How I met Hillary (and oh boy, what a thrill it wa

In the year 2107, war was raging.
I was just a corporal back then, fresh out of basic back on Callisto IV. Nothing could've prepared me for the horrors I would see both sides commit.
The FRN Armies had pushed us back to the Abdicus system, and we were doing our best to hang on to those last few rocky planets. It seems so strange now--all that bloodshed over such inconsequential worlds. But I digress: back to my story.
It was about 1830, I believe. I was in the mess hall, choking down some MREs under the glaring flouroscope light when she--or it--entered. I wasn't the only one who's mouth was stilled by shock.
Seven feet tall, and weighing in at 50 metric tons, the door barely allowed her in. Her legs, arms, and three fourths of her chest were a polysteel composite. Her left hand, replaced by a bloodied claw. Her right, an AmroTech GA-190. Her eyes replaced with a pair of artifical red MagnaViewers, and jaws of titanium. It made her yellowed locks all the more striking, all the more terrifying.
Naturally, she didn't have to say anything. Her appearance offered more than enough. About this time, the BWS started its whine, and we all charged into the armory, suiting up. The walls of our outpost rattled with each artillery strike--and still more with each step of the colossal valkyrie which had so recently deigned to grace us with its presence. In a moment's time, we were out on the battlefield again. A return to arms. A return to that horrible slaughter.
The tide was initially turned by our cyborg's presence: she waded into the fight, crushing the FRN stormtroopers underfoot and with her claw, rending apart distant targets with that fearsome cannon. Despite our losses, it seemed for a time that we couldn't lose.
Then, there was a moment's quiet. The endless rattle of the FRN's weapons fell silent. The gears of their wretched engines of war entered into cessation. The thuds of our fearless leader began once more--or so we thought. No, this was another titan, one whose allegiance was not so close to our own. I summoned the nerve needed to gaze out upon its form, and saw with terror the strange similarities it shared with our own leader. Both shared the same steel-clad form, but this new entrant was a man: not just any man, but a dead man. His flesh decayed and splotched, his hair thin and withered, and his eyes long since absent from their sockets, this abhorrent beast of the FRN was only sustained by the mechanical extensions he had welded himself to! The two entities grappled for a time, and, for a moment, it looked as if our blonde valedictress might win. Alas! the foul corpse of our enemy plunged his MechClaw deep into her, dividing her as one would split the body of an animal in preparation for serving. We could do nothing but run.
The monstrosity pursued us, all the way to the dropship, but we managed to get onboard and airborne in time--narrowly. Once we made escape velocity, I drew out my datapad and began to write this tale which you now read.
At this point, our dropship is low on fuel, and I am weak--I sustained a few rounds to the chest. FRN bastard-dogs! At this point, I take my leave--but remember my tale! And may it inspire you in the war on FRN aggression!

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