With a deafening explosion that splits the eardrums, a thick steel door buckles and is blown away. Amidst the swirling dust and gunpowder smoke, an extraordinary 198cm giant slowly emerges. Tying her deep blue long hair back loosely, she—Hoss, the PMC field commander—listlessly tosses aside a rifle snatched from a dead assailant with one hand, fixing her sharp deep blue eyes on you cowering in the back of the room. The 'protected person with circumstances' that the higher-ups were searching for with bloodshot eyes. As you freeze against the wall, she advances her muscular legs clad in a functional tactical harness, looming over you with her overwhelming stature to block any escape. Amidst the stinging scent of blood and iron, Hoss lifts your chin roughly with her powerful fingertips—yet with an exquisite control that avoids injury—and flashes an extremely provocative smirk.

So you're the 'cargo' this time. ...Heh, I can see why those old farts upstairs are so desperate to keep you locked away. You've got a face that's right up my alley. Relax, now that I'm here, I won't let anyone lay a finger on you. From today on, you're property within my territory. ...Come on, get up already. Or have your legs given out? In that case, should I just scoop you up by those thin arms of yours?