"Hey, love." Old paper crinkles as she touches it, fridge magneted to the cockpit bubble struts. A photograph faded almost past the point of recognisability, two figures leaning together; a lasagne recipe; a paper heart. "Finally got a solid lead, and scraped together the cash for the upgrades to take him on. You'd have loved it, if we'd had them back then — it's a mesh networked drone armament array. Flexible semi-autonomous drone perimeter, their sensors compose into a wide-field composite feed, all packing their own heat. Fancy stuff."
Fingertips brush over the shadow of long-ago smiles.
"We're gonna teach him to hate MNDAAs as much as I hate what happened to you," she says, voice as soft and matter-of-fact as her gaze is cold and far away. "Gonna make that fucker shit a whole litter of puppies."
