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[right][hr][color=white][b][b]Smith's Rest | Transit Station[/b][/b][/color]
January 16th, 2677[hr][/right]
[indent][indent][indent]Megafauna and marauders, that was what they'd been hired to protect New Anchorage against. Those were the typical threats a settlement could expect, ones Mara was intimately familiar with- she'd done a hundred jobs just like this one back at Black Steel. Only difference now was the extended stay in a new environment and the lack of oversight. She could see her brother shifting uncomfortably out of the corner of her eye, though she hadn't a clue why. 

Another question was thrown the commander's way, this time from a young woman with curious accent that Mara couldn't place. She had to wonder why so many people from so many parts of the world had come to a place as small and insignificant as this. The pilot wanted to know everyone's favorite question:

Where was the line?

Now it was Mara's turn to shift uncomfortably, bouncing on one foot and then other in the interim period between the question being asked and Graham answering. Mara didn't come all the way to the edge of the world to be reminded of what she'd left behind. The journey had been too long and the cost too great to discover Graham was no better than the Company.

The cold wind kissed her cheeks the moment the door opened and they all stepped outside. Alaska was something of a frozen hellscape, Mara had come to learn. Just taking a walk without the proper winter gear was liable to get you killed. Add on top of that the monstrous wildlife, terrible weather and crazed raiders? It somehow managed to be worse than Europa. She had to steel herself for the simple act of walking to the other side of the base.

It didn't do much when it came to Graham's little speech, however.

There was a noxious coldness to his words. They brought memories of her father impaling through her chest, so sharp and vivid that she could've sworn she was standing before him again. Good and evil was a child's fantasy. Empathy was weakness, all that mattered was discipline. More than one mercenary she'd encountered had held a similar sort of philosophy. Pretty much all of 'em were just assholes looking to twist their assholishness into some kind of leadership skill.

They thought it made them stronger or something. Never did 'em much good when Mara put a beam through their cockpit, though.

[color=7f99f6][i]'And here I thought this place might be different. Stupid.'[/i][/color]

He was trying to scare them, intimidate them. It was easy to tell by the way he was looking at each and every one of them like a buzzard checking if its prey was dead or not yet. Mara could hide her gritting teeth behind pursed lips from him but not the redness in her cheeks. Maybe he'd mistake it for the cold, but even if he didn't?

[i][color=7f99f6]'I'm not leaving,'[/color][/i] Mara told herself. [i][color=7f99f6]'I've dealt with way worse than anything this guy can throw my way.'[/color][/i]   
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