[center][h1][color=Teal]Agatha Smith[/color][/h1][/center]
[center][b]URTU-07 TRAM, SOMEWHERE IN NORTH AMERICA[/b]
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Everything creaked in the speeding can that was the Alaskan Tramline. The windows groaned with every bit of detritus that assailed the tram exterior. Sturdy cabins made of hardened metal rattled as they moved at such speeds they would crumple as though made of aluminum should they find themselves meeting a sudden stop with an equally sturdy object. Signs of age and deterioration where part and parcel with this whethered machine, and so too was one occupant in particular.

Sitting with her back to the grime encrusted window, Agatha Smith's own bones were rattling in her seat. She was shaking at the prospect of what lay before her. Long lost glory was on the horizon, and she was on the literal fast train heading straight towards it. 

Eyes shifting to the fellow occupants of the train car, her lips curled into a sharp grin. She couldn't quite pin it down, perhaps it was the two NC pilots from Red Star territory caught in a spat over their foreign allegiances, or maybe it was the familiar scent of urine dripping down one's leg, but there was something about the barely constrained chaos of it all that shook her to her core.

Nothing here was comfortable, and nothing was going to be easy. New Anchorage was insignificant in the grand scheme of things, with hardly anything of worth to it's name, so one shouldn't expect to hit it rich or have a laidback job up in the north. It made one question what drove someone to go this far for work.

Back in her day- and lord did it behoove her to think in such terms- she was familiar enough with a vast menagerie of oddball NC pilots. It was only to be expected when they were all a bunch of teenagers sitting on several tons of armor and ordinance with the orders to shoot the other teenagers across from them with there own mecha. That kind of work breeds some odd tendencies even without the corporate dogma or rough upbringing that every pilot seemed to share and let define them. 

When your life's value is extrapolated from your ability to take another's, the mind has wonderful means of justifying it.  

At one time, Agatha had accepted it as her purpose in life. After all, if one is compatible with an NC, shouldn't they use that talent? Life is remarkably simple when you have a purpose, a goal to forever strive for.

Agatha wanted the simplicity. The warmth found in a life of hardship. The life she once had-

Her gaze flickered to the Alaskan wilderness passing by in the window and caught sight of own her reflection. What youth once was had long since passed, a wild main that shone like spun gold had withered to a dull grey, but that thin smile was the same as it was 30 years ago.

Beneath the grime and the degradation of time, the lioness still stirred. Bones creaking as they failed to contain her excitement, she clung to this opportunity to return to the battlefield with the all the fervor of a drowning sailor.