So the time had come, and Harold immediately sprang to the orders as they blared from the speakers. Pulling out a dataslate and tapping on the interior map to help him navigate in the unfamiliar surroundings, finding the showers and the changing room was quick. Harold was no stranger to bodysuits, but this Framework gear appeared to cling more to his body than his old starfighter suit. He bent his legs and twisted his arms to test his limberness, and found that moving around was easier in them as well.

"Alright. Let's get this show on the road."

Rostosov was a massive machine full of arrogance and the hatred of mankind. The shadow that the thing cast was enormous, and sparks flew from the scaffolded areas of the mech as engineers put on finishing touches and last-minute changes. The size of the hangar, the space dedicated to housing this one war machine, boggled his mind. He was quickly put out of his thoughts by an orderly who droned on about numbers and statistics that still felt alien to him and who escorted him to the lift, which offered but a short ride.

He entered at the rear of the Frame, and squeezed through a small opening lined with wires and myriad tubes that ran parallel along the slate-black walls. Eventually, he came upon a large, domed space with a control seat in the middle that appeared lit only red emergency bulbs. Duly strapping himself in, he grabbed the two yokes to which the armrests of the chair terminated to - and though it took a second, haptic control booted up and began to register his profile.

"Woah! Hell, I'll never get used to that."

The dome around Harold suddenly lit up to reveal the area directly in front of the heavy mech. There was no transition from dark to light, and it took the pilot by surprise. Letters, numbers and phrases ran in constantly moving streamers across this new visual display, detailing his synchronization rate - in constant flux between 52 and 56 percent - and the readiness of his Frame's systems. Audio feedback booted up a moment later, and soon he heard the din of the Rostosov's powerplant starting up in a magnificent roar just as the engineers down below heard it. From his new vantage point, they all looked like ants to Harold, and in a much different way than when looking down from a flying starfighter.

He set his dataslate on his lap and opened up the Rostosov's manual. Since this was going to be his [i]third[/i] time piloting the mech, and for more or less real this time, he thought that he ought to do it by the book. And so he ran down the startup checklist:

[hr][b]REACTOR [color=#2BFF64]ONLINE[/color][/b]
[b]SENSORS [color=#2BFF64]ONLINE[/color][/b]

[b]ARMAMENT:[/b]
[b]TYPE 2500 MODEL 3 41CM GATLING - LEFT, READY; RIGHT, READY - [color=#2BFF64]ONLINE[/color][/b]
[b]AMMUNITION [color=#2BFF64]100[/color]%[/b]
[b]MK. I CRUISE MISSILE - DISABLING SAFETIES - [color=#2BFF64]ONLINE[/color][/b]
[b]AMMUNITION [color=#2BFF64]100[/color]%[/b]

[b]COMMUNICATIONS [color=#2BFF64]ONLINE[/color][/b]

[b]INITIATING INTEGRITY DIAGNOSTIC:
STANDBY,
STANDBY,
STANDBY,
ALL SYSTEMS [color=#2BFF64]GREEN[/color][/b]

[b]ALL SYSTEMS [color=#2BFF64]ONLINE[/color][/b]
[hr]
Harold smiled approvingly. It'd clearly been too long since he last tapped into the power that was the modern war machine. Easily hopping into the same band at which Elora was transmitting, he cast out an acknowledgement:

[i][b]"[color=#40BFFF]Rostosov here[/color]. [color=#40BFFF]Reading you loud and clear[/color], [color=#40BFFF]Logic Gate[/color],"[/b][/i] then he switched to the command channel: [i][b]"[color=#40BFFF]Rostosov is ready and awaiting orders[/color]."[/b][/i]