[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/PosaXRV.png[/img]
[@Plank Sinatra] [@HereComesTheSnow] [/center]

This was the part Hazel lived for.

It was frightening, of course. To stand toe to toe with creatures of such proportions, mythological in scale, was foolish in the extreme. It took a sort of madness to do that. She had seen them before, without the comfort of her Shrike. Been powerless before them. But she wasn't powerless now. It was the end of the world, but this? This was the duty for which Hazel was born, and she took to it with [i]vigor[/i]. If it required madness to fight the kaiju then she was truly insane, and relished it for the chance to be part of something so astounding. Awe inspiring.

Her feet carried her easily towards the hangar, eager but calm amidst the chaos. She downed the remainder of her coffee and pawned the mug off on a random technician, along with her glasses. She was [i]eager[/i], and it showed in the silent gleam in her eyes. The grin on her face. 

The Shrike was a thing of beauty, and she paused long enough to run her fingers over the nose-art emblazoned on its side at her insistence. Her grin widened a little as she took the last few steps up to the cockpit, and sank into the chair within. She felt at home immediately. The seat contoured to her form, the controls adjusted with precision to her reach. But there was no time to marvel, the threat was present [i]now[/i]. So she began her preflight checks immediately. Engine, controls, weapons, the abbreviated list that she ran through in times of emergency. 

And how could she forget, popping her mix of choice into the tape deck she had also insisted upon.

The opening notes intermingled with the roar of MAX FIRE v3 Etherion Engine, perhaps the second most powerful such power sources in existence, as both reverberated through her chest. She had [i]worked[/i] for this. She had beaten out a dozen other contenders to command this very machine, even when sometimes they might have seemed like a better choice. One of the last to wash out, a pilot of the then-state-of-the-art Blackbird, had imparted to her a certain phrase when he left; "Though I walk through the valley of death, I shall fear no evil for I am at eighty thousand feet and climbing."

The Shrike did not reach eighty thousand feet, and her pilot certainly was not safe.

But that was the [i]thrill[/i]. 

This powerful machine was not built to observe, it was built to [i]attack[/i]. It was built to charge the enemy and rip it apart with its very body if that was required, and it was not built for the timid. The Shrike was built to blaze a path into hell itelf, and it demanded a pilot certifiable enough to do the job.

All things considered, Hazel probably counted.

[color=a0410d]"I've got the skies. Launching."[/color] A tinny voice stated in the ears of her comrades, an electronic acquiescence to the occasional necessity of auditory communication. To the young, tank-bound girl she sent some additional text to appear on her HUD; [i][color=a0410d]Take care, midget. Stay focused.[/color][/i]

Then the roar intensified, lifting the Shrike from its position as the landing gear retracted. Maintenance technicians had been clearing her takeoff route from the moment her checks began, and it was unobstructed. The engine howled, propelling her through the upward facing tunnel dedicated to her machine. In seconds, she was in the wide open sky.

Actually reaching the combat zone did not take very long at all. And with an appropriately gleeful snarl on her face, she took the Doc's advice.

And fired an exploratory shot from her right cannon straight at the beast's neck.