"Why do you hesitate?" You look up from the dagger in your hands to the woman standing above you. Imperious, regal, spattered in your blood, the heretic queen in all her terror. She's only arm's reach away. You could leap at her, strike for her throat. But you don't. You lost, and she knows it.

"You're awake!!! Oh thank god!" You're crushed in a hug hard enough to drive the air from your lungs before the darkness has even cleared from your eyes. Where the hell are you? What just happened? Your wife is hugging you, shaking and sobbing into your chest, gripping like you'll float away.

Every Jedi remembers where they were when Order 66 hit. You were just a padawan training in the Temple when the clones turned their blasters on you. You're not really sure how you escaped into the undercity. By sheer luck, you had survived where so many had died, and you escaped with your life.

You knew it was a risk to go into the old chemical factory - but estrogen's hard to find after the bombs fell, and it was a risk you were willing to take - a risk your girlfriend wouldn't let you take alone. You should have known when you heard the buzzing that you made a mistake. Hindsight, right?

You wake up with a start to the cold, unfeeling eyes of a stranger. Something about her face fills you with a sense of primal fear - she's an existential threat, something your subconscious latches onto with all the ferocity of a bulldog. "Who are you?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Removing a pilot from a wrecked mech is always a dangerous process for everyone involved. It's inevitable, of course. Mechs get wrecked, that's just what happens. Even the best pilot takes a little dirt nap every now and then. This is your first.

"I think I'm ready." The simple phrase is enough to stop your thoughts dead in their tracks. You turn towards the mousy girl who's clutching the little green book to her chest as she looks anywhere but your eyes. Is that it? Is today the day? You can barely contain the excitement at the idea.

You're alone in a room with her. A year's worth of planning, two squads of dead freedom fighters, and an entire sector gassed off the map. All to figure out the mystery behind the suicidal girls in yellow. All so you could be left alone in a room with her. The woman in the cap and the jacket.

You dreamed of Her again last night. You can't remember the last time you dreamt of anything else. She haunts your every moment - waking or otherwise. But today's the day that you can finally fix that. Today's the day you're finally going to show Her the truth. She's going to love you tonight.

"Canary Five-Seven-Nine-Nine, step forward." Oh! That's you! You don't know much anymore, but you do know those words. They bring such a smile to your face. It means you'll get another chance to impress Her. You step forward, stars in your eyes, butterflies in your belly and hum in affirmation.

It's been 12 years since the Reclamation Wars ended - and like so many other pieces of military hardware that a suddenly peaceful nation didn't have use for, you were decomissioned. The rehab alone took two years. The hardest part was going from a number to a name - but you managed with some help.

Some people carry a fire in them that burns just by getting too close. You saw hers before it was a flame. When it was just an ember, pulsing weakly in a bruised and beaten shell. It only flared when she played hockey. Then, it became hotter and brighter than the sun itself. It had to be yours.

You've never seen a Sieleter in person before. You've seen pictures of them, of course - they're shown to all new recruits on day one. But coming face-to-face with a building-sized writhing mass of muscles, chitin, and armored bone plating strapped with artillery was a different story altogether.

You've been hunting for the Dragon Queen's lair since she took your wife, along with the dozens of other pretty girls from your part of the countryside. You expected a cave, a dungeon, something deep and horrifying. What you found was a lavish manor with castle walls, guarded by girls in gold.

It's been six months since the Red Winter. You're starving, isolated, huddled in a boarded-up apartment in the middle of one of the dead cities, with the infected dotting the roadscape below to remind you there's no escape. You were considering taking the easy way out. That's when you met her.

You don't remember [what came before the war]. All you know is [something happened and now] you're a combat drone, Model 2 Semi-Autonomous Combat Frame. You exist to serve the Governance. [They stripped you of everything you were and] they made you the efficient killing machine you are today.

The pathetic, half-dead girlthing strapped naked to Your surgical table used to be a person name Kassandra. Most of the time she doesn't remember that. For all philosophical intents and purposes, Kassandra is dead. But You broke the mould a little. She was delivered to You, remembering who she is.

The little green book in your hand feels a bit like a sacred text. It is, in a sense. It's the only sacred text that matters to the girl in the chair. You can see it in her eyes as she looks up at you - it's a blend of awe and fear and anticipation and confusion, waiting but not sure why.

You're a mercenary. It's a thought that's taking some getting used to. A pretty girl in a suit came to you at the bar with an offer. It sounded too good to be true - but the amount of zeroes on the salary line won out over common sense.

Your squaddies call you "Rocket Dog", but you're not sure why. You're pretty sure it's a play on missile boat, which makes sense since that's the combat role your mech plays. Your job is to put missiles on target. Even with the teasing from your allies, you get that one specific job done. Always.

The first time you had seen the Knights of Ironridge was the night your parents died. A night attack by scavs - it wasn't personal, your parents just died with the rest, two more faces in the crowd. You got cut off from the others, and you thought you were about to die. That's when you saw them.

Hunting hound but literal: a local hunter trespasses into a wooded area that belongs to someone high up in the Imperial machine with a history in a special project's division. Instead of killing her, the retired handler takes the hunter back to her "workshop" and picks up a new "retirement project".