Claiming a judge spot!

Street Judge Echo Johnson, reporting for duty!--

[hider=E. Johnson Intro]
As was per her usual morning ritual, Echo Johnson gave the thick, plated uniform before her a long, hard stare from its place in her locker before she reached to pull it out.
How long had it been now? That question was easy enough to answer. Someone had mentioned in passing that it had been her fifth year as a street judge several weeks ago. 
It felt like longer. Much, much longer. 

She’d barely taken the time to reminisce – what was there to reminisce about? She’d joined the academy at five, just like everyone else. Managed to scrape by for 15 years, and then became a Cadet. Once again, she’d barely managed to pull it in, becoming a full-fledged street judge. 
Still horribly average now at age 25 as she ever was, but none the less, she continued to persist., 

Judge Echo Johnson. She’d always felt detached from that name, although that was to be expected. For the most part, she’d grown up in some non-descript area. Been picked up, tested, and sent away to the academy. The name was assigned to her, just like everything else was really. Just a bunch of letters that formed words coherent enough to be used as an identifier - But then again, that’s all names really boil down to, isn’t it?

With a slight jerk, she yanked the uniform free from the metal confines of the locker, stripping down to her standard issue underclothes before donning the rest of her uniform.
Johnson couldn’t deny that there was always something about a Judge’s uniform – the effect it had, on her and everyone else around her. It commanded respect – fear; there was rarely a person that didn’t react in the same, paranoid way that most would when they spotted the helmet and dark clothes. Echo wasn’t a large girl – stock standard really; 5 foot 6 inches, 130 pounds. Rounded face, pale skin, light blue eyes – though her hair, in an effort to give the illusion of being an individual, had been dyed a sloppy mix of blue and black. Not that it mattered, really – she wasn’t vain enough to forgo her helmet just to people could take notice of her hair. 
The uniform set her apart from normal people – although if you were comparing a judge to a group of civilians, you may as well be comparing an apple to a bunch of grapes.

Her helmet…she shifted slightly, and pulled it onto her lap. 
While the rest of her uniform had been replaced several times over the years, she’d kept a hold of the same helmet. It was scratched and dirty with nicks dotting the carbon black and crimson. Towards the back, her fingers found a deeper crevice.
She remembered where that one was from, of course. Her mouth curled downwards in a frown. 
Unlike a lot of Judges, she’d managed to keep the same partner from when she shifted ranks from cadet. 

Well, until about 14 months ago.
She swallowed hard, flipping the helmet around and pushing it down roughly onto her head. 
Her locker door was slammed shut, and her footsteps thudded heavily against the ground as she headed out.
[/hider]

Sorry it's so long, no doubt what I post after this won't be nearly as lengthy.