Rated Mature for potential nudity, blood and/or gore, realistic depictions of war, and other mature themes. Do not attempt at home.
June 20, 20XX. Osnen Main Headquarters, Urlachen. 21:55.
In the main barracks of Osnen, there were few constants in the life of a soldier. Not the missions-you could be deployed at a moment's notice and the job was always different, whether it was simply a reconnaissance mission to one of Osnen's many refineries and laboratories to secure, contain, or gain insight on a new discovery, or a suppression job to quell another uprising in one of Meracyn's various cities and districts. The true excitements were the assault missions on resistance bases; many a soldier would brag about the kills they picked up while on a raid. There wasn't consistency in the day to day activities-one could do almost anything they wished whilst in the barracks; facilities had been built for almost any occasion, luxuries were easy to come by as pay was good and plentiful, and the dormitories themselves were co-ed, as though the higher-ups either didn't care about, or promoted their subordinates dating and generally mingling. It wasn't even there in one's coworkers-soldiers at Osnen came and went as they shifted assignments, didn't come back from missions, or simply outright disappeared. Nobody ever seemed to cause a fuss about it, however-if you did your job well, no harm would ever come to you. Osnen was a brotherhood, after all-and any arm of the Brotherhood was as sacred as any other.
No, if there was any consistency to be found in Urlachen's main barracks, it was in one soldier in particular. Regina Carlisle, model soldier of the barracks and most feared sniper the entire realm over, walking from her dorm towards the shooting range. There were many places one would never find Regina, which included any leisure locations, the men's restroom, and the group showers; her dorm, unlike most others, had its own private bathroom, a gift given from her superiors for years of excellent performance. But if you were looking to avoid the Terminator herself, anyone was smart enough to keep clear of the shooting range in the evening. Regina's steps, metal clank mismatching with booted footfall, were slow and methodical as she shut the door to her personal quarters, her pistol resting calmly in its holster where it always did. A cursory run of her fingertips along its sleek form reminded her of what she needed to do that night. Another run through her usual course; not that she was in any particular danger of losing her shooting records, of course. Her numbers sat atop the digitalized leaderboard accessible by any shooting-minded soldiers seeking to eke out a name for themselves amidst the rank and file. Regina owned most of the top times and scores-first place was mostly considered a given for her, and fights for second and below would ensue far more often than anyone dared to challenge what looked like the impossible. No, Regna was simply making sure her skills stayed sharp and her accuracy remained impeccable.
Steps carried her through the mess hall, the base cafeteria area where most of Osnen's squadrons ate whom were deployed here. There were a few restaurants scattered throughout the sprawling compound one could go to if they wished a more specialized meal, but the cafeteria's food was good enough and nutritious on a level that almost seemed suspicious. An average meal seemed to contain exactly the right amount of calories and vitamins needed, personalized on an individual level. Regina personally didn't mind-it meant it was one less thing she needed to be concerned about. As she kept up her slow, casual pace, Regina noticed heads slowly turn and conversations lighten to a hush as she passed. This had been the reactions she'd gotten for years. Being the first-and still one of the only-to obtain cybernetic augmentations, that alone had been enough to cause her to stand out. But her reputation for her...soullessness, as some had called it, had spread like wildfire, leading most to avoid interactions with the emotionless soldier. She'd heard the names. Terminator. Robo-Cop. Monster. Parts of her sometimes looked back on those names and wondered why they had to be so cruel. Why she couldn't simply fit in with the rest of them...but then her business side would recall her mission. Emotions made one weak. They led to indecisiveness and pathos-based decision making. Both liabilities in the field. She knew this as a sworn fact, and would hold it as an important ideology. She needed to be as cold and calculating as she could. That was why she was the fastest and most accurate shot with just about any firearm.
With the most populous area of the compound cleared, Regina picked up the pace a little more, eager to get back to where she felt most comfortable outside her dorm. She could see the entrance to the range, a few soldiers exiting with haste, knowing full well that she would be on the way. A few hung around, waiting for someone-likely her-to enter. Her course runs were a masterclass on efficiency and peak physical performance, so she had grown accustomed to some seeking to pick up some visual knowledge on precision and focus often viewing her 'performances' to take notes. Regina didn't mind the stares as much as one might think-she was in her element then. If she was the best, it was only typical people would want to watch, after all...