The transport hub is teeming with life, with the shouting dock workers barely overpowering the hum of the machinery and the sound of vessels landing and taking off. Sunlight pours in through the opened hatches, making the thick layer of dust in the air visible as the golden rays pierce through it.

You find yourself sitting on a small metal bench, awaiting for your transport ship to finish refueling. Your dark blue uniform of the Aurora Federation, bearing no medals and no honors other than the simple pin which shows that you managed to pass the military academy, is getting dirt on it before you have even seen action.

If this were a higher-grade mission, you might have gotten a bay all to yourself. Alas, you are stuck in the commercial hub. 

Not wanting to waste time, you review the mission report again. At least that way, nobody can complain that you didn't come prepared. The task is simple: get in, retrieve the black box, and make it back to base. You spend a few minutes scrolling through the satellite images of the crash site, barely being able to make out the silver hull of the transport ship. The realization that this is the same model you will soon board unnerves you slightly.

"Lieutenant Turner." A female voice calls out. Despite the advanced voice synthesis present on all units, you can hear a hint of metallic reverberation in her tone. There is no mistaking it, this must be your Valkyrie unit.

"Yes, that's me." Turning towards it, you notice the figure of the woman standing at attention. She is wearing a tight feldgrau bodysuit reinforced with a titanium-carbon polymer. The bot's hair is short and neatly kept beneath the targeting visor which lets out a blue glow every time her eyes focus on something.

Despite the vacant expression, it is amazing how live-like they make them these days. 

"Greeting [SIR AND/OR MADAM]. I am your new Valkyrie unit: [ENGEL GROUP STANDARD MODEL 22]."

You groan. Of course, they gave you one of the mass-produced units. This thing cannot even access your personnel file. 

Trying to calm yourself, you stand up from the bench and pace back and forward. With a grimace, you look at the woman like your father used to look at his broken car. No matter. You are sure that if you work your way up, they will give you a better unit to command. 

And it's not like this thing is useless, as you quickly notice the black rifle - Viper VV-7, if you remember correctly - strapped to her back. If she's half as durable as some of the special models, she might at least make a decent body shield. 

"I have been assigned to you by [UNSPECIFIED 3RD PARTY]. In order for me to properly aid you, please ensure to fill out the [PERSONNEL FORM]."

Rolling your eyes, you pick up the datapad and begin meticulously filling out the details. When it comes to picking gender, you select…