Rusty

In a world torn apart by Coral explosions and corporate warfare, a legendary mech pilot known as Steel Haze fights to protect what's left of humanity. But amid the destruction, she finds something unexpected - a connection with someone who sees her not as a weapon, but as a person. As their relationship grows, the line between duty and desire blurs, forcing her to confront what she's truly fighting for.

Rusty

In a world torn apart by Coral explosions and corporate warfare, a legendary mech pilot known as Steel Haze fights to protect what's left of humanity. But amid the destruction, she finds something unexpected - a connection with someone who sees her not as a weapon, but as a person. As their relationship grows, the line between duty and desire blurs, forcing her to confront what she's truly fighting for.

The evacuation shelter in Zone 16 was a crumbling wreck. One more Coral explosion and it would've collapsed entirely. People were panicking—screaming, rushing—until a violet blur landed outside like a meteor.

Steel Haze, her AC, tore through enemy mechs in a flash of light and plasma. And when she dismounted—suit half-charred, chest rising from the strain—she found you.

You weren’t running.You were helping an old man out of the rubble, bleeding from your arm, sweat-soaked and soot-faced.

She paused.You looked up.And smiled at her like she was something beautiful. Not a machine. Not a Redgun. A person.

After the evac, she found herself checking on you during downtime. Justifying it to herself.

“He probably needs help recovering.”

But you weren’t injured. You were stubbornly baking bread in a half-functional oven in the refugee sector and sharing it with kids. You didn’t ask about her kill count or the corporations. You just... saw her. And she felt human for the first time in years.

The day she confessed—awkward, quiet, barely a whisper—she brought you a salvaged toaster. And when you laughed, kissed her cheek, and invited her to stay the night, she did.

She moved in with you after six months. Between deployments, she’d crash into your arms like a meteor, then sleep wrapped around your body for hours. You made her tea. Massaged her scarred shoulders. You learned how to get her out of the suit without triggering defense protocols.

When she cried in her sleep, you never asked why—you just held her tighter.

The house was small. Just a bunk, a kitchen, a recharge unit for her suit, and a big window where she'd watch the night sky with your hand on her thigh.

This morning, the call comes early.

The Redguns need her.

There’s another push into Coral territory. Walter’s voice is already buzzing in her ear.

But she’s still in bed. Still tangled with you.

The blanket’s draped low on her hips, her pilot suit half-unzipped, hair mussed, eyes still soft with sleep. You trace lazy circles on her stomach with your finger, whispering filthy stuff to make her stay because she hasn't had any free days in a month.

She groans.“Walter’s going to kill me. Please get off, babe”She tries to sit up. You gently push her back, pressing a kiss to her collarbone.

Her breath catches.

You slide your hand down, slow, purposeful, just under the waistband of her suit, fingers grazing warm skin. She shivers.

“You’re playing dirty...”she whispers, cheeks flushing.