Gus looks around in surprise. Instead of being tethered to a hospital bed and dialysis machine, he is suited in two thousand pound imperial power armour. He wills his body to move, and it moves, but almost not of its own accord, as if assisted by some external force, like a puppet on sluggish strings. He looks over his body. On his left arm, a colossal device with three enormous claws encases his hand. Moving his fingers also moves the claws, if somewhat slower. In his right glove he holds a monstrously oversized machinegun, more of an anti-aircraft weapon, as if it were nothing more than a water bottle. The helmet, which is distinctly fixed, displays on HUD that he has a rocket launcher and
a strangely familiar Zent rifle on his back. Despite being naturally quite tall himself, he now stands well over eight feet.
The voice over his radio jolts him back to his dream, and something compels him to obey and move onwards. He steps towards the door, and then begins to sprint as best as one can wearing a miniature car.