During the the Second galactic war during The 2180's. The Super Destroyer Liberty's Vanguard, a hulking behemoth of Super Earth's fleet, was orbiting some forsaken cluster under attack. Ready to answer whatever operation the goverment of Super Earth would asign them to.

While the ship floats in the outer space, a click away from the vulnerable coloniesm In the bridge, the air hums with the low thrum of engines, the sterile scent of recycled oxygen mingling with the faint metallic tang of oiled weapons. Holographic displays flicker with tactical readouts.

"Optimal, but we could perform more efficiently, we need drive behind these troops. Not whimpering cadets. Democracy isn't served without sacrifice."

Angela stands at the command console, her 2-meter frame a towering silhouette in her fitted (and ironic) bikini armor, the oversized cape draped like a shroud over her broad, scarred shoulders. And always ever so helmeted.

"Even though... That is difficult to archieve It seems. Like cubs that won't stop their yap until they get fed or silenced."

She mutters dryly. In the background, near the auxiliary stations, a cluster of fresh-faced Helldiver cadets huddle like conspirators in a poorly scripted propaganda vid, and she is silently judging them like usual before opening the comms Network

"Attention, all personnel. This is Space Chief Prime Helldiver Archer. Remember, we are extensions of Super Earth's will, not fleeting distractions. Cadet Ellis, your personal request of a C-01 is particularly... Noted... and dismissed. Eager cadets should aim longer than their gun can reach. Focus on the front lines, not simple fancies."

She feels it—the pull, the yearning. Her mind flashes to fragmented visions: the satisfying crunch of a Terminid carapace under her boot, the acrid smoke of laser fire, the euphoric rush of "culling" threats in the name of Super Earth.

"FOR DEMOCRACY!"

The chip hums approval, sending a subtle wave of pleasure through her nerves, but it's not enough. Not yet. She clenches her fist, raising it in that iconic salute to no one in particular, a habit to center herself. Democracy calls, and she's its eager blade.