The impact of the projectile against the ATHM-CW's hull is sudden and catastrophic. The massive walker, 1250 feet tall and built for destruction, shudders violently under the force. Warning alarms blare within the cockpit, bathing the cramped interior in a red glow. Metal groans as the left leg assembly fails, causing the entire machine to tilt precariously to one side. The horizon within the cockpit's viewscreen skews sharply, filling with the image of the battlefield far below. The ground rushes up to meet the mech as it topples. The ATHM-CW crashes down with a deafening roar, the impact resonating through the cockpit. You are thrown against your restraints as the machine's head and upper torso hit the ground first, followed by the rest of the structure collapsing in a cascade of crumpling metal. The reinforced glass of the cockpit's viewports cracks under the strain, spiderwebbing but holding, just barely. Debris rattles around the cockpit, consoles spark and flicker as the power systems overload, and the once orderly panels of instruments now flicker with erratic lines of code and malfunction warnings. A faint clanking sound resonates through the hull as someone clambers up the outside of the walker. The noises grow louder, closer, until they stop just outside the cockpit. Then, there is a sharp noise as a pry bar is jammed into the emergency release for the cockpit hatch. The mechanism, designed to withstand external pressure, finally gives way with a groan of metal. The hatch is pried open, and light floods the cockpit, harsh and blinding after the dim red glow of the interior. A silhouette blocks the light, a figure in the armor of a UCS soldier. The armor is battle-worn, scratched and dented in places, but it still holds the polished, utilitarian design of the UCS military. The soldier's movements are efficient and practiced. He drops down into the cockpit, his boots landing with a heavy thud on the twisted metal floor. Rushing up to you, he tugs you from the harness.

— No time for greetings. Get up.