[center][h1][color=8f735b][u]T a h l i a[/u][/color][/h1][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][hr][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]• Graham's Office, Two Weeks Prior • [/center][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][hr][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]
The hallway had an unusual sense of familiarity, a sensation that Tahlia hadn't felt in the longest of times. She paced her way forward, past the charred bullet imprints on the walls, past the blood soaked memories of the infiltration, and towards her the dominating office of Commander Michael Graham. He had been performing interviews with every pilot and every member of staff since that dreaded day. It was beyond question as to what he was trying to accomplish, and that was the rebuilding of the trust of his own team.

She reached the door to his chambers, a large steel panel that Tahlia hardly recognised seeing as the pilot rarely had a need to visit the man in his own office. The panel to the side of the door was infectiously green lit, an indication that the room was free for the next potential victim. The woman lifted her wrist up and waved it over the security lock, watching and listening as the light flashed briefly and buzzed abruptly with the approval of entry. With a steel grinding hiss the pathway opened and she stepped inside.

[color=olive][b]"Styles."[/b][/color] Graham's voice came from the other side of his desk, his face distorted by the hue of the computer monitor in the dimly lit room—an aura of unease was undeniable. Of all her times in Graham's office, for once things were starkly different. Tahlia stood before him, forearms resting horizontally parallel to each other behind her back, staring into the void beyond the man. An unnatural stance for someone who was typically more laid back with a cigarette in between her lips.

[color=8f735b][b]"Commander."[/b][/color] This time she referred to him differently, throwing the Sir pronoun out of the window and referring to him by his respected rank—a trivial difference but one that she felt was needed due to the events of current. [color=8f735b][b]"I received a message on my Datatool, a request for you to discuss matters with me?"[/b][/color]

[color=olive][b]"Correct."[/b][/color] He pushed his hands together as he looked away from the monitor and towards her direction. Graham, despite bearing his typical attire and speaking no differently had a [i]look[/i] about him—his normally brushed back hair was unkempt and his eyes had long shadows underneath them as if he hadn’t slept in several [i]days[/i]. [color=olive][b]"Thank you for coming so quickly, it saves me time."[/b][/color]

Tahlia looked into the man’s exhausted eyes and gently nodded, acknowledging his request for her presence, [color=8f735b][b]"I happened to be on smoko, so as of current my time is yours."[/b][/color] She gave a smooth exhale, and awaited his inevitable barrage of questions.

[color=olive][b]"You aren't stupid, so I’m not going to waste your time. Here is where I am at. Given your background is as it is, I imagine things would not be so different if you were in my position and I was in yours. I am absolutely certain that Broken Hill had procedures designed in case of an internal attack—such as what to do and [i]who[/i] to look into in the aftermath. New Anchorage is no different in my case, as you can imagine, military regulations aren’t too different from where you come from. The only difference between New Anchorage and Broken Hill is Broken Hill was not stormed by a professional infiltration and wetworks team who committed several thousand credits worth of damages as well as executed certain key staff members two weeks ago."[/b][/color]

A pause.

[color=olive][b]"But this [i]isn't[/i] about [i]Broken Hill[/i], this is about [i]New Anchorage[/i]. Now while I have no reason to believe the actions committed two weeks ago were the byproduct of a Red Star special operations team, I have trouble ruling it out even if I have the absolute sum of zero witnesses or prisoners to question. I do, however, have pilots who were absent from the barracks on the exact second of the attack as per reports and recovered footage. Some might consider that suspicious. I’m sure you have a good explanation."[/b][/color] He clasped his hands together. [color=olive][b]"Styles, I have to ask this and I do not exactly want to, but tell me one thing. Can I trust [i]you[/i]?"[/b][/color]

There was an air of silence as he awaited for her to reply.

[center][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][hr][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]• Convention Center, Smith's Rest • [/center][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][hr][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]
Today had been shaping up to be very interesting indeed with Tahlia watching her fellow pilots squirm and crumble under the almighty pressure of the public. The thought of stepping into an NC, melding into the machine, and walking out onto the battlefield seemed to house more comfort than what this crowd was genuinely offering. They were hungry, hungry for information and trust; products that were very difficult to hand out in a simple interview scenario.

Harrison had just completed his mission, an attempt to calm the people after Madison's vocal outburst. The young girl was damaged and this had been one of the first times that Tahlia had seen this shift in attitude. It was clear to the former commander that no one had really made the effort to inform the girl properly about the curses of syncing up with an NC—the results of the dreaded Polaris Shift. The real question was how deep did the scaring go? Was she the same person she once was before her incident? And was she still useful as a soldier? Tahlia had interacted with Madison a few times but the only conclusion that she had produced was that Madison was a vacant headed [i]teen[/i], an uncoordinated butterfingers, and a cluster-fuck of problems.

It was Tahlia's time to shine, the floor was now open for the Australian to approach, and time for her grilling. She took one last puff of her cigarette before dropping the butt in the glass of water on the table; a hiss and smoulder from the embers that breathed their last breath. She wasn't interested in finishing her drink and felt too lazy to stub out the cancer stick properly, much like how she wasn't fully invested in showcasing herself in front of people she didn't really care about.

It had been years since her last interview—a decade perhaps—and with a slow, steady gait she made her way towards the microphone, eyeing off Celina in the process. She stopped as her lips came within speaking distance of the microphone, opening them to announce her name to the people before her.

[color=8f735b][b]"My name is Tahlia Styles."[/b][/color]

[color=crimson][b]"Tahlia Styles, and you pilot [i]which[/i] NC?"[/b][/color] Celina asked, facing the crowd.

[color=8f735b][b]"I pilot the Spyder; a prototype, artillery NC,"[/b][/color] she paused for a moment in time, looking towards Celina and voicing her final verse, [color=8f735b][b]"An NC that is the product of Red Star."[/b][/color]

[color=crimson][b]"Ah yes, my daughter pilots such a machine,"[/b][/color] Celina said, smiling. [color=crimson][b]"The floor is now open."[/b][/color]

A woman stepped forward, first target, [color=gray][b]"You have an interesting accent, may I ask where you're from, Miss Styles?"[/b][/color]

The seeds of curiosity had been laid. The public was intrigued by her accent, Celina had asked about her NC, and throughout her time in New Anchorage the only comfortable jacket that she had chosen to wear was the one Red Star issued to her for the cold winter nights, the very jacket that she was wearing proudly on this day. Dirty in brown and stencilled with Red Star insignias—it alone aroused questions about who she was and what she was doing on an NC base so far from home.

[color=8f735b][b]"I am originally from outback Australia, the Broken Hill outpost to be more precise."[/b][/color]

[color=gray][b]"So what bring you so far away from home? That's an awfully long way to travel?"[/b][/color]

[color=8f735b][b]"Money and repairs,"[/b][/color] a half lie, convenient enough to cover the truth, descriptive enough to throw their attention elsewhere. [color=8f735b][b]"My NC had suffered a large amount of damage throughout my travels and New Anchorage was offering a flavoursome contract that took my interest. I needed the money and repairs and you needed a pilot, it was a fair deal in my eyes."[/b][/color]

A male at this point stood up and interrupted the woman's series of questions, injecting his own opinions out for the crowd to hear. [color=gray][b]"So what you're a mercenary, with a Red Star NC? Did you used to work for them? Do you plan to just simply roll on through here using us for money and scrap?"[/b][/color]

The chatter between people began as they narrowed their eyes on the Australian Pilot. Tahlia focused her attention fully towards the male asking the questions. He was a surprise target, an enemy tempting to foil her [i]honest[/i] responses.

[color=8f735b][b]"My answer to that is 'yes'."[/b][/color] The man looked perplexed, a single word answer to a string of direct questions. He was about to open up with another barrage when Tahlia cut him off in order to continue, [color=8f735b][b]"Yes, I do take work for a creditory income and have so for several years now; yes, I am using your engineers to make repairs to my NC so that I am able to fight for [i]your[/i] settlement; and yes, I did work for Red Star for a large portion of my life. If you cannot see that through the uniform that I wear, the Aussie ocker that I speak, and the NC that I pilot, then I can also assume that you didn't bloody do your research before spouting such a loose question. My history is in the Red Star public archives under the 'Battle of Broken Hill', if you are interested in reading, and you will see that I was a former commander with skills that make me perfectly suitable for my line of work."[/b][/color]

[color=crimson][b]"Miss Styles,[/b][/color] Celina intervened at the conclusion of Tahlia's spiel, lecturing her a remark that would pull the former commander back into line. [color=crimson][b]"Your record is very impressive, but you will reel in your tone while addressing our public."[/b][/color]

Tahlia took in a large sum of air, swallowing her pride and exhaling with a breath that indicated that she understood the command she was given. She knew she had to appease to Celina's demands, especially in a delicate, public situation such as this. [color=8f735b][b]"—But, I give you my word that I will do anything in my power to protect New Anchorage and its occupants."[/b][/color]

Any more lack of emotion and people would start to question whether her heart was made of ice. Tahlia surveyed the landscape before wondering if anyone else would stand to question her, instead she was surrounded by the private chatter amongst the people of her arrogant nature and inability to stomach the public eye. They just didn't understand... her optimal position was not in the front lines and not in the spotlight for the world to see—these were positions that left your back open for betrayal—but rather she found comfort in the dark behind the rest of her team, a position where she could see every action that was taken.

The woman turned to return back to her seat. She felt as if they had interrogated her enough and any further comments would only result in souring the mood. A cigarette entered her mouth, the light of a flame igniting the tip; it was time to return back to the Tahlia that didn't give a fuck what people thought.