[hr][hr][center][h1][color=teal]AGATHA SMITH[/color][/h1][b]HANGARS, NEW ANCHORAGE[/b][/center]

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The lift offered a smooth assent to the cockpit of the NC labelled Charon, a ride its pilot welcomed in favor of the alternative. Her hand tightened on the railing, shifting the weight from her legs to her arms to ease the tension in her calves. The familiar burn of lactic acid left her feeling stiff, and a part of her just wanted to sit down and rest for an hour even after their lunch period had ended. [color=teal][i] That Ops director is a hard ass. Damn good drill instructor, but that shit is going to smart something fierce. [/i][/color]

With an unwelcome jerk Agatha’s lift reached their destination. She disembarked and quickly boarded the Charon under the guise of performing her diagnostics on the NC. It wasn’t unusual for independents to get twitchy around strangers poking around their NC, so it wasn’t questioned. Even then, with Stein being on base longer than Agatha they undoubtedly had to get used to pilots needing a private space to center themselves. Agatha fell limply into the chair the moment the hatch sealed behind her. 

[color=teal]“Gyah!”[/color] The aged lion slammed her fist into a section of paneling not occupied with essential systems. It was of note for being without any controls or displays, just a slab of metal that was dented and pitted from internal abuse.  Weathered hand met tested steel and neither budged, Agatha’s fist driving itself impotently forward even after her momentum was lost. Her knuckles ached as the flesh was scraped from the violent abrasion, but that wasn’t new. 

Everything ached, everything felt as though it had been introduced to a meat tenderizer before being doused in the battery acid. Agatha wanted to drag her tired legs to her bunk and pass out for the next week and a half, but she couldn’t afford to fail here. She wanted to pant and groan and bellyache like some of the other pilots after Rebecca’s boot camp, but she wasn’t allowed the luxury of appearing weak when everyone already thought she was past her expiration date. She wanted to pull Stein into a side room and demand she tell her what was wrong between her and her father, but she didn’t have that right because Stein wasn’t her child.

[color=teal][i]There is too much at stake to not prove myself here.. I’m still the same pilot, and nothing has changed but the date.[/i][/color]

Agatha pulled her fist back, leaving behind four crimson smears where she vented her frustrations. It joined a larger mosaic of older strikes upon steel, blood so aged and chipped it peeled just from being breathed upon.  Alongside these were the dents caused by a fist momentarily surpassing the substance it struck, and an odd scorch mark from the firing of a laser pistol inside the cockpit. .How weak she seemed in comparison, that her might had dwindled to such a pathetic degree. She’d have been better off staying retired...or maybe-

[color=teal][i]NO.[/i][/color]

-Agatha would have been better off if she died young?

[color=teal][i]FUCK YOU! I’M STILL HER. I’M STILL A PILOT![/i][/color] 

The view screens before her reflected the inside of the cockpit, but in her place was the Agatha of yesteryears, strong, beautiful, and above all, dangerous. Her lips curled back like a predator baring its teeth to future prey and laughed at the old woman. The fool who thought to regain what she willingly gave up. The mirage of days past ridiculed her soundlessly as Agatha brought her bloody hand to her eye, trying to block out the spectre. 

But there was nothing to hide from for their was nothing before her. Just a woman, her reflection, and the years that weighed heavily upon her shoulders.