Well-Worded Press
Welcome to a world of mechs.
What is Starry-Eyed About?
In a future where mechs are relics or curiosities, Jon Abbott knows his place: a grease-stained mechanic patching up museum pieces, never dreaming he’ll pilot one himself. But mechs are more than machines—they’re a lifestyle, a form of entertainment, and a forgotten path to progress. When a twist of fate lands him an ancient, barely-functional giant, held together by rust, luck, and a few desperate modifications, Abbott’s world is upended.At the heart of this world, success isn’t just about piloting or winning fights—it’s about cultivating mythical forces between pilot and mech, blending magic, technology, and ingenuity to unlock unparalleled power.Welcome to Mechanized, where destiny is forged in circuits, secrets lie among the stars, and survival demands a mechanical soul.
Who will enjoy Starry-Eyed?
Mechanized is a sci-fi series built for readers who crave stompy mechs, car culture energy, and the relentless drive of a progression novel. It blends raw tech, buried mystery, scaled combat, and just a hint of whispered fantasy.Those that enjoy Pacific Rim, Gundam, 12 Miles Below, Iron Prince (Stormweaver), Red Rising, or progression sci-fi will feel right at home.
About the Author
Braden Phillip
Braden is a sci-fi author and aspiring mech mechanic. Starry Eyed is his debut novel.He was built in a garage, calibrated by progression novels, and activated sometime in the early 90s. When he’s not writing, Braden enjoys running diagnostics on long forest trails, turbo-charging his bookshelf, and attempting to drift through long to-do lists.
“Abbott. We need to talk.”I bit back a groan. Those four words were never a good omen, especially not on a Monday morning and certainly not from my boss. Reluctantly, I wheeled my crawler from beneath the Titan Grade AZ14’s chassis. The scent of metal and grease hung heavy in the air, clinging to my skin and coveralls.“Morning, George,” I grunted.“Yeah.” He squinted down at me, his nose crinkling with disgust as he drew out the word. His pristine pinstriped suit was a stark contrast to the grimy mech bay. “I’m gonna need you to get cleaned up. Immediately.”I wiped my oil-coated goggles off with the edge of my cobalt-blue uniform sleeve, and his frown deepened.“I’m not quite done with this one. Still need to bleed the inertial dampeners.”“Forget that.”My spanner clattered to the ground as I indignantly lifted my goggles to meet his gaze. “We’ve been through this, George. If I don’t restore and maintain the mechs, we don’t have exhibits. No exhibits, no guests. No guests, no money. No money, no museum.”George flicked some imaginary dirt from beneath his immaculately trimmed nails. “About that. Honestly, gonna need you to do some extra work this week, Abbott.”Great. I stared at him, waiting as the dull hum of the maintenance shop filled the awkward silence. George wouldn’t have managed to obtain any new mechs for me to restore. The United Earth Conglomerate had scrapped the majority of their mech forces, so there were very few left to find. Besides, the museum could barely scrape enough money together for my pittance of a salary, even with government endorsements. Mechs, even rusted-out ones, were expensive. What could he possibly want?George’s eyes flicked back and forth, unseeing, but likely accessing his interface. I rolled my eyes and wondered if I could crawl back under the AZ14 without him noticing. Maybe he’d just forget about me.I cleared my throat impatiently. The bay lights flickered, casting shadows of the hulking forms about us.“Oh, that’s right. I’m going to need you to lead the tours this week.”Unbelievable. The absolute nerve of this man.“That’s Emilio’s job, George. I’m a simple engineer. I don’t do people.”“You do this week. Emilio quit.”I rolled my eyes, frustrated, but unsurprised. “Find someone else. Anyone.”“Honestly, can’t do that, Abbott. Gonna need you to pony up.”“Can’t you do it?” I pleaded, unashamed desperation in my tone. A long list of unfinished jobs, improvements, and restorations topped my priorities; this would get me no closer to finishing them.George’s eyes refocused on me, and he scowled. “You know these”—his face screwed up in disdain—“antiques better than anyone.” He gestured dismissively toward the mech displays. “If you don’t do it, I’ll dock your pay.”I gritted my teeth. This was a losing battle.I did know the museum inside and out, and George wouldn’t back down.My imagination drifted, picturing him giving the tour, droning on about the exorbitant cost of acquiring the XB-10. The poor guests would fall asleep on their feet listening to his monotone voice, though it would amuse me to see him fail.Sadly, few were interested in the museum nowadays. Manning the tour desk could be quiet, relaxing even.Besides, I didn’t want to spend another minute talking or dealing with George. If it would shut him up, I’d agree to just about anything.“Fine, but I’m not changing uniforms.”George’s eyes were already vacant, his focus elsewhere. I paused just a minute more to ensure he would not respond. Then, with a sigh, I got up and pushed past him, slapping the maintenance bay door switch as I straightened my nametag.“Jon Abbott, National Museum of Mechanized History — Mech Engineering,” it read in blocky silver letters.The massive bay door groaned and screeched as it jerked open, sliding sideways on its track. I planned to replace the bearings if the budget was ever approved.My footsteps echoed off of the dark, polished marble of the cavernous hallway within the main exhibit hall. The air here was cool and clean, the scent of grease giving way to floor wax and charge polish.I saluted a looming SLDR Series 1, waved at a four-armed Gigaton IV, and kicked at a Taguchi Industries HeavyCloud.Although the model was one of my favorites, this particular specimen was the problem child of the museum. Every time I fixed one of its systems, another broke. Just looking at it the wrong way caused components to fall off.As if hearing my thoughts, a clang sounded behind me. I spun in time to see the toecap from the HeavyCloud pop askew.“Not today, Cumulus.” I pulled a roll of TechTape from my belt, lunged into the heavy metal plate, and slapped some pieces into place. The adhesive sizzled and gave off an acrid scent as it fused between the joints. The repair didn’t look pretty, but it would have to do. There would be time to do it properly when the museum closed for the night.As I neared the front lobby, I could hear the hum of voices from beyond the vestibule doors. Early visitors?I paused before the doors and braced myself, looking up at the head of a medieval-styled mech with pointed gauntlets and a massive conical helm.“If only it was as easy dealing with people as it is with you, KnightCap.” The mech gazed on stoically, and I imagined him tilting his head at me quizzically. “Yes, they’ll never reach your level of sophistication or intellect.”I’d created voices and personalities in my mind for all the mechs, despite their non-sentience. After twelve years working here, their imaginary words and voices were one of the few ways to drive away the doldrums. While maintaining and restoring was enjoyable, it’d become rote and all too easy for me. Creating backstories and personalities for each craft allowed me to keep my sanity.I slapped the display’s engraved armored plate, the metallic clang echoing throughout the hallway. “Seriously, enough yammering, KnightCap. You can tell me more about your aunt’s bundt cake recipes later. I have work to do.”With a deep breath, I strode through the entrance doors.My jaw dropped.Running, jumping, and sliding all over the lobby were children.Not a few children.Not just a large family.It was an infestation.I met the teary gaze of a frazzled teacher who’d clearly given up on trying to wrangle her charges.A field trip.George would have known but had just left that detail out, knowing I’d never accept the job.“I’m gonna goddamn kill him.”
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