The agonising screech of steel on steel reverberated through the chassis as he bore down on the control column with all the strength he could muster. As he watched, the external feed screens began to die off one by one, replacing his only view of the battlefield with featureless static. “No you don’t you big bastārd” he muttered, hands frantically pulling the hydraulic releases for the mechs shoulder locks. Without warning, a deafening roar split the air within the cockpit, the sound closely followed by a gut wrenching shudder. The right arm was gone, and his main weapons with it. Gritting his teeth, Farcoughs eyes fell upon the emergency release. His hand came down to grasp the lever for a moment..but he did not pull. Narrowing his eyes, he glanced over at one of the few tac-screens he still had, watching as a second assault class mech came lumbering toward his unit from the left. “If I’m going, you’re all coming with me” And with that, he flicked up a safety cover to reveal a flashing red beacon between his knees. Core Overload. “TIME TO BURN YOU PRICKS!” [spoiler]thats how I’d go about it, the focus being on the pilot but in such a way that his actions are a constant reminder of what he is piloting..I dunno if that’s any good or if it’s how you’d do it, but that’s how I picture it 😁[/spoiler]