Saki, settling into her position at the front of the tank, snorts at Theo's comment. "I mean, 'well-trained' might be stretching the truth just a tiny bit. Still, I don't think I agree." She reaches down to find the levers to adjust the seat; the tank was built with adult men in mind, and Saki is a malnourished sixteen year-old girl in need of a bath. A fact that is becoming very obvious to her companions in the cramped space. She smells like sweat, gunpowder, and ammonia.

"See, the only thing the Yaks get is strength. They have the guns, the troops, the resources, and there's nobody who can stand up to them, so that means they're in charge. They take what they want, and their victims are expected to be grateful because hey, it could be worse, right?"

Finally, the seat is as far forwards as it can go, and the wheel and pedals are comfortably within reach. Next, she works at making the chair as high as it can go, praying that she won't need to sit on a box to see where she's going. "We could use this to pay their taxes like obedient, sniveling vassals, but that's only going to buy us a few months, tops. Who knows when they'll decide to tax us next time? Who knows what they'll want?" She grunts, sounding for all the world like a man three times her age. "I say fuck that. This is a main battle tank, not a fucking delivery truck. The yaks are thieves, murderers, and rapists, and we should blow them up and make it look like a drone attack."