<div class="floatleft">(http://i215.photobucket.com/albums/cc235/phillymynx/ec6fd896-2367-4fc6-bbba-e3a526e7ee17_zps22068cda.jpg)</div>Armina Sloane Farkas<br/>Dropship Black Sun, Dalton<br/>Dalton; Planetside<br/>Duchy of Oriente<br/>5 February 3145<br/>Tagging:  Everyone<br/><hr/><br/><br/>Armina watched as the first few left the dropship. She had made sure her mech was fired up and ready. Unfortunately slapping the final touches on her baby had eaten into a lot of her time onboard ship so, she'd had little more than a few routine sim runs with her new comrades. She'd never given her mech a name, unlike so many who'd grown that attached to their machines, that's really all it was to her. Sure, it had belonged to her father, but grueling years of war and too many deaths had stripped anything meaningful from her war machine. Instead she simply used the name everyone had called her since she had started fighting at 16, Sloane. It was easy to say, and rolled off the tongue faster than her first or last names.<br/><br/>When her moment came she piloted her mech out of the dropship as gracefully as one could when dropping 55 tons from such a height. The legs of her machine bent to absorb the shock that rattled her as she hit the ground. In the cockpit a warning light started to flash its blinking red light at her. Armina grunted and with an open palm slapped the board that housed the offending light which promptly went dark. "Better," she muttered, then flicked the switch to activate her mech's Guardian ECM suite. No need to allow anyone to get a clear lock on them, provided anyone was actually out there. She cleared the immediate landing area and then waited to form up with the rest of the command lance, keeping a sharp eye on the instruments and the surrounding terrain.