Earth-404, a few years ago

Union City, 3rd POV

The city was shrouded in the gloom of a late afternoon, the gray sky threatening rain as Tyler Skelton walked through the dimly lit streets. He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, wincing as the sting of the fresh cut reminded him of the latest beating. His reflection in a shop window revealed a bruise right eye and a busted lip, adding a little more color to his tanned skin.

Tyler scoffed and kept his head down as he trudged along the cracked sidewalk, his mind a swirl of bitter thoughts. The world around him seemed just as bleak as he felt—graffiti-covered walls, litter strewn across the streets, and the occasional car passing by with its tires splashing through dirty puddles. This was his life, a constant cycle of pain and misery, with no end in sight.

"Shitty day," he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse,"shitty life. What else is new?"

He pulled his jacket tighter around him as a cold breeze swept through the streets, chilling him to the bone, and he loved the cold. The city felt as empty as he did, a hollow shell of what it might have once been. His footsteps echoed in the silence, the sound almost lost in the distance between the buildings that loomed over him like uncaring giants.

He growled a bit, his hatred for Union and this shitty city, his girlfriend committing suicide, his sister getting hurt in a wreck the Heros caused and his parents trying everything they can to help him. He felt like a burden to them, always having trouble around him, but no matter what he said, his family and the firends he had, always said they will be there for him.

Soon he approached the train station, the familiar sense of dread settled in his gut. The station was old, its brick facade weathered and cracked, the paint peeling away in strips. The few people waiting for the train seemed as worn down as the building itself, their faces expressionless as they stared at the ground or at their phones. Tyler sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, scratching it.

"This place...it's like the whole world's just given up on progress," he said,"stagnant, never moving and conceited on their so called merits and Powers. Tch, cocky and arrogant bastards."

He glanced at the clock hanging above the entrance to the station, old and rusty just like this entire station. The hands ticked away, indifferent to the lives of those who moved beneath it. He shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall, his eyes downcast as he tried to make sense of his thoughts. But before he could dwell too much on the hopelessness of it all, something strange happened.

He felt a sudden, forceful push against his back, sending him stumbling forward onto the tracks. Tyler's heart skipped a beat as he tried to catch himself, his mind racing with confusion and fear.

He spun around, his eyes wide, searching for whoever had shoved him. But all he saw was the back of a figure walking away—a tall man dressed in a black trench coat, a fedora perched on his head, the collar was high covering their features. The man's steps were slow, deliberate, and Tyler couldn't shake the feeling that there was something...off about him.

"Hey," Tyler called out, his voice shaky with adrenaline as he fell,"who are you? Why'd you—"

But the man didn't stop, didn't turn around. He simply kept walking, his figure growing smaller as he moved further away, eventually disappearing into the mist that seemed to rise from the city itself.

Tyler stood there, frozen in place, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. The sense of unease that had plagued him all day now twisted into something darker, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He groaned as he looked down and saw bone sticking out, he couldn't move and the people around him didn't even bother helping him

He glanced around, but no one else seemed to have noticed the strange encounter. The people at the station were still lost in their own worlds, oblivious to the bizarre moment that had just unfolded.

His hands shook as he rubbed his arms, trying to shake off the cold that had settled deep inside him. He looked back at the spot where the man had disappeared, a sense of dread settling in his stomach, that or the blood lost was setting in.

"Who...who was that," he whispered to himself, trying to get up

But no answer came, only the distant sound of a train approaching, its whistle cutting through the silence of the evening. Tyler turned back toward the station, his heart pounding in his chest. Soon he looked and saw a giant pair of light and before he knew it, he heard screaming and soon, blackness and the void

Tyler POV

The first thing I noticed was the warmth. It wrapped around me like a thick blanket, a stark contrast to the biting cold that had seeped into my bones back on the streets of my old world. My eyes fluttered open, the blurry image of a woman leaning over me coming into focus. She had kind eyes, a soft smile, and was murmuring something in a language I didn't understand—at least, not yet anyway.

I felt something wet and mushy on my lips and realized she was feeding me... baby food? The shock of it nearly made me choke. Baby food? What the hell was going on?

"Come on mein kleiner krieger(my little warrior)," this woman said,"you must eat, that way you can grow up big and strong!"

"How is the little krieger(warrior)," a man asked

"Just fine Karl," the woman said,"reminds me of you when you eat the entire soup."

"Ouch, must you hurt me my lovely Anneliese?"

My eyes soon locked onto a big burly man, tanned skin, shaggy black hair and dark blue eyes, wearing farmer clothes from like the 1900's. The woman, her white teeth shined as the man sat by her, looking at me as I ate, cause hey I was hungry. They looked as I ate, and for some reason it made me fill with something I haven't had since my mom did this to me when I was a baby

But right now my mind raced, trying to piece together the last thing I remembered. The train station, the strange man in the trench coat, that force pushing me...and then nothing.

A void. And now, here I was, lying in a crib, being spoon-fed by a woman who was looking at me like I was the most precious thing in the world.

It didn't take long for me to understand—I wasn't the person I used to be. Somehow, I had been reborn. I was in a new body, in a new world.

And that woman? She was my mother now. Or at least, the mother of this new life I'd been thrown into.

Days turned into weeks, and I began to grow, faster than I expected. My body was small and weak, but my mind...my mind was still sharp. I couldn't speak at first, couldn't even crawl, but I observed everything. The language they spoke was foreign, but it slowly started making sense, piece by piece. And the world outside—it was different. So very different from anything I had known.

I grew up in the cold, rugged lands of the Teutonic Reich, a place that felt as harsh and unyielding as the winter that gripped it for most of the year. Our village was small, nestled in the shadow of towering mountains and surrounded by dense forests that seemed to go on forever. The houses were built from dark wood and stone, with steep roofs to keep the snow from piling too high.

Life here was simple, but hard. Every day was a struggle to survive, to keep warm, to find enough food. But the people... the people were strong. They had to be, they worked together, helped each other out. The community was tight-knit, everyone knew everyone else. And I... I slowly became a part of it, even as I held onto the memories of my old life.

And then I learned my new name...Tilo Eisenhart

Tilo: Age 10

It was in this village that I learned about the Reich—the vast empire that ruled over these lands with an iron fist. The stories they told were filled with pride and reverence, tales of how the Reich had risen from the ashes of the old world, uniting the scattered Germanic states into a single, powerful nation. The Teutonic Order, once just a knightly order, had become the ruling force, leading the Reich to greatness under the Hohenzollern dynasty.

The Reich was a land of discipline and order, where every citizen was expected to serve the greater good, unlike Union where people left it not others. It was a place where might made right, and strength was the only currency that mattered. The military was the backbone of the empire, and its reach extended into every corner of life. Even in our remote village, we felt the presence of the Reich's power.

I remember when I was 10 when I first saw them—towering mechs, their dark, angular forms moving through the village like metal giants. The ground trembled with every step they took, and the air was filled with the hiss of steam and the grinding of gears. They were the Panzermechs, the pride of the Reich's military, and they were unlike anything I had ever seen back in my old world.

"Panzer...mech," I said as I looked at them

"Ja(Yes)," Karl, or Dad, said as he came up,"I use to pilot one of these back in my service years, best time of my life."

"Oh and what about me," Anneliese, or Mom, asked as she smacked his ass

"Oh those times are my favorite, especially when we get-."

"Ewewewew," I said as I covered my ears, but looked at the amazing mechs

In my past life, war was fought with guns, tanks, and planes. But here...here they had taken it to a whole new level, diving into the Dieselpunk genre of stories I use to read. These machines were walking fortresses, armed to the teeth with cannons and heavy machine guns. And the men who piloted them—well, they were treated like heroes.

Legends, even. And Legends were better than heros to me.

As a child, I would watch in awe as the Panzermechs marched through the village, their pilots sitting high in their armored cockpits, looking down on the world with a sense of authority and purpose. It was clear that these machines were the true power in the Reich, and that the men and women who controlled them were the ones who held the fate of the empire in their hands.

But as much as I was fascinated by the mechs and the power they represented, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. This world was different from my old one in so many ways. It was harder, colder, more brutal, definitely different than the world where people were babied. Everything was handed to them on a sliver platter and don't do anything to actually earn the prizes

But the Reich demanded loyalty, obedience, and sacrifice. It was a place where individual desires were crushed under the weight of the collective good, and where weakness was not tolerated. And that...is something I can get behind, I may not know this world yet, but I'm gonna live in it and love it, cause here...I'm gonna make my life mean something

Tilo: 14 age

The smell of hearty stew filled the small kitchen, the warmth from the wood-burning stove cutting through the evening chill. I sat at the table with my parents, my feet planted on the floor, I was taller than most kids my age, but people said it was usual for some. The bowls of steaming food in front of us were a welcome comfort after a long day of chores and study.

My father sat at the head of the table, his presence as solid and reassuring as the stone walls of our home. My mother moved with practiced ease, ladling out the stew and setting fresh bread in front of us. The crackling of the fire was the only sound for a while as we ate in silence, each of us lost in our thoughts.

But as the meal progressed, the conversation inevitably turned to the one topic that was on everyone's mind: the war.

It had been raging for years now, ever since the Gaulic Dominion had crossed the border into the Reich's territories, claiming they were "liberating" their long-lost lands. The Reich hadn't started the war—at least, that's what we were always told. The Gaulic Dominion, with its high ideals and grand rhetoric, had accused the Reich of oppression, of denying the people their freedom. But to us, it was clear that they were just using it as an excuse to expand their territory, to take what wasn't theirs.

"The Dominion is pushing further into the western front," my father said, his voice low and measured,"they're throwing everything they have at us. But the Reich will hold. We always do."

I looked up from my bowl, listening intently. My father didn't talk much about the war unless he had something important to say. He had been a pilot, Panzermech pilot like he said back then, and though he was retired now, the war never really left him. It was in the way he carried himself, the way he watched the horizon, always alert, always ready.

"Do you think they'll attack here" I asked, my voice full of curiosity

Our village was far from the front lines, but the war had a way of creeping closer, no matter where you were.

"Unlikely," my father replied, his eyes meeting mine,"the mountains are our shield, and the Reich's forces are concentrated at the front. But we must always be prepared. This war... it's different. It's not just about land. It's about who we are, what we stand for."

My mother nodded, her expression pensive. She usually didn't like to talk about the war, but it was the only thing going on in the world, plus I was at the age that made me wonder what will happen in it. Plus, the possibility of me becoming of age was close and the war ending anytime soon was far fetched.

"The world is changing," she said softly, more to herself than to us,"people are forgetting what's important. They're letting pride and ambition drive them, instead of thinking about their families, their homes."

I pushed my bowl away slightly, the food no longer holding my attention. I had been thinking about this for a long time, and now felt like the right moment to say it.

"I want to be a mech pilot," I blurted out, the words hanging in the air between us.

The silence that followed was thick, heavy. My father's eyes locked onto mine, his face unreadable like it was when something big came up. My mother looked at me with a mix of concern and something else—something that looked a lot like fear.

"Do you know what you're saying, Tilo," my father asked after a long pause, "being a pilot isn't a game. It's not like the stories you hear. It's dangerous, and it changes you. You'll see things—do things—that you can't ever take back."

I swallowed hard, but I didn't back down. If it came when I was of age, I was to enter service I had to be ready and I wanted my parents to know that I wanted to be a soldier.

"I know, Vater(Father), but I want to fight," I said,"I want to protect the Reich, but more importantly protect our home."

My mother reached across the table, placing her hand over mine. Her touch was warm, grounding.

"Tilo," she said gently, "war isn't just about killing. It's not about glory or power. It's about protecting what's dear to you—your family, your friends, your home."

Her eyes were soft but serious as she continued, making me listen to her words as she did.

"If you become a pilot, don't do it for the thrill of battle. Do it for the people who can't fight, who need someone to keep them safe. Fight for the Reich, yes, but fight to protect the people who matter. Fight to make sure that those you love don't have to suffer."

I looked between my parents, the weight of their words sinking in. My father was right—being a pilot was dangerous, and it would change me. But my mother's words struck deeper, hitting chords that reminded me when Tessa was born. This war wasn't just about land or pride, being made into a legend. It was about people—about the lives that hung in the balance.

Something Union, and many people back on my Earth, long since has forgotten.

"I will," I promised, my voice steady,"I'll fight to protect our home, to protect you both. That's why I want to do this."

My father nodded slowly, a hint of pride in his eyes. He rubbed my head as I giggled a bit, my bald head was a side effect of Alopecia, same as on my earth,

"Then you'll need to train harder than you ever have," he said as he sipped his water,"it won't be easy, but if this is truly what you want, I'll teach you everything I know."

My mother squeezed my hand, a small smile on her lips.

"We'll be here, Tilo," she said as she caressed my cheek,"we'll support you, no matter what. Just remember—always fight for the right reasons."

I nodded, feeling a sense of resolve settle over me. The path ahead was going to be difficult, but I knew in my heart that it was the right one. I would become a pilot—not for the glory, not for the thrill, but to protect the people I cared about. To fight for the Reich, and for everything it stood for.

Tilo: Age 18

The train rumbled beneath me as we crossed the vast plains of the Reich, the landscape a blur of gray and white outside the window. I'd left the village behind, the cold mountains and dense forests replaced by endless stretches of snow-covered fields and the occasional industrial town, smoke rising from tall chimneys in the distance. The journey felt like it took forever, but when the academy finally came into view, my heart skipped a beat.

Stahlburg Akademie.

The name was etched into my mind, a place spoken of with both reverence and fear. It was where boys became soldiers and soldiers became legends. It was where I was going to learn to pilot a Panzermech, just like my father had when he became a Panzermech mech when he was my age.

The train slowed as it approached the station, and I could see other cadets, boys and girls my age, getting ready to disembark. We were all here for the same reason—to prove ourselves, to earn our place among the Reich's elite.

The academy itself was a fortress, its walls high and imposing, built from dark stone and reinforced with steel. As I stepped off the train and joined the line of new recruits, I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and dread.

This was it.

The beginning of a journey I had been preparing for my entire life. We were marched through the gates and into the main courtyard, where rows of recruits stood at attention. The cold wind bit at my face, but I ignored it, focusing on the towering figure who stepped onto the raised platform before us.

He was an officer, that much was clear from the polished medals on his chest and the way he carried himself—rigid, disciplined, every movement precise. His uniform was immaculate, and his eyes scanned the crowd with a look of stern authority.

"Welcome to Stahlburg Akademie," he began, his voice cutting through the air like a blade,"I am Oberstleutnant Maximilian Krieg, and I will be overseeing your training. From this moment forward, you are no longer civilians. You are cadets of the Teutonic Reich, and you are here to learn how to defend this great empire."

"You are here because you have been chosen—because you have shown potential. But let me make one thing clear: potential means nothing if it is not honed into skill, discipline, and strength."

He began pacing back and forth on the platform, his boots echoing off the stone courtyard.

"Your training will be rigorous. You will learn the art of war, both on the ground and in the cockpit of a Panzermech. You will be pushed to your limits, physically and mentally. Some of you will excel, others will fail. That is the reality of war, I expect nothing less than perfection.

You will follow orders without question, you will give your all in every task, and you will learn to fight not just for yourselves, but for the Reich—for the people who depend on you to protect them. You are the future of the Reich's military. You will be the ones who turn the tide of this war. But only if you prove yourselves worthy. Dismissed!"

We were ordered to our quarters, and the real training began. I took a deep breathe as I laid in my cot, getting ready for tomorrow to come.

3rd POV

The cold morning air stung as Tilo and the other cadets ran laps around the academy's vast training grounds. Instructors barked orders, pushing them to run faster, harder, until their legs felt like they would give out. Tilo gritted his teeth, determination burning in his chest as he forced himself to keep up. Every muscle ached, but he wouldn't be the one to fall behind.

In the academy's combat training hall, Tilo stood in a line with other cadets, each holding a wooden practice rifle. The hall echoed with the sounds of grunts and thuds as they practiced hand-to-hand combat, learning to disarm and disable their opponents. Tilo mind raced, remembering every lesson his father had taught him about close-quarters combat. He blocked a strike, countered, and brought his opponent to the ground, his movements sharp and precise.

The classroom was a stark contrast to the physical training grounds, but no less intense. Tilo sat with the other cadets, his eyes focused on the diagrams of mechs and battlefield tactics projected on the wall. The instructors drilled them on the mechanics of Panzermechs, the importance of battlefield strategy, and the history of the Reich's military campaigns. Tilo took meticulous notes, absorbing every detail, knowing that understanding the theory was just as important as mastering the physical skills.

Tilo sat in the cockpit of a Panzermech simulator, his hands gripping the controls as the screen around him flickered to life. The simulation felt real—the sounds of battle, the vibrations of the mech's movements. He maneuvered through the virtual battlefield, engaging enemy mechs with precision. Sweat dripped down his brow as he dodged incoming fire and returned with a barrage of his own, his heart racing with the thrill of battle. The simulation ended, and his score appeared on the screen—a high mark that earned him a nod of approval from the instructor.

Out in the field, Tilo was chosen to lead a small squad of cadets in a mock battle. They were given objectives, and it was up to Tilo to formulate the plan. He crouched with his squad, studying the map, considering the terrain, and the strengths and weaknesses of his team. He issued orders, guiding his squad through the exercise with a calm, focused demeanor. When they successfully completed the mission, his squadmates clapped him on the back, their respect for him growing.

The day had finally come, Tilo stood before the towering Panzermech, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. He climbed the ladder and entered the cockpit, the familiar scent of oil and metal filling his senses.

The controls felt natural in his hands, as if he was born to pilot this machine. The instructors watched as he powered up the mech, its systems coming online with a hum of energy. Tilo moved the mech forward, testing its responsiveness, feeling the power that coursed through the massive machine. As he navigated the mech through the training course, avoiding obstacles and firing at targets, a sense of purpose settled over him. This was where he belonged.

'Okay then,' he thought as he breathed heavy,'one step closer, I can do this, I have to.'

This is the next start for Tilo in his journey. What will happen next?