After my third beer I realized how light of a drinker I was. I could already feel all of the beer dwelling in the blended wastes from breakfast in my stomach. It'd have to come out at one point. It was only eleven hours and I was already wasted. Marshal wouldn't have liked that at all. Well, he also wouldn't have liked the fact that I stole a bunch of these from the culinary section. I was feeling a bit light headed, so after just blatantly lying sprawled across my floor, I got up to puke in the washroom. Definitely not because of the beer; just a small, I don't know, stomach flu I've had for the last week. After cleaning up, I drew my hair up in a bun. After staring at the result for a moment, I sighed and immediately released my hair. Whatever. I went out looking for my...well... I was alone at the moment. Marshal hadn't assigned me my co-pilot yet, which was ridiculous since me and another ranger I haven't met yet are the only Mark III pilots left. What was taking him so long was what I wanted to know too. I needed to clear my head a bit, so I went out walking anyway. I stopped a couple of times to talk to a few people, Mako, Westley, I even went to apologize to the head chefs for sneaking in. Well, Mako told me my co-pilot assessment was happening in a few hours so, thank god for that. Herc and I talked a bit while I was on my way back to my room. I was thankful his dumbass son wasn't with him, but I swear I could smell the dog just around the corner. Not Max, of course.

I felt slightly guilty for lying to the chefs in the kitchen because I sneaked a fourth beer in my pants pocket as I left. I'm sure they didn't mind anyway. I popped the cap off on the corner of my bed post, and guzzled down yet another 330mL of delicious Era Dark. My stomach was in an intense state of slowly dissolving my inners and brewing together a storm that would spit out of me from either ends. I could quite honestly say that I felt like I was dying. I left my room for the second time to go get checked up by a nurse. The nurse was cute, dressed in the navy coloured uniform. She told me the beer was not helping my stomach in any way. She gave me a colourless liquid in a brown bottle and advised that I drink it before every meal. I thanked her and left. Mako was waiting for me right outside, which was in all ways peculiar, but I ignored it anyway.

"Are you feeling alright, Lexy?" She asked me.

"I guess so. What's up?" Mako flipped her notepad open. "You have been assigned over ten possible co-pilots. The majority of them are not veterans but have been noted if they seem to suit you. I just wanted to give you a heads-up." My stomach did a twirl.

"Jesus...what about the other Mark III pilot? Can't you just assign him to me?" I persuaded.

"Marshal doesn't believe in that. The assessment is for your co-pilot and you."

"He's assessing me too?!" That son of a-

"After two years of being inactive after the loss of your last co-pilot, Marshal needs to know how you are." Mako looked slightly worried and I realized that I was feeling infuriated. Krete left the jaeger program for good two years ago. He went with the masses and decided that humanity needed to focus on oppression, not aggression.

"Mako, look. I don't mean to yell at the messenger, but if he wants to know how I am, just tell him I'm doing quite alright. Sorry." I turned on my heels and left poor Mako alone.

What an asshole I am. I wouldn't be surprised if people started linking Chuck and me together. I think I have such a superiority complex sometimes, because it's absolutely aggravating when people who have trusted me before decide to play with their faith. And it always leads to a moment when they need to reassert their faith that they can trust me. I haven't let Marshal down before. Never. Krete left us, and that asshole is now rolling in those wealthy safe zones because that's exactly what people like him do. They keep running and running and they don't even know where they're running off to. Now Marshal thinks I've lost my mojo, all because of that guy. I still can't understand how Krete and I were drift compatible. I guess everything fell right fucking apart after he quit, like one of the single bases in a pyramid of cards falling, pulling down the entire structure with it. I ran down to the kitchen and grabbed two more bottles of beer, whilst the head chefs were looking.

At fourteen hundred hours, I stormed out of my room to be assessed. despite technically refusing the assessment, I still wanted to be a pilot. And that wasn't going to happen until I got my damn assessment. My mind was in a frenzy from the drinking and I hiccuped occasionally, but I was clear enough to coordinate myself without totally looking like a fool. Marshal was looking like himself, with his cold demeanor and his clean sharp suit. Mako was beside him, scribbling down fast into her notepad whilst occasionally looking up to ask Marshal something. We locked eyes and she nodded at me. She mouthed something at me and I realized she was just talking to herself. Making notes I guess.

"Marshal." I called out to him.

"Lexy, you're late." He sounded tired. "You're just early." I said as I slipped off my boots and socks, and shook my jacket off.

"So, where's my co-pilot?" I glanced around and noticed the room was starting to fill up with people; workers, most of them, off on break.

"Not yet, that's what we're here for though." It started when Mako called on the first couple of suitors, who were to engage in mutual combat. As a physical exam? I had no idea. It worked as points, using long wooden poles to interject and attack between opponents, much like the old samurai had done hundreds of years ago. I was honestly very stiff at first. I lost the first match I think, to an older female, twice my age. I want to believe it was because of the beer, but even in my subconscious I could see she was a strong fighter. Despite me losing, Mako continued calling suitors. I just thought it was because the woman and I were not compatible. It was me, not her. Yeah, the beer was totally tolling on me right now. I won the next couple of matches, and by the sixth match, I was completely nauseous. At one point during a match, I actually swallowed back a bit of vomit that had managed to float its way out. I lost that match too. I felt more vomit surging upward when I realized the next suitor was the devil.

Chuck Hansen stepped out from the crowd, bare and holding a pole. He looked distasteful, and as did I. Both partly because of my actual hate towards him and because of the threat undergoing in my stomach. I had to speak up.

"Ah, ah. No way. I don't want him as a co-pilot. No way in hell am I going to drift with him." I immediately spat out to Marshal. He shut his eyes and massaged his temple. He didn't say anything. Mako looked up at him and then said "Personally, I didn't choose him as one of your suitors, but Marshal thought there might have been a connection."

I swear I almost puked right there. "Lexy, you either do this or you don't. Simple as that." Marshal's booming voice rang out.

"Yeah, yeah. Just let the little bitch get over her problem." I heard Chuck say. In this art, there is no need to profusely hit your opponent to win over a point, but I disregarded that rule. I whacked the pole right against the bastard's genitals. I would have done it again, but the boy fell to his knees grunting and moaning like...like a boy. "You bitch!" It would have gone farther than that but Marshal immediately called on someone to drag Chuck away. I'm sure he would have dragged me away as well if it weren't for the assessments.

"Look, Marshal. Can we just get right to the Mark III pilot? It could have just started there right at the beginning." Marshal let out a long sigh, and I thought he was purposely trying to completely empty his lungs of air.