Work Text:
DATA - PERSONAL LOG #1
RECORDED BY [[ID.2.1061 - JAZZ]]
DATE: UNKNOWN
TRANSCRIPTION AS FOLLOWS:
I- Laika’s mutt brothers.
I don’t know what happened. It was going fine. As fine as these things ever go, anyway, but nothing was wrong, and then everything went wrong. I don’t know how long it’s been, because my mech’s chronometer isn’t any better than scrap metal right now and I can’t see anything nearby.
I mean. The stars, sure, but that’s- that’s not helpful right now.
There are stories about mecha pilots who get lost like this. Never thought I’d be one of those, but here we are.
Nothing to do about it but wait and quietly lose my mind, I guess!
I woke up- [NON-SPEECH: SHORT PAUSE, SIGH] - maybe ten passes ago. Just tried to check my chronometer, even though it’s, again, broken. I think maybe they tried to teach me how to fix those, but either I wasn’t paying any attention or I just forgot.
In any case, I’m ...probably dead, haha.
Bebop’s power supply was getting low before the system put me into stasis, and only Laika knows how long it’s been since then. I can’t tell if the antens are done for or if I’m just out of range. Could be either. S’not like there’s anybody who’d wanna rescue a wolf-class out in the middle of nowhere, anyway.
‘s a good thing that there aren’t any structure breaks, ‘cause I probably would’ve suffocated by now if there were. Or, if there are, they aren’t in the cockpit area, which is nice. I like being able to breathe, thank you very much.
...I wonder if they’re looking for me. They might be, I think I might still have the record kaiju kill count, but, uh. That also might not be enough.
I mean, they’re still lookin’ for Vulture, aren’t they? Or, they were when I was there. And he’s been missing so long we’ve got colloquialisms about it. Official and everything!
Seems a bit weird to me that there’s an official guidebook to mecha pilot slang, but, hey, if it makes money, it makes money. FAUNA would sell my body parts in little glass jars if it raked in those credits.
I just gotta... not think about it too hard. The antens are probably fine, the kaiju learned not to go for the head ages ago, but, I mean, it’d be just my luck, right? I made it 73 weeks before my imminent death decided I’d had it too easy.
Man, and I was hoping I’d beat the record. Would’ve been so much easier for everybody. ’Specially me, ‘cause I wouldn’t be dead. I like not being dead.
Right. Okay. No time like the present. [NON-SPEECH: CRACKING KNUCKLES] Oh, ow ow, I really gotta stop trying to do that. Oooookay. Fuel. How’s it going on the fuel.
...45%..? Okay, not great, but I think maybe I brought some spare lightning crystals in case I couldn’t get back to base fast enough- wow, nice foresight on my part there. Eat that, Ratchet. Who’s incapable of thinking ahead now?
...If I actually did do that. And if I can get into the cargo hold. Lotta ‘ifs’ tacked onto that nice foresight, now that I think about it, but hey, that’s.. still better than nothing!
[NON-SPEECH: SHORT PAUSE] ...God, how’d I even get all the way out here? If Bebop went into total system stasis, we might’ve drifted out here, but that’s way longer than I want to think about in terms of ‘how long has it been since anyone’s seen me, ever.’ If we drifted out here the long way, then... I’m. Right, okay, we’re shelving that one for the foreseeable future.
Well, hey, if I starve to death out here in the depths of space, at least I’ll leave a nice fancy record for any aliens that happen to stumble upon my emaciated corpse. Gotta focus on the positives out here, or I’ll lose my mind and go catatonic with despair. Average mecha pilot things. Aaaaaaverage mecha pilot things.
Fuel’s at 45. Okay. Structural stability..? Ooh, 91%, way better than I was expecting! That’s a positive! That’s- kinda weird, actually, that is strangely put-together for a mech that’s out of range.
And I don’t have any star charts for... anywhere even remotely near here. Great.
Okay, so, either one of the warpers got me, which means I’m probably dead, or something interacted real badly with all of Bebop’s systems and we both got locked into deep shutdown and then floated away, which means I’m definitely dead, or... Something else.
Space is weird, man, anything’s possible. Maybe even my continued survival!
Being stuck in the Wide Space between systems would suck, though. Maybe a cargo cruiser might come by, but the chances of that are comically low and they might just think I’m a regular ol pilot husk and drive on by. Take a few photos, even.
Having my corpse be a tourist attraction would suck, actually. I hope that’s not what happened to Vulture.
No, he’s probably in a Husk System out there somewhere. I’ll learn how to teleport before they find him.
Either I’m worse at identifying star chart areas than I thought, I’m way farther off-course than should be possible, or the antens are like, broken beyond repair. Which would also suck. All of this sucks, actually, because they don’t give fighter pilots repair suits, so I can’t even go out there and check if there’s a gaping hole in my mech.
Well, hey, if there’s one upside to being probably AUs away from civilization, it means I can finally talk shit about my supervisors, because either way, I’m probably dead!
[NON-SPEECH ACTION: LONG PAUSE]
...I should probably turn this off. The internal powering runs on a different system than the propulsion jets, but it’d be better not to risk it.
Well, that and I don’t think the sound of me getting unreasonably angry at my nothingburger emergency rations would be very interesting to whoever finds these. It’s like they scientifically engineered those things to be as bland as possible. There’s packing material that has more taste than this.
But, uh, other than that, and also the inescapable existential doom you get from being stranded in space, I think I’m as good as I can get right now.
Jazz out. Hopefully there’s gonna be a second time.
LOG END.
DATA - PERSONAL LOG #2
RECORDED BY [[ID.2.1061 - JAZZ]]
DATE: UNKNOWN
TRANSCRIPTION AS FOLLOWS:
Okay. Okay, here goes.
I’m still not dead! That’s great news, in my estimation, because I like being alive.
So uh, in other news, the structural integrity of Bebop is slowly but surely going down. Less great. To be expected, though, considering that FAUNA is nothin’ but cheap and didn’t build Wolf-Class mechs like Bebop to drift out in Dead Space or Wide Space or wherever the hell I am right now, because Wolf-Classes are meant for punching kaijus in their weird chitinous not-really-faces.
Which is. Fine. I’m fine. So far, anyway, because along with that I realized that I am still going ridiculously fast for someone who hasn’t even onlined their thrusters in like, a sevcy.
Why’s that happening? No idea! Not even a little bit of a clue! However! Since I’m actively moving while doing nothing chances are I either fly directly into an asteroid and go on a fun little ride with that, or just keep going until whatever force is moving me decides to stop doing that, and in either case chances are I’ll meander my way into a radio zone and be able to call for help. Hopefully.
A ‘hopefully’ is just about the best chance I have right now, so we’re gonna shelve that and move on.
It turns out that being stuck in a mech cockpit for at least a few cycles on end is! Not fun! Not fun at all!
I don’t have! Anything to do in here! I got sick of Tetris the last time I got stuck in here, and that was on an officially-sanctioned supply trip that only ended up taking so long because my groupmates are idiots and spent the whole time frying rocks for all the actual work they got done!
The thing is, Tetris is all I have, because this was supposed to be a short skirmish where I punch some kaijus and then go back to base like usual, but nooooooo, the universe had to go and ruin my afternoon plans of doing absolutely nothing.
Never thought I’d miss the cafeteria back at base. At least those wobbly seats have variety .
I am just one guy cooped up in a gigantic tin can with guns out in the middle of nowhere- like the real middle of nowhere, the most middle of nowhere it gets, and hoo boy am I going stir-crazy.
Speaking of: there should be a word for the existential dread you get when you’re stuck out in space all alone like this. I’ve been thinking too much, can you tell?
I’m not smart enough to make, like, a chatbrain for Bebop, and I’m not crazy enough- yet- to just start actively talkin’ to myself, so I am, unequivocally, alone. Doesn’t help that we’re… not really supposed to talk for the sake of talking in mechs like this. I didn’t join for the pay, but reprimands are reprimands, and I’m already on thin ice with Command for stuff like that.
I don’t like being alone, though. I really don’t like it. S’just like... It’s getting harder to remember there are people out there. Getting harder to remember I have friends at all.
Maybe if I end up flying into a patch of Wrong Space it’ll spice up my existential crisis and then they’ll find Bebop a hundred years later without me inside.
I mean, there’s a word for when you freeze up in battle- we call it tharn, stolen from some novel the old pilots that became commanders liked that ended up sticking, and it’s kinda like that, except... all-consuming, all the time, eating you alive kinda fear.
I don’t wanna die out here. I don’t wanna die, period, but I know what I signed up for, and I know that mecha pilots in general do not have very long lifespans.
I just.. I don’t know, I think I figured it’d be sometime else. In the middle of battle, instant, maybe. Blink, a moment of oh shit, and then I’m gone. Not this.
Death seems a whole lot scarier when all you can do is stare out into the dead abyss of space and know that almost certainly, nobody’s coming.
I don’t want to die out here.
If I ever see anybody ever again- hell, even a kaiju, if I ever see any living thing ever again I think- I don’t know. I hope I see someone eventually. I hope I don’t die out here. I really hope.
I’m 23. I’m- one of the younger pilots, but not the youngest, not by a long shot. It’s always hard, when someone else bites it, but.. I guess maybe I’d just assumed I was better than that. I’m good at what I do. Wolf-Class mechs have a high skill ceiling, even though they’re the ones that get handed out to newbies most often.
I nearly got the record for longest-served mecha pilot ever. Everybody aspires for that, because we all know the profession's a death trap in more ways than one.
I keep thinking that I can’t be the only one that’s noticed how awful Shock is. It’s like, in an evil scientist kind of way that’d be funny if it wasn’t genuine. ‘Cause I know he’s genuine about it.
He’s the reason I got into the habit of reading all the fine print. I just know he’d be cloning kaijus in his basement if M.E.C.H. gave him the money.
I know it’s his fault, what happened to Prowl.
God, Prowl...
[NON-SPEECH ACTION: LONG SIGH, LONGER PAUSE]
I don’t know. Maybe if I survive this I’ll put in another request to find what’s left of him. If I get that far.
Laika’s teeth, how awful is that? Getting back and putting in one of those wastes of time and space- everybody knows those don’t do anything, s’just a glorified suggestion box more than anything...
It won’t go anywhere. Especially not for them to get off their collective asses and find what’s left of him.
If there’s even anything left to find.
...He deserves better than that.
We all do.
Nothing I can do about it, though. Nothing I can do to even save myself.
...End log.
LOG END.
DATA - PERSONAL LOG #3
RECORDED BY [[ID.2.1061 - JAZZ]]
DATE: UNKNOWN
TRANSCRIPTION AS FOLLOWS:
I can’t tell if the breathable air deprivation is getting to me or if what I’m seeing is actually there because no way in hell is there a- there can’t be. Not all the way out here. There’s NOTHING out here.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be, Oh My God, this ca-aHAA [UNTRANSCRIBABLE: HYSTERICAL, CACKLING LAUGHTER]
Oh my god. Ooooooohhh my god. Either I’m the luckiest bastard on this side of the galaxy, or I’m the unluckiest, and I really cannot be bothered to find out right now.
There’s- there’s nothing out here, I’m either out all the way in Deep Space or I’m in Wide Space and nothing’s ever in either of those two places, but- oh my god, oh my god. Is there a chance? Is it possible ?
Okay, okay, gotta- gotta slow down.
I’ve just been aimlessly drifting for a while, not a clue how long, and apparently either the antens are so broken they’re sending false signals or I’ve drifted in range of what we in the business call a miracle .
The visor’s too cracked to really get a good look at much of anything, so I can’t tell if it’s within sight range, or if anything but the pinprick stars too far away to consider are out there at all, and-
If this is anything, anything at all, I don’t know what I’ll do. Die, probably, still, because I’m gonna need more than a miracle to survive this, but one miracle’s more than I was expecting, so I’m gonna make the most of it.
C’mon, c’mon, I’m a dying man here, get online and help me either not die or die faster- what do you mean- [NON-SPEECH ACTION: GROAN, FIST MEETING CONTROLS]
[Damage Of M.E.C.H. Property Is Strictly Forbidden. 2000 Credits Pay Docked.]
Oh, FUCK OFF! I’m trying- come on. Work with me. Get online, get moving, I don’t have time .
“Thrusters rising from low stasis.” Okay, good, that’s. Something at least. Okay, okay, what else. Comms. That’s what’s else.
That- That wasn’t a real sentence. Doesn’t matter, comms comms comms comms. Comms. You better work for me here or I will take you down with me in this worthless husk of a machi- Oh, hey, they aren’t broken!
No, wait, that’s a lie, they’re only half-broken, but the- AAAAGH. The- It just HAD TO BE, didn’t it.
Incoming’s the one that’s broken. And this is an output radio station. God. Okay, miracle postponed to never, I’m still dead. No. Okay, Jazz, focus on the positives. Focus on the positives. Wallowing in how much you’re super ultra dead does no good.
If there’s an output radio here, that means it’s... probably a border marker of some kind. Maybe for a settlement, or a base camp if I’m unlucky, ‘cause that means there’ll be kaiju around.
...Wait, if incoming’s broken, how’d it know the radio was even here? Give me that extended view, you’re hiding things from me.
37% functionality.
Well, that’s a whole lot better than non-functional!
...And that still doesn’t help any, though, ‘cause all the rest of that’s the decoder - also most of outgoing - and I don’t know Terran morse code well enough to understand what the intended message is.
Right. Okay. Well, nothing to do beyond keep goin’ and hope I’m not breezing past an active warzone marker. Actually, at least if it were an active warzone marker, the kaiju would probably get me instead of the suffocation, and that might be nice.
Laika’s collar, since when has that even been a bar? That’s what deep space isolation does to you, I guess...
Thrusters finally online! Yay! Now I can actually get going! I love it when I can actually get going!
[NON-SPEECH ACTION: SHORT PAUSE]
Right. Documentation about my life and everything. I’m sure me yammering on about how much everything sucks right now is great entertainment.
I still don’t know how long it’s been since I was last at base. Bebop’s chronometer hasn’t gotten any less broken since I last checked.
Honestly, I can’t even remember the fight immediately preceding waking up out here in the cold dark void of space, which. Probably isn’t a good sign, but I’m not gonna worry about it too much right now, because I have bigger problems. Notably staying alive .
I mean, that’s every pilot’s day-to-day problem, but probably mine more than most.
My base camp’s a mixcan. It’s supposed to be a trifecta mixcan, but you know how MYTHOS is with actually doing anything to help their pilots, so really that just means there’s the one guy who drives an Odysseus there.
Shock’s our de facto Commander from EFFECT- also our medic, but that’s its own can of worms, and- well.
I don’t like him. I don’t think anybody does. He put me through what’s basic procedure in EFFECT bases, somethin’ they call a nerve fray, and-
[NON-SPEECH ACTION: SHUDDERING SIGH]
It- it sucked, let’s just leave it at that. I don’t know how anybody at EFFECT is even functioning half as well as they are. Probably all the nerve damage that comes with going through multiple of those.
I barely even made it through one .
God knows they’re hardier than the rest of us. Most of ‘em aren’t nearly as crazy as the indies, though. I only got into this job ‘cause I thought I’d be helping people doing it, but those maniacs are doing it mostly for the style points and makin’ their mechs themselves.
I trust this hunk of metal with my life, but that’s only ‘cause I know some other idiot made it. Really, she’s probably been Ship of Theseus’d by now, but s’close enough I don’t really care.
You learn to ignore a lotta stuff once you become a pilot.
You learn to keep your mouth shut, too.
[NON-SPEECH: SHORT PAUSE]
Oh, thrusters really picking up speed now!
I think I’ll be good to stop them after a few passes. Just to make sure the momentum’s good enough to keep me drifting for a good long while, ‘cause keeping them on the whole time is a great way to waste my fuel.
God, I wish I brought, like, a mixtape or something. Entertainment beyond Tetris. I already solved all the sudoku puzzles in the book Bee gave me.
Laika’s teeth , I think the worst part of being stuck out here- besides the existential agony- is the boredom .
Jazz out. Here’s hoping this isn’t my last log.
LOG END.
DATA - PERSONAL LOG #4
RECORDED BY [[ID.2.1061 - JAZZ]]
DATE: UNKNOWN
WARNING! FILE HEAVILY CORRUPTED! TRANSCRIPTION MAY CONTAIN INACCURACIES. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.
TRANSCRIPTION AS FOLLOWS:
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
[NOTE: PILOT’S VOICE HAS A ‘STATICKY’ EFFECT, CONGRUOUS WITH COMMON PILOT’S ILLNESSES.]
... I was wrong.
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
[NON-SPEECH: THE STATIC IS EVER-PRESENT.]
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
I was so, so wrong.
So stupid. Why didn’t I remember? Why didn’t I? I should’ve realized, I should’ve known, I should’ve-
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
I’m going to die out here.
No getting out. Dead, dead, dead, deader than the red dead sea. No hope. Not even at all.
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
No hope. No hope left. Not for me, not out here, not for anyone else out here.
It’s a spectacular kind of awful to be the ghost of somebody who’s still alive, y’know.
Did I ever say I was sorry? To Prowl, to anybody?
Did I?
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
I’ll never get to at this rate.
Not like I even know what I needed to apologize for, now.
Being alive, maybe. Dying, maybe.
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
...Never thought I’d get to see Wrong Space.
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
I wish I never got to.
It’s... almost beautiful, in a way. Colors and warbling shapes. Like the stars’re on a bad acid trip.
It’s hard to think out here. Hard to talk. Hard to stay awake.
I don’t want to look away. I don’t want to fall asleep.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t, I don’t, I don’t .
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
Too bad they don’t care. Too bad they never cared, not once, not ever. Too bad... too bad.
Ha. hahahaha. Dead, dead, dead, all of us one time or another. Like flies. Our lives are measured in weeks, did you know? Cevcys. Sevens.
Seven’s an ugly number.
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
I think I’m dying, haha.
I told... I said I wouldn’t do that. I don’t...
I can’t remember who I said that to.
Can’t remember why they asked.
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
I can’t remember much of anything, right now.
Maybe I never had anything to remember...?
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
It’s pretty out there. Pretty in an awful kinda way.
It.. sorta hurts, to look out there. I think the hurt is always, anyway. Head hurts, eyes hurt, everything hurts.
Hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts. Always and forever. It’s normal. You get used to it eventually.
You have to, or you don’t survive.
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
Feels like my brain’s an over-carbonated soda.
I almost want to sleep. To make it stop.
But if I do, I know I’ll never wake up.
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
Maybe.
Who told me that?
I know someone did. M’not smart enough to realize that on my own.
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
Will anybody even remember me? Anybody at all?
I think somebody will. Somebody cares enough. Maybe. Maybe.
But maybe I’m the last one who cared about somebody. Who knows. I wonder, I wonder.
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
Here’s hoping. That’s all I’ve got, now.
Hope. Hope. No hope, not for me, not out here. No hope for anyone stuck in a place like this, in space like this.
Wrong Space. It’s the worst kind.
People die out here all the time.
I think I will, too. Maybe.
They don’t know what happens to people out here, y’know?
Maybe no one dies out here. Maybe they just get stuck.
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
I wouldn’t want that, either.
Being stuck out here sounds more awful than just dyin’, somehow.
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
I just wanna go home.
I just... want to go home...
[NON-SPEECH: ROARING STATIC]
...Maybe I’ll see Prowl again in heaven...?