Forced Liberator. Effective against ground forces. Primary Battle Tank of Ucov Empire.

Empire? Just what is this ‘Empire’?

Human supremacy. Comprised of alien slaves, primarily Brisk, and human oppressors. Kill all non-humans to cleanse the galaxy is the primary belief. Dedicated religious philosophy. Extremely xenophobic.

The thought seemed to be a response to the question. Her subconscious responding to her question. Like, whatever she didn't know consciously, her subconscious did. Unconscious? Regardless, it was useful. The response mimicked her own voice, but it had an accent. Foreign. She couldn’t say what it was though. The word Russian popped into her head, but she didn’t know who or what he or she or it even is. Still. Smart voice in her head. That’s…. she thought that was pretty awesome. Amazing even. The name seemed foreign in her mind, weird even. Like a clown. Though she didn't know what a clown was either. The word just sounded odd. And she was confident there were certainly a lot of clowns. Somewhere. Moving on, her mind drifted to the plethora of very still dead bodies, all slathered in dried blood and rain, not unlike her hand a few moments ago. Specifically, the ones who matched the vehicles colors. But they seemed very determined, even in death.

"Did no one survive?" Her voice wondered out loud. She didn't feel petty. She didn't know any of the dead factions, or even what killed them. Likely each other. What she did know, was that she didn't wish to stick around to find out. As she continued her endless walk, past the Forced Liberator tank, she noticed the other faction. Their corpses and vehicles were much smoother then the Ucov Empire’s blocky constructions. As she walked through the muddy and bloody terrain, her feet all but bathing in the slushy substance, she stepped on something. Something hard.

Glancing down with a startled, but not quite surprised, expression on her face, she noted that she was standing on an arm. A metal arm. A big metal arm. A severed metal arm. It was at least thrice as big as her own arm. With a weapon that seemed to fit the arms grasp with unsurprising ease. Cut from the elbow down, bone and dark red blood all but very slowly trickled out of the socket, the light rains turned heavy, water bombing her head with astounding ease. She looked at the weapon within the arms grasp. It was mostly a stained dark white, much like the husk of the ‘Forced Liberator’ she saw earlier, with a sort of golden skull design on the top near the barrel. It was shaped almost like a brick with sharp wings sticking out the side. And the hole for the barrel was just as big as the weapon itself. She wondered what it was.

Storm Piercer. 

Storm Piercer? She looked up with vibrant red eyes. The rain seemed to intensify in its barrage of droplets from dull grey clouds, a single arc of white hot lightning racing across the dull clouds. Her gaze looked back down. Bending down close to the ground, but only bending her legs so she didn't fall, she reached for the weapon. It took a solid minute to pry the weapon from the large armored fingers of the armored severed arm, but she finally deprive the weapon from the hand's metal and muddy fingers, now held in within her grasp. It took both her arms to hold it however.

"It's heavy…" her voice was not monotone, as it was conservative. But they rang true. The weapon in her hand was unsurprisingly heavy given it's bulk, but honestly, that may just be because it's as heavy it looks.

Still, it held weight to it.

She looked at the bottom. It seemed to have a long ammo box. It was a good weapon. "Storm Piercer…" It was cumbersome, like the Ucov Empire décor, but it seemed to be a bit more powerful. Regardless. It was a good weapon, she hoped. It was a fitting name for a weapon in the middle of a storm filled with corpses.

Wait. Name? What was her own name? Did she possess one?

Nova. Nova Tenera.