The door to the break room hisses shut, and Euna is left alone in the obnoxiously bright and sterile hallway. She can't help but glance over her shoulder. But there's nobody here. No Corporate Champions charging down on her with the thrust of a missile. No principles to defend. Nobody to save. Nothing she can do to help. No more catastrophes to avert. No threats on her life. It's just her. It's just her and this cup of coffee spilled all over the ground. She stares at it, stupidly. 

...This is such a stupid thing to cry over. 

Euna walks as far as the wall opposite the door she just ran out of, and slumps onto the floor. Her cheeks burn. Her eyes sting. Her nose is running. She sniffles, but it won't stop. She can't get it to stop! It's just coffee, what is [i]wrong[/i] with her?!

She pulls her legs up to her chest and rests her head on her knees. Her vision fills with blurry red before she squeezes them shut and starts thumping her head against her legs. Being able to feel every part of this exchange does nothing to make her legs less made of combat-rated alloys: this hurts a lot. 

And she cries. It's the quiet, sniffly sort of sobbing that begs not to be caught, even though she hasn't bothered to find a safe space for herself. Feelings bubble over on top of feelings that wash over still more [i]feelings[/i] and it's just and it's just a-a-a-a-a-nd i-i-it'ssss j-ju-just...

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Hic. Thump. Thump. Thump. Snnrrrf.

She's [i]so[/i] tired. She's [i]so[/i] hungry. But she doesn't move, except to occasionally wipe her eyes or her nose on her criminal-red sleeve. 

...Some soldier. Can't even order a pizza.