Mech Hunter who knows that if you fashion tools in the shape of people, you will not hesitate to fashion people into the shape of tools.
"But the fact it looked like a skull was so cool! Why change it?!"
"It's a machine designed to murder."
"... aaaaand?" The man in a flashy jacket shook his head quizzically.
"And we go up against people in similar machines designed to murder."
"Yes, and?" He leaned in.
Athena shifted in her seat, clasping her hands together and rocking them to get comfortable. She paused for a moment, looking down at the table, then straightened out and looked to the potential new recruit. "So, we do things a little differently here. We choose as a group what work we take on. We share in the spoils equally. We are not corporate robots. We are not a nation’s dagger.”
“Yeah and that’s why I’m here, I--”
Athena raised her hand, silencing him. “To a company, to a nation, pilots are more expendable than their mechs. To them, the mechs are the heroes. Armor painted in patriotic liveries covering the scars of war. Pilots are fuel for the machines.”
The young man shifted in his seat this time, fearing he was coming to a realization he didn’t want.
“We” she emphasized, “do not do take this approach. We. Are people with beliefs, and morals, and desires. We may each contain multitudes, but we also exist as wholes. And our agreement is we put each other first. Our track record speaks for itself. That’s not to say it’s not a dangerous job. That’s why you’re here. We have an unfortunate opening.” The man’s gaze dropped to the table, a pit welling in his stomach. “A teammate put a machine’s importance before his own for the first time and it turned out to also be his last. We do not humanize machines because this is where it inevitably leads.” She leaned back, creaking from the chair echoing through the mech bay.
He tried to say something.
“Show me a sapient mech,” she interrupted, “then we can wax philosophical. Until that day there will be no debate. Pilots must always come first.”