Becoming a Pilot
In the game Metal Frame, players have one goal as pilots: complete missions as mercenaries. You could ignore the story entirely and focus on making money—even see that as an ending. It was typically the first route, the neglect or abandonment branch. Like being dropped into the world with choices left entirely up to you. It even felt a bit like a simulation.
That was why Hermann's words—"mercenary broker"—hit me with a different weight. Finally feels like I'm on the main path. Like spotting a ray of light in pitch darkness where no path was visible. I'd found the way forward. I could interfere with the game's story now, shape the world's fate. Depending on my choices, of course. And that choice was possible only because I'd gained power. That power was the Nexus.
The next day, when Hermann visited again, I got straight to it.
"I want to become a mercenary."
"...Focus on recovering safely first. Your condition is serious."
I didn't reply, just wiggled my fingers and toes under the blanket. Knowing exactly what needed doing but being unable to—it was frustrating beyond words.
Hermann watched me for a moment, then spoke.
"Why do you want to pilot a Nexus? For the money?"
"I..."
The words caught in my throat for a second. Did I need some grand justification? I'd fallen into a robot game—riding one was the whole point. Like being in a fantasy world and not using magic, or a TRPG without rolling dice.
"Just wanna pilot it."
"Sounds like you think you have to."
"If I don't—cough—what's the point of me?"
Without a Nexus, I was just a powerless kid. No choices, just scavenging trash bins until I keeled over dead on the street. I didn't want that.
"I hate meaningless. Hate being powerless."
"So you're getting drunk on power?"
"That sounds bad."
"Not testing you. Just want your real feelings."
Hermann spoke softly, like soothing a child. And to him, I probably looked like a dying kid with tubes everywhere—not wrong.
I mulled it over, then murmured faintly.
"The Nexus... it's the only thing that gives my life meaning. That's why I wanna pilot it."
"Got it."
Hermann stood, as if that was that for today.
"Like I said, focus on recovery. Don't rush out of anxiety. If you die, it all means nothing."
"Yeah..."
Soon, someone doctor-like came in. Drugs flowed into the IV, and my mind slipped into sleep.
I'd spend the next week like a corpse.
Only the Nexus gives meaning.
Blindly obsessive words, radical even. Normally, he'd dismiss it as childish impulse. But Hermann sat, lost in thought.
The device on her back.
That metal lump embedded like a tumor. He knew what it was.
"Remnant of a Gu-se-dae Reinforcement Human."
To pilot a Nexus, the pilot's central nervous system linked directly to its drives. The human brain bore massive computational loads—inevitable overload. Reinforcement procedures tweaked the brain to handle it.
Tech's advanced now, risks way down. But back then, it shredded people.
Old-gen side effects were endless: amnesia, dissociation, bodily decline. Obsolete now.
But...
Still used covertly in backwater or desperate spots. No budget for new tech, or no care for lives. Cheap, disposable pilots.
The girl was probably an illegal test subject from such a place. A kid, more lab rat than pilot.
Years of powerlessness, then her first Nexus ride. Makes sense.
Did she hate the adults who did this? Hate reinforcement humans?
If so, perfect.
Our interests align.
Hermann set emotions aside, thought rationally. Avoid irrational calls.
Been hunting autonomous pilots. She drops in—lucky break.
He wasn't just a broker for cash. But recalling her face...
"......"
Would she think like he hoped? Even if aligned, she might shove him away when he tugged the leash again. New chains, after all.
Besides...
Does she even feel hate?
He pictured her: grumbling but face blank. Emotionally vacant. Classic old-gen side effect.
Was he forcing hate on her?
After long deliberation, he sighed and stood.
Choice is hers.
She was a blank white page. He didn't want to stain it with his touch. Cruel to a sick kid.
And against my goals entirely.
Hypocrisy. How she filled that page was her freedom.
Time flew. Hermann didn't come daily but dropped by often for chats. Seemed like he held back words. I didn't pry, so we both pretended ignorance.
Two months passed. Finally, I could walk on my own. Still dragging the IV stand.
"Hm."
My already hazy vision blurred more. Right eye struggled to make out shapes.
Drip, plop.
Any blood rush to the head, and bloody tears from the right. Doctor said post-injury sequelae.
"Won't heal easy."
"Yeah."
"No thoughts on it?"
"...? Yeah, uh."
Whining over this felt pathetic. Not fully blind anyway. Nexus linked nerves directly—sight barely mattered.
Hermann paused.
"Come to think, don't know your name. What is it?"
"Name..."
I pondered. Didn't know. Called "kid," "hey," nothing else. No one ever used a name.
Hermann cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Sorry. Shouldn't have asked."
"No, it's... I."
No name? Make one up. Names weren't sacred.
I scanned the blurry room. Useless—couldn't read a thing.
So I pulled a word from memory.
"Rabe. I'll be Rabe."
"Rabe? The callsign of that Nexus pilot you stole?"
"Yeah."
Hermann's face twisted oddly.
"Really okay? Could cause issues."
"Issues—cough—like what?"
"Like sharing a name with that pilot."
Thought it over—no big deal. I nodded faintly.
He accepted, then spoke.
"Alright, Rabe. Here's a proposal."
"Okay."
"Even wanting mercenary work, Nexus ops need startup capital. Tough solo."
True. My stolen unit alone needed repairs, basic arms...
"I'll back you."
"...?"
"Not charity. A contract."
Contract. Nodded. Explained the daily visits.
"I'll support from behind. Work with me awhile. Your choice."
Work together? I tilted my head.
Wanting a soldier made sense for a broker.
He looked down at me.
"I have my reasons, you yours. We'll part someday, but teaming short-term okay?"
"Like... investment?"
"Different intent, but looks that way."
He nodded, extended a large hand.
"Room, board, insurance covered. Deal?"
Perfect for a nobody like me.