.:. to feel .:.
Only by pushing myself, do I know I exist...
In this non-present,
non-existent life,
I don't know if I'm here.
Walking on the surface,
but an empty shell,
with a soul inside.
Just a boundless drift,
only the swift of pain,
gives it faint definition.
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Hours had gone by since the start, and still counting. The counter just keeps ticking, just as the GN particle count decreases constantly. Without a doubt, he took his Gundam when the enemy launched a full assault. He didn't know why, nor how, only conscious of what to do. The reticle turns red as a enemy mobile suit came in line. Searching only for what he's after, he pressed the trigger.
Sweat and saliva floated inside his helmet as he gasped for breath. Unsure if the cross hair had turned red or it was just his bloodshot eyes, he sprayed a straight line of fire down. The rest of the shots went wild, only the last scorched a hole in the enemy ms, leaving behind a fireworks display. Releasing the lock on his visor, the chill air swept his senseless face. His fingers numb from firing, foot aching from accelerating, body muscles all tightly held together from the G-forces he pulled. Yet without a smile, he was happy.
One after another, they came and fell. One after another, the debris increases. And one after another, the Gundam was getting harder to steer. His GN count is lower than ever. Smoke trails from his GN swords. Pieces of armor stripped off when he was overwhelmed. He didn't care about that, nor about the enemy. It only mattered that he feels. And he gets himself ready, trudging on in a trialblaze of red GN particles.
But a blur to his foes, he dodges their shots. With every move he makes, a part of him is wasted. Gradually his GN count reaches 1%. Drawing his rifle, he took aim and thumbed the trigger. Nothing. There was too little left of him to fire a shot, and he knew that, yet he repeatedly thumbed the trigger. Taking the opportunity, the enemy took a direct shot at his rifle, wrecking his arm with it.
The enemy drew his saber and dashed. Swinging free his GN blade at the last moment, he stabbed into the enemy's chest. Then it stopped. The control stick stuck as if something was stopping it, his blade lodged halfway. Giving out a roar, he put his weight forward and shoved the stick forward, along with his rudders. Metal screeched on metal, as his Gundam pulled away from the enemy.
The stress he had put his Gundam through was evident. The arm crushed under its own weight and tore right off. Water from broken hydraulics froze instantly, and shatter when sparks from torn wires hit it. His gundam spiralled, having lost its balance.
Ironically, shots from the dying enemy helped stabalized him, although it left blackened holes where Gundam wasn't already injured.
Warning screens flew up everywhere, flashing red. His suit was barely functional, a wreckage. The long hauled fight had took quite abit off the Gundam, though not nearly as much as the pilot himself had forced it to. But the only sound he could hear was that of the fight.
Shots from the enemy were relentless. And helplessly he took it all. A daring enemy charged through the barage and grabbed his Gundam's head, claiming it. Rocked hard, he squinted his eyes, clenched his fist hard around his left control stick as hard as he gritted teeth. Using his last arsenal, he reverse stabbed the GN dagger. All his screens disappeared one by one, replaced by the redness hue of the explosion. Unable to move anymore, his Gundam absorbed the full blast ensued. Circuits sparked from the energy overload, and shrapnels flew in all directions.
Followed by darkness. Like a dead torn puppet, the Gundam was last seen floating helplessly away.
Struggling to open his eyes, blood clogged his vision. In the darkness, all he could see was the picture he stuck beside the main monitor. It was beautiful, all blue and green, all vibrant, all peaceful, a picture of Earth. That's where his friends are. Or he thought so. He didn't know what to feel, anymore. All he knew was to fight, to survive. Elsewhere, he didn't feel, didn't exist. Only by pushing himself, does he know he did. That he had feelings, that hopefully with this "feelings" he can reach them.
He reached his hand out for the picture...
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How to push myself when I haven't even started yet...
Revealed on [7:30 PM]
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