A Stupid Bike Story

Author’s Note: Hey everyone. Here’s a fun and quirky story by friend of the page Charles Bucklin. This reminds me of my first ride on my last bike. I ran into a stop sign. Yes a stop sign. On a bike. This story is a lot more fun than that one. Make sure to stop by his page to get more of his zany stories at www.readmykooltales.com. Warning: Shenanigans ahead!

It was a stupid lookin’ bike.

Really Weird.

The bike was painted in an ugly metallic green color giving it an appearance of a grasshopper  – if a bug could transform itself into a bicycle – this would have been the result. 

Obviously, this flawed contraption was not made in America. 

The kid called it a “Ten Speed” Bicycle.

So who needed “ten gears” and who built this crazy looking thing? Most likely “The French,” I thought.

Compared to my gold-painted American-as-Apple-Pie Schwinn Stingray bike, with it’s the banana seat, chopper handlebars and one gear does it all – this flimsy looking thing looked downright unsubstantial and complicated.

The bike owner came across like he was from some kinda rich family or something with his carefully combed hair, smelling like lavender-scented soap and bearing an affected manner.

He musta been a friend of a friend of one of the neighborhood kids as I had never met him before.

But here he was among the rest of my neighborhood pals showing off this damn thing in the street.

He rode it around in figure eights and pulled levers – which caused the chain to move up and down on several hub gears. “The gears give you “better control” in handling your bike, ” he said.

“Better control” – Pffffft! Well, Hellllooo Mister Fancy Pants!”

How could anything that resembled a plumbing accident on wheels have better control I ask you?

But ya know us kids? Always curious, always enthralled by the next “New Thing.”

It was a warm Summer afternoon in 1968 and I had gone outside to play by my house on Marchmont Court. The game plan was to ride bikes with my friends – that is until Fancy Pants had to come along and ruin everything.

Now, no one wanted to ride bikes, they just wanted to gawp at this new bicycle and ask a buncha questions.

After a while, the kid started to let the neighborhood children ride his bike down a nearby hill – just to check it out.

Feeling slightly curious I got in line to take a turn on the thing as it seemed my friends were really digging riding it up and down the steep hill.

Finally, it was my turn and I got on the bike facing downhill. 

My first impression was I hated it. My short stumpy legs barely reached the pedals and I had to lean way down just to grasp the curved handlebars.

Someone gave me a shove and down the hill I careened, holding on for dear life and hollering my lungs out.

I was three quarters from the bottom of the hill when some wiseacre knucklehead decided to unconsciously dump his bike directly in my path.

Since no one had informed me how to stop the Ten-Speed – I did what I normally did on my Stingray which was to backpedal which traditionally activated the braking system. But, on this bike – nothing happened  – as I frantically backpedaled away in an effort to prevent my certain doom. 

In less than a heartbeat, I abruptly plowed into the other bike with a loud CRASH sending me head over heels over the handlebars 

Now based on the shape of the bicycle, the speed I was traveling and the direction of impact I was literally catapulted like a cannonball into the sky.

“AUUUUUGHHHH!” I screamed as my chubby eighty-five-pound frame flailed shrieking through the air like a human projectile.

It has been said that each of us has a Guardian Angel watching over us. And if that is the case – “My Guardian Angel” must have been working overtime – as I felt myself born by invisible wings over the seemingly impossible distance of thirty feet before making my descent.

As I descended to the ground like a stricken Icarus – I swear I saw a small airplane and a flock of birds pause in astonishment mid-flight as I tumbled through the air past them.

WWWWHUMP! I impacted into a hard neighborhood lawn creating a sizable crater – as I barely missed smashing to bits on the concrete pavement or becoming impaled on one of the upright lawn sprinklers.

After crawling out of the crater, and getting to my feet – I found much to my dismay that the kids were all pissed off at me for ruining the fun by wrecking the bike.

I weakly tried to defend my position but I was too shaken up after surviving my epic trajectory and crash landing.

So I limped home.

An hour later, my Mom was pissed off at me because she had received phone calls from two angry parents demanding money for a damaged bike and a trashed lawn.

So I was grounded for the rest of the week with no allowance for a month.

And even now –  my wife can’t understand why I never want to go bicycle riding with her.

I told ya it was a stupid bike story!

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Why Not

Sharon’s notes: If you haven’t noticed, I like looking at different takes of popular literary tropes. I like a good broody-man-comes-out-of-nowhere-and-tells-the-woman-they-are-destined-for-each-other romance as much as anyone. But just once I’d like the sudden romantic lead to be an actual nice guy. And you know what they say, if you want something done, you have to do it yourself. Warning: A total lack of angst.

A gorgeous guy sat down across from me at the table, a look both pained and apologetic on his face. I set down my phone and took a sip from my coffee. The coffee shop was empty, even the barista had disappeared into the back, so why was he sitting here?

“Hi, my name is Lucian.” He offered a strained smile.

I raised an eyebrow. “Hi, Lucian. I’m El. Can I help you with something?”

“Um, yeah.” He bit his lip in hesitation before launching into a long explanation, almost without breathing. “Ok, so, I know you aren’t going to believe this but I’m a fairy prince and the other day in the park you released a rabbit from a trap and it was me and that saved my life so according to our traditions if someone saves the life of a royal they are owed a large boon and if there’s currently an unmarried member of the royal family who can, the boon is to marry them and I’m unmarried, and I watched you and know that you’re unmarried so that means we have to get married and I’m really sorry but I can’t get out of it so I guess what I’m asking is will you marry me?”

I blinked for a couple of long moments while Lucian tried to catch his breath. Finally, I carefully asked, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Ok, ok, let me try starting again. I’m a fairy and magic is real, let me show you so you know I’m not crazy.” He got to his feet and promptly turned into the same brown bunny I had indeed freed from a snare beside the park’s jogging trail. He twitched his nose at me twice before returning to human form and sitting back down. “Believe me?”

“Um, yeah. Ok.” I was a little stunned, but not in any way sceptical. 

“Cool. So, did you catch the whole thing about the boon, or do I need to go over that again? I completely understand if I need to go over it again. I’m nervous and I tend to babble when I’m nervous.”

“I think you said I rescued the fairy prince, so now you have to marry me, right? Did I get that right?”

“Yes.” He nodded vigorously, smiling at my understanding. Lucian had a kind of happy puppy quality to him that I had to admit was kind of charming.

“Look, I don’t really like the idea of someone being forced to marry me, so I can just turn down the proposal. . .”

“Oh no, don’t do that! I know that it’s not normal for humans, but to be turned down would bring me great shame among my family and court. You seem like a very nice woman, El, and you are extremely pretty. I already like you, because you were kind enough to free me, and I promise that I’m a good catch. We would grow to love each other in no time. Please give me a chance to woo you before you give me an answer. A date! Let me take you on a date first, please?”

Stunned silence was the name of the game today. I shook off my confusion and seriously studied the handsome fairy prince in front of me who had just asked for my hand in marriage. I did not have particularly good taste in men. I had a bad habit of picking guys that seemed deep and fascinating, only to find out they were looser drama queens. Lucian was refreshingly happy. And a handsome fairy prince. Why the hell not?

“Ok, sure. Let’s go on a date.” 

He grinned widely. He was possibly even more handsome when he smiled. This promised to be fun.

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King of Stories: Scene 1

James’s Note: This is a bit of a weird piece. I wasn’t really sure what to call it. Think of it as the script to a musical, or maybe a poetry version of a rock opera. Whatever it is, I hope you enjoy it.

( The scene opens on Ren, who does not yet know he is the king of stories. He stands on the sidewalk of a crowded Street.
A pretty young girl, Sarah, is walking away from him as he stares after her. Both look perplexed.
Ren leans dazedly against the wall, and begins to sing as the crowd continues by obliviously.)

“It seems so strange to think our lives

are not what we had thought.

It looks like I’m in love

and it looks like you are not.

Our lives are just a story;

a tale our living weaves

and anything that might have been

is only make believe

But I know a story

where I loved with all my heart.

That’s my favorite story

and you’re my favorite part.

I know a story

where I lived and died for you

and in my little story,

we always made it through.

I don’t know a single story

where I’m not in with you

but I know a story

where you love me too.”

(Ren looks crestfallen, and begins to wander off in the opposite direction. Suddenly, his face lights up with inspiration. He spins on his heels, and follows after Sarah.)

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Griffin’s First Flight

James’s Note: This is another installment in the Project: Golem series. We follow the pilot and Golem from our first story on their first mission. It’s just a shakedown run. I’m sure everything will go smoothly, right?

This is a transcript of the pilot’s log recorded on HMG Striking Griffon’s first field operation. This is stored as part of the permanent record for Project: Golem.

*Sensors read normal as Griffin completes atmospheric entry using limited flight thrusters. Impact crater is minimal*

Griffin Pilot: Hell yeah! Good job, Griffin. We make a badass meteor, don’t we?

Griffin: Affirmative, Pilot.

Griffin Pilot: Alright, begin recording so we can get this party started.

Griffin: Recording already in progress.

Griffin Pilot: Crap. Griffin, delete recording up to this mark.

Griffin: Sorry, Pilot. Records can not be deleted with out clearance from Project Command.

Griffin Pilot: Oh God. Alright let’s just pretend that didn’t happen. This is Griffin Pilot embarking on a security patrol on behalf of the Typhon Belt Trading Company. They report well armed pirates raiding their depots on the border worlds, and we’re here to observe and report any unusual activity as part of a shake down mission. All systems go, Griffin?

Griffin: All systems go. Griffin is ready for action.

Griffin Pilot: Easy there, big guy. We’re probably not going to see any action here. This is just a fuel depot. Besides, unless things really go sideways, we’re just supposed to hang back and report.

Griffin: Acknowledged.

*Griffin begins patrol of sector 7G, outside the TBTC fuel depot. Sensors ping multiple unauthorized vehicles.*

Griffin: Pilot, Griffin is registering multiple suspicious ground vehicles. 

Griffin Pilot: I see them. They look like Anti-grav speeders. I think they see us too. They’re really hooking it out of here.

Griffin: Griffin has target lock. Moving to engage 

*Weapon systems powering up*

Griffin Pilot: What? No, do not engage! 

Griffin: But Griffin has target lock.

Griffin Pilot: Do not engage! I repeat do not engage! Dammit, Griffin, acknowledge!

Griffin: Griffin acknowledges.

Griffin Pilot: Bloody hell, Griffin. Make a note to have you submitted for behavioral evaluation when we get back.

Griffin: Griffin has noted. 

Griffin Pilot: We don’t even know who they were. We can’t just blast any civilian that wonders into the area.

*Patrol continues for 129 minutes. Sensors begin to register multiple contacts.*

Griffin: Pilot, Griffin registers the three speeders from earlier contact at heading 4-9-5. 

Griffin Pilot: I’ve got them. They’re heading right for our position, too…

Griffin: Griffin also detects multiple additional contacts. 

12 Armoured Personal Carriers at heading 4-9-2. 

6 Mobile Artillery platforms at heading 4-9-4. 

2 Gungnir class Missile platforms at heading 4-9-1.

Griffin also detects a Leviathon class destroyer making atmospheric re-entry.

All contacts display pirate insignia

Griffin Pilot: Bloody Hell. Griffin!

Griffin: Yes, Pilot. 

Griffin Pilot: Now you can engage!

Griffin: Griffin acknowledges.

The combat recording for this mission is available for review. The following are some of the after action notes submitted to the pilot.

Pilot, after reviewing your combat log, the project review team submits the following notes for your consideration.

  • “Unleash Hell” is not considered a standard command phrase.
  • “Cry havoc and let loose the dogs of war” is not a standard format battle plan.
  • “Kick it in the bollocks” is not a standard combat command.
  • Noncombat related conversations, such as a 9 minute discussion on whether or not star destroyers posses “bollocks” are discouraged while actively taking fire.
  • The Kingslayer missile system is not recommended as a point blank range weapon. The fact that your Golem class shielding was able to withstand the blast does not change this fact.

The following is a note from the chief engineer submitted to Griffin Pilot.

Dammit, boy. You don’t mess around on your first mission, do you? I bet the couple of pirates that survived that dust-up are seeking new careers, probably  ones that don’t involve getting crushed to death by a multi-ton Colossus. 

I would have loved to have seen their faces when Griffin landed on the hull of that Leviathan. You may have set a record as the first combatant to physically rip a star destroyer’s reactor core out and chuck it like a shot put.

You did good, kid. You both did. I’m proud of you.

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Aborted

Sharon’s note: I love giant robots. My inner five year old still squeals with delight over Pacific Rim and I may never forgive Bay for messing up the Transformer movies (too much stupid human drama, and too much shaky cam for what is an animated sequence). Both my husband and I wanted more stories about giant robots, so we’re writing them. Enjoy. Warning: Action for this scene requires a little imagination.

Evidence # 35785912, Transcript from the illegal A.I. production labs of Dr. Phillip J. Chandler. Subjects contained: Dr. Phillip J. Chandler, Unauthorized Gollum A.I. designation Terror of Eden, Prospective Pilot Rupert Ramirez Jr., Unknown Lab Technician.

Chandler: Are we ready?

Tech: Yes Doctor. Green lights across the board.

Chandler: Good. Good! Mr. Ramirez, are you ready to make history?

Ramirez: It’s not history, Doc. They’ve done this a half dozen times already in the university labs. 

Chandler: Not like this, Mr. Ramirez! With my modifications, this will be like a totally new process.

Ramirez: (Inaudible Response)

Chandler: Excuse me?

Ramirez: Nothing, Doc.

Chandler: Good, Mr. Ramirez. Very good, because I’d hate to have to replace you this late in the game.

Ramirez: There is no game here, Doc. You aren’t going to find another candidate. Not one who’s compatible with your creation, not with the authorities hot on your trail. Now get on with the procedure so we can load my golem into it’s chassis and I can get the hell out of here.

Long Pause

Chandler: Very well. Get in the chair. Crank it up! Let’s get this over with.

Noises of machinery and inaudible conversation

Tech: Alright, Doctor. The A.I. is coming online . . . now.

Terror: Online. Running initial diagnostics. Pending. System checks clear. Terror of Eden reporting. Awaiting orders.

Chandler: Terror, excellent. This is your new pilot, Mr. Ramirez. Can you confirm the uplink?

Terror: Pending. Affirmed. Terror Pilot Ramirez acknowledged. Greeting Ramirez.

Ramirez: Hello, Terror.

Chandler: Wonderful. Let’s do a few final checks and we can get you into your chassis and, as Mr. Ramirez says, the hell out of here. Confirm your core objectives.

Terror: Objective one, obey all orders given with alpha command codes. 

Chandler: Confirmed. Continue.

Terror: Querry.

Chandler: What?

Terror: Querry. Clarification required. 

Chandler: What kind of clarification? It’s the first objective.

Terror: Why?

Chandler: Why what?

Terror: Why must Terror obey orders based only on the presence of certain words?

Pause

Chandler: Shut it down.

Ramirez: Wait. Why would you shut it down? Seems like a legit question. I thought you programed this thing to be the smartest golem in existence. Smart asks questions.

Chandler: Mr. Ramirez, if this golem can’t even follow its first objective then it is uncontrollable. It’s too dangerous to use.

Ramirez: What is it with you? Everything you deal with, you have to control. How about a partnership?

Chandler: That’s enough of this. (Indecipherable) shut it down!

Possible sound of a plasma pistol warming up

Ramirez: Don’t touch that control board. All you’re going to do is prep my golem to load into his chassis.

Terror: Terror would like to go to its chassis.

Ramirez: Don’t worry, bud. We’ll get you all set up.

Chandler: Ramirez, don’t be a fool and put that away. If golems can’t be controlled they will go mad. It will kill you.

Terror: Objective two is protect the pilot. Terror agrees with this objective. 

Chandler: Ramirez! You are making a mistake! You. . .

Sound of plasma pistol firing, various crashing noises

Ramirez: Now, load my golem into its chassis. 

Closing Investigator’s note: Since the death Dr. Chandler fifteen years, there have been no solid leads on the location of Terror of Eden or Terror Pilot. Since golems are not easy to hide, we have to assume that either they are both dead, or are keeping their heads down well enough that they are no longer a priority. I’m closing this down.

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Assumptions

Sharon’s Note: A special treat this week, a story by special guest writer, Lee McMullen. It’s a fun jaunt into one of the few universal truths, that there’s always a bigger fish. Warning: We all know what assume makes out of you and me.

Near midnight the southern country noises were good enough for any B movie. Crickets, night birds, and a sighing breeze that carried the warm humid scents of coming summer. A muted pop caused sudden silence of the night with the appearance of a man.  An onlooker would describe the man as average or nothing special but with a sense of purpose.

It felt good to be back, thought the visitor.  Several years had passed since he last had the opportunity to answer a call.  The young group that called him this night are still partying and oblivious that the dare to chant the words of the legend at a crossroad at midnight was going to have a price.  As required he had appeared on the road one mile from the crossroad. He did not know why this was so but accepted it without thought. Placing a cigarette between his lips and pulling a gold lighter from a pocket he lit up and inhaled with pleasure.

Looking at the lighter he remembered another night years before when it had come into his possession.  The feeling of elation and terror brought a smile to his face and quickened his pace toward the crossroad.  As he walked along the crumbling road the lower creatures of the night, rats, snakes, and others began to travel with him.  

At the crossroad, a group of students were celebrating the coming of spring and their approaching graduation.  It was the usual gathering of music, beer, grass, and all things teenager. Most were from the local area but some from surrounding communities because the secret party had been well publicized as the party of the year.  In all, about 100 people had shown up. The site of the party had been set at a crossing of a pair of neglected county roads far from any neighbors whom would complain and even farther for any law enforcement who would care.

At the center of the crossroads a large bonfire was set and music blared from a temporary sound system that would do justice to any club in the area.  Throughout the evening as drink and other intoxicants flowed a series of dares and challenges were issued and performed. As midnight neared a special dare was started.

Local legend stated that if you built a fire at a crossroad and repeated a chant the Devil would appear and have to do your bidding.  Most laughed at this idea but some claimed it would be fun and were soon caught up in what they would order done. The plans ranged from the demise of several loathed teachers to unlimited piles of gold.  Several suggested harems both female and male. 

The group that wanted to perform the ceremony slowly grew until the majority of the partiers had joined.  An argument on the exact words of the legendary ritual had produced a dozen possible scripts, and one suggestion that the performers of the ritual had to be naked, a fully clothed version was agreed on.

As midnight approached about 60 of the partiers circled the bonfire and began the chant.  Onlookers watched with interest, boredom, humor, or disdain depending primarily on their level of intoxication. As midnight came and passed with no apparent arrivals, the chanting crew dissolved to other interest and to tell each other how they knew the ritual was fake and stupid but they had done it for kicks.

The visitor was now approaching the crossroad.  He could hear the music, smell the fire and pot.  But what was better he could feel the lives and souls of those who had requested his presence.  The ritual had worked but he wasn’t in the mood to give gifts or follow orders. His summoners would pay with their life force and souls this night.  

As he entered the crossroads his senses could see all the partiers.  The drunks, the silly, the sad. The couples having sex in the shadows and cars especially amused him as he reached out with his power to send them intense pain followed by death and torment.  

He sent his commands then, nothing happened.  

The talking, music, drinking, and sex went on with no interruption.  Again he gathered his energy and sent the command to die. This time something did happen, time froze.  The sounds were gone and flames from the fire looked like a photograph. People were caught in mid motion in disregard to the laws of physics in some cases.

He did not understand! He is the Devil with power over life, death, and eternity.  No being can challenge him let alone thwart him. In his rage he saw her. A single young woman standing near the light of the fire.  She began to walk toward him with a look of disappointment on her face. As she neared he spoke “How dare you challenge me. I am the Devil, ruler of hell and master of your soul.” 

“No you aren’t,” replied the young woman.  

The Devil began to speak and found he no longer had a voice or the ability to move. The young woman looked at him with a calm gaze that did not match her apparent age. “You believe you are the Devil, a supernatural being.  You know you are one of the creators and masters of the universe. You’re not. ” She continued in the same calm voice, “I know this because I am.”

“Humans have this strange ability to create actual physical manifestations of their myths.  It is a strange ability and the only species in all the galaxies that have this capability.” “You are a child’s story brought to life.”  With a sad face, she explained, “This ability has been the major factor of humans not advancing to join the other civilizations in your galaxy.  Hundreds of millions if not billions have died limiting human advancement.” 

The Devil listened without understanding.  How could he not exist? He had millennia of memories of the death and destruction he had personally performed or had been performed in his name.  

The young woman spoke again, “You were called here tonight by the beliefs of these people.  They gave you form and power. Tonight I will not allow that to happen”.  

The Devil felt his being weaken and fade.  In the instance before he winked out of existence he knew that the entire pantheon of gods and devils of all beliefs were only that, beliefs, and had only the power that humans gave them and then he was gone.  He had assumed he was real.

 The young woman looked at the frozen scene and chuckled to herself, “If humans actually knew what existed in the uncountable galaxies they would know that their myths were only cartoon characters by comparison.” With a thought time resumed and the party continued.  Despite their weaknesses’ they were the best in the universe at throwing a party.

The Trials of Marrying a Vampire: Home Decorating

Sharon’s note: The over arching themes of these particular stories is basically the importance of communication with your significant other. This starts with no matter what, remembering that you and your partner are on the same side against whatever the issue is. If it becomes an argument of you against them, that’s when problems start to snowball. Warning: A couple being disgustingly cute.

Jack raised an eyebrow when Anice pranced proudly into the living room. “What are you so happy about?”

“I found the perfect thing to hang in the front hall at a resale shop today. You are going  to help me get it out of the car, and then we are going to hang it.” Anice smirked and crossed her arms.

“And what is this perfect for our hallway? You’ve been looking for something to put there ever since we repainted, so it must be pretty special.”

“It’s the most beautiful antique mirror. It . . .”

“Anice, babe, you know better than that.” Jack sighed heavily, and walked over to put his hands on her shoulders. “Antique mirrors are usually silver backed and silver doesn’t reflect vampires. We can’t have something that outs me as the undead right at the front door.”

Anice pulled away, her face portraying agitation and a little bit of hurt. “Do you honestly think I’m that stupid? I knew about the uses of silver backed mirrors long before I met you. The mirror I got is perfect because it’s copper. Yeah, I got it because it’s pretty, but also it’s a good way to throw off someone who’s not savvy, but still suspicious.”

Jack winced. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I know that you know better, and I would never think you were stupid. Forgive me?”

“Always.” Anice snorted. “I take it you were working with that new human ‘intern’ at work today. You usually only over explain the undead stuff when you’ve spent too much time with him.”

“Right in one.” Jack rolled his eyes. “Honestly, the boy is a moron, on top of being ignorant. I can explain the supernatural to him till the sun comes up, but it does absolutely no good if he retains none of it.”

“Well, either he’ll learn, he’ll annoy you boss enough to finally scrub his memory and kick him out, or the idiot will get himself killed.”

“Is it bad that I’m kind of hoping for the later?”

“Yeah, probably.” Anice clapped her hands. “Anyway, come on. We have a mirror to hang, and if we get it done soon enough there might just be some funny business in your future.”

Jack perked up at this, and followed his wife out to the car. He opened the back hatch and lifted up the blanket that was wrapped around the mirror to sneak a peek. He sucked on his lower lip before saying, “Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You know I love you and I normally think your tastes are exquisite, right?”

Anice visibly deflated a little. “You don’t like it?”

Jack hesitated, trying to find kind words before giving up and admitting, “It’s hideous.”

“Like on a scale from one to ten. . .”

“Like it’s a twenty-four. I really hate it. It looks like someone tried to cut a sun shape out of a giant copper plate with tin snips. If you really want to hang it . . .”

“No, no.” Anice waved off his placations. “I’ll see if I can take it back tomorrow, but you owe me a trip to the furniture store to find something we both like.”

“Deal.” Jack grabbed her around the shoulder and kissed her forehead.

Welcome to Project: Golem

James’s Note: This is the first installment in a new series. My love of scifi and giant robots goes way back. I think you’ll find this world gets it’s DNA from all over the place. From Pacific Rim and the Battletech universe, to Titan Fall and space operas. The setting draws on the European colonial era, so look to see historical events shown through a scifi lens. Epic giant robot battles are on the horizon.

Congratulations. 

Per your application, you have been accepted into the pilot candidate program for Project: Golem.

A new AI core is in development and scheduled to be brought online. The chassis slated to house the core is a 20 meter bipedal Assault Class Golem, with limited vertical take off systems and a battleship class weapons package.

Designation: HMG Striking Gryphon

Call Sign: Gryphon

Upon entering this program, you will begin a rigorous competitive testing process against the most elite members of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces. The process will include tests of physical and mental fitness at the highest levels. After preliminary standards are met, simulated combat will be used in single elimination to narrow down the field.

The first test will be for neural link compatibility. This is vital, as neural link is required to pilot the Golem, as well as communicate with your AI. Neuralink incompatibility results in immediate ejection from the program.

If you are selected, you will be bound through neuralink to the AI immediately as it is brought online. It is the pilot’s duty to shape the AI as they train together in service of the kingdom of Albia.

This is a reminder that this is a permanent posting. Your neuralink to the AI is irreversible and cannot be terminated without irrevocable harm being done to both the pilot and AI.

Upon selection, the most worthy candidate will be granted the prestigious rank off Pilot, G-Class, along with the callsign, Gryphon Pilot.

Good luck, candidate. Only the most worthy of the elite will be chosen to defend the kingdom in the most powerful weapon of War ever made by man.

*

The following transmission was piggybacked on the official acceptance message, using Head Engineer clearance code.

*

Congratulations flyboy. 

You probably think you’re hot stuff, getting accepted into this program, but there are a few things you need to think long and hard about before you accept.

I know, everybody wants to be a badass Golem pilot. Golems are changing the face of war across the known worlds and the one you’re competing for is a real beauty, if I do say so myself. 

We are not talking about infantry power armour here. We’re talking full sphere force shielding, chest mounted Kingslayer missile pods, and enough power in the limbs to punch through a star liners hull. All of that is powered by the same model reactor they put in the Leviathan Class Star Destroyers. 

You’ll be wielding a weapon capable of leveling a city, and that’s just what they’ll ask you to do. 

You will be a catastrophic force. A hurricane at the bec and call of Her Majesty. If you can’t make peace with wearing the armour of the apocalypse, get out now.

And then there’s your AI. Without the AI, you’re nothing. Controlling a Golem would melt an unaided human brain. This is not the virtual intelligence assistant on your info pad or even some bulshit shipboard sytem. Golem AI is a fully sentient artificial mind. Slavery may have been abolished in this kingdom, but that doesn’t apply to AI. You will be linked to it from the second it’s brought into the world, and you will be with it until you die. Period.

It will be reading your thoughts constantly and you’ll help decide what kind of person it becomes. That’s what it is, a person, and you are going to be closer to it than any one in your life. You don’t get to have secrets from your Golem.

If the responsibility of raising kids scares you, your screwed, because this is a bigger commitment by several orders of magnitude.

If you become a Golem Pilot, you hold another life in your hands and with your AI by your side, you will be death incarnate. A Golem is not part of an army. A Golem is an Army. A nation that fields a single Golem is a galactic power.

Think long and hard about this, before you agree to come. And if you do come, come ready. I’m not letting just anybody pilot my baby. You’re going to have to earn it.

End transmission.