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Ammokkx
Lunamaria Hawke
teenangstlife
Crusader LordSigma frowned so slightly, as she started a firm, but determined pace. "So it begins." She moved deftly, at a brisk pace, but bereft of any kind of nervousness. At least externally. Internally, some doubts were beginning to form. Does Lorenzo really want a battle royale or is he aiming for something else? He doesn't like the type to tell the things straight up. She pondered, as she took the turns by memory rather than actually needing help to navigate through the maze.
This was, literally, her home. Or at least something similar to this. She looked at the spare plugsuit, and decided to tuck it together alongside her jacket. Unlike many, she had come to wear the suit like a second skin, for almost all daily activities. It also mitigated the heavy blows of her teacher. The suit was rather...dull, almost only shades of grey and black raw materials, with no decorations nor color, save a prominent "Σ" on the back. She didn't cut an impressive figure in those, either, unlike liutenant Ritsu. She was lean, and more wiry muscles than anything, with an almost nonexistant chest. Not that she cared about looking good.
The most girly thing she had ever done was to sit while going to the bathroom to urinate.
Clenching her fist and straightening up, she then took the same swift, memorized route towards the hangar, and her designated bay. There, it awaited. Eiswolf. Dull, crude, without aesthetics. Merely parts cobbled together, and in some cases, clashing in colors, right were the modifications of the actual MAF-44 production model had started. It was impressive, still, but as Framewerks went...it was average. It didn't stood not because of the reduced size, or the gargantuan armor. It just was a basic humanoid shape with a rifle and a backpack. Like a giant, nondescript conscript who was about to bleed in the war against the Cruxi.
"Time to go, fellow doll." She said to herself, as she felt the machine did really reflect the nature of the pilot. A generic, almost nondescript copy whose mere existence was to be thrown into the grinder. She manipulated the handle and crawled through the hatch into the crammed space of the cockpit and closing afterwards. Barely illuminated by a sick red light, the interior was as crude and as dehumanizing as the exterior. Grotesque protusions of the safety and life support systems, as well as the Hud projections and the interface, crammed the interior like a painting of Hieronimus Bosch. And yet, it felt... sturdy. And combat ready. Much very like the cockpit of an actual weapon. If Sigma had been born like a normal human, she would use a different analogy. That of a womb.
Sitting in combat position, she inhaled deep as she began to start the systems. Interfaces and monitors flared with the checkups. Systems were brought online. And like a drill practiced a thousand of times before, the young pilot scrutinized before proceeding to the next step.
ALL SYSTEMS OK. EISWOLF ONLINE.
SYNCH 88%
The final message flicked, allowing Sigma some time of respite. If it was going to be a brawl and a free for all, she wasn't going to have an easy time. Teams could be formed, but also broken. Six other targets remained other than her. And she needed to think of strategies, counters for all.
Or she could join a team. Do like many others before her... and delude herself that a combined team would triumph against all odds. But it could go against her orders.
She could forfeit. But she would no doubt be disqualified. Or pretend joining a team and then stabbing them in the back. But it could sow mistrust.
So many factors to take in account. Too many to start an offensive, to leap before thinking. She should test the water first. Despite their appearances, at least several pilots had showed quite passive intentions. She singled out the most critical mechs as the Destiny and the Logic Gate, because of their special abilities. She also should evade the heavier ones aswell.
"Eiswolf, ready for sortie. All systems okay." She said lazily. The doubt still nagged her, so she added a line. Was it really okay to try and wreck everyone's faces? "Requesting confirmation on IFF and objective, HQ."
A plan began to form in her mind. In worst case scenario, she would be targetted. Feigning might be helpful. The odds of pilots expecting her synch rate were rather slim, so she would move like if she had 20% less synch. Given the fact she could move her frame like a glove on a hand, it shouldn't prove not difficult.
On step two, she would do a fast reckon, exploiting the range of movement of the mech, before deciding on a target. She would probably target a weak one as a distraction of her true strategy should she need be.
But she knew that once she pulled that trigger, the fight would be the fight of her life.
She shifted. Awaiting.
This was, literally, her home. Or at least something similar to this. She looked at the spare plugsuit, and decided to tuck it together alongside her jacket. Unlike many, she had come to wear the suit like a second skin, for almost all daily activities. It also mitigated the heavy blows of her teacher. The suit was rather...dull, almost only shades of grey and black raw materials, with no decorations nor color, save a prominent "Σ" on the back. She didn't cut an impressive figure in those, either, unlike liutenant Ritsu. She was lean, and more wiry muscles than anything, with an almost nonexistant chest. Not that she cared about looking good.
The most girly thing she had ever done was to sit while going to the bathroom to urinate.
Clenching her fist and straightening up, she then took the same swift, memorized route towards the hangar, and her designated bay. There, it awaited. Eiswolf. Dull, crude, without aesthetics. Merely parts cobbled together, and in some cases, clashing in colors, right were the modifications of the actual MAF-44 production model had started. It was impressive, still, but as Framewerks went...it was average. It didn't stood not because of the reduced size, or the gargantuan armor. It just was a basic humanoid shape with a rifle and a backpack. Like a giant, nondescript conscript who was about to bleed in the war against the Cruxi.
"Time to go, fellow doll." She said to herself, as she felt the machine did really reflect the nature of the pilot. A generic, almost nondescript copy whose mere existence was to be thrown into the grinder. She manipulated the handle and crawled through the hatch into the crammed space of the cockpit and closing afterwards. Barely illuminated by a sick red light, the interior was as crude and as dehumanizing as the exterior. Grotesque protusions of the safety and life support systems, as well as the Hud projections and the interface, crammed the interior like a painting of Hieronimus Bosch. And yet, it felt... sturdy. And combat ready. Much very like the cockpit of an actual weapon. If Sigma had been born like a normal human, she would use a different analogy. That of a womb.
Sitting in combat position, she inhaled deep as she began to start the systems. Interfaces and monitors flared with the checkups. Systems were brought online. And like a drill practiced a thousand of times before, the young pilot scrutinized before proceeding to the next step.
ALL SYSTEMS OK. EISWOLF ONLINE.
SYNCH 88%
The final message flicked, allowing Sigma some time of respite. If it was going to be a brawl and a free for all, she wasn't going to have an easy time. Teams could be formed, but also broken. Six other targets remained other than her. And she needed to think of strategies, counters for all.
Or she could join a team. Do like many others before her... and delude herself that a combined team would triumph against all odds. But it could go against her orders.
She could forfeit. But she would no doubt be disqualified. Or pretend joining a team and then stabbing them in the back. But it could sow mistrust.
So many factors to take in account. Too many to start an offensive, to leap before thinking. She should test the water first. Despite their appearances, at least several pilots had showed quite passive intentions. She singled out the most critical mechs as the Destiny and the Logic Gate, because of their special abilities. She also should evade the heavier ones aswell.
"Eiswolf, ready for sortie. All systems okay." She said lazily. The doubt still nagged her, so she added a line. Was it really okay to try and wreck everyone's faces? "Requesting confirmation on IFF and objective, HQ."
A plan began to form in her mind. In worst case scenario, she would be targetted. Feigning might be helpful. The odds of pilots expecting her synch rate were rather slim, so she would move like if she had 20% less synch. Given the fact she could move her frame like a glove on a hand, it shouldn't prove not difficult.
On step two, she would do a fast reckon, exploiting the range of movement of the mech, before deciding on a target. She would probably target a weak one as a distraction of her true strategy should she need be.
But she knew that once she pulled that trigger, the fight would be the fight of her life.
She shifted. Awaiting.