Dispatches from the Middle Circle

A migratory flight.

"There are few people I dislike more than mercenaries, but corporate security force mechwarriors are one of them. A mercenary in perpetual service to one company, I have yet to meet a corporate badged pilot I would consider pleasant. They are, to a head, the sort of person who was disciplined enough to pass basic mech school but wrong enough in the head that the psyche weedouts kept them out of anything more dangerous than a Stinger with the guns ripped out. They resent this, it drives them out of uniformed service, and they are so individually hollow that the only opportunity left for them to ply their trade is as corporate guards.

They are all little Camerons, bloodthirsty tyrants convinced of their superiority by their technology. At the same time, they are furious that they aren't "real" mechwarriors like the pilots they see on the holovid, that their job is mostly quarterly performance reviews, sitting in air conditioned waiting rooms, and idly pointing guns at civilians wondering what it's like to pull the trigger. This makes them unpleasant drinking company and worse combatants when push comes to shove."

Getting in a practice game against my greatest foe! Also, Cat