[b]Kat Staten[/b]

“Look alive, pilots!”

The Lieutenant [i]crowed[/i] in midair, gliding through the hangar’s zero-g environment on a direct course to her own mobile suit. From exactly where she had appeared was a mystery, though she seemed to be coming from one of the hallways, but she was clearly [i]ready[/i]. Kat Staten seemed practically manic in the way she jammed her helmet on her head and flashed anyone that happened to be looking a jaunty thumbs-up. Her helmet locked with a twist and a [i]click[/i], just in time to grab the railing in front of her machine to course-correct straight into the cockpit.

“Looks like the Zeeks wanna play! We’re gonna give ‘em what they want.” Jerking a thumb to wave any engineers away from her GM, the Lieutenant flipped the cockpit controls to lower the Jim’s hatch. It locked into place quietly while she busied herself with her harness, fighting back a little frustration when she fumbled one of the left buckles the first time.

She wasn’t quite used to the new digits on her hand, but it had been less than a week. Feddie brass didn’t exactly have time to let her go through a full PT cycle, not after big bad Zeon decided they wanted to bring the fight to her home turf. Now Kat was gonna return the favor [i]real[/i] quick. Didn’t matter if a few fingers were a little stiff, they could work a switch just fine. She took just a second to enjoy the soft [i]thrum[/i] as she brought her reactor online, sending power rushing through the rest of her Jim.

“Reactor normal. All systems green. Full tank a’ fuel, and a full mag in my gun. Finishin’ up pre-flight checks.” Kat fired off the updates into her mic once she keyed on her comms, putting her verniers through their full range of movements with a few deft movements of the sticks. No jams. Feedback normal. Everything was the way it was supposed to be, despite the fact that a Spartan wasn’t designed for space to [i]begin[/i] with. The mechanics assured her it’d be fine. Not like she was designed for space, either.

A ground MS made her feel a little more comfortable. Least she wasn’t the only ground pounder they’d sent up here.

She keyed off her mic for a moment, isolating herself in the Spartan’s cockpit. Her left hand grabbed the dog tags floating in front of her, hung loosely from her neck, and gripped tight. Earth was a whole long ways away, and this sure as hell was no Type 61. No stock Jim, either. Couldn’t keep her head up when there [i]wasn’t[/i] an up out there.

But those were still Zeeks, she was still a Feddie, and she still had a really big gun. 

Kat murmured a few words into her clenched fist, too quiet for her to even hear, and let go. She rolled her head and shoulders to enjoy the satisfying [i]pop[/i] of her joints. Her mic was live again with the flick of a switch and with an easy push on the controls the Spartan was [i]moving[/i], weapon in hand and stomping towards the catapult bay. 

“Lt. Staten, preparing to standby in Catapult One. Minovsky dispersal online, and ready to roll. No one doing anything stupid out there or there’ll be fifty pushups waiting for you back here. Kick some Zeon ass.” Eyes running over her console, she directed her attention further outward; “Requesting launch control for Catapult One and a sitrep.”

“What’s the word, Cap’n?”