Generate the computationally-imaged depiction of a hyperrealistic, photography-style, full-body shot of Jill Bastille as she stands atop the crumbling remains of an abandoned convenience store, its roof barely holding together beneath her steady stance. The surrounding outskirts of the floating city—a retrofuturistic fusion of a steampunk Cloud City and a BioShock Infinite-inspired Columbia—stretch out in all directions, their decayed and skeletal remains suspended over the thick, terraformed clouds of Venus. The once-thriving metropolis, now reduced to a war-torn battleground, is bathed in the eerie glow of the perpetual twilight cast by the dense, sulfuric atmosphere. Above, a violent aerial battle rages, filling the sky with the chaotic dance of zeppelin-like warships, blimps reinforced with metallic plating, heavily armed gliders, and multi-rotor attack helicopters weaving between the towering, rust-streaked structures that still cling to their foundations. Bursts of gunfire and missile trails crisscross through the heavy, churning air, as distant explosions send plumes of debris tumbling down into the swirling clouds below. The towering pyrocumulonimbus clouds that dominate the Venusian horizon pulse with the raw power of the planet’s volatile weather systems, their immense formations stretching miles into the sky, streaked with electric discharges from the violent, ever-present storms. The surface below, partially terraformed and scarred from centuries of human intervention, is a labyrinth of abandoned industrial complexes, vast mining operations, and the skeletal husks of forgotten settlements, all barely visible through the dense, golden haze. The planet’s oppressive heat, once deemed insurmountable, is held at bay by advanced environmental controls woven into Jill’s meticulously designed JROTC uniform. Her attire is an intricate fusion of late-WWII German conscript styles, modern JROTC aesthetics, private military precision, and the structured elegance of a bygone academic era. The navy-blue double-breasted military jacket fits snugly against her petite frame, its high, rigid collar lined with silver piping. Epaulettes rest squarely on her shoulders, fastened with polished silver buttons that gleam faintly beneath the flickering light of the battle overhead. The structured fabric is engineered with adaptive thermal regulation, ensuring protection against the extreme temperatures that still plague the floating city’s exposed edges. The six-button front closure is pristine, each fastener secured with mechanical precision, while a matching navy-blue belt cinches at her waist, its silver buckle engraved with an academy insignia. A row of precisely arranged service ribbons and merit devices adorns her left breast pocket, each symbolizing her academic and tactical achievements. The right pocket bears a gold nameplate, “Bastille,” affixed with the same precision that defines every element of her attire. The sleeves, adorned with embroidered regimental patches, feature a subtly integrated Wehrmacht-style eagle insignia on the upper right arm, seamlessly woven into the high-grade fabric. Her cuffs, accented with burgundy and gold trim, add a final touch of regimental refinement to her commanding presence. Beneath the jacket, a crisp white dress shirt remains flawlessly tucked into a pleated red-and-black plaid skirt. The pleats, each precisely 4 cm in depth, fall in perfect symmetry, ending at mid-thigh. A hidden hook-and-eye closure ensures an uninterrupted silhouette, while a thin black tie, knotted with impeccable accuracy, lies neatly beneath the structured jacket. Her legs, long and defined, are encased in black thigh-high stockings constructed from a reinforced nylon-elastane blend, exhibiting a compression level of 15–20 mmHg to provide both mobility and protection. These transition seamlessly into high-ankle lace-up combat boots, their full-grain leather construction reinforced with metal eyelets and deep-tread rubber soles, engineered for superior traction on the unstable ruins beneath her. The laces, threaded through polished metal grommets, are secured in a meticulously uniform crisscross pattern, the ends neatly tucked to prevent any interference in movement. A six-panel peaked cap, its structured crown precisely 11 cm in height, rests atop her platinum blonde hair, which is secured into twin-braided pigtails that sway slightly with each calculated motion. A polished silver academy emblem is riveted onto the front of her cap, while a braided chinstrap, affixed with side buttons, reinforces its structured presence. The pre-curved brim extends exactly 7 cm forward, casting a measured shadow over her sharp yet youthful features, while her teal-green eyes—framed by dark lashes and enhanced by a defined limbal ring—observe the unfolding battle with unwavering focus. Jill grips her weapon with disciplined precision, her fingers wrapped around the modified descendant of an M4A1 carbine. The rifle, designed for adaptability in Venus’s harsh conditions, features a polymer-reinforced handguard, a well-worn sling, and an ACOG sight coated in a fine layer of dust from the city’s deteriorating infrastructure. Her left hand steadies the foregrip, fingers pressing into the textured surface, while her right maintains a firm hold on the pistol grip, index finger resting just outside the trigger guard. A controlled burst erupts from the barrel, sending brass casings clattering against the rooftop. The muzzle flash illuminates her face for the briefest moment, casting sharp highlights over her symmetrical features before vanishing into the thick air. As she reloads with calculated efficiency, the spent magazine drops to the cracked rooftop, replaced in a single motion by a fresh one from the utility pouch fastened to her belt. The audible click of the magazine seating into place is followed by the smooth action of the bolt chambering another round. The sky above the floating city is alive with the roaring engines of aerial war machines. Armored zeppelins, their gas envelopes reinforced with nanostructured alloys, engage in heavy combat with autonomous drones that swarm like mechanical hornets, weaving through the wreckage of derelict skyscrapers that have long since been abandoned to the planet’s harsh elements. Blimps, repurposed as mobile command centers, hover in strategic formations, directing smaller, nimble gliders that dive through the turbulent winds with precision. Multi-rotor attack helicopters, their sleek, angular frames bristling with weaponry, unleash concentrated fire on enemy positions, their armor-piercing rounds tearing through the decayed remnants of the city’s outer sectors. Below, massive anti-aircraft emplacements, half-buried in the ruins, launch streaking missiles into the sky, their contrails fading into the swirling storm clouds above. The battle rages on, its symphony of destruction echoing through the hollowed-out remains of the floating metropolis. The distant glow of a firestorm blooms in the depths of the ruined districts, its ember-lit tendrils stretching skyward, casting an ominous orange hue against the already sulfur-stained clouds. Through it all, Jill remains poised, her breath steady, her stance unwavering. The wind, thick with the acrid scent of burning metal and ozone-charged air, tugs at the fabric of her uniform, but she does not falter. The city may be crumbling, the war may be unending, but in this moment, atop the decaying ruins of a world long past its prime, Jill Bastille stands as a testament to discipline, precision, and the unyielding march of survival.