Ammunition topped off. Holosight calibrated. Barrel cleaned. Safety engaged. I had checked the rifle for the third time since departing from our ship, the Murder of Crows. The G2A4 was an older rifle, but reliable. It didn't really need to be checked so many times before a mission. Of course, this was more out of habit than anything else. Fighting a war tended to make one overly cautious about such things. Checking my guns always calmed my nerves.

There were five other Pilots in the transport with me. A dark skinned woman with short, black hair, stood near the exit ramp. She was armed with a compact SMG, obviously preferring close quarters combat. An assault soldier sat next to her, popping a clip into the always popular R-101c. In the corner was a sniper who was practically cradling his Kraber. He looked like someone who thoroughly enjoyed popping heads with it. To my left was a Pilot calibrating a Smart Pistol. Each of them was doing some last minute checks on their equipment. They weren't nearly as obsessive about it, of course. In fact, one of them seemed to be rather laid back, almost jovial. She leaned against the wall, a Spitfire at her side. In her full gear, you could hardly even tell that she was a woman at first glance.

And this woman had a reputation. People often referred to her as a Titan Killer. Alex Corman the Titan Killer. She specked her equipment loadout for dealing with Titans without a Titan of her own. There was a rumor that she had actually downed twelve Titans in a single battle, five of which she took out on foot. Of course, the numbers change depending on who you asked. Corman would probably give the largest numbers if you asked her directly. She looked to me as I obsessed over my rifle. I paid the Titan Killer no mind and proceeded to check my weapon for a fourth time.

"How many times you gonna check that?" Her voice was low, husky, and a bit scratchy, yet there was also playfulness in the voice as well. I couldn't see Corman's face, but I could just tell that the woman had a stupid grin on her face.

"As many times as I can before we get there." I could have simply ignored her, but I had a feeling that Corman would have kept pestering me regardless. I decided that humoring her would avert a lot of annoyance.

"Kay. Got a name?" A less annoying question.

"Deveaux."

"Got a first name?"

"Not important." Corman tilted her head up slightly. "Don't."

"What?"

"Just don't."

"Okay. Geez…" For whatever reason, that seemed to get her to stop her line of less than important questioning. To be perfectly honest, I was surprised that she knew 'Deveaux' was in fact my last name. Could have been a lucky guess though. "Haven't seen you around before. Just transfer in?"

That was a legitimate question that I was willing to answer. "Yes. I was cleared for Titan duty a few months ago."

"You any good with one?"

"I've done well in simulations. Can't really say about actual combat." I finished with my rifle and started checking my Autopistol.

"I'll watch your back then."

I rolled my eyes, despite the hint of sincerity she detected in Corman's voice – and the fact you couldn't really see my eyes through my goggles. I wasn't there to be coddled, and I certainly didn't need someone holding my hand. Though, if I had to be honest, the idea of someone watching my back wasn't entirely off-putting. I had not been in a full on Titan engagement at that point, rather doing some covert work. I was good at it, too. I could more than hold my own in a firefight. However, for whatever reason, I wanted to pilot a Titan. Perhaps it was a need to help defend the Frontier rather than just sneak around. Maybe it was the more primal need to get behind the wheel of one of the one of the biggest, meanest war machines created by humankind. The reason didn't really matter right now. I was there, about to drop into a situation where an encounter with IMC forces was extremely likely.

The dark woman, Sargent Morrison, moved from her spot and stood by the MRVN standing in front of the exit ramp. By the way she carried herself, anyone could tell that she was a superior officer, even without knowing her rank. It was actually quite a thing to see. Many Militia soldiers had led rather sordid lives before joining up. Pirates, smugglers, larcenists, even former IMC grunts and Pilots have joined the cause. Seeing someone who truly commanded the respect of those serving under her was a bit uncommon. Of course, with Marcus Graves in command of the Militia, this was beginning to change. Graves was bringing an order that they were sorely lacking.

"Alright, you lot. We've got IMC activity that needs investigatin'." She spoke with slight, but noticeable English accent. "They're out here for a reason and we're gonna find out why."

After the destruction of Demeter and Graves' defection, the IMC's central artificial intelligence Spyglass assumed command. They were being run by a machine. While I considered myself rather open minded about what constituted sentient life, Spyglass was a true machine. All facts and figures. No soul. And it certainly showed in the IMC's tactics. They saw something they wanted, they take it. At least tried to. They were brutal and efficient, more so than when there were more humans at the helm. Graves' defection had provided the Militia with a valuable insight in dealing with Spyglass and the IMC. It worked for a while, but eventually they began adapting to their new situation, being essentially trapped in the Frontier without reinforcements after the destruction of Demeter. They had begun avoiding direct confrontation, opting for more covert operations. It was becoming harder and harder to figure out what the IMC, what Spyglass, was up to. Trying to understand the motivations of a machine that complex is no easy task.

Fortunately, this was a much simpler mission than trying to discern the machinations of a machine mind. Find out what the IMC was up to, then drive them out. Things rarely go quite that smoothly, however. There were many things that could go wrong that would cause the entire mission to go sideways. I try not to think about those things too intently. I prepare myself for them without dwelling on them. Hence the constant checking of my equipment. It takes my mind off things, focusing it on something practical and methodic. With a final motion, I snapped back the slide on my rifle. I was ready.

A brief hiss gave way to a roar of wind as the rear hatch of the drop ship lurched open. The MRVN stood dutifully by the door as the other Pilots and I prepared to make our jump. Morrison jumped first, with the others following suit. Corman and I were the last out, the Titan Killer giving me a brief nod before making her leap. I wasted no time in following her lead.