"If only the military excelled in anything as aptly as they do roping in young people on the basis of being broke." Ripley huffs derisively, throwing one long leg over the other and channeling her indignation into picking apart a napkin. "They turn good people into guns-for-hire. That, or you get kids too eager who get themselves killed. Maybe your's is different, but when are they really?"

The existence of Private Military Contractors only complicated things; businesses with no restriction who could throw their band of troops wherever if given a large enough sum. Organizations, so grandiose in their wealth and body-count, that they act as small governmental bodies themselves; feudal crowds who bully lesser colonies under the guise of providing protection.

Impossible not to play a part in their advancement, really. Perhaps that's what pinches her nerves so. Ellen's service on the Nostromo would have provided fuel to their fire, had she not exploded the damn thing.

Good riddance.

In truth, her (mostly) positive feelings for the Company were dashed the minute she learned they'd declared her and the other's lives as dispensable.

Nevertheless, curiosity wills a bit of life into her. Ripley straightens, tucks fluffy strands of hair behind her ear and leans forward a little. "Mm, and what'd you do to piss them off so much?"