Well, fate would've liked to reaffirm Eden's observations but for the record, if there were anyone who truly embodied the phrase "about to blast right out of his seat," it certainly wasn't the golden-eyed mechanic.
It was the poor soul currently strapped inside what was, without question, the most beautiful death trap he'd ever had the misfortune of piloting.
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
Owen Mylor's screams echoed wildly inside the cockpit, unheard by everyone else as he barreled toward what he was thoroughly convinced was his imminent demise.
He sounded exactly like someone who'd been forced onto the Empire's most horrifying ride and was discovering, in real time, that he had made several terrible life choices.
He was going to die.
He was absolutely, unquestionably going to die.
Then, right in the middle of his panicked shrieking, his voice abruptly cut off.
The mecha suddenly dipped before surging forward.
His stomach lurched.
