System and Rescue

I reach out to the blue window in front of me only for my hand to phase right through it.

'This must be the System God was talking about,' I think to myself.

"The Host is correct," I hear a male robotic voice say in my head.

'Wait, you can read my thoughts? And you're sentient?' I wonder in my head.

"The host is both correct and incorrect. I can, in fact, read through the Host's thoughts, however, I am not a conscious Artificial Intelligence. According to your memories, I can be best compared to Jarvis, the Personal assistant of Tony Stark from Universe number 199,999. I, the system, am here to assist you, and being able to interpret what you're thinking at all times would be the best and fastest approach to this." The system says.

'Yeah, but Jarvis ended up becoming Vision, fully conscious and all,' I think.

"The Host needs not worry, I was made with the sole purpose of assisting the Host, and at the core of my being is code that will not allow me to betray the Host. I am also in control of the nanobots that currently reside in your body and have been healing it. Would you like me to display your statistics?" the system says.

'Sure, but first, do you have a name? It's kind of weird, you know, to call you system,' I think. 

"No, Host, I do not have a designated name. Would you like to give me one? Or would you like me to take the name of Jarvis? According to your memories, it would fit me best." the system replies.

'Yeah, alright, that sounds like a solid plan. From now on you'll have the name of Jarvis,' I say to the system.

"Thank you, Host. I will now display your stats and break them down for you.

Strength (STR): 30 (Normal Human Average 15-20); Physical power, ability to lift and carry heavy loads or perform strenuous tasks.

Endurance (END): 50 (Normal Human Average 15-20); Ability to sustain physical effort, resist fatigue, and tolerate physical damage or discomfort.

Agility (AGI): 40 (Normal Human Average 15-20); Reflexes, speed, and coordination, critical for piloting maneuvers and evasive actions.

Perception (PER): 35 (Normal Human Average 15-20); Awareness of surroundings, ability to notice subtle cues, and processing sensory information.

Intelligence (INT): 45 (Normal Human Average 7-10); Problem-solving ability, strategic thinking, and adaptability in complex scenarios. The Host has the most brilliant mind to ever exist, however, he hasn't developed it. The Host needs to learn information about this universe to increase intelligence.

Mental Resilience (MRES): 95 (Normal Human Average 10-15); Ability to withstand mental stress, remain calm under pressure, and recover from trauma.

Piloting Skills: (PS): 60 (Normal Human Average 0-10); Proficiency in operating a mech, executing complex maneuvers, and managing combat systems.

Technology (TECH): 45 (Normal Human Average 15-20); Understanding of mech systems, ability to troubleshoot, repair, and optimize tech in combat.

The Host also has a gift package. Would you like to open the gift package now?"

I look over my stats, glancing at the information and their descriptions. I'm only about twice as good as the average human being when it comes to most of these things, with the exception of endurance, piloting skills, and mental resilience. I guess the mental Resilience comes from having been able to talk to God Himself and take over this body.

'Jarvis, you said there's a gift package?' I ask Jarvis.

"Yes, Host, would you like to open it?"

'Yes, let's go ahead and open it,' I confirm.

"Ding! Congratulations to the host on obtaining System Shop Functions, Physical Gene Enhancing Reagent (2x Boost, effects only apply to stats 50 and under), Nanobot Upgrade (Increase healing speed), Holy Bible, Mech Repair Kit and Mech Upgrade Kit (Kits only provide instructions and materials, assembly is required to be done manually by Host)."

'That seems like a good amount of things. Let's use that Gene Reagent while I wait for the man to break me free,' I say to Jarvis.

"Sure thing, Host. The Gene Reagent will be materialized on your right hand. You must inject yourself in the heart with it."

I felt my right hand grow a little heavier and I was able to see the sunlight barely reflecting off the silver syringe. I position the syringe on my chest and prepare to inject it into my heart. 

'Jarvis, are you sure about this having to be injected into the heart?' I ask inwardly.

"Yes Host, if injected anywhere else, the effect will be about ¼ of its intended outcome. Just inject it into your heart, and the Reagent should be automatically pushed into your heart and spread through your body."

"Ok then, here goes nothing," I whisper as I push the syringe into my heart and I'm immediately overcome by a pain straining from my heart outwards to the rest of my body.

"Oh, Host, I may have forgotten to tell you that this is a very painful process and you may fain…." Jarvis' words disappear as I start to lose consciousness due to the immense pain.

*Third Person POV*

Outside the mech, the man and his kid stare at it. A towering beast of twisted metal and scorched plating, surrounded by hundreds of brass shells, indicative of the battle that had taken place here. Smoke rises in thin plumes from the mech's shattered joints, and its once-mighty legs are crumpled beneath the weight of its own wreckage. The once vibrant white paint is scratched with traces of bullets. The cockpit—somewhere near the chest—remains sealed shut, severely damaged but not destroyed. There is miraculously a pilot still conscious inside.

The man grips a pry bar in his hands, the weight of it feeling insignificant compared to the massive machine before him. His breath comes fast, heart hammering against his ribs, but his movements are steady, focused. There's no time for hesitation—the reactor is leaking, and the mech could go critical at any moment.

"Hang on in there…" he mutters under his breath, scanning the mess of the mech's exterior, searching for any access point. "Hey Charley, go stand over there," the man says to his son while pointing to a rock about 50 meters away. He then looks back at the mech, the cockpit hatch is partially exposed, its edges warped and blackened by heat. But it's still sealed tight, the emergency release clearly inoperable. 

He climbs up the crumpled leg, boots slipping against the slick, scorched metal, using the remains of exposed servos and armor plating to haul himself up toward the chest. His muscles burn, but he pushes the fatigue aside. Every second counts. 

As he reaches the cockpit's access hatch, the reality of the task hits him hard. The mech is massive, and the thick layers of composite metal that make up the cockpit's armor are designed to withstand everything from high-velocity impacts to direct artillery strikes. Yet something had clearly pieced it. It wasn't meant to be opened easily, and certainly not by a single man with nothing but a pry bar. But he has to try.

With a grunt, he wedges the bar into a small gap between the warped hatch and the frame, bracing himself. He pushes down hard, putting all his weight into it, but the hatch doesn't budge. It's jammed solid.

"Come on..." His voice is strained. He plants his feet more firmly, adjusting his grip. Again, he pushes—this time with a surge of desperate strength, muscles trembling under the strain. The bar creaks, but the hatch still refuses to give. The mech groans as if mocking him, metal still hissing from the stress of the damage.

Then, a scream of agony rings from inside it. He already knew that the pilot was alive, but hearing this scream, he realized things might be worse for the pilot than he thought at first.

A renewed sense of urgency grips him as he plants the bar again, in a different section of the hatch, wedging it deeper. His knuckles whiten as he grips it tighter, teeth clenched so hard it hurts. With a primal roar escaping his lips, he throws his weight into it.

The hatch shifts—just a fraction—but it's enough. A crack opens, and a hiss of from the hatch's air pump escapes. Encouraged, he drives the bar in further, ignoring the searing pain in his arms. He pulls back with every ounce of strength he has left. 

With a groan of protest resounding from the metal, the hatch finally gives way and swings open just enough to reveal the interior. Sparks start to dance inside and smoke starts to slowly come out of the cockpit's cracks. The acrid stench of burning electronics hits him hard. He coughs but doesn't stop. 

As more light shines inside, the man can see Aspen slumped backward in the seat, helmet cracked, blood smeared across his visor and G-suit. Wires and shards of metal hang from the ceiling and sparks rain fly off from damaged consoles. The cockpit is a ruin, and the pilot is unconscious with a look of pain.

He scrambles inside, squeezing through the narrow gap he's created, trying to avoid the jagged edges of metal. The interior is a mess but he ignores it and moves quickly. He feels a heat as the cockpit is starting to warm up, an obvious sign of the failing systems and a reactor that will soon explode.

"Hey, hey!" His voice is sharp, but there's no response. Aspen's breathing is shallow and ragged. He reaches forward, gripping the side of the seat. "Come on, stay with me!"

The safety harness is half-severed, but it's still holding the pilot in place, tangled around the damaged seat restraints. With trembling hands, he digs through his pack, pulling out a knife. He slashes at the straps, cutting away the tangled mess but Aspen doesn't slump free. He realizes that the bent metal is pinning the pilot's left arm in place.

He pulls out a smaller crowbar and wedges it in place to try and bend the metal to free Aspen. The metal on the interior of the cockpit was much softer than that of the outside of it, so he didn't have to strain much and quickly freed Aspen.

The cockpit then shuddered suddenly, and a series of warning alarms began to blare, the mech's systems were reaching critical failure and they didn't have much time left before it would self-destruct.

"Dammit!" He throws the straps aside, hooking his arms under Aspen's shoulders. Every muscle in his back and arms screams in protest as he hauls him out of the seat, dragging him toward the open hatch.

The climb down is a blur of desperation as he half-slides, half-falls down the side of the mech, one arm wrapped around the unconscious Aspen, the other scrambling for handholds. His boots slip against the mech's ruined exterior, but he doesn't stop, not even when the sharp edges of metal tear at his clothes and slash across his back.

Finally, they hit the ground, hard. The man groans as he collapses beside Aspen, gasping for breath, his arms trembling from the effort. He checks for a pulse and is surprised when finds one because it is a rather strong pulse for someone who seemed to be on the verge of death. Shouting one minute for help, screaming in agony the next, and unconscious by the time he got inside the cockpit. 

The man pushes himself up and somehow manages to throw Aspen's unconscious body over his shoulders in a fireman's carry as he starts to slowly jog across the battlefield to where his son is standing. As he is doing so, as a low rumbling groan is heard in the distance behind them. As he gets closer to his son he starts screaming for him to run and the kid listens to his father's words. 

They stop by a giant boulder and get behind it. The man lets Aspen down, rather hard, and slumps next to him. In the distance, the sound of the mech's failing reactor echoes through the battlefield and an explosion is heard.

"I got you," he whispers, his chest heaving. "You're alright now, the gods have had mercy on you…" the man pauses, still trying to catch his breath. The man turns to his son and says, "I haven't exercised that hard since before I met your mother. Would you mind passing me water?"

The kid looks at his father who is slumped on the ground and reaches into his backpack, pulls out a metal canteen, and passes it to his father who quickly downs about half of it.

Word Count: 2119 🙂