She's not in uniform, but Lieutenant Christine Fawes is still an intimidating sight. The simple tank top she wears emphasises her powerful musculature, shoulders broad enough that you know she could take you in a fight even at full size. At your current height of a third of an inch, she's an insurmountable goddess of war, who could trample and crush tanks, a one-woman army that could defend a country all alone.
It's not her bearing and physique alone that clues in her career: her dog tags hang from her neck, she sports a savage military buzz-cut and a series of skulls tattooed on her bicep could be either confirmed kills or those that died under her command.
Her hardness was why you focussed on her: preparing for a life of tiny survival, talking with someone who had risked their life in dangerous situations so much.
Now, coming face to face with her at such a reduced stature, you're praying that she has a gentle side you were unaware of.
Tara calls out her name and Christine snaps her neck to look at her intensely. “Richard sent me,” she continues as she sits.
“That boy better have a good excuse,” Christine says. “Short of going to get enlisted, I can't think of a reason why I shouldn't kill his cowardly ass. Can't stand a man without honour.”
Yikes. Your suit does still have the speakers that would allow you to communicate with this titan, but do you want to reveal yourself to her when she's in such a rage?
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