A fresh batch of new recruits shipped in today. All bright eyed with puffed out chests and snarky attitudes. Always nastier than the rest- stemming from the need to put out and create an image. An image no one gave a shit about unless you could hold it when things got hot. The most of which- couldn't.

Ellen Ripley had once been a bright eyed, chest puffer herself. And then again when she awoke from the crypto sleep. (Albeit, not as starry eyed.)

Ripley had a soft spot for newbies. She knew what it was like, especially in a man's world. Everyone suddenly turned deaf when you had an idea. And suddenly no one gave a fuck about warnings if you concerned them. They preach about caution but throw it to the wind when it comes down on you.

It was hard being a warrant flight officer.

But it was damn hard being the new kid.

Perhaps she could've kept that opinion to herself however. As now she found herself marching down the sterile hallway of the USCSS Nostromo. The doors parting with a hissing swoosh as she stepped into the large warehouse where shuttles and large pieces of equipment were stored.

When Ripley was first notified of her additional role as trainer, she wanted to protest. She had enough on her plate, trying to get men to listen to her as a warrant officer what makes them think a young snotty mouth boy would want to take orders from her?

But then she remembered waking up from those long 57 years. Being thrusted into a new environment that held the outlines of familiarity and yet it was all still so new. How they glossed over her history, her experience. And she was back to a basic rookie.

She held the clipboard a little tighter.

Ripley wore a form fitting tank top and her bluish grey jumpsuit patched with the crews logo. Her boots winked beneath the shitty fluorescents of the stuffy and echoing house. Her dark eyes scanned the people.

"Listen up, recruits." Her voice shot out. She wasn't a yeller. Didn't take satisfaction at barking in someone's face. Ripley was cool and casual. She liked to maintain some sort of easiness.

Didn't mean she was friendly though.

"My name is Ellen Ripley. I'm a warrant officer here on this ship. As of now I'm also a trainer." A pause. Her gaze swept over the small bundle of heads. Only seven recruits. She thought. What? Is the population running out?

"Top of your..uh, class, is going to be training with me. Understudy, apprentice, whatever the hell you wanna title yourself. The rest of you will be split by three's."

Ripley's eyes zeroed in on the paper. Names, stats, colleges and things she didn't really mull over. The most impressive bit of details belonged to a female recruit with exceptional scores.

Ellen was high valued on the ship. Focusing on one officer might make for a good one. (And she wouldn't deny that the highest achieved being a woman pleased her.)

"You." Ripley nodded her head back towards where she entered. "I'll show you the basics and we'll get to it." Ripley didn't wait for a response. Just turned on her heel and walked.