FSE

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[center]Since humans first walked across Old Earth, we've been racing.

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The desire to compete; to beat the best of the best to the finish line… It's built into us.

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This inherent competition pushed us forward, our society constantly advancing in an effort to outdo itself. To win.

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From foot to horseback. To carriage to car. From plane to cruiser. We raced.

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The checkered finish line always moved farther and farther away. And soon enough? We were looking up to the stars. Hell, we started charting courses before we could even make our way up there at all. And guess what? Even that became a race.

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A race that would turn the Empire of Old Earth into the Pan-Galactic Republic it is today.

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I follow in the footsteps of those before me.

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I do what all have done:

-- [/center]

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The Pre-Game

“I race." Renn repeated to himself once more. The pilot's body was doubled over, his palms clasped around the back of his neck. The man's right knee bobbed up and down on its own, his nerves venting out through the spasms.

“I race. I race. I race."

The black mesh-suit that hugged against his form tightened as his chanting became more laboured. Brand names and logos ran along the side of his form, his body coated in product placements from across the galaxy. The hanger of their semi-trailer rig hummed, the gentle roar of its engines helping to drown out the noise of the stadium below.

The lights in the garage were dimmed. Shadows cast a grim expression over Renns face as he pulled his attention away from the metal grating below. The pilot's eyes locked with the black visage staring back at him.

An empty suit. His suit.

The mecha was mounted onto the docking station, the humanoid frame standing at over twice Renn's height. The JA-9 model sported a freshly painted and polished plating, its sensory helm angled down to look back at the pilot below him.

The face of the helm was angular and sleek, it's weight distributed through the hunched stance it took. Even on two legs, the JA-9 always looked like it was ready to crouch down onto all fours and leap into a sprint.

The neural rig was designed to be an all-purpose frame. Swimming. Running. Leaping. Climbing. There wasn't a single obstacle on the course that Renn felt he couldn't overcome. The JA-9 had raced tracks much more dangerous than the one he was about to drop down onto.

The chest of the machine was splayed outwards, the silhouette of Renn's mesh suit staring back at him through the large opening. The racer knew he only had a few more moments alone with 'Jag' before he'd have to climb into the neural frame. He could feel his arthropodic port pressing up against the back of his spine, his mind replaying the sensation of docking over and over again. The initial jolt of syncing with a neural frame took the average pilot a few minutes to recover from. The shock of one's body being transferred and extended to so many different extensions took quite a bit of mental gymnastics to overcome. There was no doubt in Renn's mind that the other pilots had already synced with their mechs, each of them pacing or re-checking their sync-rates for the race to come.

But Renn? He never docked until-

“Renn!?" A voice called out from the bay's speakers. The sound of music boomed in the background as the male paused, his finger still pressed to the pa system's button. “Buddy, it's show time. I'll be rooting for you, dude."

The noise quickly cut off, leaving Renn alone with his thoughts once more. Light flooded into the garage as all of the semi-trailer's lights were flicked on, signaling that the Jag had been fully powered. Moreso, it meant that Renn only had five minutes left before his GUNRR rig would be jettisoned out of the garage.

The pilot took his time walking up to the massive frame. He reached out to grip one of the plates of the black mecha, its shoulders hunching forward as Renn slowly clambered inside. The pilot moved with a practiced ease as he wormed into place, his posture relaxing as he let his body sink into the shock-absorbing hull.

As soon as he sank far enough backwards, the spine of his arthropodic port pressed against the tap… And his heart stilled.

No doubt the gentle heartbeat of a body in REM was being picked up by the biometrics in the semi-trailer's bridge. But the blood that coursed through Renn's veins was now lost to him. He couldn't feel his hands, his legs, anything. The sensation of every faculty available to him no longer existing sent his brain into a panicked state. The limp body inside the Jag jolted into a seized state as the JA-9's chest quickly closed around Renn.

_Nothing. Nothing. Dead. Was he dead? _

The body of the JA-9 spasmed once. Then twice. The stiff cords of 'muscle' running throughout the machine's body slowly began to relax, the frame going limp in its restraints.

No. N-No.

“Settle down there, Jaguar." A voice rang out into the nothingness, the same that had spoken to him moments ago. “You remember me, right?"

“T-Touchstone." The JA-9's artificial voice rumbled throughout the empty garage. Heavy limbs twitched and jerked as the mecha's own body began to seize, powerful limbs pushing back against the docking station strapping him in. “Y-You're my touchstone. Mark. M-Mark, I-"

“Focus on your pulse, Jaguar." Mark repeated the phrase for the millionth time, his feet kicked back as he stared at the biometric screen in front of him. The sole of his shoe was pressed against the P.A. system's comms as he stared at the sync-rate.

Thirteen percent and rising…

His pulse. Yes, he could feel something. A deep thrumming was welling up inside his chest, as if an engine was roaring to life within him. It pulsed, and as it did so Renn could feel his entire body throb.

“I'm suited." The JA-9's speakers crackled once more, this time much calmer. The synthetic voice was a bit grating to the ear, but the Neural Audio Translator within Jag was one of the best translators on the market.

The JA-9's hands clenched tightly, its robotic claws pressing against the paw-like design of pads atop his palm. Renn could feel them on the bottom of the Jag's feet as well, his mind working to roll the mecha's feet back and forth against the metal of the docking station.

Forty percent and rising...

The helmet of the jaguar moved as if it was Renn's own head. The black visor was turned downwards to gaze at the JA-9 unit. The frame's sculpted 'muscle' and sleek design resulted in a rather intimidating mecha. The pilot slowly relaxed as he felt the simulated bloodflow pump through his new limbs. Paws that absorbed enough friction to bring him sliding to a halt within seconds. Digitigrade legs fast enough to send him hurtling over seventy-five miles per hour. A body equipped with enough shock absorption to ignore a fifty yard drop without even flinching.

“You ready to race, big guy?" Mark asked, watching as Renn's biometrics slowly settled in at 80%.

“Yes." The pilot responded, Jag's head tilting in response as he readied himself for the instructions to follow.

“Toes. Fingers. Shoulders. Neck. Head." Mark quickly began listing as he carefully watched the feeds in front of him. The number slowly began to climb higher as Renn shuffled about, wiggling and shaking each of the joints his engineer called out. The pilot's sync-rate continued to tick higher and higher as they moved through the motions.

“Ears." Mark continued, waiting patiently for Renn to respond to this command. The pilot hesitated, his sync digit dropping for a moment as he tried to discern… how… to…

The engineer smiled as he watched the sides of the mecha's helm flip upwards, the two cat-like ears flicking and twitching as they were raised to full-mast. Renn quickly flipped them back down as Mark began to speak once more.

“Tail. Forearm breaks. Side panels. Front panels. Heel panels. Secondary claws."

The list went on and on. Renn continued to move through the motions as his body struggled to do things it should never be able to do. All the while, Mark watched as that eighty continued to fluctuate up and down.

_80%...

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75%...

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83%...

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61%...

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69%..._

--

It had taken the two of them years to get Jag's sync rate this high. The initial sync would average out at 70% before spiking into 90% in the heat of the race. After that… The number would keep on drifting down before ejecting the pilot from the neural frame completely. Both pilot and mechanic had worked hard to earn their success, and the subsequent opportunity below them. The race of their lifetime…

A chance to move from 'just another semi-pro' to a full on pro.

“Okay Jag." Mark began, leaning forward as he scanned the summary of his test results. “You're averaging at a sync-rate of about-"

“Don't tell me." The pilot interrupted, the artificial voice box making his demand all the harsher. “It's a good percent. I can feel it."

“That's why the people love you, Jag." The mechanic snickered as he tapped at the controls of the ship. The lights and music quickly shut off, the sound of the stadium below once again seeping into the trailer's interior.

The sound of booming amps and heavy cheering roared as the festivities neared their start. The restraints that kept the frame secured shuddered and hissed. The JA-9's clawed paws flexed in anticipation as he was lowered, the entire suspension slowly angling itself downwards.

The noise of the GUNRR stadium boomed all-the-louder as the floor of the garage opened up. The vehicle hovered over the Launch Pad beside another dozen or so trailers, their levitation fields making Renn's view of the ground below ripple like a current.

K-CHK.

The clasps that held the frame in place were released. The bestial robot embraced the subsequent fall, his body angling downwards into a practiced dive as he let his speed pick up. His body straightened as the wind whipped at his aerodynamic form, his helmet staring down at the glowing Launch Pad below.

To some extent the race had already begun. While the pilots wouldn't be able to leave the radius of their assigned and glowing hexfield without being disqualified, any GUNRR pilot knew that the sport was well under way.

At its core, GUNRR was a spectator sport. While those who had raced within a neural frame could understand the thrill, intensity, and devotion it took to compete with the best of the best… Those that watched came from all around the galaxy for a different reason.

They came for a show.

---

The Big Race

Back within the trailer, the engineer continued to fiddle with various dials in an effort to get everything set up for the race to come. Mark double-checked to make sure each of the feeds were being recorded once more before pulling up a single video feed onto his main screen. Mark was almost surprised to see that the GUNRR cameras were pinned on his pilot tearing through the sky, a retired coach-turned-announcer's voice blaring through the speaker. Mark quickly reached over and tapped at the controls to ease the blaring voice down, his eyes trained on the sleek mecha on screen.

“-one of the first to land is the up and coming pilot nicknamed 'Jag', known for his infamous display on the Juliette track last year. He comes in with an impressive landing there… And it seems Renn Callawoy is really trying to show the crowd just how much of a threat a JA-9 model truly is on the track."

The pilot's recklessness was rewarded with being one of the first to land on the glowing pad, his heavy weight slamming down on all fours. Mark winced as he watches his precious and perfectly calibrated machine barely break his fall. He hadn't cringed for the machine's sake, but for the pilot within. The engineer kept his eyes on the feed as he watched Renn's biometrics spasm into dangerous territory for the slightest of moments. While the JA-9's powerful shock absorbers would help keep the machine ready for any impact, Mark knew that the human within could only take so many beatings like that before things went sour.

“Yes Grant, it truly seems like the junior pro is doing just that. The pilot and his unorthodox team have truly taken the pilot scene by storm with their quick rise to the top of the sync charts." Another announcer replied, the feed switching cameras to a profile shot of the JA-9's body crouching low to the ground. Mark watched as the frame extended his claws out and dragged them along the panels of the Landing Pad. “I, along with many other fans out there, will be watching him closely during the race to come."

As the second announcer spoke, Renn slowly pulled himself back up onto two legs and stared out at the massive stadium. The Monolith, a course infamous for it's perilous heights. The simulated terrain of the racetrack was also forged from GUNRR standard hex-tiles, the natural looking landscape segregated by criss-crossing and glowing lines which encapsulated the track. As the countless tiles blended into the distance, the spiraling mountain in front of Renn almost looked like one he'd find on Old Earth.

But Renn wasn't here to sightsee. He was here to reach the summit before anyone else. He was here to win.

The frame's tail thrashed left and right as he stared out at the countless fans who sat in the stadiums around the mountain. He tightened his muscles and flexed as he raised his arms into the air, pumping at his chest periodically and taking a naturally low stance.

I'm here to win.

The cameras locked in on the JA-9 unit as it prowled like a big cat, his posture relaxing as he took to a rather cocky and excited energy.

I'm here to race.

Other neural frames had already begun to touch down on the Landing Pads near him. Burly frames. Small frames. Old models and new. The announcer's moved on to begin listing off the names of the more established GUNRR pros, but that didn't stop Renn from slowly pacing back and forth in his tile. A low and steady growl crackled through the JA-9's speakers, his sleek black body twisting as he continued to hype himself up for the race to come.

“Touching down in a rather reserved fashion is the ace pilot She'wen Wan in the new KI-91 unit. Quite the beautiful frame, and in the hands of a pilot like She'wen we can expect to see some effortless performance. With an average sync-rate of 92% across fourteen different frames, it's no wonder that-"

Mark tapped on the screen to mute the announcers drivel about everyone's favorite GUNRR pilot. The engineer found no satisfaction in watching his own designs being paraded around by another team, especially Wan's team. Instead, Mark turned his attention to the biometrics screen. Jag's sync-rate had already begun to climb upwards on the biometrics screen.

“And the community still won't recognize method-syncing." Mark snorted as he shook his head, a cocky grin creeping past his lips as he pulled himself upright in his chair. The race was about to start, and he had a lot of fiddling to do to make sure his pilot came home safe and sound. “Oh well. We'll show 'em, won't we Jag?"

The voice inside of the pilot's comms came through loud and clear. The pilot 'growled' in response, tossing his head before dropping to all fours once more. Plenty of the other racers were getting into position as well, the sleek and hulking alike staring forward at the track in front of them in anticipation.

She'wen stood four positions down, his body hunched into the classic kneel. Powerful muscles flexed across his body as he waited for the siren to wail out. Each of the pilots had followed suit, their bodies poised in the optimal position to begin the race.

A large bug-like mech next to Renn shuddered, its bulbous back opening upwards like wings. While the top-heavy RO-7 models weren't known for their maneuverability, the cannon-like jet roaring to life on the frame's revealed back were nothing to sneeze at.

On Jag's other side stood a UT-32. The lithe and lightweight model was best known for its combination of propulsion and use of levitation fields, the frame's long arm span unfurling into magnificent wings. The green and silver trim along the mecha's body made it clear who was piloting the UT-32. Brue Jen, one of the only pro pilots with a body type capable of making use of UT models.

The crowd roared around the field. Bright signs displaying ads hovered around the racers. Neon lights flickered to the beat of loud and heart-pumping music.

Yet all the racers stood still. Waiting…

Mark watched from his trailer as the racers suddenly took off. He quickly switched the audio back to the GUNRR station and listened intently to the announcer's commentary. His eyes were trained on the biometrics in front of him, fingers quickly moving to adjust the core simulants affecting his pilot.

Mark didn't bother looking at his racer's position on screen. It was far too early to judge the victor, and the Jag was never known for taking a strong lead early on. A UT-32 had sent ripples in its wake. The noise of the jet had apparently caused an unseen stress in his pilot, along with the blast causing an unseen shift in Renn's diametrics for about three seconds after launch. He quickly recalibrated and eased back on the simulated-adrenaline, hoping to ease his pilot back into the zone. Jag's sync rate had taken a toll, but to anyone spectating the JA-9 one wouldn't be able to tell. Not many frames bothered to run on all fours, making the frame unique in its approach to reaching max speeds.

The straight and narrow towards the mountainside was a competition of pure speed. Running, jet propulsion, levitation, and more… Each pilot trying their hardest to push their frames to their limits.

Mark frowned as he glanced up at the camera feed of his racer. The scenery was a blur as it ripped past the thundering pilot, his claws ripping into the hex-terrain below. He'd watched his pilot sprint like this thousands of times on the practice fields, but something felt different to the mechanic. He glanced once more at the stress biometric and frowned before quickly trying to lower the steadily rising number. Both sync and stress were rising at a dramatically fast pace, and Mark quickly set to work figuring out what was wrong. A sync rate rising with stress?

“Impossible." Mark muttered under his breath, glancing towards the screen once more. His pilot was already hitting his max speed, the mountain drawing close now. Many of the other racers had already touched the first gate, a glowing marker which stood just in front of the steep cliff of the mountainside. Mark reached his hand out towards the comms button and clicked it, his gaze still focused on his pilot's frame.

“Jag?" Mark asked, his voice steeled so that his worry wouldn't show through. “Your stress levels are way too-"

A burst of growling and static crackled from the speakers of the trailer. The engineer recoiled from the abrasive sound, his hand quickly reaching for the volume button once more. Static? There shouldn't be static on this connection. Was there an outside force involved?

“Just hold on, Jag." Mark continued, watching as his pilot was about to cross through the first checkpoint. The pilot's time was well under what the engineer had originally measured. Had he overtuned the mecha? The man quickly ran through his data as Renn's sync-rate ticked upwards.

_91%...

--_

_94%...

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_89%...

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_93%...

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_96%...

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_WARNING! Stress Levels Critical!

--_

Mark dismissed the warning as he watched the stress biometrics continue to erratically spike within his pilot.

“Oh! And look at that amazing display from Tom Lannis' Lotus. Even though the second half of this course is almost entirely feats of verticality, it's impressive to see just how well these pilots handle their mechas in any situation. There's just no hesitation in these pilots, is there Grant?"

“No there isn't, Ti- Oh, wow! The Macker just took down Legion with a single well placed tackle. That's what happens when you let a heavy-hitter like Mack build up speed behind you. The volts running through that frame take some time to recover from. Getting tazed like that- that's some frustrating stuff. Legion is going to lose some time trying to reboot from that, and her sync-rate's already dropped drastically, Tim."

The engineer grit his teeth as he moved to the comms mic once more. His thumb pressed against the button as he stared at the feed of his racer, his voice wavering as he tried to hold his authority. “Jag? I'm getting weird readings. Either slow down, or I'm going to hit the eject button."

Mark watched as his pilot suddenly dug deep into the terrain, his body crouching down as both leg and arm panels withdrew. The Jag leaped into the air as an explosion of force thrust out from below him. The tracking camera shuddered as it lost sight of him for a moment, the feed quickly locking on and zooming in on the rocketing frame.

WARNING! Jet panel (left arm) reaching <10%..!

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WARNING! Jet panel (right arm) reaching <10%..!

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WARNING! Jet panel (left leg) reaching <10%..!

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WARNING! Jet panel (right leg) reaching <10%..!

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“Oh, what's this now?" An announcer called out, their feed quickly switching to the one Mark was currently watching. “It looks like Callawoy has just taken a massive volley up the side of the-"

Mark realized what the crazed pilot was doing as his hurtling body careened towards the cliffside. Both announcer and Mark gasped in unison as the camera pulled back in time to reveal the KI-91 mecha quickly climbing up the side of the mountain.

She'wen didn't even see it coming.

The JA-9 unit slammed into the side of the mountain with tremendous force, his claws digging deep within the terrain whilst scrabbling to keep his grip. Mark cringed once more for the pilot within, the mental and physical toll on his pilot sending the engineer reeling with fear. The mecha didn't hesitate as its 'muscles' groaned, the Jag's body twisting to raise a hind leg up towards She'wen.

SLAM!

The pro's grip on the cliff face was yanked out from beneath him as the tremendous kick connected with his side. She'wen went careening downwards, the pro desperately trying to find a ledge to grip as he fell.

“What're you doing, kid?!" Mark cried out at the screen, watching as his pilot turned his attention back towards the summit. Nimble limbs dug and yanked at the stone as he climbed, his body working quickly to clamber up to the second checkpoint.

“He actually did it! Ladies and gentlemen, it is a rare sight to see She-wen caught off guard, and especially rare to see such a bold pilot step into the fray with him!"

96_%..._

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99%...

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98%...

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112%...

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WARNING! Stress Levels Critical!

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WARNING! Pilot Heart Rate Abnormal!

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WARNING! Massive Dysphoria Spike!

--

Mark's head swiveled back towards the biometrics as he read the warnings being displayed to him. The last report had him- What? His sync rate was… That couldn't be right. The Jag's head swiveled, its ears flicking upwards as it stared towards the top of the summit. Only two more pilots were in front of Renn now. The Jag's paws dug into the mountain below him as the pilot lowered his stance, his limbs shaking and rattling as if his body was pressing down against tightly wound springs.

“Damnit Renn, we agreed we wouldn't push ourselves this race! They're never going to take us seriously if we-"

WARNING! Overclocking Right Leg Suspension!

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WARNING! Overclocking Right Leg Suspension!

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WARNING! Overclocking Right Arm Suspension!

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WARNING! Overclocking Right Arm Suspension!

--

The JA-9 unit leapt into the air once more as Mark's screen filled with hundreds of errors. The mechas legs had been ripped to shreds by the force of his exertion. His body hurtled like something limp had been launched from a catapult, his body careening wildly and carelessly through the air before dropping down with a heavy thud on the very top of the summit. The mecha began to lose his momentum as he rolled uphill, his deadened limbs desperately trying to grip the terrain beneath him.

Mark did his best to try and reboot the forepaws first, his hands frantically switching gauges off and on to try and get a haptic response from the frame. Eventually a plethora of readings spiked within the JA-9's right hand, and the engineer watched the feed of his pilot come to a grinding halt… Claws digging into the cliffside.

More and more of the machine slowly began to reboot. His weakened state left each step and drag up the mountain an arduous one. The machine groaned and spat warnings out onto Mark's machine with each dig into the terrain. Renn slowly scrabbled his way up the top of the cliffside as the other pilots drew near, his heavy and unresponsive body swaying back and forth as he slowly crawled over the finish line.

“And coming in at first place it's none other than Renn Callawoy, and by gods look at the strain on that machine. It looks like the rookie really wanted to push himself to the limit this race, and the results really paid o-"

Mark watched as his machine trembled and fell on its side, its legs failing beneath it for the final time. All cameras were turned on the victor as the machine continued to shudder and convulse, no doubt waiting for the pilot to slowly pull himself from the mecha.

“It looks like the pilot has just collapsed! No doubt the JA-9 having destabilized with him at just the right time. It's amazing how well these new pilots understand the strain they put themselves within these neural frames. If he had pushed himself even a fraction harder, we would have been watching Callawoy have a nasty desyncing down the cliffsi-"

“Now wait just a minute Tim! Look at the results we're getting from his race right now. He reached aa average of 97% sync-rate for the entire second half of this race, Tim. My- Look at that Tim look at that. His sync-rate… Even after he's collapsed at the finish line his sync-rate has still stabilized in the upper 80 percentile. I mean, this is why the pros all love this rookie! W-Well, maybe not She'wen, but can you really blame-"

These readings weren't right. Mark didn't have time to listen to this nonsense, nor did he believe Renn was in any state of mind to pull himself from the JA-9. If anything, his pilot would most likely vomit from the stress he was currently inducing, and that wouldn't look good on the PR front. Mark closed down all communication with the media channels and hopped onto a private frequency for all GUNRR trailers.

“Air comms, this is Mark Fallahue telling you that I am pulling over the finish line to retrieve my pilot and mecha. This is non-negotiable, as I have very clear-" Mark began, wincing as the stadium's air trafficking advisor picked up the line. He quickly adjusted the volume for the other channel as the man on the other end of the speaker prattled on about disturbing the rest of the race.

“I don't give a shit, what your policies are, I'm worried about my pilot and I'm going to go fuckin' get him! Right! Now!"

---

The After-Party

Renn Callawoy tried to speak once more. His voice felt funny in his ears, as if something was stuck in his throat. His mind felt groggy, as if he wasn't entirely awake. Was he missing something? The pilot tried to look around but failed to, his head tied down to something behind him.

The sound of Mark's biometrics beeping and ticking from the far corner of the trailer's garage caught his attention, the sound of whirring and grating sharp in his ears. The pilot had no doubt that his engineer had blindfolded him and strapped him to a table. More examinations? Right after a race?

The race.

Renn's body twitched as he pressed against his bindings, his mind stirring to recollect the events of what happened on the field. It was all a blur now, muddled within the fugue of his adrenaline-sick mind. Something had happened to him down there… Something he wasn't ready to try and explain to Mark.

“Holy shit." He heard a voice say in the distance. Quiet, as if trying to keep his voice down.

Mark?

Renn's body twitched once more as he strained to turn towards the voice. He couldn't of course, his body still constricted by the tough bindings strapped around his wrists.

“Renn? Are you conscious?" His engineer asked him. Renn listened to the sound of boots walking up to him, the gentle tapping of a holo-pad endlessly prattling on.

Did Mark ever stop working? I mean, they just won, right? They should be celebrating! Renn tried to express this to his mechanic, but the only thing that met his ears was a heavy amount of static and crackling. He strained his voice once more. N-No, not his voice. W-What was that?

“W-Wha-?" The synthetic voice that met his ears sent a sickening feeling down his entire body. The sensation alone was like nails on a chalkboard, his body spasming once. Then twice. His muscle strained against his restraints, groaning to life as if they hadn't been used in ages.

No. N-No.

“Settle down there, Renn." Mark spoke calmly. Renn shuddered and spasmed against his controls as his mind fought with the conflicting sensations racing through his mind. “You remember me, right?"

“T-ToOUchCHsSTOne." The JA-9's artificial voice rumbled throughout the quiet garage. Heavy limbs twitched and jerked as the mecha's body seized, pushing back against the docking station that strapped him in. “M-MmAarkk y-y-you're m-my tToOUchStone MArk."

A million questions leapt through the pilot's strained mind. Why was he still in his mech? H-How long had he been asleep while keeping sync? T-That could result in permanent brain d-damage o-o-or a-

“Focus on your pulse, Jaguar." Mark repeated the phrase for the millionth time. The JA-9's head thrashed against its restraints as the mechanic slowly pulled the blindfold off of his creation. Renn looked up at the tired man through the sensors of his mecha. Mark looked tired, eyes sunken with black rings. The engineer's shoulders were drooped lower than Renn had ever seen them, and the hands that tapped away at the holo-pad were stained with oil and grease.

“Your pulse, Jag." Mark repeated, eyes glancing at the biometric feed being displayed on his pad. He'd finally been able to stabilize him above a 50% sync-rate, but the readings were spiking dangerously close to the cut-off point.

Renn's pulse. Yes, the pilot could feel something. He could feel it all. The clunky hands and feet that were designed for high performance racing flexed and relaxed to the beat of his pulse, his whole body shuddering and groaning as the connection slowly settled into place.

“I'm suited." The JA-9's speakers crackled once more, this time much calmer. “W-WhY AM I sUITed?"

“T-There have been a lot of changes around here since the race, Renn." Mark sighed, staring down at the machine below him. Tears began to well in his eyes as the sudden realization that he'd stabilized his friend hit him. “Y-You're back, though. Gods, you're back. That's all that counts."

Renn watched in silence as his friend tried to pull himself together. How long had he been tied up here? D-Did anyone know about this? Did he get injured? Oh gods, did his brother hear wind of this?

The sound of his chasis opening stopped Renn's train of thought before it could continue any longer. The clamp keeping the Jag's head pinned was released, and the pilot tilted his head down in time to see the panels of his chest opening outwards. The readings on Mark's holo-pad spiked once more as Renn took in the sight of the empty cavity, the silhouette of where his body should be staring back at him through the large opening.

“W-WhERe am I, M-Mark?" The JA-9's speakers crackled as his hands strained against the docking station below him. “MArk. TeLl Me whEre I am."

“You're right here, Renn." Mark whispered, relief washing through his body as he leaned against the metal frame. He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. “You've 'grafted' to the JA-9. Your body… Is… In a coma, Renn. It's not looking good on that end, and for a while we thought we'd lost you on this side as well."

“What're you tRYing to say, Mark?" The pilot spoke with a serious tone, the mecha's head dipping down to stare at his robotic body. The muscular feline figure wormed back and forth as he stared downwards.

“Apparently when you were knocked out, your mind receded into your frame instead of into your body. This has only happened a… Few times before. Each time, it's due to a pilot being more comfortable within their current form than their original body. The link was cut, Renn. If your sync-rate… If it drops too low… I fear for the worst."

“Okay. Fine." Renn huffed, his shoulders hunching forwards as he shook his head. The machine turned its gaze away from the chassis, disgusted by his empty frame. “I pUShed a bit too faR thEN, d-d-didn't I?"

“You just about ripped your limbs off, you idiot. I warned you!" Mark spoke bitterly as he turned away from the mecha, grease-slick hands running through his hair. He stared up at the ceiling for some time, the sound of Renn's biometrics beeping the only noise in the room. Slowly he turned back around, the back of his palm smearing oil against his forehead. “But… Let's not start. Putting. B-Blame on one another for this. You've stabilized, but this isn't about you trying to race anymore. We need to make sure you are as comfortable as possible within this frame."

“Don't… Think about racing?" A burst of static uttered from the JA-9, as if Renn had just scoffed. “Mark, you're not seriously considering downgrading the Jag, are you?"

“I'm thinking about keeping your mind in tact for the day your actual body 'boots up' again. For now you're stuck in this thing, and I'm going to make sure you don't completely die on my hands, got it?" The mechanic presses, pointing a finger at the large mecha.

“...Yeah cOach, I got it." Renn nods slowly, his body relaxing back down atop the docking station.

“Good." Mark sniffed, quickly wiping at his cheek before turning back to his holo-pad. The engineer tapped on his screen for a moment before turning back up to look at the neural frame. “I'm… Glad you're not dead."

The paws of the massive mecha unfurled, heavy palms splaying out as the pilot stared at his body. He'd spent countless hours practicing within the neural frame… Years of his life connected to the same rig.

And in all that time? It had never felt like a cage.

“Yeah." The digital voice grumbled, clenching his paws tightly. “Me too."

[center]----[/center]

The sound of the GUNNR Post-Game Show blared through the garage, a holo screen propped up to display the intermission outro. Sleek mechs and clips of charismatic racers montaged across the screen in well-edited verse before finally switching to the reporter's desk. The screen was split into two seperate videos, both Tim Anchever and She'wen Wan taking up the appropriate spaces.

“Joining us now to talk about the situation in greater detail is pilot and superstar She'wen Wan." Time began, glancing down at his desk before turning up to face the camera. "If you're just tuning in now, our coverage is going over the tragic events of the grafting that occurred to Renn Callawoy. A young pro on his first debut tour, now in a coma after the extreme pressures placed on him during last month's race: the Monolith. Wan?"

“Uh, hi Tim. It's a pleasure to be on the-"

“Now, you were there on the track with Callawoy when this all happened." The announcer paused for Wan to verify this truth before continuing. “If anyone had the foresight to predict what would happen that day, it would have been those sharing the track with him, yes?"

“No, it's not-" She'wen hesitated as he tried to correct his statement. “Well, yes. What happened to Callawoy is clear to everyone now, but let's be fair, this isn't the first time the 'Jag duo team' have pushed the limits of their training. Method-Training is… inherently risky, and we're seeing a first hand result of why Mark Fallahue's regimen never really caught on."

“Because of the grifting factor, yes?"

Wan paused for a long time, as if debating his answer for a period of time. “...Yeah. It's, uh. Radical. Extreme, by anyone else's standards. B-But that isn't to say I don't respect Fallague's uh, prominence within the GUNRR scene."

“Of course, of course." The announcer began, pausing only to clear his throat. “But the concept of Method-Training is dangerous, correct?"

“That's not what-" Wan let out a frustrated grunt, his breath catching in the recording.

“And what, exactly, would you say to anyone looking back at the events that happened on the Monolith?"

“I'd say that… This is a perfect example of why those wanting to get into the GUNRR scene should practice restraint. You know, you don't hear about this sort of thing often, and for good reason. Trainer, mechanic, engineer, and pilot should all take responsibility to mitigate risks like these. I… Might not know the Jag team personally, but I know their history. They wanted to… To push their limits, and… uh…"

“An Icarus situation, of sorts?"

“No, no. Far from that. What happened to Callawoy wasn't the tragedy of some mythos. It really happened. I think it's a… Once again, a reminder to all pilots and trainers to share the weight of the burdens of racing fra-"

The broadcast came to a sudden stop as Mark's finger tapped at the garage's controls. His eyes turned from the remote to his pilot, a look of concern on his face. The JA-9 mecha sat on the ground in front of a holo-screen, the paused face of She-Wen reflecting in the black of his visor. Renn cocked his head to the side as he folded his paws in front of him, tail flicking impatiently as he returned his engineer's stare.

“I was watching that." The JA-9's voice crackled to life, a gentle purr of artificial noise accompanying his words.

“I don't know how you can listen to that shit, Renn." The engineer said, leaning back into his chair as he brought his attention back to his tinkering. The male's lab had hundreds of parts scattered apart, his workspace cluttered with spare parts for the JA-9.

“Can you believe what they're saying about all this?" Renn watched as his engineer slowly sealed the plate on the intricately crafted limb in his hands. “They talk about me like I'm dead."

“Well, there's not much we can do when the only statement you're willing to give is 'no comment'." Mark harrumphed as he reached out and slowly tugged at the digit of his device, watching the entire paw fold and unfold beneath his prodding. Looking engineer's eye for perfection was finally stated, and the older male began walking out from behind his workplace.

“What am I supposed to say?" The pilot asked, his black visor following Mark as the engineer slowly made his way across the garage. “You won't even let me start practicing again."

“Renn. You-" Mark scoffed as he held back a bitter laugh, his knees popping as he pulled himself down to kneel next to the mecha. “How many times do we have to talk about this? You're not racing until I've got your sync-rate stabilized."

“I've been in here for over a month now and you're worried abouT ME Not stAbILiZing?" Renn's voice filled with static as Mark moved to touch his hand. The mecha jerked backwards, his thick corded tail slapping the grating behind him in irritation.

“You know what I mean. Give me your paw." Mark grumbled, reaching forward and gripping the heavy machinery with both hands. He squeezed and pinched at the mechanisms accordingly, the fast-paced beeping of Renn's biometrics ringing in his ear. Slowly, the mechanic eased the hand off of the JA-9's frame before inserting the new machinery. The mechanic clenched and twisted with his entire torso, the beeping behind him quickly silencing. “Your sync-rate spikes erratically, and I'm not comfortable with the fluctuations I'm reading out of you. One second you're find and the next second all I hear out of you is static."

“That's n-OO-otT TRU-Ue." Renn grumbled in response, his voice box crackling once more. The sound was just a minor pain to the engineer at this point, although he'd yet to stop wincing whenever the static ground against his ears.

“It is true, Renn." The mechanic sighed as he leaned backwards, his hands running across the metal grating beneath him. “You and I both know about the spikes, and I need to know why they're happening. Is it the paws? The tail? Do you miss not being able to-"

“Mark." The mecha growled. “I would drop this if I were you."

“So you do know what it is!" The engineer exclaimed, his whole body leaning towards the frame in front of him.

Renn didn't bother to respond. Instead, the bestial mecha just turned his head away from the mechanic's curious eyes. Mark waited some time for his pilot to respond, his posture slowly relaxing as his excitement began to dissipate.

“Fine. If you won't talk about it, I can't help you fix it." The human shrugged, his shoulders sagging as he began to pull himself upright. “Your brother called yesterday. Wanted to know if you were ready to talk about what happened yet."

Again, the mecha made no motion to move. Only his tail dared to slide across the metal grating, the black and silver limb curling against his frame every now and again. The lack of beeping coming from Mark's holo-pad had the engineer confused. He was almost positive that his pilot's strain had come from familiar affairs… Or lack thereof.

“Alright. So be it. Go ahead and bottle all this up." Mark sighed. The mechanic shook his head as he slowly made his way back towards the work station. “But you're not going to be able to race until I see these numbers improve."

“Oh, what do you want me to say?! That I'm frustrated?!" Renn suddenly exclaimed, his powerful frame suddenly pulling itself onto all fours. The mecha tossed its head defiantly as the pilot turned away from Mark, his heavy body padding across the garage in annoyance. “Because I am! I'm stuck in a fucking machine, you IdIOt! DO You ReALly THinK IKKKKK KKK KK-I W-WOU-KK-LD TeLL Y-OU ABOUKKKKKK-S StUPID HaANGGuPP Of MmmMInE?"

“Alright! Alright! Calm down!" Mark shouted, his hands clasped over his ears to shut out Renn's staticky uproar. “Go run on the track and cool off! You're obviously not ready to talk about whatever it is so just… Let me know when you're ready to discuss it."

“Fine." Renn growled, claws clacking against the grating as his heavy frame slunk out of the garage.

[center]----[/center]

“You're going to make fun of me." A robotic voice spoke out in the darkness. The half asleep mechanic jolted awake, his head snapping upright to stare out into his unlit bedroom. Mark could barely make out the shape of the JA-9 supporting its upper body atop the end of his bed, its massive frame looming over him.

“For the love of-" The engineer began, pausing to let out a sigh of frustration. Mark's mind was still quite groggy from his sleep, his heavy eyelids closing once more as he brought a hand up to rub at his temple. “I'm not going to make fun of you, Renn."

It took Mark a second to realize what the mecha had even said to him, his response having only been a sleep-induced stream of consciousness. The human wiped at the sleep in his eyes as he rested back down in his bed, a look of annoyance on his face. “Renn. C'mon. These are the sleeping hours, man. If you don't wanna spill it then-"

“I miss it." Renn began, his speaker rumbling deeply.

“Hm?" Mark opened his eyes, the sleep that had clouded his brain quickly dissipating. The human sat upright and stared at the dark silhouette across from him, surprise in his eyes. “What do you miss?"

“A lot of things." The pilot began, letting more of his weight ease down atop the bed frame. “I miss eating. I miss feeling warm o-or cold. These sensors are only good for so much, a-and I know you've been adding a lot of features, but…"

“Renn?" The mechanic could sense the pilots hesitation. He leaned forward and brought a hand out from beneath his sheet, placing it down atop the mecha's paw. “C'mon, spill it."

“I miss uh." The JA-9's paws danced nervously up and down as Renn debated how to explain his current situation to his engineer. “You know about… Phantom limbs, right?"

“Am I your mechanic, Renn?" Mark countered rhetorically.

“Okay, okay. I just… Sometimes I wake up, or I see or think something and I just-" The mecha's entire body shuddered, his head shaking as conflicting thoughts clashed inside his head. “Damnit, there's nothing down t-there Mark. It's stupid and I shouldn't be feeling this way b-but there's n-NoTHIng DoWN thERE ANd I-"

“Renn. Hold on, slow down Renn." Mark interrupted, eyes widening before letting out a long yawn. “Are… Are you telling me you miss having a dick? Is this really all this is about?"

The pilot couldn't even look Mark in the eyes. The mecha's head was turned towards the sheets, his ears folded down. Renn frowned as he glanced at the frame's hind legs. They were shaking, his tail twitching erratically back and forth.

“Because we can fix that." The engineer added, nodding firmly.

“W-WhAt?!" The mecha exclaimed, a small burst of static crackling through his speaker as he was taken aback.

“Tomorrow. I'm tired right now. We'll pick out a few models and I'll-" Mark paused to yawn once more, his body settling back down beneath his covers. “Get to work on packing them discreetly into your frame."

“You're not going to laugh at me?" Renn asked, the clashing in his body suddenly easing up ten-fold.

“Gods, Renn." Mark laughed, his eyes already closed. “That depends on what you end up picking out."

“Oh." The pilot stated, slowly slinking off of the mechanics bed and making his way towards the door. The quadruped mecha turned backwards, black faceplate staring at his mechanic earnestly. “Thank you."

“It's my job." Mark grunted, waving a limp hand at the JA-9 unit in an attempt to shoo it away. “Now go rest, Jag."

“Okay, Mark." Renn nodded.

Mark closed his eyes before the frame had even left the room. He smiled as he listened to the sound of the large mecha fumble to close the door. A calming silence eventually filled the room once more, and a small flutter of excitement filled the mechanics stomach as he thought about tomorrow's itinerary.

The engineer pondered if he'd been a bit too casual with his pilot about the subject. Had he given himself away? No… It was his job to handle mechas. So what if he felt a little comfortable around E-Stim parts? It's not like Renn would 'magically' pick up on his robophilia.

[center]----[/center]

The Jag paced nervously across the garage as Mark hummed casually in his corner workspace. Every so often the antsy jaguar would turn, his ears cocking towards the strange sounds coming from the engineer's desk.

Renn was grateful that his mechanic hadn't hooked him up to the docking station yet. The two had spent the past standard-month 'preparing' the pilot's frame with various improvements, many of which required the Jag to be restrained for days at a time. Many of these operations had happened to Renn while he was 'idling', his sensories purposely dimmed and simulated to keep his sync-rate from spiraling out of control. The sensation was uncomfortable, to say the least. He'd been under a surgeon's knife before, his brain too addled with drugs to comprehend the doctor's poking or prodding. Somehow being in a mecha resulted in a much more disorienting feeling. In those moments, the only thing that kept Renn company were his own thoughts.

And that wasn't a place Renn liked to linger in for too long.

“Is it ready yet?" He asked, the mecha's body whipping back towards the mechanic as he paced. The Jag could just barely make out the shape of the various parts. His buyer's remorse had kicked in almost immediately after the two had settled on the perfect model. The pilot could still remember Mark's snickering after Renn had called the product 'discreet'.

“Yeah, I... Think I've got everything synced up to the right channels. All we've gotta do now is install it and make sure it's running through the rest of your network accordingly." Mark muttered, his head hunched over his workspace as he blindly reached for another tool. “Go ahead and strap yourself in and we'll see if it'll sync up with my system."

Mark's design was… Ambitious. The Jag nodded as the mecha slowly rose to its hind legs. The sensation of 'shifting' to an upright position was always strange, but due to Mark's tinkering it had become incredibly arduous. Plenty of 'bits' had been rearranged within his design to make room for the new systems being installed. A lot of weight had been shifted about within him, and as such a large bag of sand had been strapped inside his… Well…

Renn's shoulders hunched forward as the mecha's stance lowered into a hunch, the temporary weight within his groin slowly shifting into place. Inactive circuitry had been wound through every inch of the JA-9's pre-existing network. However, they'd yet to test the stimulation at all without the final installation fully rigged.

The mecha's tail twitched and curled as Renn clambered into the docking station, his corded 'muscles' only relaxing when he felt his body lock into place. The heavy k'chunk and hiss of machinery would have made Renn's stomach tighten… If he still had one.

“Alright, Jag." Mark began, his voice taking an uncharacteristically placating tone. “I'm going to 'idle' you for a few minutes, okay?"

The mecha's head was locked into place, his gaze slowly moving towards the ceiling of the garage as the docking station below him began to move. As it did, the world around Renn began to dim. The pilot didn't fight the sensation, his mind relaxing as the strange sensation bloomed from within.

“O-o-o-O-k-o-k-k-ka-a-ka-y-y." The JA-9's speakers barely crackled Renn's response out, his head now lolling against its restraints.

The fog that clouded his sensory input was thicker than usual, his mind slowly trying to slog its way through the nothingness that covered his thoughts like a heavy blanket. He felt… Cut off. Isolated. It felt like his head was floating away from a stiff and unresponsive body, his consciousness desperately reaching out to cling to whatever it could. A part of his 'brain' knew that he was still somewhere, but another part screamed that he was dead. Dying. Lost in this nothingness forever.

Could he feel? Even if he came to, could he truly touch something? Sure, Mark's upgrades had tried their hardest to simulate the sensation of his paws pressing against surfaces, but what was that in comparison to the real thing? C-Could he even remember the real thing? Was he real anymore? O-Or was he just some sick and feeble simulation o-of the man he once w-was?

“N-NnnnN-No." The Jag stirred suddenly, his body seizing against the docking station as he was eased out of his idling. As the simulation dissipated, the first thing Renn could feel was the weight of it. His hips suddenly pulled against the rest of his frame, a strong tingling sensation emitting from his groin. Was that… Arousal?

No. It was a finger. Mark's finger. The mechanic's hand slowly wiped along the new seam in his polished plating. The JA-9's lower half shuddered as he watched a bead of translucent gel collect on the tip of the engineer's finger.

“Sorry, you were uh-" Mark coughed and turned away from the robot in one motion. The engineer reached for a towel and wrung his hands in them as he looked at the far wall of the garage. “You started leaking a bit when I brought you back."

“Oh." It was the only thought that came to Renn's head. His mind was still preoccupied with the sensations rolling through his body. He'd always remembered what it felt like, but when it came to actually experiencing it once more…

“It feels different." Renn continued, slowly realizing that he's already been freed from the docking station. The heavy frame pulled itself upright, his black faceplate still trained on his groin.

“It, uh… That's to be expected. It's- Well. They say that E-Stims take a bit of time to get used to. It can be weird at first, having all of your erogenous zones re-routed and linked. O-Of course I haven't linked you to anything abnormal." Mark rambled as he kept his eyes trained away from the mecha. His hands gripped his towel strategically over his groin as he paused, listening to the sound of the neural frame beside him shift. “W-Well… I m-might've hooked em up to your ears as well."

“Really?" The absorbed pilot asked, his large paw quickly moving up to run along the side of his ear. Metal claws slid against the advanced plating before the entire ear flicked in annoyance. “I don't feel much up there."

“It's… Well, we've got this method of simulating the operations that happen in the u-uh, the cingulate cortex. That kind of stimulus isn't very uh, effective. F-For self stimulation, that is." Mark cleared his throat as he felt the mecha's attention fixate on him.

“Well, f-fUCk." The robot 'huffed' out static, his other paw running up and down his chest in broad strokes. The warm sensation that pulsed through the JA-9's frame felt nice to the pilot. He pressed harder, the muscles in his arm bulging as he really dug his paw down his side. *“I know you take your work seriously Mark, but that's quite a bit of attention to detail. Was that really necessary?" *

“You wanted to feel comfortable in your new body, right?" Mark risked turning back to look at the mecha, his cheeks reddening as he realized that the frame's induction port was already beginning to open. The mechanic swallowed tightly as he quickly diverted his gaze once more. “Well… Here you are."

“Y-Yeah. H-Here I am." The Jag shuddered as the frame splayed his hind legs, curious hands reaching down to grope at the opening in his frame. More than anything, the black mesh beneath looked like a puffy sac. As the plates continue to fold, the 'slit' in his armor grew wider, allowing more of the pliable-looking material to push out. A spike of pleasure shot through the frame as his claws rubbed along the side of his opening slit, his entire concentration honed on the visual before him.

The mechanic bit his lip as he took a step away from the Jag, his boots treading across the grating as he headed back behind his desk. He had a job to do, he thought. This data wouldn't read itself, after all. Mark sat down in his seat as he continued to lie to himself, his eyes catching sight of the first-person camera feed of the mecha on one of his many screens. The robot was curiously prodding at the bulging groin now, his hips quaking as he continued to push more claws against the slick metal.

The JA-9's opening was designed for self-lubrication, a heavy layer of clear lube collecting on Renn's paw as he rolled his fingers atop the expanding groin. The jiggling package continued to push out, now looking more like a bulge in someone's underwear than any type of cock. His gentle touching became all-out groping as he gripped tightly around it, his attention focused on the sensation of the sac pulsing larger and larger. Renn had watched several videos of the strange E-Stim in action, but he'd never fathomed how amazing it would feel to watch the bulbous shape form into a pair of heavy and bloated balls. The synthetic testes jiggled as they plumped larger, his palm running across the slick surface with ease.

Mark swallowed tightly as he watched the JA-9 fondle himself, the expanding testes overflowing from his cupped paw. The engineer's hand hesitated as it slipped up his thigh, his own digits curling around the sensitive bulge pressed alongside his pant leg.

Renn had never been Mark's 'type'. The mechanic had always had a strong affinity with metal and mesh alike. After the accident he had sworn to himself that he could keep their work-relationship stable… But… Damnit. He'd designed the JA-9 to look like this for a reason.

The mecha ground his hips into the mechanical paw, his synthetic balls plumping and jostling with each pulse of his hips. Lube liberally drooled down the metal jaguar's legs as the Jag's induction port continued to spill open. The racing machine bucked and shuddered as desperate gasps crackled from Renn's speakers.

“M-MaArkRK." The pilot's voice strained through the JA-9. The Jag's black visor turned to look at his engineer, his back arching into the air as he groaned. “I-I'm nnnot going to stop."

Cords of muscle swelled across the Jag's form as another shape began to push out from the mecha's induction port. The head of a fat and lube-slick shaft slowly pushed out of the sensitive groin, its length throbbing with desire. Simulation or not, Renn didn't care. The lust that rolled over him was taking control, his shaky paws reaching out to grip and smear against his shuddering maleness. The JA-9's balls tightened for a moment before ballooning in size once more, the hefty orbs jostling against his thighs.

Mark quickly moved his hand away from his bulge and closed his legs as he realized Renn was staring at him. A raspy 'chuckle' escaped the JA-9's speakers as the engineer pretended to re-examine his pilot's diagnostics.

“R-Really?" Renn asked, one paw greedily squeezing around his own black shaft. “I always knew you were a freak, Mark."

Mark blushed at the accusation, the male's thighs squeezing tighter around his maleness as he thought of a response. “I'm… Not the one who asked for a cock thicker than my hand."

“It was d-discreet. Unlike you." The mecha rolled his hand along the turgid length, his fingers squeezing against the head of his shaft. A thick bead of simulant began to collect at the tip of his claw, his legs twitching as he rode the waves of his own pleasure. “No one g-gives a frame an ass like the Jag's without a rrreason."

“I don't see you complaining." Mark grunted as he stood. The mechanic reached over the table for his holo-pad as he tried to keep his gaze averted from the self-absorbed mecha.

“What's t-there to complain about?" Renn asked, the powerful frame stretching out to pose for the blushing mechanic across from him. The Jag's black faceplate bore into Mark's eyes, the intense gaze unreciprocated by the blushing engineer. “Go on. Y-You can look."

Mark blinked in surprise as he slowly turned his head towards the prostrating mecha. The engineer's jaw dropped as he gawked at the sight of his powerful mecha… At his racer…

“You can't be-" Mark began, his mind searching for a sensible response to the pilot's actions.

“But I g-get. To. Race." Renn's voice growled deeply as he ground his hips into his grip. The Jag's paws ground up and down against the slick member, the tight and powerful thrusts sending the docking station jostling beneath him. “G-Got it?"

Lube drooled down the back of the mecha's paws as Renn's hips slammed forward. A cacophony of pleasurable grunts, slaps, and squelches erupted from the JA-9 as his hind claws pressed into the station below. The Jag arched his back as the beast snarled, his synthetic adrenaline kicking into full gear. Renn's head whipped back to look at Mark as he growled, surprised to see the male openly groping at his own bulge.

“Let's do it. Let's Touch. Grind. F-Fuck." Mark pleaded, his desires kicking into full gear as he stared his trainer down. “Just let me r-race."

Mark bit his lip as he slowly moved to unzip his pants. The amount of red tape he'd have to cut. The politicking with people he hated. Bridges he'd burned. Not to mention the political backlash of letting a grafted pilot race. The engineer grunted as he fished out his cock, his belt not even fully undone.

“P-Please Mark. It's all I think about." Renn's head moved to follow Mark as the mechanic slowly made his way over to his usual place at the end of the docking station. The pilot could see the unbridled want in his teammate's eyes. He'd wanted this for so long… And was Renn was willing to give it to him. The mecha eased his hips into the air once more as he angled his cock towards the engineer's face. A heavy glob of lubricant drooled onto the station below him as his speakers crackled to life once more. "It's all I have left. Install whatever you want. Just help me win."

“O-Okay." Mark gasped as he reached out with a free hand, his palm pressing up against the same slick testes he had just installed. They pulsed and rolled about as he groped the Jag, his eyes widening as he fully realized what he was doing. “Okay. I will."

The mecha's hind legs quickly coiled inwards and wrapped around the engineer's body in an effort to push him closer to the throbbing groin. Mark bit his lip as his cheek was pressed up against the JA-9. He felt the lubed shaft smear against the side of his face as he continued to grope at the massive shaft, his free hand eagerly stroking his own shaft beneath the table.

“Let's show them all, Mark." Renn snarled as he watched his engineer turn his face to return his gaze. The mecha could barely see Mark's face from beyond his throbbing length, a surge of pride welling up within him as he recognized the glint of passion in his trainer's eyes. “W-We'll show them all."

The mechanical beast was over twice the engineer's size. Mark squirmed between the Jag's massive thighs as he felt the powerful mecha squeeze tighter around his waist. The human sputtered as his lips smeared against Renn's synthetic cock, the strong taste immediately filling his mouth. Both shaft and lube felt warm as they dragged along Mark's face, his breathing growing haggard as he listened to his own heart pound in his chest. He'd never designed the racing frame for such intimate displays, nor had he ever allowed himself the ability to fantasize about pressing up against his JA-9. But here he was, willingly submitting to the powerful machine before him.

Mark opened his mouth wide and let his tongue drag along the fat length, a copious amount of lubricant collecting drooling into the back of his throat. He angled the bucking cock towards him as he brazenly lipped and sucked. A million repressed desires came flooding out at once, the mechanic's nostrils flaring as he pushed back against the powerful mecha.

His mecha.

“T-That's it. Jussst like that." Renn cooed, the mecha's head fixated on the male servicing him below. For the first time in a long time, the pilot was actually enjoying his now-massive figure. Watching the mechanics relatively tiny hand work up and down his length left the once-human in an incredible feeling, his claws curling tightly in satisfaction. “Your frame requires s-service, mechanic."

Mark's eyes swiveled to return the Jag's gaze as a heavy spurt of lubricant rolled down the side of his nose. The mechanic barely flinched at the sensation, his body far too focused on pleasing the massive length rutting into him. His other hand pumped away at his own shaft as he continued his servicing, his lust-addled mind giving up on any sense of decency.

The hand running up the length of the Jag's fat cock suddenly halted before pushing down, his fingers curling into the sensitive folds below the corners of the mecha's induction port. He curled and teased at the root of the nervous system, the mechanic's attention focused on watching Renn's massive body twitch and jerk in response to his ministrations.

“You like t-that?" Mark asked, lube liberally drooling past of his lips as he spoke. He pressed even harder against the base of the fat folds of his synthetic sheathe, a grin widening on his face as he let Renn's slippery cock smear across his face.

A low of steady snarl erupted from the speakers of the Jag as the mecha humped his hips into the fingers stuffed inside him. Renn's mind was lost in the blissful sensations coursing through him, his mind desperate for even more. M-More.

“More." Renn growled, his thick and corded thighs pushing even tighter against his engineer. All of the stress that had been weighing heavy on his shoulders were gone, his newfound desires quelling whatever fears remained. In this moment, the only thing he cared about were the fingers toying within his squelching port, his muscles straining as he snarled and shuddered. “MORE. P-PLEASE."

The mecha's desperate pleas only spurred Mark into even greater heights of arousal, his groping and sucking sinking into all out depravity. There was no more saving face… No more having to hide his blushing whenever the JA-9 warmed up in front of him… He was going to show his dedication to his job. To the Team. To Renn.

The roadblocks didn't matter. They'd never mattered. Team Jag was never one for following the conventions. From day one they existed to break them.

Fuck it. He'd make the Jag hotter. They'd take the GUNRR scene by storm, and neither would let the world forget them.

Mark opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the tip of the Jag's cock. Even as he felt the mecha's balls churn and pump he didn't pull away. Thick white goo freely filled his mouth as he kept eye contact with the mecha in front of him, a look of pure determination on his face. His arm continued to pump up and down on his own shaft as he felt his own hips spasm uncontrollably. A steady flow of artificial cum drooled past his lips as he opened his mouth wide, a gasp of pleasure escaping him as he felt himself cum.

“L-Look… At yourself." The Jag rasped, reaching out to bring a paw out to prop up the mechanic's head. “You're already out of breath? You should run with me more often."

Mark gave the mecha a trembling smile as he moved to wipe his face, his palm smearing the sticky mess off his chin. The engineer grinned as he felt a bout of nerves return to him. Was… Was this really happening? Were they really going to pull this off?

D-Did he just suck his pilot's dick?

“Hah…" Mark laughed weakly as he tried to catch his breath. His other hand was still glue to his dick as he leaned into the massive mecha, a stupid smile plastered to his face. “Only if you… Help me on the PR end of things."

“Hah, as if I'll be any help. You know I can't hold my tongue." The JA-9's neck craned forward as Renn spoke, the mecha's head tilting slightly as he stared down at his engineer.

“Maybe it's time we stopped holding our tongues." Mark replied, a genuine chuckle leaving his mouth as he too craned forward.

The two sat in shared silence, a mutual sensation of camaraderie emanating off of one another. Mark's laughter rolled into a gentle chuckle as he shook his head, his mind racing with countless opportunities. Their work was far from done.

“Remind me to order some flavored lubricants for you next time. This stuff is going to cling to the back of my throat all day."

---

:Cambionsicon: To be continued? :Cambionsicon:

Well met, mortal. There is a surprising lack of sex in this one, as you've just read. However! Wow! This ended up being quite larger than previous works! The setting has lodged itself in my brain and it needed to eventually break out. Hopefully you all enjoyed a look into the interesting narrative that's been plaguing my head. There's so much potential to return to this story! Just think of all the ways the Jag could be enhanced. I'm sure Mark can find some softer and more comfortable synthetic materials to grind into. But for now, I leave you with this incredibly long, yet short lived lewd. I'm sure Team Jag are going to make a big splash when they finally break into the competitive scene once more. That is… After they rip through all the red tape in their way.

See you next time.

Cambions

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