A Satellite Linked to My Brain, Zeya Thinks for Me

The very first second after I transmigrated, an artificial satellite from another dimension locked onto my brain. Two million trillion calculations per second were piped straight into my neurons. The enemy mecha’s trajectory? Crystal clear, like watching it in slow motion. Twelve-G maneuvers? Zeya had already calculated how every muscle fiber should contract. [Zeya alert: 411 enemy units on the current battlefield. Propellant at 12%. Recommended tactic: inertial drifting and momentum-assisted kicks, with zero fuel consumption.] [Kill rate: one unit every 2.3 seconds. Propellant consumption approaches zero.] The Unified Army’s command room fell collectively silent. “Is the pilot in that aircraft... still in one piece?” I’m fine, thanks for asking. Because I’m not flying with my body at all. Zeya handles every physical calculation; I just give the orders. The genes of a Super Coordinator? Not needed. The brain quantum waves of a Newtype? Don’t have them. I’ve got a satellite to think for me. That’s enough. From Macross to Gundam, from Evangelion to Full Metal Panic the genius pilots in every world ask the same question: “Who are you, really?” Me? I’m just an unlucky guy who got hit by a truck before I could even unbox my delivery. Only now that delivery is strapped to my waist.