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With the mission functionally over Fuka had her mind set on one thing: the A/C 20. She wanted it, she [i]needed[/i] it, she craved it and all the hole-punching, armor-cracking carnage it represented. The Dragon was a tanky old girl and a hoot to pilot but the armament was lacking. The LRM had its uses and the medium lasers were fine, but an A/C 5, seriously? She didn't want to be relegated to picking off Locust arms her whole career; she was supposed to be slugging it out with other heavies! That wouldn't happen without heavier weaponry, and the 20 was about the heaviest thing not strapped onto a starship.
 
Fuka was about ready to lift her leg and piss on the thing like a dog when the boss man called for volunteers.

[color=cadetblue]"On it, let's go see what they got."[/color]

Adjusting to teeny human legs after clanking around on big metal ones was always a trip for her, being disconnected from the neurohelm giving her the sensation of input lag. Nothing serious, a moment of hesitation from her feet when her brain sent a command, but enough to be noticeable. It was a side effect of being a bad pilot. Maunvering took so much brainpower that she had to reorient herself when out of the cockpit, more embarrassing than it was dangerous. Still, something for her to work on. 

With her respirator secured and her Nambu autopistol in its holster she trotted up towards the front, eyeing the Rassies in their hand-me-downs with amusement. With an army of expendable infantry and Sulser still in his mech she wasn't overly worried about any pirates still hiding in the hangar, idly scraping some of the excess moon dust off her feet as she waited to get going.