Dawn stiffened instantly at the sound of the alarm, an almost painful chill twisting down her spine. She heard the announcement without hearing; she’d known what was happening the instant the siren had sounded. She darted out of the briefing room with Edmund just behind her and began to speed in the general direction of the armory, weaving in and out of the mass of confused soldiers with cat-like grace.<br/><br/>Her mind didn’t switch back on until she was standing in front of her locker, its contents staring her in the face. This was the absolute worst-case scenario, worse than anything she’d had to face before. PGMC carriers were little more than sitting ducks compared to Grey ships; battleships were usually sent to escort them if they were scheduled to pass through Grey space. But here... there was no way to stop the Grey ships before they reached them. On the bright side, they had a better chance against drones than against a Grey battleship. She’d die shooting, if that was any consolation.<br/><br/><i>Less thinking,</i>she told herself as she stepped out of her boots. She unbuttoned her shirt and pants with practiced ease, and in one smooth motion, the two garments fell to the ground. She quirked an eyebrow at the results of her underwear roulette.<i>Looks like I’ll be dying in light pink, then. Not the most dignified colour.</i>She shrugged. She liked it well enough, and that was really all that mattered.<br/><br/>Her gear was standard, for the most part, but her recon and tactical strike role had led to a few changes. Her rifle could be switched to a “low presence” firing mode, sacrificing its automatic capability for quieter, less traceable shots. It was a far cry from the power of a sniper rifle, but it allowed her to have some of the advantages of concealment while being able to switch to a more traditional infantry role if it came down to it. Secondly, her jumpsuit was a form-fitting model, allowing her to remove her ballistic armour for increased mobility and reduced noise at the cost of protection. Those situations were rather rare, though, and with her armour on, it was hard to notice just how closely it hugged her curves.<br/><br/>Satisfied, she closed the locker, her rifle held tightly in her hands.<span style="color: teal">“Corporal Meridian,”</span>she said, her voice somehow girlish and calm at the same time. For many of the new recruits, it would be the first and last time they heard her speak. She cocked her rifle at the wall, aiming experimentally down the sight. She was as ready as she was going to be for the massacre to come.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>