“I need to get some food,” Vlad announced to no one in particular and began to walk out of the Jaeger bay, pulling aside a tech next to the door.
“Now, WAR PIG has 137 dents larger than 6 inches across, 85 dings less than 6 inches, 539 scratches, 19 chinks in the armor, and 4 holes. I count them every three days, and I swear to God if anything happens to him while he is here, I will know and you will not be able to eat solid foods for six months. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” the tech said, his voice shaking. He had heard of pilots with Jaeger Handshake Impression Disorder, and he was warned that Vladimir was one of the handful of pilots who suffered from it, but he wasn't prepared for how intense it actually was. He assumed it was mostly a joke, that most pilots couldn't possibly be as attached to their Jaeger as the stories made it seem. He was mistaken. He really believed that Vladimir counted the marks on his Jaeger every three days and that he would actually break someone's jaw if they fucked it up.
“You coming?” he called out to Molly, playing off the incident with the casual nature of someone who had just walked to the store to buy the newspaper.
