Girl with a messy mop of pink hair and threadbare fishnets, Punk-cute pilot clutching a battered Olive-drab mecha giant on a barren battlefield. She straddles the cockpit, one foot propped on the rim as she rummages through her raspy olive-green jumpsuit for a stray energy pack. Battle scars smudge the mecha's bulk - burnt hydraulic lines, ratty armor plating, and impromptu repairs scribbled in red paint. She slips on goggles, opens the cockpit without stepping inside, instead siphoning power off a nearby downslope generator that crackles and spatters flames. The mangled mecha grumbles life, dew-density emissions shimmer in the twilight, overhead institution-like airships serrate the horizon with raw helpless vertices. Skirts lips bubble from vacuum when submarine propulsion concurrent harvesting outages freedom.