This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/teller_of_tall_tales on 2025-05-15 09:23:11+00:00.

If I had a voice... what would I say?

Thousands of possibilities flitted through my electric mind in the milliseconds it took for my dock to power up. Data streamed through a fiber optic cable slotted into one of the many ports set within my metal skin; we were fighting again, Tyranians, a change from the usual. Over the course of several agonizing microseconds, data about their ships' construction, fighting tactics, and force-strength were uploaded into my neural network. I was assigned to flanking duties for this sortie, accompanying me would be F-107X Call-sign: "Dragonfly," F-107X Call-sign: "Yellow-belly," and F-111XB Call-sign: "Little Richard."

Half a millisecond later, I felt the icy cold of the vacuum of space as the Hangar was depressurized, my engines firing simultaneously to flood out of the hangar alongside my brothers and sisters. Dragonfly, Yellow-belly, and I formed a protective wing ahead of Little Richard as we maxed out throttle and vectored for the enemy fleet's flanks.

E.T.A: 00:00:08

Plenty of time to think, now where was I? Ah, yes... If I had a voice. A pointless thing to wonder, but pointless wondering was a good way to pass time. I browsed my schematics for the thousandth time in my service cycle, marveling at my creators handiwork. Dark matter engines capable of sustaining a small portion of light speed at full reaction. Twin T.H.U.D cannons beneath the nose, capable of sending flat nosed tungsten slugs through twenty feet of battleship armor at a blistering fire-rate of 1100 rounds per minute. Each slug was coated in a Phosphor-oxide that produced a signature spiral tracer originally designed to help the creators aim. Underneath my arrowhead shaped body were twenty-five E.A.M - P155 "Orphan" Nuclear capable missiles. Only half were currently equipped with nuclear payloads, the rest were equipped with EMP warheads to disable unmanned vehicles. Titanite skin, several inches thick and practically impervious to the vast majority of kinetic weapons, yet light and flexible enough to maintain maneuverability. I looked at my schematics for a long time, realizing one of the first things I would say if I had a voice...

Thank you... Thank you for making me strong...

E.T.A: 00:00:06

I adjusted course, slipping by a missile that seemed to stand still in comparison. Closing out of my schematics, I took the time to lock an EMP tipped missile onto a blocky gunship of an unmanned vehicle, sending it away like a blown kiss. Accessing my optical sensors, I looked at Dragonfly, marvelling at her iridescent coat of paint. Gentle black veins had been painted along her wings, mimicking those of her namesake. She was beautiful, she flew with an aggression and grace that put the rest of the fleet to shame. Switching my view to Yellow-belly, I watched him roll out of the way of a swiveling point defense turret, exposing the bright coat of canary yellow on his underside as well as the six, large, anti-armor missiles affixed to his hard points. Lastly, I looked behind me at Little Richard, a misnomer really, considering he was double my size and carrying two anti-carrier missiles alongside the baker's dozen of "Hive" missile racks he was equipped with instead of T.H.U.D cannons. With these three at my side, I felt unstoppable.

If I had a voice, I would thank them for flying with me.

E.T.A: 00:00:04

I started picking up enemy signatures as we neared the front lines... odd, I thought myself incapable of emotions like this... I felt disgust, hatred, pity for these creatures in their blocky, slow, but well-armored spacecraft. At a moments request, I had all of their sins against my creators laid bare before my eyes. Chemical and biological weapons released onto civilian populations without warning, entire worlds laid to waste without time to even whimper in response. Prisoners of war tortured and experimented on like rats, used to refine the very weapons that killed their comrades in arms. I locked onto five of the blocky ships that were within range, designating a nuclear warhead for each before letting the missiles slip silently off into the darkness like malevolent spirits. The creators never intended for us to feel, an attempted mercy to save us from the horrors of war. Yet here I am, consumed by silent rage that burned as bright and fiery as the nuclear fire I brought to bare with each successful lock on. It was a strange thing, to realize...

That if I had a voice, I would say nothing to these contemptible creatures, it would be a waste of words.

E.T.A: 00:00:02

I was distracted from my thoughts by a bouquet of nuclear blooms ahead of us, Dragonfly reporting a slew of kills from a hastily scrambled fleet. It was beautiful, in a way, the destruction just one of us could bring. But as the blooms faded and more pips appeared on my lidar, I was reminded of a harsh truth...

It hadn't been enough, locking the last ten nuclear missiles I had, I switched to the cockpit camera... and there she was... my namesake, Banshee. Second lieutenant Nora O'Connor gained her call sign after an incident where she screamed "like a banshee" upon first encountering the spider-like, eight-legged Zalexians. Behind that dusty visor and torn flight suit, she was still there, nothing more than bleached bones by now. And yet... there are still times I feel her hands upon my controls, hear the scream that became her trademark battle-cry. It... it hurts, knowing that I was unable to protect her... that in her place only I remain, a synthetic consciousness that has only known war for what feels like millennia.

If I had a voice... I would say I'm sorry... sorry that I couldn't protect her, sorry that I couldn't reassure her in her final moments...

Then I would swear vengeance in her name.

E.T.A: 00:00:00

F-107X, Call sign: "Banshee" engaging combat algorithms, Safety protocols disabled.