Dead silence.
A suffocating silence enveloped the entire command center.
Only Mark's heavy breathing and the distinct "drip... drop..." of blood hitting the metal console were clearly audible.
Sarah opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but found her throat dry and tight.
Tom looked at Mark's bleeding hand, his brows furrowed into a knot.
Rick stopped pulling his hair, staring blankly at the harmonious news on the screen.
Jackson lowered his head, his eyes filled with deep worry and heartache over Mark's condition.
They believed Mark's prophecy, which was why they followed him here without hesitation, staking everything.
But when the prophetic cornerstone supporting everything began to collapse on itself, and when the entire world twisted to be completely different from their memories, the certainty brought by foreknowledge instead became a noose tightening around everyone's necks.
Uka stood up alone and walked towards the factory building behind him.
The heavy alloy door, operated by a hydraulic device, closed completely behind him with a dull hiss of depressurization, as if severing Mark's last connection to the frustrating and uncertain world of the command center.
Silence suddenly descended, and in the vast storeroom, only his own heavy breathing and the tearing pain from the wound on his palm remained.
Leaning against the icy cold door panel, the low temperature of the metal seeped through his thin combat uniform into his skin.
He instinctively clenched his fist, and the freshly coagulated scab broke open again, dark red blood beads silently dripping along the lines of his knuckles onto the concrete floor covered in oil, dust, and rust, leaving one dark spot after another.
He raised his uninjured left hand, rubbing his throbbing temples with white knuckles, trying to suppress the news images repeatedly flashing in his mind, and the despair brought by the Spatial Gate that might never materialize.
Every breath brought a sense of stagnation in his chest.
Finally, he abruptly opened his bloodshot eyes, his gaze fixed like nails on the enormous shadow in the center of the storeroom—the titan guardian.
The one hundred and twenty-meter-tall dark alloy giant stood on a specially reinforced foundation; even in its silent state, its physical presence was almost suffocating.
The cold white light of the emergency lamps shone down from above, barely outlining its sharp contours: the thick armor bulging at its shoulders was like a fortress, its powerful arms hung naturally, and its complex joint structure was clearly discernible even in the shadows.
On its left shoulder plate, the skull and sword emblem of the SEAL Team reflected a cold, hard glint, like a silent and loyal eye of a soul, traversing time and space to gaze at him, a remnant soul who had lived two lives.
Mark walked closer with a slight stumble.
The strong smell of machine oil in the storeroom, mixed with the metallic tang of cold metal, assailed him, along with a hint of the burnt ozone smell remaining from the last test.
These industrial scents, familiar to his very bones, now carried a strange, comforting power.
He stopped beside the mech's left ankle; the enormous alloy foot was almost half the size of a shipping container.
He reached out, his palm pressing against the cold, slightly granular dark armor.
The cold, hard touch was like mountain rock, so "real."
He no longer hesitated.
Climbing the maintenance ladder frame attached to the outside of the mech's left leg, the cold rungs stung his injured palm, but also made him incredibly clear-headed.
Every foothold, every pull of focus and strength required for climbing, temporarily gave his wildly beating, uneasy heart something to rely on.
The cockpit door was located at the junction of the mech's chest and abdomen on the front of its torso, a concealed position with a sliding structure that perfectly blended with the surrounding armor.
As he inserted his personal keycard and entered the dynamic password, after a slight airtight hiss, the door panel slid silently inward, revealing the sci-fi-esque neural interface cockpit within.
Mark skillfully slid into the ergonomically designed alloy frame seat, his back enveloped by the cold support.
He took a deep breath; the air was clean but cold, filtered by the internal circulation System.
He picked up the ruggedly designed neural interface helmet beside him, connected by a dense array of sensor cables.
The helmet's inner lining was cold and had a moisture-wicking, active gel layer, bringing a slight squeezing sensation as it conformed to his skull.
He closed his eyes, his hands steady and decisive as he pressed the connection button.
Hum...
It was no longer a harsh noise, but a deep, harmonious resonance that sounded deep within his skull, as if a massive and ancient heart had been activated.
His visual nerves instantly switched; the dim storeroom was no longer before him, but was covered by an incredibly clear, highly saturated holographic projection interface.
A waterfall of status data streamed down and was presented to the side of his consciousness:
"Neural Synchronization: 94%... Steadily increasing," a cold electronic voice reported.
"Nuclear Power Core: 100%... Standby state."
"Weapon Systems: Preheating complete, energy pathways clear."
"titan guardian, activate!" Mark's consciousness issued the command within the neural connection, with a desperate resolve of burning bridges.
Mark's consciousness flowed like a torrent into this steel body.
Boom—click! Da da da da—!
This roar was from within, exceptionally clear.
First came the surging ignition roar of the miniature Fusion reactor inside the mech, followed by the subtle electrical sounds of the secondary energy nodes activating throughout the body, then the dull thudding of the main hydraulic System pressurizing and starting up throughout the massive body.
Finally, it coalesced into a grand, dominant, perfect symphony of grinding gears and surging energy.
The huge circular energy core in the center of the chest plate suddenly lit up, its deep, ethereal blue light like an Awakening star core, instantly bathing the entire dim hangar in a cold blue glow.
The mech's enormous compound eye sensors on its head instantly lit up.
Two deep red beams of light, condensed to their limit and carrying an absolute will for destruction, tore through the darkness like two spears of judgment forged in Hell's lava, shooting straight forward.
The air seemed to ignite with this gaze, emitting a faint sizzle.
An unparalleled "sense of power" instantly infused every cell of Mark's body along the neural tendrils.
He was no longer controlling an external object, but had "become" the Titan.
The million-ton alloy weight pressed heavily on his "perception."
The subtle tension on the armor seams, the delicate vibrations transmitted by each stroke of the hydraulic piston, the warm sensation generated as energy flowed through the main circuit, and even the solid feedback from the ground transmitted by the foot's load-bearing sensors... everything felt like an extension of his own flesh and blood!
"Right arm... lift!" Mark thought.
Hum... creak—hum!
