Kilika Novinous
A rhythmic clinking fills the usually quiet space of hangar-23; this hangar is a close relative to a closet in your own home where chritmas sweaters, vacation souvenirs (ones bought for you, not by you), and the last piece to jigsaw puzzles go to be fogotten. It is the type of place that was never assigned a use and so had to go looking for one itself. Hangar-23 is where the base's Weapon Frames retire alongside stationary cannons, tanks, and the occasional expresso machine. It is also where you find Kilika in the morning. The clinking has stopped and is slowly being replaced by a symphony of muttered curses.
It was mid-morning or possibly noon depending on how the light hit M.W.F-01147's visor. Either way Kilika was sure she had overslept and was even more sure the culprit responsible for such tardiness was laying beside her, "you, you little beggar." She grabbed hold of its neck and shook it. "You keep me up all night and don't have the decency to make yourself scarce in the morning. You know what management would think if they found the two of us together like this again?" A small pause followed the silent reply. "And yet we keep ending up in this same place don't we? Ahh, it will be some time before we can meet again I suppose. All thanks to your bloody country. Might. I. Add." Kilika jerked her face away and produced a loud crack from her neck. "Well we're done with each other I suppose," she chucked the bottle out of M.W.F-0049's cockpit and thus filled the room with a final crechendo of tinkling glass. "Bloody 'ells."
Kilika dragged herself from the cramped cockpit of Modified Weapon Frame 49, but she like M.W.F.-0049 for short. He had been the first 'toy' the military let her play with after signing on over fifteen years ago. He had originally been designed to help support one of AEGIS's main cores while othe Frames went about the work of securing. After AEGIS he had been retired to a scrap yard for heavy lifting and would have rusted there if not for the First Frame War. He was recruited to the W.M.F. a bunch of over-the-hill manual labour frames that were outfitted with a few extra sheets of metal and a weapon. They, or their pilots, had never expected to see combat as the government explained their duty as a show of arms and nothing more.
Kilika climbed her way down to Hangar-23's floor and gave M.W.F.-0049 a sentimental punch to the shin. "Don't let the mich chew you up eh. That happens and I might have to go and rent a place or something." Let it be known that Kilika had the money. You don't hold a title like 'boss' and not get a little financial kickback. Problem was only some people called her boss, no one called her commander and occasionally she had to listen to people who referred to themselves as her 'Superior in Command'; such people had little idea of what she did but had a good idea of her job in general. It might be the grease stained hands or the lack-a-daisy uniform that give her away but most would agree her language placed her firmly with the engineering core. So firmly in fact that she was able to make most engineers blush with but a single well constructed sentence.
Kilika made her way across Hangar-23 with her organic hand placed firmly against the side of her head. It took her thirty minutes to leave hangar-23's occupied scrap space and another five to find the exit.
When Kilika finally arrived at Hangar-07 the orchestra of engineering was welcomed by her senses rather than marked as the signal to shut down everything.
