Write about anything.
Circles come down and I hear the engines roar. They pass over one by one as each of them descend through the cloud, their exhaust leaving a trail of white and grey smoke.
Sitting in the bleachers I stare up at the Gremlins, their green, blue and black chassis barely enough for one pilot, but they keep them safe as the soar overhead, marking targets with their sensors and blasting them with their palm held ion blasters.
Each pilot trained four years for the moment to fly a Gremlin suit, but I sit in the bleachers having been one of the first pilots.
Now, my arm is held together with composite metal, my leg…well…it’s all metal. I’ve been restructured by The Government. A new breed of pilot. I don’t need a suit, but the people watching the Gremlins fly overhead don’t need to know that.
They’re enjoying them dance across the sky in little bursts of strength. The ion cannons in their hands are nothing compared to the new fusion blasters and ion missiles that are built into my back, but no one could tell I’m mostly machine, it’s a trick The Government did when I fell out of the sky in a Gremlin suit a few years ago.
The day was cloudy and we’d just begun a firefight with soldiers from the Northern Militia, we were told their suits weren’t as powerful as our Gremlins, but…well, that’s The Government for you.
We came through the clouds, ten of us, which is usually more than enough. The clouds parted and we saw their gleaming grey suits, which I thought at the time must have been hot inside, but found out that wasn’t the case later.
They saw us and were on us fast, faster than I was told they could move.
Their missiles opened up just behind their clavicles and began firing before we could place how many there were.
I was the only survivor from that mission, and I limped back to base on one engine. My ion blasters were useless when they started chasing me, but I tried anyway and they dodged as if they knew the shot was coming.
But, like I said that was another day. Today I was watching my son in a Gremlin, and he had no idea his dad was a full Gremlin from the boots on my feet to the collar around my neck, each addition created and rendered by nanobots.
Brian B. Baker is an unpublished writer of Science Fiction/Fantasy and Horror. He’s been writing short stories since high school, and is certain it’s one of the few things that keeps him sane. Brian blogs at The Bleeding Inkwell.