"Don’t worry," a voice said from behind with an amused laugh.
"Everyone freezes up their first time. Now get dressed before Captain Ennessa comes back."
Arlo turned just as the newcomer walked past him toward the rows of strange metallic boots.
The first thing that caught his attention was the man’s size.
He was fat, and also tall, standing a full head above Arlo, and somehow the combination gave him an imposing presence rather than a comical one.
"I was just about to," Arlo replied.
He had no idea what was even going on, where exactly he was, or what he was stepping into, but...
Following the stranger’s example, he reached for a pair of metallic boots and slipped them onto his feet.
The transformation began almost instantly.
Countless tiny metallic plates spread across his body like a swarm of silver insects, flowing over his skin before interlocking seamlessly with one another.
Within seconds, he found himself completely encased in a suit of dark golden armor.
Arlo slowly flexed his fingers before clenching both fists.
"...Just what is this?"
The armor felt as solid as forged steel, yet every movement came as naturally as if he were wearing ordinary clothes.
"Sick, isn’t it?" the large man said with a grin. "That’s the Grade-One Xechno Suit, the third-generation upgrade of the old Cyclone Model, made by Xechno Industries."
"Better protection, zero movement restriction, and I heard the helmets come with a pretty awesome surprise. Haven’t gotten to try that part yet, though."
Most of what the man said made little sense to Arlo.
Xechno?
Grade-One?
Cyclone Model?
Still, he returned the smile with a nod.
Whatever this place was... the worst thing he could do now was draw attention to himself by revealing he clearly didn’t belong.
"Oh, right." The large youth extended a hand toward him. "Name’s Connor. Connor Rhys, though everyone just calls me Fat Con."
Arlo looked down at the outstretched hand before answering.
"I am Arlo. Arlo Eclipsion, Third Prince of the Eclipsion Kingdom."
’Oh, no.’
The answer was too much of a reflex to Arlo, and he only realized his own mess up a second too late but then, Fat Con burst into laughter.
"Hahaha! That’s a good one."
Before Arlo could react, the larger youth grabbed his hand and wrapped it inside his own enormous palm.
"And that’s how real men greet each other."
His grip tightened.
"The firmer the handshake..."
He squeezed even harder.
"...the stronger the friendship."
Arlo’s expression stiffened. His entire hand felt as though it had been caught between two slabs of iron.
Determined not to lose, he tightened his own grip with all the strength he could muster.
Only after several seconds did Fat Con finally release him.
Arlo looked down at his hand, now completely red, yet there was something strangely pleasant about the exchange, a feeling of mutual acknowledgment and trust.
"What is that greeting called?" he asked curiously.
Fat Con chuckled.
"I call it the Fat Clamp. But everyone else just calls it a handshake."
"A... handshake..."
Arlo quietly repeated the unfamiliar word.
He searched his memories, but no kingdom in Umbrasol greeted one another that way.
"...Interesting."
"Come on. We’ve got ourselves a war to win."
Fat Con said as he started jogging toward the exit, and Arlo hurried after him.
___
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
The sound of armored boots echoed through the metal corridors.
Dozens of soldiers advanced together, and as they passed the training grounds, Arlo’s eyes instinctively drifted toward Captain Ennessa.
She was already watching him.
The corners of her lips lifted ever so slightly into a wicked smile, though it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.
Five minutes later, the group arrived before an enormous steel gate.
Before passing through it, every soldier entered an adjoining room, and Arlo followed.
Inside were rows upon rows of strange metallic weapons arranged with perfect precision.
Some were small enough to be held in one hand, while others were as long as a spear.
There were hundreds of them.
Arlo recognized blades, spears, and knives.
Although each possessed unfamiliar designs, they were at least weapons he understood.
He watched as Fat Con casually lifted one of the enormous metallic weapons before resting it against his shoulder.
Closing one eye, the large youth peered through a small opening near its rear as though aiming at something only he could see.
"Go grab a gun."
At those words, Ennessa’ earlier command echoed inside Arlo’s mind.
_____
"Get to that room, Climb into a mech, grab the biggest gun you can carry, then pray it’s enough, because you’re going straight to the front lines."
____
"So... this is a gun?"
Fat Con paused before shaking his head.
"Tsk, you make it sound so crude."
He patted the weapon proudly.
"This beauty is a Grade-Two Destructive Assault Rifle, one of Xechno Industries’ finest low-grade firearms. Some of these bad boys can punch a hole through the skull of a Grade-two Vorath and even injure a Grade-Three. Hehehe"
He grinned.
"Pick up one of them. It’ll become your best friend out there."
A cold bead of sweat slid down Arlo’s back.
’A battlefield... They’re really sending me to war. And I don’t even know how to use the weapon they rely on.’
’What am I supposed to do?’
"Hurry up!" Fat Con called from across the room.
Arlo immediately began searching through the countless weapon racks, his eyes darting from one strange object to another.
Yet no matter where he looked, nothing appeared even remotely familiar.
Thirty seconds passed before he suddenly came to a halt, his eyes locking onto something resting quietly against the far wall.
The sight of it made his heart skip a beat.
There it was, the weapon he had trained with since he was first strong enough to hold its hilt.
It was a...