Beth laughed slightly. “You’re incorrigible—someday we’re going to have to expand your horizons beyond just mech stuff,” she teased. “Maybe I can take you to some museums, or plays or something.<br/><br/>“Granted, I suppose my own sixteenth birthday party also had to do a little with MW fighting. The Mortars, my team in high school, we won an important match that day. So that night, I threw this big cookout in the backyard—hot dogs, burgers, roasting marshmallows on a big old bonfire. The whole team was there, and a few kids snuck in some booze even though my parents wanted the thing to stay dry. I remember at one point I was fairly drunk, and I got in this empty metal trashcan and started making all these ‘pew-pew’ and machine gun noises, pretending I was in my mech. Then four of my teammates picked up the trashcan and ran around the yard with it, with me still yelling noises. I was lucky they didn’t drop me.” Beth laughed fondly at the memory. “It’s too bad life can’t stay that simple,” she said wistfully.