The Armor's gait smoothes as he quickens the pace into almost a trot, feeling the palpable tension, a certain kind of electrical awareness that only comes from rushing into danger. There is enough familiarity, and enough instinct that once the initial jerks and sense of balance was overcome, moving was - well not natural, but familiar.

With a leap the Feder sprang from the ship, and a flick, what should have been a sharp descent felt more like a gentle glide.

There was no time to ponder or consider the feeling as they were greeted with gunfire.