They decided eventually that doggy style was the best way to drive the war machines, and that’s how Erin is driving now, strapped belly-down to the underside of her titanium beast. Guns blaze; jets thunder.

She licks sweat from her lip. Her DC-94A has no tongue (but if it did!) and so can’t mimic that, but it reacts just fine when she stretches her legs to catch their landing shock.

Machines go green and red in her vision. She tracks polygons and squeezes her hands: jets blaze, guns thunder, and Erin grins. Really, honestly, what girl doesn’t love blowing shit up?