

“...”

“...you do, don’t you?” it responded.

That sounded sentimental and Cooper couldn’t decide if he couldn’t stand it or was deeply, deeply relieved. Definitely grasping for straws, it was the first time since the Battle of Typhon that he didn’t feel completely alone.

“You are currently receiving the pilot’s training course, correct?”

“Yeah”

The titan glanced around the hangar before continuing. “We had a brief interaction earlier today, as you and your squadron passed through hangar 4. Do you recall?”

“...yeah”

“You collided with me. I believe it was unintentional, but your reaction was unusual. I fear it did more damage than initially calculated. Are you alright?”

Cooper balked for a moment, opening his mouth with an answer then closing it. “Of course it was unintentional.” Realizing that didn’t really answer the question, he added a little quieter “Yea, I’m fine. Just distracted, was all.”

“...I am glad you are uninjured.”

What, did it really think Cooper’s moment of panic was proof of a concussion or something? Slightly flattered but slightly uncomfortable over its concern, Cooper decided to use this moment to share his pre-planned, skillfully crafted, and well-thought out parting comment. “Thanks…Well, I gotta get going.” Cooper said blankly. “See you around, I guess…”

“See you around.” The titan echoed in the exact same tone Cooper used.

Definitely feeling the titan staring him down as he walked off, he strained his eyes ahead of him to keep from glancing back. A flood of emotions came back to him as he walked, and he had trouble discerning any of their origins. What the heck was that? God, what are the chances that I run into a clingy pilot-less titan the one time I venture into the hangar. I should have known it was a mistake. Passing a familiar MRVN mopping the floor, he briskly strode down the halls, eager to return to the privacy and isolation his quarters had to offer. He felt unreasonably drained from the conversation he thought didn’t go too terribly, and couldn’t decide if the energy sap was caused by the titan dredging up bad memories, or his brain fog returning.

After struggling with the keys at his door for a good minute, Cooper shuffled inside. Moving into his bedroom, he realized that he left his lights on when he left. Whatever. He didn’t care enough to mull over his forgetfulness right now. He turned them off.

Throwing his jacket onto a chair, he flopped onto the bed, not bothering to even crawl under the covers. He let out a raspy groan and closed his eyes, curling around the helmet and letting the dark muddle his thoughts and feelings from the day. His last conscious thought was that he never did ask for the titan’s name.

Chapter Text

The morning was going terribly. Two cups of coffee and Cooper still couldn’t keep his eyes open. The squad, along with a couple other groups of pilots-in-training were currently making the trek from the mechanics bay to hangar 4 for the final part of their progress assessment. They had been in the mechanics bay for the better part of 4 hours, being grilled on the anatomy of a titan.

He was itching to be excused, to go back to his quarters. Laying on his kitchenette counter was his glitching helmet, barely even able to recharge (risking a forced reset, which who knows what would happen then) and still not in a knowing tech’s hands. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he saw on the HUD over and over, concern gnawing at him for the wellbeing of his mentor’s helmet. He was terrified that the delay would be the reason for Lastimosa’s helmet being deemed inoperable.

Between the erratic visor flashing and the way it received that eerily personal encrypted message, he was sure it was on the verge of frying itself. Or, it was sent by… He swallowed the rising bile of illogical hope and turned his attention to the activity around him. He could get the helmet to the techs as soon as this Anatomy of Titans shenaniganry was over. They would figure out what was going on, and explain why it wasn’t actually BT communicating with him beyond the grave.

Besides, he had to focus. He had to rank high in this skill assessment. Just for another hour, then he was free. Then it would be fine.

“Alright cadets, line up!”

Cooper found his place amongst the others.

He didn’t know how well he’d done, and honestly, he didn’t care. Usually he would be psyching himself out about it by now, and guilt-tripping himself into doing better. But he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Cooper stalked down the mechanics hall, helmet tucked tightly in the crest of his arm, scanning each door and room he passes for the “equipment technician” title card. Ford said it should be around here, he recalled, but couldn’t for the life of him remember the room number given. He had been informed of the office’s location pre-testing, but the exact number had long since slipped his mind.

Nearing the end of the walkway, he worried that he had passed the room– or that maybe he was in the wrong hall altogether. He’s barely seen the mechanic’s hall anyways, much less had to navigate them. Just before he turned around to double-check everywhere, he found what he was looking for, the second-to-last door. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he pushed into the swinging door and walked in.

Surrounding him were bleach white walls holding lots of grody tools, hanging above counters bordering the entire room. An island sat in the center with nick-knacks and various fine machinery components piled into a small mound. Low-hanging light fixtures coated the room in a yellow-hued light, making the room feel less ‘science lab’, more ‘dirty workshop’ atmosphere. Standing next to the island was an older man with ash-gray hair donning a classic white lab coat. He was hunched over a table that shone a light on some very fragile-looking equipment.

Cooper stood near the door awkwardly, waiting for the tech to recognize his presence. After a few moments of the man making no move, he cleared his throat politely. “Uh, are you Dr. Singh?”

The man startled at his voice but quickly recovered, face brightening as if happy that someone had crept in. “Oh! Yes! Hello, young man!” Dr. Singh set down a fine-tipped tool and made his way to where Jack stood, and stepped around the table. “What can I help you with?”

Cooper cleared his throat. “Hello sir, my name’s Jack Cooper, I’m here with the special-case helmet? Commander Ford should have sent you a heads up,” he greeted, extending his free hand to shake the technician’s hand.

“Of course, the helmet with two primary users!” Dr. Singh exclaimed enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I kind of inherited it mid-battle. Not sure about the protocols for this type of thing, but I think the helmet was messed up in the process… I was also exposed to a ton of radioactivity. It probably just has some hardware damage, or the code was scrambled, or something.” Cooper explained, unsure of how much Ford had told him.

“I'll be the judge of that, but don’t worry, I’ll follow all of the proper channels for this kind of thing, and get it cleaned up like new for ya.” The tech took the helmet from Cooper and looked over the shell. “Mind telling me more about these glitches? What’s been out-of-the-norm with it?”

Cooper blinked. So he didn’t know much, got it. “Well, the visor flashed sporadically once. Not sure what triggered it, and I can’t get it to do it again… I think it’s receiving faulty transmissions, too. It showed some new transmissions on the HUD, the last time I put it on.”

The technician frowned and raised the helmet closer to his face as if to get a better look at it. “How peculiar. Deactivated helmets shouldn’t be able to receive any transmissions,” he pondered. “The receiver could be broken… perhaps it is receiving a strange frequency…” Dr. Signh began to trail off, mumbling a few more things that Cooper couldn’t quite understand, but just as Cooper’s focus began drifting around the room, the Doctor turned to him enthusiastically, seemingly prompted by some kind of realization.

“These deactivation limitations can sometimes be blurred by a titan link. These helmets transmit quite a bit of data to your titan at any given moment, you know. Is your titan still synced with the helmet?”

Cooper blinked and adjusted his posture, attempting to hide how heavy the question struck him. Really, Ford? You didn’t care to tell the guy that BT died? But in a mere moment, he pieced together an answer.

“My…”, his voice caught so he cleared his throat, “My titan isn’t active anymore. BT’s not… he shouldn’t be paired to the helmet, no.”

Dr. Singh, not seeming to pick up on the mood shift, continued on vibrantly. “Oh, that’s right, I believe I’ve heard about you! The Heroes of Typhon, right? Well, word on base is that they’re mass-producing Vanguards because of your success out there. Most of my work lately has been strictly focused on Vanguard development. I’d love to show you once you’re reassigned a titan if you’re keen!”

Cooper forced a smile, cringing inwardly at the suggestion of titan-reassignment. He thought of his return to Harmony after the battle of Typhon. There was a chaotic and terribly public welcoming party that swarmed the returning shuttle as they deboarded. As he made his way through the crowd, their convening chants and praises had cut at him like invisible knives, the words hero and pilot, victory… and the resounding laughter of reuniting friends bouncing around like popcorn to his ears. It took hours to get to his barracks, and he shook so many hands and smiled so much that he was numb. This memory came in a moment and painfully reminded him of his newfound aloneness.

Dr. Singh received a polite half-smile and no voiced agreement or disagreement. After a mere beat of silence, he continued on. “Well, in the meantime, let’s focus on getting your helmet back to proper operating conditions.”

The doctor seemed to consider a thought before he pointed to Cooper with a questioning look. “Say, one more thing before I get started, you don’t happen to have your neural link with your Vanguard, do you?”

Cooper felt strangely defensive at his question, and rushed to respond. “Uh, yea, I do. What’s it matter?” He said curtly. Defensive of what? a buried voice questioned.

“Well, the helmet could pick up on its reminiscent signal and mistake you for your titan. Just another factor to consider when I begin digging for the source of our problem, yea?” He shrugged. “And being a first-time pilot, do know that a broken neural link left unattended has a tendency to cause some pretty bad headaches. But I’m sure you’ve realized that already.” He said with a wink and a smile, like Cooper’s potential symptoms were some kind of inside joke.

“Heh, yea…” Cooper trailed. He didn’t, though. He hadn’t felt any headaches. Definitely a little dizzy here and there, but all he felt was static in that same centralized part of his mind. The place where he used to feel BT.

But he wasn’t about to tell the over-energized technician about his unnatural sensations stemming from his broken link. That would prove his sentiment, and probably indicate long-untreated concussions. Who knows what the tech might bother him with then.

It probably had something to do with the distorted helmet anyways. Once it was fixed, he should be too.

The doctor palmed Cooper’s helmet as he wandered over to a table along the back wall. “Well, I suppose I’ll get to it then! I can’t say how much longer it’ll be before it’s finished. At least a few days here before I can begin working in-depth, but I’ll let your Commander know as soon as anything surfaces.”

Cooper recognized the end of the conversation and took it gratefully. “Thanks for your help, Dr. Singh. I look forward to the results.” He acknowledged politely, and headed back out the hinged door.

Now, he thought, Now I wait. Moving down the walkway, he noticed the vague sour mood that had been developing since the beginning of the conversation with Singh. Of course I feel crappy, the guy wouldn’t leave BT out of the conversation. A pang of despair hit him as BT’s image arose once more, reminding Cooper just how alone and abandoned he really felt. He understood why the doctor had to ask about it, it was his job after all, but it irked him that he went about it so happily.

Venturing through the halls, it was hard to ignore the heightened activity around him. Chattering riflemen, more scientists in lab coats carrying screens and bits of equipment, MRVNs trailing behind pilots who looked like they had places to be. Cooper had to keep his eyes up, lest he run into someone. He quickly decided that recouping alone was more desirable than dinner in the cafeteria. His squad was probably there now, though. Talking about the assessment, talking about the future, joking and laughing with one another.

A nagging pressure of some kind hit him as he realized he was partially avoiding dinner to avoid conversing with his team. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them; he enjoyed their company. In fact, they were some of the most welcoming people he’d met on base even since being a rifleman… but the thought of keeping up with their high-demand energy made his shoulders heavy.

He went back to his quarters and locked the door behind him.

Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow I’ll make a better effort to get along with them… How the heck am I supposed to do that? He dropped his bag and jacket into a pile near the door, next to the half-emptied moving box he had abandoned last night, and wandered to the kitchenette to search for some food. If he wasn’t going to get a proper meal from the cafeteria, he figured he should at least eat something.

Cooper didn’t find anything appealing, but an idea formed as he took a soda can from the back shelf. I could invite them out for drinks, he thought, half-smiling as he imagined it: him and his drinking buddies, out on the town. But the feeling only stayed for a moment, quickly replaced by the embarrassment of having to invite them first.

Giving up on finding anything in his barren fridge appetizing, he migrated to the couch, slouching into its tattered cushions. Propping one foot against the coffee table, he clicked the TV on. He wasn’t too interested in watching it, but would rather watch some crappy sitcom than mull over… other matters. He opened the can with a crack and gulped it, welcoming the stinging pain of the carbonation in his throat. Leaning into the cushions, he closed his eyes and kept sipping, letting the terribly familiar static at the base of his head drown out his thoughts.

________

A sway. A gentle swaying motion, as if to rock him as it oscillates back and forth. He couldn’t see anything, wherever he was, but he could tell he was safe. Content. A familiar hum droned around him, and he leaned into the rough padding of a sturdy seat.

Then, a light. A speck, but it grew quickly. A blinding white, now flickering. A glitching screen stretched in front of him. What… who was this?

A deafening sound exploded from behind him, and the glitching screen morphed into blue. A glaring, overpowering, blinding blue that seared into Cooper despite his best attempts to block it. Dread filled his limbs, but he didn’t know why. All he saw was blue, why should it be feared?

A moment later, the oddly behaving screen swung up and out of view, quickly replaced by a definite outline of a hand. A massive hand, reaching towards him desperately. It closed its digits around his torso quickly but carefully. Ever so carefully. Ever so gently. And the hand instantaneously ripped him away from the safety of the space he had found himself in.

Then he was falling…

Panic burned through his chest as he was blinded by white light again. It was hot. He was dying. No one and nothing stopping his infinite freefall.

“No... not again… I can’t lose him again… NOOOO!”

Cooper awoke in a rush of panic. He propped himself up and jerked his head around, trying to find his bearings and locate the source of the unseen danger.

The first thing that he became aware of was his location. He was still on his couch, in his living room, wearing the clothes from the day prior. A profound, yet fleeting dream…memory? He couldn’t remember, and the more he tried focusing on it, the further away it drifted. Either way, he found himself covered in a cold sweat, clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin. Now aware enough to use basic reasoning, he realized that it was just a bad dream and he was NOT in fact in danger. His high-alerte state faded and he could feel his heartbeat slow. Real classy, Coop. Falling asleep on the couch. What a prime example of how real pilots act. Why am I here anyways? He craned his neck to the messy coffee table littered with pop cans. I can’t even properly drown my sorrows to stop thinking about… aw crap. Now I’m thinking about him again.

But he didn’t shy away from the memory this time. He recalled his strange awakening, and noticed some strange residual emotion from his dream. It felt like a good dream. A really good dream. What scared me? He squinted in thought and looked around the room, running a hand across the back of his neck. The light that illuminated the walls stemmed from the flickering television screen. A faint thought of what time it could be crossed his mind. His apartment was windowless, and he didn’t have any clocks near him. It’s probably an important thing to figure out though, since he had places to be this morning…

He swung his legs off of the couch and his foot collided with an empty pop can, sending it skittering across the floor. It startled him, but as he watched it roll to a stop, he pictured how funny it would be if someone saw him like this. How pathetic was this: the mighty hero of Typhon, messy and grimy and broken over nothing. He’s a military man. Loss is in the job description. They don’t have the time and resources to fall apart after every mission that resulted in casualties… Besides, what would Lastimosa say to this shameless display? He’d be so disappointed…

He booted another can across the floor just to watch it bounce. As it did, a sense of numbness tumbled in, as if his mind simply let go of all care.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned onto his knees and scrubbed his hands into his face. He had work in the morning. He needed to check the time. Unfortunately, his internal clock was of no use to him. It could be noon for all I know... Crap, what if I overslept! A panicked wave of adrenaline was sent through his limbs, and he bolted over to the kitchen counter. The notary screen upon it lit up upon approach, displaying a bright, bold 04:34.

Oh thank goodness… he thought, slumping against the counter. I no longer need to make an excuse for missing PT. 04:34 meant he still had an hour left before he had to get ready. An hour that should be spent sleeping, he thought.

Pushing off of the counter, he ambled towards the bedroom, making a point to overlook the coffee table and surrounding scattered cans. The remnant fear from his unrecognized dream still remained in his mind, but so was the good feeling. He was hoping they would cancel each other out and maybe he could fall back asleep.

He crawled into his real bed and pulled the covers up under his chin. One hour. One hour, he repeated, trying to pressure himself to fall asleep. The AC unit turned off with a clank, leaving a silence that seemed to echo in its wake. The mild glow from the TV in the other room (which he had once again forgotten to turn off) seemed to shine intentionally through the door and his closed eyelids, and on top of all that, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought that he hated himself.

His thoughts grew louder and louder with each passing minute. What would Lastimosa think of me now… I’m barely passing Pilot’s training. I broke his helmet from sheer neglect. I’m letting myself waste away, I can't even run simple training courses anymore. And I let his titan… I let BT… I let him…he told me to take care of him, and I… He sighed deeply and raspily, and felt his face grow warm. I let BT die… Time is supposed to heal all, but the words rang through his mind, seemingly the only thing in his cavern of thought right now. It wasn’t loud, but it was obvious and clear and undeniable. His next breath caught in his throat, and he clenched his jaw and held it in an attempt to stop the sudden onset of emotions.

A moment later, when he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, his breath broke in a groan, and he felt festering shame at the thought of himself, practically a pilot, crying. Tears rolled down his cheeks, dampening his pillowcase, and his shoulders heaved as he let himself feel the heartbreak.

Cooper lay limp under the covers, crying over someone he barely knew for a day. That undeniable, pivotal, life-altering day where BT was his titan and Cooper was his Pilot. They were powerful, unstoppable, symbiotic. He had never felt that way before: indescribable comfort, but the confident kind and not the placating kind. He could do anything, as long as he had BT.

The sense of support from an ally was not new: as a rifleman, he knew that his fellow soldiers had his back, and the comradery was mutual. He trusted his old unit with his life, and had to prove such on countless close-call missions. His unit had done so too, they worked well together. But this was different. With BT, he trusted the titan because he chose to. BT had proved it physically, but Cooper could sense the titan’s intentions through the link. It was real. He chose it too. Unwavering loyalty and determination, and unshakable confidence unlike Cooper had ever known to be possible. A presence that had filled him with hope that he too could be strong. He felt like he was alive for the first time, and his once gray world was in streaming color. And then BT did exactly the type of thing BT would do: pour all of his determination and decisiveness into an (externally) highly logical and successful plan. And sacrificed himself for Protocol 2.

And now he was alone.

He let his mind slip into a fettered gloom and the minutes passed by in a blur. All he knew during the time was a deep, aching, relentless sorrow for a being no longer present, and a moment later he was being wrested back to earth by the bone-jarring blare of his alarm. Feeling even more exhausted than when he awoke an hour ago, he forced himself out of bed to get ready for another long day.

Just before heading out the front door, he paused for a moment. He could do this. Deep breath… alright, calm down. You’re fine. Everything’s fine, he coached silently. Just another day, you’ve done it before. Pull it together and go kick butt. He was trying to tug on his competitive side. The side that honed his senses and drove him to give more than he thought he had, but despite his attempts, the lingering empty stillness remained.

Trying a different route, he redirected his focus to the static at the base of his head. The phantom sensations that once held a strong, stable presence. It provided him with a sort of dissociative state of mind, where the problems of the world faded into a blur and was replaced with a fuzzy haze he’d come to rely on. Maybe that was a little insane, but he didn’t have anything else. It was easier than usual to find the static. Since he woke up that morning, the static felt noticeably sharper than usual. More…invasive. Between his state of sleep deprivation and his steady emotional wear-and-tear, he worried that his abilities to separate what is and what was was weaning… but it was a strong possibility that his neural link was beginning to collapse in on itself, too.

Maybe I should be more concerned about permanent brain damage? He thought. But it doesn’t hurt or anything. It doesn’t feel like brain damage. I can still see straight… He blinked the sleepiness out of his eyes. Kinda. Shrugging to himself and pushing his concern aside, he took another deep breath. Resolution overtaking him, Cooper made his way out the door, finally deeming himself steady enough to survive this morning’s training.

Chapter Text

“Ay, Cooper, c’mere. I need to speak with you.”

Dread pooled like lead in his stomach at the commander’s words. What is it this time? He knew he hadn’t been improving as quickly as his comrades- in the classroom or on the field- but he wasn’t doing badly. She could be calling him out. What if she thought he was slacking? What if she thinks he isn’t trying? That he doesn’t want it?

Glancing questioningly at his squad, he heard Carey speak first, tone jovial and teasing. “It’s okay Coop! What’s the worst that could happen?”

“We’ll meet you in the cafeteria,” Espinoza countered reassuringly as Cooper drew away from the squad and to where the commander stood waiting.

Once he was within proximity of the Commander, she began speaking in a low but firm tone. “I wanted to bring your attention to your maintenance exam’s results. I know how hard you’ve been working to keep up the pace, Coop, but this test was a big one. Not passing this means you aren’t qualified to pilot a titan off-base. Do you realize this?”

“Yes ma’am.” Cooper cringed inwardly. At least she knew he was trying, right? And of course it was the mechanics exam, every time Cooper got near a titan, his mind would reel and he couldn’t retain anything being said to him. What a joke of a pilot…

“There will be an opportunity for a retake,” she continued on. “It’s certainly not ideal, but the SRS is trying to squeeze as many pilots through the program as they can. They’ve started to allow retakes now, at the end of the course.” She sounded irritated at the idea, but eyed Cooper and added, “Vanarsdale is having to retake Kinematics. You’re not the only one lagging right now.”

“R-” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat to straighten it. “Right! Sorry about that, ma’am.”

“Stay focused, Coop. You’ve come a long way since your rifleman days, but I need more effort from you t’ finish out your certs. I want to see the spark you had on Typhon,” Ford said with emphasis. Then, she hesitated before saying, “If it’s battle fatigue, there are folks on base to talk to. Get your head on straight, or it’ll be straight’ned for you. There’s only so much slack I can give.”

Cooper blinked at that: her suggestion implied that the Commander suspected his stagnation to be deeper than topical. Guess he wasn’t as inconspicuous as he thought. He stoned his face and replied with as much certainty as he knew how to. “It won’t be a problem, ma’am.”

Ford whacked him on the shoulder. “Good,” she barked. “I’ll let you know more when re-certs roll around, but for now, spend your evenings in the hangar. Sharpen those problem areas. Oh, and see Dr. Singh about your helmet’s progress. I got word that he’s found something n’ needs to talk t’ you.”

“Yes ma’am.” He saluted the commander and slinked away, hands clenched. He knew how he should feel about being called out for his shortcomings, but he had practically seen it coming. This wasn’t unexpected, and besides, this shame wasn’t new. Nothing she said wasn’t something he hadn’t already run through his head a half-dozen times… but he thought he was covering it up well enough. At least enough to play the role of a fatigued but determined soldier, still working to improve.

Apparently not.

But if his mask was working on everyone else, which he was pretty sure it was, then Cooper had to give her credit for being observant. Even after being confronted, after being told to his face that his efforts weren’t good enough, he felt a twang of solace in that. The act of being seen, even in a poor light, was something few and far between. Someone was looking out for him, wanting him to succeed. It felt nice.

The cafeteria was as loud as always. Every table in the room was filled to some degree, and the echo of overlapping conversation reverberated around Cooper. He scanned the space, looking for the familiar faces of his squadron, and eventually finding them in line with trays in hand.

“Hey guys,” He greeted. “They serving anything good?”

“Suure,” Mcennan answered sarcastically.

“-that sort of thing will get you killed! Unless your titan’s there. Then it’ll get your titan killed,” Kelly said dramatically. Cooper frowned. Her and Vazquez were on the outskirts of the circle in a heated discussion.

“It will not! I know my limits, and this is definitely within them!” Vazquez said confidently. “The data knife would be doing most of the work anyways.”

“Sure, okay, until the stalker makes literally any move to dodge it. Then you’re screwed.”

Raising an eyebrow at the two, he dismissed them and turned his focus to the progressing line. Besides him, Carey spoke up. “Does anyone have plans after dinner? I had an idea, but I need availability.” She spoke with a lilt in her tone and a gleam in her eye, as if plotting something illicit.

Those around her perked up. Martinez replied first. “I don’t. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinkin’ that these bog routines could use a change, and that the town’s within walking distance. We could do heaps in the city, get a drink n’ wander the streets a bit, maybe find a nice view?”

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea. Getting off base could be good for us,” Espinosa replied. “I know a nice park that overlooks a waterway. If we aim to be there by sunset, we’ll get quite the sight.”

Face brightening with an idea, McLennan shouted, “Oh! Can we get ice cream? It’s been SO LONG since I’ve had ice cream.”

Carey’s smile widened with each response. Her eyes flicked from person to person, eating their enthusiasm up. Martinez smiled back, glancing between Cooper and the others, before agreeing. “Sounds like a fun time.”

Cooper smiled back in a flash. It sounded like these guys enjoyed a good view just as much as he did. They wanted to get away from the commotion and stress of training once and a while. But while he understood, he couldn’t stand the thought of having to keep up the act of “everything’s fine” for even longer today. He felt queasy and just wanted to go back to his room. He took a breath and answered, “I think I’ll hang back. I have some backlogged paperwork to do.”

“No worries!” Carey said easily. Too easily, Cooper thought. Carey pressed on. “It’s still pretty early in the evening, wanna head out after grub?”

Finally realizing something was happening behind them, Vazquez and Kelley broke off from their ongoing quarrel. “Wait, what’s happening?” Vazquez asked unabashedly.

“Drinks in the city, maybe a decent amount of wandering,” Carey replied. She paused to scan through the group, then added, “Vanarsdale, you comin’?”

“Sure, the city’s bound to be more interesting than the white brick in this craphole,” He replied with an exasperated tone, but everyone knew he wasn’t genuinely irked. Cooper huffed, “I hear you man.”

“Well then, that makes for good company,” Espinosa commented. The group had found a table by now, and after tidying up the table from the previous tenants, they had sat down to eat. “Two hours till the base goes to sleep. Meet at the hangar.” Espinosa’s grin broadened. “I’ll bet I can get us a ride.”

The squad scattered after dinner. Cooper lost track of who went to do what, and went back to his room. He was determined to review his mechanics books. Or at least, he was trying to be determined. He sat at his desk in the corner of his room, skimming columns and diagrams without processing anything.

In the last hour, a bout of dizziness had bloomed that tylenol couldn’t make a dent in. The back of his skull felt like it was melting, while the internet just told him it was hypertension. Bracing his head on his hand led to running his fingers through his hair, and he was about to give up on studying when he heard a knock at the door.

He startled and stood from the desk quickly. His leveraging hand slipped off the edge and he stumbled, almost going down. “Shit,” he whispered, catching himself and moving uncoordinatedly to answer the door.

He opens the door and locked eyes with a scrappy-looking man wearing technician’s overalls. He looked wide-eyed at Cooper, breathing a bit too quickly to have gotten here via a casual stroll. “Uh, Pilot Jack Cooper?” He said between breaths.

“Yes sir, that’s me,” Cooper said, forgetting his dizziness to the moment. “Is everything alright?” His battle instincts pumped adrenaline through his system, knowing that the only time an out-of-breath visitor would come knocking is if an emergency call-to-action was in place, as was common amongst riflemen barracks. He was already recalling where he left his boots and deciding whether he could put on his tacticals while running and mapping a beeline to the shipyards.

The messenger stood a little straighter and said, “Dr. Singh has requested you to the technician's bay. Sir, will you please come with me?”

Cooper stared at the kid as his mind did a hard stop. Dr. Singh. As in the technician leading the repair of his helmet. “What’s going on?” he asked a little more aggressively than intended.

The technician blinked, then answered slowly, as if contemplating his word choice. “Dr. Singh thinks… something strange is going on with Lieutenant Lastimosa’s helmet.”

Cooper’s heart sunk. Strange wasn’t good. Strange meant he had probably broken his mentor’s helmet.

The messenger continued, “We were attempting to factory reset the helmet, but there was atypical software in place. It has all kinds of firewalls; I’ve never seen anything like it in a helmet before! Well, it is requesting a pilot’s clearance in order to drop them, and we can’t continue without these walls dropped, or we might lose the helmet’s security measures altogether.”

“It’s also, well, Dr. Singh thinks…” The kid hesitated again, this time like he was debating whether to continue speaking or not. Then he said, “They think it’s your old titan, BT.”

There was silence between the two, a gap that stretched thick and swelling.

“...What do you mean they think it’s BT?” Cooper demanded.

“Lastimosa’s helmet is on lockdown. Nothing is working how it should be. There are massive signs of tampering, but to our knowledge, no security protocols have been broken, only added. Whatever’s going on within your helmet is big. Sir, the transmission you received? The only logical source is your titan, BT,” The tech emphasized.

Cooper’s chest twisted in fresh grief, and he fought to maintain his expression. This naive technician-in-training probably didn’t know the first thing about datacores, and now he mixed whatever over-complicated explanation that Dr. Singh gave him into a fairytale. But Cooper knew the truth. He knew how broken that helmet was. He knew BT barely had time to get him out of the explosion, much less break his helmet on the way out. As badly as he wanted to believe in the false hope, he couldn't cope with losing it.

“Kid, it’s not BT. Nothing can make it through a nuke like Typhon’s ARC. Believe me.”

“Sir, if you could just come with me, Dr. Singh has requested-” The messenger’s voice faded into background noise as Cooper’s own thoughts occluded him. Cooper still didn’t get exactly what he meant by they think it’s BT, but the kid had sounded awe-struck while telling him the news, and the sureness tugged at something in the back of his mind, and made the grief in his chest skip and bounce.

Cooper stood frozen at the doorway for a hair of a moment longer as his world spun around him. From his dizziness or the kid’s claim, he wasn’t sure, but Cooper realized he knew one thing for certain from the moment Lastimosa’s helmet was mentioned: he would do everything he could to amend what he had destroyed.

In a moment, he decided. He launched himself towards his boots and wingman, and even though he stubbed his toe and pinched a finger, he was flying down the hallway seconds later as the technician’s assistant quickly caught on and led Cooper in his charge to the technician's bay.

The tech, to Cooper’s chagrin, slowed to a brisk walk before they entered the tech’s hallway. They walked to the end of the hall and entered the same cluttered office Cooper had visited a week prior. This time, however, there were 4 other technicians ambling around the room. Two sat at screens, and two stood nearby speaking in hushed conversation. Dr. Singh was at the island workbench, hunched over and fiddling with connectors and saying something to one of the technicians sitting at the screens. Most importantly, Cooper saw Lastimosa’s helmet resting at the center of the island. Stripped of all armor and underpadding, and highlighted under a yellow-tinted work light.

The sight of the barren helmet felt like weight atop Cooper’s breathless lungs, but he had no time to fully process the sight, because the entire room had looked at them when they entered the room.

“Sir, I’ve brought Pilot Cooper,” The kid spoke.

“Good, good, yes! Thank you, private. Cooper, my dear!” He bellowed across the room. “Come here, come here!” Dr. Singh stood and stepped around two others, just to wave Cooper over and shuffle right back to his seat. Cooper followed, heart pounding.

“Did you know that most of the time, we inlay pilot helmets with gold lining? Just a thin sheet, but it does wonders against radiation from your titans, and on the ground,” Dr. Singh said, shuffling little tools and monitoring devices around on the bench. Cooper stared as a million little questions ran through his mind, but he didn’t dare to interrupt.

“Minor radiation exposure, mind you, but a very innovative first-line of defense nonetheless. However, it’s not a perfected shield. I’ve worked with radiation-overwhelmed helmets before, but never radiation as uniquely significant as the fold weapon of Typhon. When my division first received your repair request, I had thought that mending a helmet with such immense radioactive damage would be an intriguing challenge, but my oh my, never would I have expected something like this!” He said enthusiastically, gesturing to the helmet before returning to flit through a datapad.

To their sides, a tech with a long blond ponytail started to adjust Lastimosa’s helmet, and then to his surprise, she began handing it to him. The exposed hardware was attached to no less than four different monitoring devices. “Put this on,” she instructed.

Cooper held it like glass.

Dr. Singh continued. “We figured it would be a typical new user helmet reset, with the added difficulty of determining which parts to replace and which to leave running. Just, more than the usual, you see.” He handed his datapad to the tech with the ponytail before continuing. “Then you tell us that the helmet received a transmission post-radiation, despite not being able to run any core applications visible to the HUD. Certainly unusual, but nothing IT can’t crack, I thought. So we opened the software, poked around to see what all was salvageable, and what this mystery transmission was about, and good lord!” He said, with all the dramatics of storytelling you could imagine. “It was the messiest helmet software I have ever seen. Almost all of the helmet’s primary functions were either gone or encrypted. The primary data system appeared to have been altered by a third party user, where the helmet’s basic functions were rendered inoperable, intentionally! But somehow, the alterations evaded every trigger and red flag established for alerting against this sort of malice. A fascinating case that I had my security officer step in on.”

One of the techs from the other side of the room spoke up. “The helmet was scanned for IMC, but everything we could touch was too encrypted to tell what it was. Cybersecurity’s efforts bounced back, so we gave up on the backdoor entry points. Which left us with the HUD.”

“And whadda-ya you know, it tells us only its primary user can access anything,” Dr. Singh interjected animatedly. He then smiled warmly at Cooper. “So you, my good friend, are our next best shot.”

Cooper glances from Dr. Singh to the others watching him around the room.

After another beat of silence, Dr. Singh added, “So, if you would do the honors?”

“Sir, it… didn’t exactly go so well the last time I put it on.”

Dr. Singh clasped his hands together and smiled brightly again. “Do not fret! These bugs are what we seek. We will see what you see, and we will guide you through this assessment.”

Cooper cleared his throat, glancing once more at the doctor before palming the helmet and slipping it onto his head.

The HUD came to life, and Cooper’s eyes tracked every line as it dotted across his FOV.

USER FOUND

FIRST NAME: JACK
LAST NAME: COOPER
SERIAL NUMBER: 201314727

COMBAT UNIT: 41 MRB-E-P4 PIT

RANK: PILOT

Seconds later, the dockets faded, and the stillness in the room around him made his ears buzz. He turned to Dr. Singh, conceding. “This is the same stuff as before. I’m sorry, I’m not sure what else I can do for you.”

“Ah ah- Pilot, don’t be so assumptious!” He said brightly, nudging the frame of a monitor in Cooper’s direction. “We’re in.”

Cooper watched the screen intently. He still had no idea what was going on, or maybe he was just panicking too much to keep up. It festered in his chest and reminded him of why he dreaded giving his helmets to the techs in the first place. Because they would find proof it was unsalvageable, and he would lose the best memento of Lastimosa he had left.

A couple of keystrokes later, lines of numbers and letters began flashing across his HUD, decrypting one character at a time.

BT-7274.P2.file_

Open? Y/N_

The room was buzzing again. “What is this?” Cooper demanded. A file with some kind of last words? A goodbye? A major, unrepairable bug left by an IMC hacker that would render the helmet inoperable the moment he opens it?

“A data file… Interesting,” Dr. Singh hummed, leaning over the monitor.

“What does that mean, sir?” Cooper asked.

“We’re reading on all ends,” A tech announced.

Dr. Singh nodded to him, then answered Cooper’s question. “It appears to be some kind of application. Unregistered, obviously, but I think we can all guess on its origin.” He glanced at Cooper with a glint in his eye, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world that his titan had been the one to break Lastimosa’s helmet before Cooper killed BT. “But we can’t be quite sure yet. Go ahead and accept, pilot.”

Cooper executed the file. For a moment nothing happened, but a breath later, his HUD froze and then went dark. Cooper was left standing in the middle of the room, watching the technicians crowd around monitors through the metal mesh X of his visor.

“What the… hello?” He whispers.

A hair later and something lit up his darkened FOV, something he honestly didn’t think was possible on helmet tech: a loading bar. With each passing lungfull, nothing else rebooted, and Cooper was still in the dark both literally and figuratively.

“We’re reading you, Pilot Cooper… and good lord,” Dr. Singh exclaimed, “There is a lot of data in this file.”

He didn’t sound worried at the notion, but certainly intrigued, so Cooper managed to not have a panic attack right then and there. “So the helmet’s still broken? Is it recoverable?”

“No no, broken is a bit harsh for this particular situation. The contents of your helmet have essentially been…” Dr. Singh waved his hand, “redesigned.”

Cooper furrowed his brows, trying to pick apart what redesigned meant. “By BT.”

Dr. Singh held up a finger. “We can’t be sure of that until it’s uploaded to our system. This could be an imitation. But not to worry, we are on an isolated system! Hopefully, the data of this file will bear clues, or maybe just tell us itself,” He said proudly.

“How long until you know?” Cooper asks, noting the loading bar showing what appears to be no progress.

“It may take hours to fully upload into the system, and to risk removing our entry key,” Dr. Singh gestured to Cooper, “risks causing the data file to re-lock itself.”

“...but it’s 20:14 at night.” Cooper said, heart pounding in his ears. “It’s after hours.” Cooper had no idea why he was arguing. He wasn’t actually concerned about the late hour and getting enough hours of sleep. He was panicked, confused. He wanted everything to slow down so he could catch up, then he wanted to know what BT did to his helmet.

Dr. Singh laughed as if Cooper just told a joke. “Make yourself comfortable, soldier. No need to wait till morning for something that could be done tonight!” Behind him, the techs were working excitedly around the monitors.

Cooper hesitated before gathering his wits enough to do what he was told. “Yes sir.”

He watched Dr. Singh as he turned his attention to the techs, who had massive manuals out and opened on the tables now. Great. They don’t know what they were doing either, the voice in his head chided. But another part of Cooper started analyzing.

If there was a massive amount of data in his helmet, which was probably downloaded by BT before he died, then it must have been important. He couldn’t figure out what though, or when, for that matter. His helmet was working up until the ARC exploded. What if it was data about the fold weapon? Data that could only be collected in the last moments, and was so insurmountable that it was large enough to break the helmet.

Not broken, the same head voice reminded him. Cooper clenched his fists and took a seat, resigning himself to the waiting game. The techs could figure this out. This was their job. They knew helmets, they knew data encryption.

He let his head hang as he stared at the crusting leather of his boots, running through potential developments, and trying to further convince himself that this wasn’t BT trying to communicate with him beyond the grave.

Chapter Text

“Shut up, guys, keep it down,” Espinoza hissed over his shoulder to the clambering bunch behind him. “We’re going to be court marshalled if anyone catches us!”

He didn’t stop punching a code into a keypad adjacent to the door, though. Earlier, Espinoza had assured the group that, unless Research and Development changed protocols since he transferred, no one would be there until at least 6am.

So there they were. Crowding around a door leading to one of the more innermost hangars at the headquarters base of Harmony, basically breaking into the R&D department.

“We’ll be fine once you get us out of the hallway, bud,” Vanarsdale said, tripping over his boots as he stepped up behind Espinoza.

The squad had just returned from the city, where they had spent the past few hours bar-hopping and skirt-chasing. Eventually they made it back to base, where they constructed the ingenious plan of “going for a walk.” As expected, they quickly entered the realm of potential illegal activities. Everyone was at least tipsy, so it wasn’t unexpected. McLennan in particular had to be carried on the back of Carey in order for them to make it this far without collapsing.

Espinoza grunted, feigning annoyance, but he was definitely as giddy as they were to see what was behind the codelocked door of the experimental design unit.

“First the Humvee, now thiss? Yu’re off the rails!” McLennan slurred from behind.

“Voices,” Espinoza ordered sternly, pushing the unlocked door inward. He turned, keeping a hand on the door and letting the rest of his squad file through.

“Go left,” he added in a hushed tone. Their giggles and shuffling feet echoed through the hangar conspicuously… if any soul was in the area, they would have heard them from a mile away. But it was the dead of night, and for this small department of research, that meant it was closed.

They filtered around various workstations and equipment setups, wisely avoiding touching anything but snickering at everything. The hangar wasn’t large, so it only took a minute before someone found what they were looking for.

“Goys! Come ‘eah!” A harsh whisper carried across the hangar.

They eventually migrated to the voice’s origin, somewhere along the broad side of the room. Against a wall, a larger chunk of floorspace was bordered by two L-shaped workbenches. Between them stood two MRVNs, held upright by stilted metal frames. One of the MRVNs was half-dismantled, and asymmetrical with missing components. Its blockish head sat on the adjacent bench amongst various other fragments. The other helper bot was also disfigured, but with the missing bulk and extra parts of the other mounted to its shell.

“What? It’s just a spectre.” Vanarsdale guessed, squinting at the bulkier robot.

“Somethin’s wrong with its foace,” Carey says, simultaneously glancing at McLennan who was now on his own two feet but looking very ill.

Espinoza, for once, didn’t interject with an explanation. He was grinning, and stepped closer to take the chin of the bot and peer into its faceplate. “Those mad geniuses actually did it…” He angled his head around the facial unit of the machine, drinking in every detail. “Hell, you think it works?”

“We think what works, ESP?” Carey let go of McLennan and joined Espinoza by the bot’s side.

McLennan coughed and leaned on one of the workbenches.

Espinoza pointed to a large cylindrical gap in the center of the head apparatus. “Doesn’t that apparatus look familiar to you guys? That’s no ordinary faceplate,” Espinoza turned to grin at Carey, eyes twinkling. “That’s a datacore port.”

Behind them, McLennan threw up onto the floor.

Cooper woke with a throbbing pressure behind his eyes that made opening them a chore. Someone must have hit him upside the head overnight.

The hours prior had been full of slow, monotonous activity. The techs worked diligently to their credit, but Cooper mostly just sat there, answering the occasional question and doing his best to not to sound like a clueless idiot. He tried to keep up with what was happening for the first half hour, but he just didn’t speak their language. When Dr. Singh pulled the techs out of the room simply to have a conversation outside of his earshot, he gave up completely.

By the stars, he hoped that they would at least find something tangible– diagnoseable– but he resigned himself to wait, trying not to overthink things and letting his mind go blank. He’d succeeded a little too well apparently, because now he blinked sleep from his eyes.

He still felt completely drained though, and it wasn’t a minute before he was fighting against the darker corners of his mind. By simply being there, he felt like he had started something irreversible and risky, triggered by instinct and crying for cessation. An impossible task, because nothing was in his control right now.

Stop. Breathe. Ignore.

Technicians moved between tables and equipment in the room, having what sounded like five individual conversations at the same time. To their credit, they sounded eager, absorbing every millisecond of whatever broadcasted onto the displays in front of them. Cooper wondered if they were like Dr. Singh, never tired of their work.

After a few minutes, the pressure behind his eyes migrated to the back of his head. The growing intensity crept down his neck.

He cleared his throat, catching the attention of Dr. Singh as he passed by. “Excuse me, I’m not sure if this is something on your end or mine, but I just wanted to let someone know. I have a, er, headache. Like a migraine but not in the right spot,” he gestured to his head. Thank all things holy that he still wore his helmet, so they couldn’t see him cringe at his awkward interjection.

“A headache?" Dr. Singh echoed, tilting his head like a curious animal. “Headaches are common amongst freshly broken neural links, pilot. The mind plasticizes to accommodate for the neural workloads that are typically exacerbated or muted in a titan’s absence.” He opened his mouth, then visibly hesitated before continuing. “I thought it was odd you didn’t have any sooner than this, but I believe we know why you’ve been operating differently. Understand that we've had a lot to sort out these past few hours. Compiling your helmet’s core programming uncovered a lot of alien ad hoc polymorphism, and the compilers are all out of whack, none of our generic software is acting automatically,” Dr. Singh explained. “But good news, pilot! We believe we understand what has been interfering with your helmet’s functions as of late.”

Cooper nearly sagged with relief. Please, yes. Bring him in the loop. Tell him something that he understood. “What is it?”

“My team has found some extraordinarily unique attributes with the base programming in your helmet. We didn’t want to tell you until we were absolutely certain, considering the nature of our…discovery. And thank goodness for the thoroughness of the research development teams, because it was a near instant match,” Dr. Singh rambled, with a spark of passion glinting in his eyes. It was a lot of details for Cooper though.

“It seems the data that overrode your helmet matched code patterns analogous to the adaptive paradigm of the post-Demeter titan designs!” He exclaimed, smiling widely and waving his hands at his big reveal.

Cooper blinked. “Like, a tag?”

“Well, in a sense, The code patterns are essentially tagged as Vanguard, but the substance is intentional. Sort of like a memory.”

“So… there’s a message in my helmet?”

“It’s more than a message, my forlorn friend. We are currently reconstructing fragments of what we believe to be your former titan assignment, designation BT-7274.”

The superfluous language took a few seconds to click, but when it did, his heart skipped a beat. “It’s BT?” He pushed up from his chair and rushed to Dr. Singh, brows furrowed in desperation. “You mean to tell me that BT is what’s been jacking up Lastimosa’s helmet?”

Dr. Singh nodded enthusiastically. “BT appears to have uploaded fragments of itself into your helmet. And I can’t help but wonder if your headache is caused by your mind attempting to mold around a severely dissatisfying neural link.”

BT uploaded fragments of himself? What, like a horcrux or something? “That’s impossible. Titan AIs can’t fit into helmets.”

“Well pilot, I’m inclined to agree. Although we aren't sure how, we know what is. And it is currently being pulled and processed.” Dr. Singh leaned in slightly, suddenly looking serious. “But Cooper… the code we have is very spasmodic. Between the radiation damage and the lack of entire data segments, it will be nearly impossible to reconstruct what once was.”

Cooper’s stomach dropped. “Can I talk to him?”

Dr. Singh grimaced, “Pilot, allow me to be more direct. We aren’t sure if the data will be tangible after it is extracted. It's too fragmented, too flawed. It’s more than solving a puzzle, it’s ghost-mapping a labyrinth without walls.”

“But you’re going to try, right?!” Cooper pressed, his world tipping onto its side.

Dr. Singh shared a look with one of the techs. “We are trying to pull it, running pieces through our systems to see if anything can be read. Whiiiiich should be about ready to start now, then we can assess what we have to work with to a more precise degree. Can we work with that for now, Pilot Cooper?” Dr. Singh says with a sympathetic smile and a tilt of his head that made Cooper grit his teeth.

A wall of emotion slammed into him. He felt so helpless. All of a sudden, his world was hopeful again and BT was unimaginably close, but it was still so far out of reach. He hated the hope, because he knew it meant agony was bound to follow. Because BT might not be salvageable at all.

“Yes sir,” he answers.

And to his horror, he walked back to the chair and sat down. He dug his fingers into his knees and he barely breathed until sometime later, someone told him that all the data was pulled. He could remove the helmet now.

They said it would be hours, maybe days, but they would contact him as soon as anything progressed.They also tried explaining the details of the process, but while he appreciated their efforts, he not only barely understood what they were talking about, but his restraint was slipping and he needed to get out of there fast.

So he did, and as soon as the doors swung closed behind him, he pressed his hands behind his ears to crowd out the throbbing.

He felt like he was about to burst. He should be happy, right? This was good news. Great news. His helmet was ruined and BT was horcruxed. Fantastic, yes! Because BT was right there. Right there in Lastimosa’s helmet, flashing and calling for Cooper’s attention for days on end, probably slowly degenerating amidst the decrepit helmet hardware, while he sat on his ass and ignored it.

He knew how these things went. In a militia of this size, they didn’t have the resources to pour so much into one titan AI. The fact that BT was older might help, and that he screwed with the boundaries of adjacent software, but he was still only one titan. And even if it was economically feasible, he knew that the techs could only do so much against the planet-cracking radiation damage of the fold weapon.

He rounded a corner, moving on autopilot as his maelstrom of emotion curled into grief faster than he could stop it. He missed BT so goddamn much. He missed his strength, his sureness, his limitless patience and understanding after most people never knew to look twice.

Cooper hadn’t thought he could break even more, but the raw ache now seeping through him said otherwise. Because Dr. Singh said it might not be worth fixing. He needed this to work out. BT: alive. Saved by cramming into a Pilot’s helmet!

But if the techs found that BT couldn’t be salvaged? If he lost what was left of BT, along with Lastimosa’s helmet and the rest of his pitiful, hopeful heart?

He didn’t think he could live with himself.

Cooper’s walk back to his room took mere seconds and a lifetime, all at once. He moved mindlessly through the winding halls of the trainee quarters, ignoring the echoes of other voices of people alive in the base around him.

The echoes drew closer.

“There he is!” someone said.

“Shit, where’ve ya been, Coop?” A different voice this time.

A hand took his shoulder and he finally lifted his eyes.

Crap. “Hey guys,” he greeted his squad, who looked a little too relieved to find him to have been a coincidental encounter.

“We heard about your helmet,” Vanarnesdale started first, “that they found something that BT left, and were trying to unencrypt it or something? But we didn’t know where… or, I guess we didn’t know, uh…” he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck.

“We didn’t want to overstep,” Espinoza finished.

“And we know how much shit you’ve been through lately.” Carey added.

Martinez cleared his throat. “And we were in the area, so we looked around. But you weren’t at the hangar or the range. Or your room.”

“Or the repair bays.”

“Or the R&D floor.”

Cooper blinked. A quiet, long-ignored voice in the back of his mind whispered See, they care.

“It was BT,” he blurted.

Martinez frowned, glancing at Espinosa who now stood beside him. “BT?”

“In the helmet… it wasn’t a message. It was BT” Cooper exhaled forcefully, trying to steady himself enough to explain. “They say he crammed himself into Lastimosa’s helmet, pieces just downloaded into the helmet. But it doesn’t make sense – the helmet’s so broken and BT is so big. And they knew that, so they told me it probably wasn’t worth trying to fix-” he choked on his words and immediately cringed at himself.

“Okay, okay,” Martinez flicked his chin, gesturing down the hall. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private.”

The group murmured agreement, and a hand on his shoulders guided him amidst them. He let himself be herded down the hall, neither rejecting or accepting anything.

No one said much while they walked through the monocolored halls. At one point, Cooper asked again why they were looking for him, and Vanarnsdale confirmed that they had indeed gone out the night before. Sometime that morning, they had gotten word that Cooper’s helmet had a message placed by BT. They had heard Cooper’s story, seen signs, and thought they had better find him to make sure he was okay.

Cooper didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything at all. Vanarsdale didn’t seem to mind.

A few more minutes, and someone found an unattended conference room to slip into. It was very well-furnished, with carpet tile flooring and plain wallpaper. A long heavy red oak table rested in the center, surrounded by a dozen fabric-cushioned rolling chairs. Organics were harder to come by these days.

Black monitors were mounted to the walls, and the overhead lights flicked on as they filed inside. A few of them settled in the chairs, while Carey and McLennan hoisted onto the table, shoulder to shoulder. Espinoza came in last, closing the door behind him and walking straight to Cooper.

“What’s going on with BT and your helmet?” He sounded firm, almost demanding, if it weren’t for the underlying concern in the question. It was a combination that Cooper hadn’t heard since Lastimosa mentored him.

Cooper breathed through the sting that immediately built in his eyes. He felt far too fragile with 7 sets of eyes on him, even more so with Espinoza staring him down. A part of him felt stripped bare, but another part of equal sway just didn’t care anymore. He was too tired of pretending and running and hiding.

Or maybe he just couldn’t stand being alone anymore.

It took a few seconds longer for Cooper to start talking, but he slowly began walking his friends through what had happened: the data file discovery, the tech’s painful discretion, the eventual revelation of what they had found, and the warning that it might not amount to anything after all.

They listened well, only interrupting to ask pertinent questions. Espinoza and Martinez especially, keeping him talking in a way that made him feel like he wasn’t debriefing a crowd. No one looked at him with pity, either, and he didn’t freeze up, and he didn’t get the urge to run away and crawl into a hole. It was different… nice.

So he finished his story, explaining how his tender seed of hope was planted just to die.

The techs really didn’t sound hopeful; they sounded placating. There were thousands of lines of code to pull together. Even with automation, it was a daunting task. If they scraped BT’s data together enough to run something, it would be at most a facsimile of what he used to be. Then Cooper would have to talk to the facsimile… oh, what would BT think of him now?

“What if he does come back,” Cooper blurted, his bones chilling as he spoke the thought aloud. “BT will find out all I’ve done– that it was my fault the helmet broke, and he was left rotting in it for so long. That I didn’t turn him into the techs, and now they couldn’t pull enough of him together. He’s going to realize that it was my shortcomings that got Lastimosa killed, and now I can’t even pass pilot’s training. The bar is on the freaking ground and I’m still not good enough!” Cooper heard every word he spoke as if someone was saying it to him, and he had never wished he wore a helmet more than he did right now.

“Fuckin’ hell, Coopah.” Carey said softly, with no air of mockery. “Oy had no idea yah put so much on yourself… yah know it’s not all on yah, mate. ‘alf of that is just loife, and the otha half is out of yah control and yah know it.”

Cooper’s lungs deflated. She sounded so real, like what she was saying was true and obvious and easy, even though it felt so wrong to him. For a moment, he wondered if her sympathy came from personal experience, too. To say it with such conviction.

“I just– I’m just so sick of wishing.” His shoulders sagged a bit more, as he faced the extent of forever without him head-on. He whispered “I can’t deal with losing him again.”

No one so much as coughed for many moments. Martinez broke the silence first. “Your titan bond is that strong, huh? It sounds… inundating.”

Cooper twisted with a wince that was almost a smile; a memory drowned beneath months of grief. “It’s the most freeing thing you’ll ever feel.”

Martinez tugged Cooper into him, anchoring his arms in a tight hug. “You’ll feel it again.”

“I know,” he dismisses, making no move to return the gesture but adamantly not pulling away.

“I mean it.”

“That’s out of your control.”

Martinez shrugged, withdrawing but keeping a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Call it faith.”

From atop the table behind them, McLennan interjects. “Yeah, man, like the saying goes, just tie a knot.”

Besides him, Carey scoffs. “Are yah off your rocker?"

“Don’t give me that, y’know what I mean! That saying, when you get to the end of your rope, you just– y’know, tie a knot.” McLennan shrugged.

Martinez huffs a laugh from in front of him. Carey knocked her boot into his dangling legs. "That's the cheeziest shiet I’ve eveh heard,” she deadpanned.

“What? No dude, it’s inspiring.” He elbowed her back, and she almost fell off the table. “See? Coop likes it!”

Cooper took a deep breath, against the wall behind him. He didn’t understand how, but he felt a blooming in his chest amongst the endless ache. It brought with it a surge of relief, because he didn’t think he would ever be able to find this without Lastimosa or BT.

He spoke softly, “Thanks, guys. For seeking me out, I mean.”

Carey stops her catfight with McLennan with a shove to say “Of course, Coopah.” She held up a rock n’ roll hand signal, whisper-hissing, “PIT squad #4 for loife!”

McLennan snickers. “And I’m the one off my rocker.”

Cooper smiled, closing his eyes and savoring the feeling. He might have tried to join the teasing, but a sudden surge of his headache struck him so hard his lungs caught.

“Cooper?” Vanarnsdale said from his right.

He pressed a hand to the area, hiding a wince. “It’s okay, it’s been doing this lately. I just need a sec…” His voice trailed into a grunt as the pressure spread and radiated down his neck. It was so intense that he broke out into a sweat. Another surge hit him, and his legs buckled, which slammed a knee into the ground.

The pain became inundating almost immediately. His ears started ringing, his vision went white. It was electric agony and he figured someone must have stabbed the nape of his head. This must be what it’s like to die.

He couldn’t do anything but batter down and pray. One breath. Then another. He didn’t know how long he would be able to endure this but he had no choice. With each breath that passed, the pressure climbed. He might have screamed, he couldn’t tell. All he knew is that half a breath later, something inside him snapped. The breaking sensation rippled from his head to his neck, then down each limb, ceasing all pain and leaving a prickling sensation in its wake.

It, too, dissipated like an echo. He panted shallow breaths through rigid lungs, digging his hands into the carpet and trembling. Everything felt phantom and unreal, and it was terrifying. Two people had hands on his shoulders, and crouched in his peripheral. He couldn’t tell who was who yet. One of them said something, but everything was muffled and distant.

“It stopped,” he rasped, not lifting his eyes from the spinning, morphic patterns of the carpet tile. “It stopped.”

One of them said something in response, something meant to soothe. A drop of fluid fell from somewhere on his face. Maybe a tear, maybe sweat. Either way, it was interrupting the carpet’s repetitive pattern below him.

Slowly, he collected his bearings. He checked himself, and realized that the background ache that had been forming all day had faded along with the splitting pain. He breathed through his nose, closing his eyes with relief.

He was okay. He was alive. He felt warm hands on his back and shoulder, and his fingers tingled with excess oxygen in the blood. He felt a full-body tinge of stress-induced high blood pressure, and he felt the ever-present static at the back of his head.

Wait… no, that wasn’t right.

He focused on that corner of his mind where BT used to be, so so long ago, where only fuzz and static had been since Typhon, and to his absolute horror, it was empty. His heart plummeted, taking any sense of relief he had found with it.

“It’s gone,” he whispered.

The person to his left– Vanarnsdale? Yeah, Vanarnsdale– answered immediately. “Yeah bud, we’re really glad it’s gone, but we’re taking you to the medbay right now because that was not normal.”

“No- you don’t understand! The static, it’s not there!” Cooper looked up, eyes wild. Why didn’t they know what he was talking about? It was so much to Cooper, so big, so obvious that it was drowning him. It was everything and no one knew. “BT’s static, in the back of my head–” he stressed.

“Static?” Martinez questioned from his right.

“BT?” Espinoza said pensively, stepping into his peripheral.

Cooper knew he sounded deranged: he wasn’t so long gone that he didn’t know how he sounded. He had never made a point to investigate why his broken neural link didn’t return to baseline like other pilots who lost their titans. But he had certainly associated it with BT, similar to what one might do with a headstone or a vat of ashes. And after that freak pain episode, and the techs currently on the fence about whether BT was salvageable? It meant that they deleted BT, with whatever his link had clung to now gone with it. He was gone, all over again.

Cooper’s face paled, and his teammates exchanged glances with one another in questioning. They were still confused. That’s right. Because he had never let himself fall apart in front of them.

Kelly, to his surprise, pushed off of her spot from an adjacent wall and crouched next to Vanarnsdale. “Easy Coop, let’s take a minute here.” She had a kindness to her eyes that made her seem peaceful. Soft, in a capable way. “What’s going on?”

He might have already dug his own grave, but now was not the time to fill holes. He could explain it to them later, but he needed to get to BT.

“I don’t know.” He swallowed, trying to rise from the floor on unsteady legs. Vanarnsdale and Martinez helped him up, holding his elbow until he found his balance.

“Something's wrong, really wrong. I’ve gotta get to the tech’s to see what they did. Please, they must have done something to him…” He stepped out of their arms and hoped his plea was enough for them not to stop him. He threw the conference room door open and started down the hall.

He had no idea how to get to Hangar 4’s technicians sector from here, but he could figure it out.

He heard the squad exit the conference room behind him. Martinez came up beside him, matching pace. “Cooper, hold on. You need help, we need to get you to the doctor’s.”

He only shook his head, keeping his eyes trained forward and a hand sliding against the wall for stability. He was slowly regaining muscle response anyways. Doctors wouldn’t do much beyond advising rest and water, anyways.

“Cooper, stop,” one of the girls pleaded from behind. He pinched his lips, not sure if he should argue with them or beg. But he had to find Dr. Singh and get an update.

He didn’t have a chance to do either, though, because all the lights in the area went out.

He jumped at the shouts of surprise from over his shoulder and slowed his walk to a stop before hearing Martinez step up to him. A hand took his forearm and tugged him forward and Cooper sighed in relief. Martinez knew how much BT meant to him. He must have reconsidered. “Thank you,” Cooper whispered.

The two used the darkness to edge away from the group. As Cooper followed, he couldn’t see anything beyond a few red dots on the backup lights. Everything else was a wall of black, but he wasn’t led into any obstacles by his friend.

Neither spoke, and although they passed other shuffling feet and voices, no one ran into them.

They eventually made their way to the more outermost areas of the base, if the presence of distant windowlight was enough to judge. It was enough for Cooper to do more than follow blindly. It was also enough for Cooper to notice a very clearly box-shaped head atop a very inhuman square torso which embodied the man in front of him.

Cooper stopped dead in his tracks, yanking his arm away. It was a MRVN, that somehow had no indicator lights. “What the hell?! What- what’s going on here?” He stumbled, a maelstrom of emotion made mostly of fear jarring through his frayed nerves.

The MRVN stopped, its gait wobbly even as it turned in a very MRVN-unique way. It emitted a little trill of beeps before gesturing to Cooper, bidding him to follow.

“What? No, what are you doing here? Who told a MRVN to do something like this?” He breathed, bewildered and almost offended that that was all it was doing.

The MRVN only turned around again and continued walking, beeping louder and waving him on. It didn’t look back and Cooper glanced around. Still no one in the halls, definitely still in an area he didn’t know, with no indication of how to get out.

He eyed the robot carefully, but took a step to follow. Whatever it was doing, it did not seem malicious. More hurried than anything, honestly. Cooper had been following it blindly thus far, what was a bit longer?

Cooper jogged lightly to catch up, and the MRVN stopped beeping. Cooper fell into step behind its shoulder and didn’t take his eyes off of its frame. Just because he was letting it lead him didn’t mean he trusted it.

The bot turned a corner that opened the hall into a string of administration-style offices, with light only from a few scattered skylights. It stepped around something that Cooper, a moment later, did not, and he cursed aloud. The bot turned and beeped as if scolding him, just to take his forearm to guide him again.

“Where are you going?” Cooper dared to ask. Unsurprisingly, it responded with a beep. Okay, fine.

Almost on cue, they emerged from the office strip into a hall that Cooper recognized to border Hangar 4. His heart skipped a beat and he stepped a little quicker.

Lights were out here too, with nil sign of the backup generators. They turned into the aisle of technicians offices a minute later, and the MRVN walked him straight up to the door of Dr. Singh’s workroom. Then it beeped lightly and shuffled forward to hold a door open.

Strange. Very strange, but Cooper didn’t need to be told twice. All that mattered was finding Dr. Singh and getting an explanation, and this time he wouldn’t leave without a guarantee, social rapport be damned.

“Thank you- thank you!” He pulled his hand from the bot and darted through the doors.

The moment he stepped inside, his once darkness was edged in a low glow. No one was in there, Dr. Singh or otherwise. Perhaps tackling the power outage, but he didn’t ponder on it as he beheld the source of the light in the center of the room.

It was a datacore, dim but shining like a spotlight against Lastimosa’s stripped helmet, in an unmistakable and devastatingly familiar cyan blue.

He froze.

Did it work? Had they pulled BT’s data after all, even after explaining how low the odds were of them being able to do it?

He didn’t know how and he didn’t know why, but what he became startlingly aware of was that he would not leave this room without securing BT’s fate. He knew how to handle a datacore, and he was not ready to leave his chances in their hands again.

His stomach twisted like he was about to make a big mistake, but he walked into the room until he shone with the same blue that Lastimosa’s helmet did.

Fingers closed feather-light around the rim of Lastimosa’s helmet, then closed intentionally around the sheath of the datacore. And he left as quickly as he came.

A memory flashed through his mind, one that was often a feature of his night terrors. He was running through an IMC facility on Typhon, running through fire and steel to escape an onslaught of automated defenses and soldiers. BT was reduced to a datacore in his palm, and Cooper thought he was gone.

He clutched the cylinder a little tighter and almost broke into a run. Maybe the hangar would have something for it, or maybe he could find Briggs and acquire something. No, that was insane. What was he thinking, he had no idea what to do next.

He didn’t make it ten more paces before someone- no, the MRVN with the agenda, intercepted him. It kept pace and beeped at him, before lengthening its stride to overtake Cooper.

He understood, and fell into step behind it.

The MRVN led him away from Hangar 4 which did nothing for his nerves. They moved through unfamiliar areas once more, Cooper following its silhouette cast by low-angled backup lights that had finally been triggered. So maybe he was a disgraceful, childish, poser of a thief, but at least he could sort of see as he walked now!

The hallways widened as they continued, and on multiple occasions, Cooper had to avert his eyes and play casual as they passed people. Doors became fewer and further between, and soon the floor morphed into tarmac.

The robot stopped at one of the doors and stepped close. Cooper stopped behind it, watching as it stood unmoving at a keypad mounted next to the frame. Almost ten seconds later, the electronic lock buzzed open and the MRVN went inside. Cooper swallowed, following after him.

It was another hangar, Cooper realized. It had skylights, so despite the lack of power he could see everything to some degree. They entered through a side access door, and most of what he could see was rows of shipping containers alternating with massive wooden crates. It was quiet, too. In the silence of the room, he could hear his own beating heart. No machinery or man was active here, certainly unnerving for a place this well-stocked.

The MRVN led Cooper around the end of a row of crates, turning methodically into the row. Cooper followed, but nearly froze at what was revealed before him.

To his left: a wall of crates. To his right: a dozen brand-new titan chassis of assorted models, hanging cold and empty on the racks. The MRVN didn’t pause, moving methodically down the row.

He was definitely not supposed to be here. Not anywhere near here.

His hand tightened around the datacore, and he trained his eyes ahead, as it stopped and faced a chassis near the end of the aisle.

He had a feeling he knew what it had found, and a tight breath later, he forced himself to look.

A Vanguard. Damn it.

The MRVN trilled and pointed, taking a few wobbling steps backwards. He knew what it meant. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a long, slow breath. Then one step at a time, he approached the base of a pede. He didn’t dare raise his eyes yet, as he gently set Lastimosa’s helmet down and found the first rungs of a maintenance ladder on the frame of the rack.

One rung at a time, he rose. He had to consciously widen his eyes in order to see through misty tears, but he kept assuring himself this was okay. That it was going to work. When he climbed high enough, he leapt for the handle on the cockpit hatch and anchored an arm around it, propping his boots against the chassis plackart.

The SERE kit bloomed with his proximity, so Cooper slowly eased the datacore, along with his most impossible dreams, from his hand and into the opening. It took a moment before it set, hinges whirring as it drew the datacore into the armored case.

Cooper found a shred of lucidity enough to leap back onto the rack’s ladder, and he watched the light flicker, before brightening significantly. Shutters edged over the datacore before enclosing it completely, only to open a heartbeat later.

It spun and clicked in a pattern he never knew he had forgotten about, and then it swiveled, bathing him in that same piercing blue that haunted his nightmares, his daydreams, every freaking walking, breathing second for the past two months.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move.

A voice rumbled before him,

“Hello, Jack.”