>>84217657>Before Jets could rage at sheer gall of it all she was taken to a door with a sign stating only authorized personnel can enter from this point on. 'Your ID card, Miss Faymas,' announced one of the guards.
>'Miss'? It sounded wrong for Jets to be considered a 'miss'. It made her sound like she was a bean counter wearing pencil skirts talking to the other hags (sorry Mako) about IT issues and babies, instead of the renowned combat mech pilot she's trained to be! >Jets held her standard company identification card from around her neck and had the camera scan the barcode. There was a beep and three clicks before the door slid open and she was greeted to a much more different scene than the main floor behind her. >She immediately recognized the patrons as different mech pilots from the Quintet, from the briefing files before the take off. >Some of them were lounging on couches watching cricket on the big screen. Judging by one of the pilot's sheer disinterest on her face she figured she was from either American or the Canadian sector teams. 'Oi look! It's Cynapse's bloody Cheshire Cat! How've ya been luv? Flying over 'ere didn't wreck your guts too much I reckon?'
>Judging from the accent of the pilot hovering over the buffet table, they were obviously from the UK sector team. Not only did this space serve as the backstage for the talents, it served as the unofficial lobby for all the international players in the kaiju protection business. >It made her self conscious about being the only pilot from the Australian sector present at the show. Not to mention one of the youngest pilots in all the teams. "Oh hey. I-I'm okay, thanks." >She was embarassed that all the faces from the company dossier were smudged from her sleep addled brain, however, there was a slight air of familiarity about his visage. >The pilot was a scruffier fellow that was scarfing down a Hawaiian slider. He had the top portion of his plugsuit obscured by a bomber jacket. "As long as the flight was, getting to fly first class isn't so bad." Jets aimlessly picked up one of the prepared salad bowls to make it look like she was properly socializing.
"But to be honest, if I were to be doing any sort of flying I'd want it to be in Mia-I mean, M-11-A's cockpit. It isn't nearly as fancy, but I know what all her buttons do and which ones to press when experiencing turbulence."
>The sudden flow of sentences must have aroused her appetite as Jets found herself taking a chomp of her salad. "Besides. You can't yell at a commercial airliner and expect it to fly better, you know?" >Her compatriot licked the remaining barbecue sauce from his fingers and nodded. 'Oh I getcha alright. It ain't Buckingham Palace but my arse can't be bothered to be parked in anything but my one and only. Nothing like careening through the skies to carve up the latest beastie showing up on the telly. Most of my blood is in 'er.' He pats his stomach with a low chuckle.
'And some bits of my stomach too from those earlier training sessions.'
"You still experience G based nausea? Bro that's wild! Shouldn't your implants prevent that?"
'I've only got some subdermal and ocular auggies, luv. Nothing like the kitty ears Cynapse has got you kitted with. Oh, didja catch that? Sounds like the party's gettin' started.'
>It was then Jets heard an intercom calling the respective nations' on the front stage for the initial showcase at the beginning of the show. From Jets periphery she saw pilots disperse out the backdoors to another wing of the convention."I'll have you know my 'kitty ears' are top of the line tech! The latest in mecha synchronization methods and battlefield sensory enhancements...or so that's what I've been briefed on." Jets flexed her bicep to make a show of force. "Not to mention the extra strength it gives me to pilot Mia's hefty frame."
'Aw innit cute,' he laughs. 'Didn't think you need some implants to pull a few levers. All it takes is a bit of elbow grease innit?' The pilot mirrored her flex and showed his bicep bulging through the fabric of his jacket. 'No neural implants, super strength, nothing. Just pure British work horse like the King granted.' Jets' eyes widened. "You can't be serious! You might as well be flying blind!"
'Well yer talking to a real dinosaur luv.'
"Or a real hag," she said putting down her salad.
'Oi! I take offense to that'
"Haaaaaag," she said sticking out her tongue. "I'm surprised they haven't shipped you to the glue factory yet."
