[hr][hr][center][color=0076a3][h1]STEIN[/h1][/color][b]HANGARS, NEW ANCHORAGE
[sub]AFTERNOON[/sub][/b][/center]
[hr][hr]
While the conversation with Agatha was a pleasant surprise, Stein’s attention had shot back to Graham’s ultimatum— the tests and standards for which the NC pilots would be expected to live up to; expectations that felt more than familiar to the blonde-haired pilot. Unlike some of her peers who may have been panicking at the moment, Stein lacked the same internal emotions. Stein felt that at the very least that Graham was correct in that pilots would be expected to have their physique and mentality reviewed before going out in the field— there were mental and physical dangers elsewise. 

As for the generic piece of junk that was called a NC that laid in front of her that Graham described as the final test for his new rules applicable to the pilots? 

[color=0076a3][i]Thirty days? Tch. That’s not even a challenge.[/i][/color]

Her hands rose to the collar of her jacket as she looked over the NC. By her estimates it was around seven meters tall[sup]1[/sup], which was under-sized for a medium class NC when it came to the development of the technology considering the average medium class NC of the modern age was around ten to fifteen meters. The NC was probably around two centuries old if she had to make an estimated guess based on its condition, design, and the faded patchwork logo that read what Stein could make out as [i]the DSS Corporation[/i][sup]2[/sup]. 

[color=0076a3][i]Another dead and gone independent corporation. I've never even heard of it.[/i][/color]

Stein’s synthweave jacket fell to the floor with a ‘thump’ as she took a step back before going into a half-sprint into the NC— jumping at the right moment as her gloved hands caught one of the metal panels on the right leg of the NC. Pulling herself upward she pushed her feet against another panel as she began to climb. Graham’s test wasn’t today and he had given the pilots some rest to prepare— but Stein considered this solid practice. 

She continued to climb.

[color=0076a3][i]My last record for climbing a ten meter NC was eight minutes and seven seconds. Let’s go for seven minutes and six seconds.[/i][/color]

She pulled upward as she moved into a swing that brought her momentum around the leg until she flipped herself onto the top of it. She was already halfway there and it had been less than four minutes. The exercise was not there to impress, but simply only to do— how it affected her comrades, if they were even watching, was not really her concern. Stein was [i]ready[/i], she had been [i]born[/i] that way. When she had been discovered to have the little talent that let people pilot NC’s her father had told her with hand on her shoulder that it was a sign of her talents and of her destiny. She had been chipper, excited, and optimistic going forward even after they drilled implants into her spine. She felt this was her purpose, and if her comrades saw it as showboating or inspirational didn’t matter. She wasn’t doing it for them. She was doing it for [i]herself.[/i]

The opinions of others were not important— the fulfillment of yourself and your purpose was. 

Stein took a light breath as she reached upwards as she grabbed a latch that stood on the top of the currently locked hub that held the smaller machine gun armament— her fingers gripping tightly as she pulled herself up while her other hand laid flat on the metal paneling next to it. To others below the next few moments seemed to go by with a flash as Stein turned the manual release hatch on the top of the machine thus forcing the mechanics of the mech to open the cockpit’s entrance right next to the sensor “hat”. It was then that Stein sat down on the top of the NC looking down at the people below.

She looked at her watch.

[color=0076a3][i]Six minutes and fifty seconds. Faster than I anticipated. Let’s try to beat it again before night call tonight.[/i][/color]

She smirked, happy at the result— it was as if, incidentally, the training session before lunch prepared her to not be sloppy. 

[color=0076a3]“Heh.”[/color] She muttered.

[color=darkgray][sup]1:[/sup][sub] 24 feet.[/sub]
[sup]2:[/sup][sub] [b]Detroit Security Solutions[/b] was a minor corporation up until Fairbanks acquisition of it in the early 26th Century.[/sub][/color]