And smack dab in the middle of the warzone was yours truly, standing just over a yard away from Tempest. Your armour had been ruined to the point of uselessness, most of the plating discarded and the remainder hanging on by a thread. The black bodysuit underneath was torn to shit and covered in dust, the ripped sections doing a shit job of covering up the cuts and bruises underneath. Her attire was in much the same state, her mohawk having long since been reduced to a scraggly mess, the voluminous hair matted down across her neck.