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49,502 | 1,335 | 18 | 1,766 | 865 | Sydney frowns down at Tori. She's just a kid...
The frown lessens as Tori sasses her. She laughs and wags a finger at Tori
Who the f&#@ says I'm sticking around kiddo?
She folds her arms, her mirth fading from her face as she looks around the deserted street.
Well whatever's telling you that is dead wrong...
She spares Tori a glance, looking over her own grungy and worn clothes. She feels a spark of camaraderie with her. Reminds me of me when I was a kid... Probably snuck on that bus too...
Then again... maybe not.
She sticks out her hand, clad in a blue fingerless glove with spikes on the knuckles.
Kelli King.
She also sees the man in the street and follows after Tori, thinking he could be of use as well. She glances over her shoulder at the rest of the people in the van, but writes them off mentally, thinking them of little importance right now.
Dallas is going to have my ass if I'm late again... she mutters to herself as she follows Tori
I always forget to put the brackets on...
Anyways, she might have a scar or two, that's fine. Only issue I had I already mentioned in OOC chat | Name: Kelli 'Sydney' King
Age:24
Picture:
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 140
Occupation: Bank Robber
Bio: Kelli "Sydney" King is a troublesome and belligerent youth hailing from Melbourne, capital of the Australian state of Victoria. A former member of a delinquent gang called the Dingos, Sydney has a known history of violence and anarchy, and loves to wreak havoc and beating the loving daylight out of people. At one point in her past, Sydney got her hands on the Bootleg, a smuggled assault rifle that has since become her trusty companion.
Ever the trouble-seeker she came to Washington D.C in 2016 to join an infamous gang of Bank Robbers. She intercepted them on one of their jobs and declared herself a member on the spot. Impressed by the sheer audacity of her actions they gang leader inducted her into their ranks readily, where she has quickly became one of their most active members |
49,503 | 1,335 | 19 | 845 | 68 | As I climb out the broken window I carefully asses whats going on, Seemingly everything looks ok, but something on a closer look some things are off. Open doors, and some cars beside us without passengers. What? is going on here? I step forward looking at the group who are also exiting.They sure seem to chat a-lot for crash survivors.What are they doing? Can't they see all the weird going on? I peer past them to see whats happening. Their eyes have locked onto a limping man, some are even walking toward him, Is he a survivor too? Maybe he's the driver, or the one we hit?He's not.
I raise my voice to gather the attention of the man I had just met. What was his name? "Hey man, you seeing all this? Whats Up with that guy?"
I can't help to notice the cuts on everyone, I have some too, Nothing major."Hey anyone got a phone I got someone to call." I pace toward them worried. I gotta tell Mom. Maybe she saw the news.
Really sorry its short. Quick reminder to all, its a apocalypse so shits all wrecked. | Name: Roger Davis.
Age: 18.
Height: 5'6".
Weight: 152lbs.
Occupation: Unemployed.
Bio: Roger Davis is a young man fresh out of high school looking for belonging. He has a chill personality and is pretty smart. In fact his grades were good, very good. He could have gone to college but he didn't have the money. Maybe he would if not for having tragically lost his parents to a car accident when he was 5(I know cliche, sue me.). Most of his friends went on to college, leaving him on his own for the most part. In times of need he reaches out to his previous Foster parents who he still calls frequently. He recently moved to , in search of a job. He is without luck though as every office he applies for has turned him down. This repetitive failure has wore his mental ability to the lowest point he's ever encountered. Upon hearing this his Foster parents decided he should come back for a while. Because of his financial situation he sold his car and decided to take the bus.... You know what happens.
Sorry I'm keeping it short not much time to spare right this second. |
49,504 | 1,335 | 20 | 1,766 | 865 | Sydney is looking around the landscape, hand on the butt of her concealed pistol at all times. She observes empty cars, doors just left open and seemingly abandoned, normally busy shops lying empty even of workers and even a few signs of damage, or possibly even combat or rioting.
The f*$& happened here!? Looks like the aftermath of a a riot but without any broken windows...
She reaches out and puts a hand on Tori's shoulder, stopping the young girl from going further.
Hold up kiddo, something ain't right.
She motions for the mysterious man to stop by raising one hand up in a 'stop' motion.
Oi! Mate! Hold it! Do you know what's goin' on 'round here?
She hears someone behind her ask for a cellphone and pauses.
Damn...
She pulls out her phone and looks at the shattered screen in frustration.
Damnit! Chains said these things were supposed to be tough! | Name: Kelli 'Sydney' King
Age:24
Picture:
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 140
Occupation: Bank Robber
Bio: Kelli "Sydney" King is a troublesome and belligerent youth hailing from Melbourne, capital of the Australian state of Victoria. A former member of a delinquent gang called the Dingos, Sydney has a known history of violence and anarchy, and loves to wreak havoc and beating the loving daylight out of people. At one point in her past, Sydney got her hands on the Bootleg, a smuggled assault rifle that has since become her trusty companion.
Ever the trouble-seeker she came to Washington D.C in 2016 to join an infamous gang of Bank Robbers. She intercepted them on one of their jobs and declared herself a member on the spot. Impressed by the sheer audacity of her actions they gang leader inducted her into their ranks readily, where she has quickly became one of their most active members |
49,505 | 1,335 | 21 | 2,568 | 670 | I look over at the boy as he emerges from wreckage, a confused look washes over his face as I watch him take in everything around us, "My name's bass...like the fish." I say as I look around at everything. I wasn't exactly clear headed when exiting the bus so I hadn't realized my surroundings. I looked at the man limping down the street, but upon noticing everything else, I was left a bit speechless. Wait... When did all this happen? I swear everything was fine just a few hours ago... Or maybe...how long were we out for? Because cities don't just become ghost towns within a few hours. I look back at the boy who woke me up (), "Honestly man, I don't know. I've never seen the streets like this before. Maybe there was an evac in this neighbourhood, like, your guess is as good as mine."
Checking earlier, I knew I didn't have my phone on me so I didn't even try to be of help. Time was escaping me, I couldn't even determine how long its been since I've been awake, but I wanted to do something. It felt like I've been standing in front of this broken bus for hours, even though its only been minutes. I speak to the group, "We all have calls to make, places to be and people to see. If none of us have a working phone then maybe we should make the trek to the cop shop and see if they can help us... We can also drop this guy off at the hospital on the way there," I point to the limping man down the street, "He looks more injured than any of us here.... What do you guys say?" | Name: Sebastian "bass" Galloway
Age: 22
Picture:
Height: 5'6 ft / 170.6 cm
Weight: 142 lbs
Occupation: Cook/Food preparation
Bio: Ever since he was a kid Bass was a slacker. His priorities were never in the right places, even when the time called for it. In middle school Bass wasn't that bad, not a model student, but not that bad. It was when he hit highschool that his laziness and unmotivated attitude started affecting his grades. He'd rather joke around with his classmates than do homework, ditch class for the period before he even considered the consequences. It wasn't until his last semester of highschool did he realize the consequences of his actions, but by that time it was to late to fix his track record. Bass accepted the fact that he won't get into a good university or college, so instead he threw himself into the work force. Straight out of highschool Bass got a job as a cook at a family restaurant, a place where slacking was not tolerated at all. Working in a kitchen, under a chef, has been good for him. He's becoming more mature and learning discipline, he's learned some valuable skills along with the proper attitude towards hard work. |
49,506 | 1,336 | 0 | 1,761 | 2,984 | Funeral detail had sucked ass, to put it politely. Burying friends always was. But they had never buried more than one or two at a time. The Scorps had killed seven in their attack. Drake wasn't the religious sort, but he had prayed for them earlier, and for the rest of his group after.
He stood near the garden, where crosses marked the fallen. It was the only bright spot in the area, where someone had planted annual flowers that came back year after year. He wouldn't admit it, but he hoped whoever had planted the garden hadn't suffered from the Virus. He took a breath, and began reciting.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..." | Name: Hans Drake
Age: 19
Appearance: Drake stands at 5'8", and is of a somewhat stocky build. His eyes are gray, and his short, thick locks are black in color with (permanent) red highlights. More often than not, he can be seen wearing black, and/or camouflage. He has two fashion statements: the first is a pair of black goggles with reflective gold lenses that he has strapped to his forehead. The second is a black balaclava with a fanged skull on the front in white paint.
Faction: The Forgotten
Personality: (Optional)
Notes: - Uses a military grade marksman rifle.
- Has a love of music, and keeps his iPod charged on a constant basis.
- Drake considers The Forgotten his family, and will go to any length to protect or avenge them. |
49,507 | 1,336 | 1 | 1,936 | 1,025 | Behind Drake, a few footsteps came slowly from the shade, and a quieter voice said, "...I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me."
Abel stood next to Drake over the crosses with a dull, dispirited look in his eye. The younger boy put his hands in his jeans' pockets as he traced the blooms with his eyes and remembered those whom the Forgotten had lost in the last scuffle. It hurt Abel, that after so many adults had died, people could still bring themselves to senseless violence and resort to petty war. The attack by the Scorps was unprovoked, and though they had their reasons, Abel couldn't justify their actions. The sun was low on the horizon, and most of the people who attended the funeral had already gone. The only people who remained were people who were especially close to the deceased, people who hung onto those memories that just as well could have slipped through other people's fingers. Abel didn't fit into that category well, but the dead were close enough to Abel for him to hang around.
Abel could never withhold from crying in the face of terrible tragedy. Emotional videos about 9/11, songs sung about humanitarian aid, incredibly spiritual hymns that perhaps stretched beyond religion, all of them pulled at his heartstrings easily. Still, no matter how heavy it got, Abel never gave up. For the life of him, he couldn't figure it out. He clung to whatever hope he could salvage. He tried to stay strong, and Abel did it for other people even if he suffered deeply on the inside. His natural empathy drove him to stay by the graves and stand by Drake. Had he not cared for either of those things, Abel might have never bothered. But he stayed, and he lamented. There was nothing else to do or say about it. | Name: Abel Levi Dunst
Age: 17
Faction: The Forgotten
Appearance:
Personality: Optimistic, skeptical. A strong follower of Nietzsche's philosophy and of liberalism and also a hopeless romantic. Sentimental. Borderline depressive, outwardly positive, attentive, and attention loving. Easily empathizes and sympathizes with other people. Also enjoys social contact and affection.
Backstory:
A lone, maroon Kia Spectra zipped down the I-35 thoroughfare, vacant except for a few cars wrecked or damaged on the shoulder of the road. The driver's gloved hands were steady on the wheel, and his feet were like lead on the gas pedal. He tore his eyes from the road to snag a glance at his cargo. A leather-bound journal sat in the passenger seat on top of some other books, the works of Nietzsche, the entire Hunger Games trilogy, Utilitarianism by John Stuart Mill, and Hero by Perry Moore among the pile, and a small, black suitcase occupied the backseat next to a blue, plastic tub. The driver eyed the suitcase in his rear-view mirror for a long while before he noticed something green out of the corner of his blue-gray eyes and, in one jerky motion, swerved the car back on the right path. He barely had a chance to glimpse the sign he nearly slammed into and calculated something on the top of his head.
"Minneapolis. One more hour," the driver sighed, fixing his hands on the wheel and his steely glare on the road.
Abel Dunst's trek to the North began in a quiet Texas suburb. The year was 2016, and the United States was set to vote for a new president in November. Abel would have been a freshman in high school by then. But fate had other plans. When he lost his parents, Abel became lost and depressed. He had no reason to continue living after the disease took them. They gave him a purpose. He lived to make them and his friends happy, carry the family name, succeed in his life, and reach the goals of their collective efforts. Without them, without the society that had demanded that he do so, Abel gave up all structure and desire, yet still he could never commit suicide. He didn't have the strength or nerve to end his own life. Abel remained for whatever reason no matter how much it hurt, even when everything fell apart.
That was two years ago. Abel had spent the rest of 2016 and most of 2017 in his home state. He joined a local gang with his friends and neighbors, but their policy of mercy and compassion fell to violence and madness as things grew worse and times became desperate. Conservative extremists, terrorist thugs, and sadistic rich kids took control of territories in the suburbs in bloody turf wars. The fear, bloodshed, and delusion they inspired caused so much madness and made Abel's situation so much worse. He protected his friends and fellow gang members as best he could, and his group did what it could to help those most in need. Those goals filled the gaps Abel's parents left and gave Abel's life a renewed purpose.
What tenuous stability they had for that short year obviously did not last forever. Abel helplessly watched as more kids died in what their enemies called "holy" crusades and "righteous" battles, and he struggled to keep his friends safe. When they were at the end of their rope, Abel made a decision with the hopes of helping his friends escape. One enemy faction chased him, thinking he had his friends and other crucial members of the group in tow. Secretly, Abel sent his friends off in a separate vehicle headed in a different direction while he took his personal possessions with him in his mom's dented 2008 Kia and drove north. They gave up, but Abel continued until he had less than half a gallon.
The car's tank took him to Oklahoma where he learned from another local group to siphon gas and refilled the car. They begged for him to stay, and Abel did. He lived with them for half a year, and together they expanded their turf and piled more resources. That was around the time when Abel began taking new books into his collection. When they started asking Abel more pressing questions, though, Abel became stressed. They developed a certain lunacy as they tried to pry into his personal business. They watched his interactions. Their leader in particular preached homophobia and called for the group members to watch suspicious persons closer. That included Abel. He made his plans to leave in the dead of night, and when everyone was sleeping under his watch, Abel snuck off and floored the gas pedal into the horizon.
Abel spent the next year a drifter. He floated from town to town in his Kia. He stole gas, he stored nonperishable food in his trunk, he collected more books. He did what he could to make ends meet, and he continued to write in his journals. He made sloppy calendars in them, and he wrote many stories and diary entries to pass the time when he was sleeping in his car somewhere on high alert. Most of all, Abel made sure nobody stole from him. He kept a knife at his side as he slept, and he threatened to kill or maim whoever dared to take what was his. Whether at the request of others or by his own choice, Abel joined strong groups who would protect his property and him and underdog groups who would request his aid. For what he did and who he was, Abel earned himself several nicknames and titles, like "Scribe," "Texas Guy," "Wanderer," "The Lone Ranger."
A while after he left Minneapolis, Abel came across the rural town of Kano. He cautiously entered the pawn shop claimed by the Forgotten, and they moved to tentatively accept him as one of their own. He read to them the books he collected, even getting some of the ones they were less fond of, but he neglected to share his story. Nonetheless, they were more tolerant of his sexuality and came to trust Abel more, and Abel enjoyed the hospitality and acceptance they offered him as an outsider both to Kano and society. He chose to stay with them as long as possible, even if by some irony he'd been less open about things with them. For worse or for better, Abel Levi Dunst, who wanted to preserve old knowledge into the future and establish order in the land, became one of the Forgotten.
Other:
Broad range of knowledge, high intellect.
Eccentric and impulsive.
Usually carries a knife or a homemade bow.
Book collector.
Some less obvious knowledge about survival.
Good speaker and writer. |
49,508 | 1,336 | 2 | 1,118 | 7,627 | Shiba watched from a distance he watched the funeral and once it was over and drake started to recite something Angelo went over and dropped a rose on one of the mounds that is the fallen hopefully they will see their parents where their going Shiba said simply. Without another word he went back to go his position above the shop to keep an eye out for any scavengers that are desperate enough to take them on again. It wasn't that Angelo didn't grieve for the fallen it was just that he needed to make sure nobody else joined the departed. In this world their was no time to grieve or feel the pain of loss from someone because if we dwelled on it to much then we would be next.
Once Shiba set up his position with his sniper rifle he took a bottle of scotch and raised it high salu he said simply which meant cheers as he drank some, it was his own way of celebrating that they lived at all in this damned world of theirs... | Name: Shiba Akabane
Age: just turned 18
but his necklace is his dads dog tag
Faction: The forgotten
Personality: an adaptive person he will always try to negotiate first and try diplomacy before he lets the enemy into his trap, he always has a back up plan to his back up plan. Shiba wants to live and figure things out but honestly but he will always try to figure out a way to survive and speed up his hopes of being a father. Shiba while seemly cold to others actually has a warm heart and has a soft spot for kids. Shiba is loyal to his group and will remain loyal until asked to perform something....atrocious then he will not perform it and may even quit if the issue is pressed.
Backstory: January 13th Friday evening, today is Angelo birthday. Yeah happy birthday and all that right? well Angelo just turned 18 and you know what he did to celebrate? He found a nice bottle of scotch and cracked it open, oh don't judge. You know what else he did to celebrate? no he didn't have a birthday cake he didn't go to the fair or anything like that, he spent the rest of his day taking pot shots at a few gang members. Surprised? well you shouldn't be. This is the end of the world as we know it and right now all Angelo bothers to do is drink and kill you would think an 18 year old killing others would be a traumatizing experience but in reality he has already accepted it as the norm ever since all the adults were killed off in some weird way. Angelo grieved for his parents when it happened but what else could he do, he played enough video games to know that the end of the world meant he needed to find a way to survive. Thankfully his father was in the army so he had a good stash of weapons and military rations and he played enough video games and went to the shooting range with his dad enough to figure out which end of the gun to point.
Angelo spent his time making his home into a makeshift fort placing all his furniture out towards the windows and doors to keep himself locked in and he figure out how to stretch the rations for a good while before they dried up on him which meant he had to get moving and find some survivors or at least supplies so he could head back home. The odd thing was that when Angelo went into town he saw that other people his age were still alive nobody old enough to have a grey hair mind you but those of us who were still going through puberty or just finished. Angelo fully expected a zombie horde like in the movies but instead their was gang violence. Angelo made sure to keep away from them he wanted nothing to do with them. Angelo looked around but what else could he expect other then to find out the gangs looted everything so he decided to just lone wolf it.
Angelo wandered around with his gun taking shelter in whatever place looked defensible he tried to go to his fathers army base but it seemed to be taken over by a gang so their was no luck their. Whenever Angelo tried to trade with others he seemed like he was making some sort of ambush and was immediately shot on site, thankfully Angelo had enough sense to wear a bulletproof vest and his dads old army helmet. So Angelo carried guns with no food or water. Along the way he sold a few pieces to some loners like him for food and whatever else they could spare to keep himself alive but soon enough he was starting to starve, he still had the guns to trade but no food. eventually he found the pawn shop and he almost pleaded to trade and when they did they asked Angelo if his was part of gang and once Angelo explained how appalled he was by them they gave him a hand and said that he could join them. Angelo took their hand and never looked back which brings us to today, drinking some scotch and shooting some gang bangers that thought they could steal from their shop. happy birthday....
Skills: strategic mindset able to outmaneuver the enemy into his own trap or ambush, eagle eyes, stealth: able to find a way past enemy lines
Weapons of choice:
*Cheytac .408 cal sniper rifle able to blast a hole through a wall at 100 yards (just exaggeration im not sure if this is actually true I just know its a badass sniper rifle)
*Remington Model 870 pump action combat shotgun meant for close quarters combat |
49,509 | 1,336 | 3 | 386 | 332 | Kin sat slumped against the wall in shock. He couldn't bear to look at the bodies of the ones he lost. He just couldn't believe they were dead. Nathan, June, Turner, Mel, they trusted him with their lives. He was supposed to protect them. He should have protected them! He DID protect them! Then why are they dead?
Kin's head sunk into his arms as he curled up in a ball. He closed his eyes, silent tears breaking through and spattering onto his jeans. In his head, a chorus whispered the same words again and again like a curse: "You failed them. You failed them. You. Failed. Them." | Name: Kin
Real Name: Keith Wyatt
Age: 17
Appearance: Caucasian, 180cm, 80kg, toned body. Grey hairs coming out, looks 10 years older than he is. Has perpetual bags under his eyes.
He wears Kevlar under a heavy jacket, denim jeans and construction steel-toe boots
Faction: The Forgotten
Personality: Everybody knows Kin the guard. The one that that patrols the place far more than he needs to. The one that reflexively grips his weapon if he hears a gunshot in the distance. The one that looked down the length of a raider's gun barrel, pushed it to one side and dislocated the raider's shoulder as he pinned the poor bastard to the ground. Despite this, so long as you're on good terms with him, he is possibly one of the most dependable and protective people you'll meet. The Forgotten is his home, and he will fight to his last breath defending it and everyone in it. He's loosened up in the past years, but you'll still be hard-pressed to find him smiling, or even laughing at anything.
Equipment: Remington 870 Shotgun (max. 7 shells), Kevlar vest, binoculars, makeshift spear.
Skills: Shooting, endurance, strength.
Other: He is suspicious of anything that could possibly present a threat to his home, and is a little jumpy, as a result. |
49,510 | 1,336 | 4 | 69 | 678 | Though the red-faced scientist averted his eyes, as he was bound to, the hatred within was so vibrant that it was almost tangible. Alice smiled, the expression genuine for the first time in weeks. The stuttering fool before her was exactly the type of man who valued his pride above all else, and who could not accept being the subordinate of a child. But, here, with guards all around him, he had little choice; he would submit to her authority or his own corpse would be the one used to fulfill his request.
"You must see the wisdom of my work, Oracle," said the fool, barely able to contain his rage. Alice steeped her hands in front of her, her eyes flickering back and forth with the emeralds and sapphires dangling from her bracelets. "If we are to have any hope to overcome this virus, we must run experiments, and to experiment, I need bodies."
"Let's be honest with each other, Mr. Leary," said Alice, directing her gaze to meet the scientist's. "You aren't really so worried about the well being of your brethren. How old are you now? Twenty-one?" The girl's smile broadened as she absently twirled a strand of her dark hair around her finger. "You're running out of time. Soon, you very well may be the perfect live test subject!"
Dainty giggling reverberated against the walls of the old courthouse as the girl covered her mouth with one hand.
The scientist flushed, his face going redder than a beat, so red it was almost comical. "I - I'm not the only one, my lady. Is it not the purpose of Omnibus Scientia to overcome this plague?"
"Of course it is, silly," said Alice. Mr. Leary must think her an idiot to suppose such a shallow argument would sway her! "But we also have the sacred duty to preserve those who of our own who have passed. Did you forget that? So, no, of course I will not let you pillage our tombs. But there are other options, dummy!"
The scientist's fists balled, but when he spoke, it was fear that was clearest in his voice.
"Oracle...?"
"If there is one thing of which we have an abundance, it is the dead, of course," said Alice. "I do see the value in your work, of course, so how about this? I'll assign a few of my servants to go dig up the bodies of some of the unenlightened who died recently. They should work as well as anyone else, shouldn't they?"
The supplicant averted his gaze. "I... I suppose so, Oracle."
"Excellent! Now go away."
Before he could utter another word, two of Alice's elite guards grabbed the scientist by his arms and dragged him out of the room. What a pathetic creature.
"Next!" Alice called impatiently. Listening to pleas was so dull. | Name: Alice Graethem
Age: 10
Faction: Omnibus Scientia
Personality/Backstory: Long story short, Alice is a genius. At the age of six, she was zooming through advanced calculus problems at a pace that made her father's college students quiver with insecurity. However, because of her high intelligence, she was always something of a loner - children her age were so stupid it was obnoxious, and adults never understood her idea of fun. As a result, Alice grew distant from others, viewed them as inferior. They treated her like the outcast she was, and soon, Alice learned that cruelty was the only way to protect herself from the ridicule of others. After the plague wiped out her entire family, Alice decided to make a change - she would project a kind, bubbly image to the world, to endear herself to others, for she could not survive on her own. Her ruse worked all too well; before long, the marriage of her feigned innocence and ruthless intellect had given birth to companions, and, with the help of a few well placed lies designed to revive the dashed hopes of the unsuspecting, Alice turned her companions into followers, and Omnibus Scientia was formed. And, oh, the fools kept joining and joining...
Other: Alice's greatest tool is her intellect. She is useless in a fight, and relies on her followers to defend her. However, Alice does have a talent for hiding herself, when she must. She is very paranoid about what she eats and drinks out of a fear of assassins. Nonetheless, on rare occasions, she may let down her guard if offered chocolate chip cookies. |
49,511 | 1,336 | 5 | 1,761 | 2,984 | Drake nodded at Abel. "Thanks, Abe," he said. Being one of the Forgotten's leaders, it was still hard on him to see his friends and comrades hurt, let alone killed. "They'll be missed. Wherever they are now, it's better than this place."
He took a breath. "I wish there was a way to get back at those bastards. Nobody messes with us and gets away with it. Banning them from our area ain't good enough, let alone setting up a shoot-on-sight policy." | Name: Hans Drake
Age: 19
Appearance: Drake stands at 5'8", and is of a somewhat stocky build. His eyes are gray, and his short, thick locks are black in color with (permanent) red highlights. More often than not, he can be seen wearing black, and/or camouflage. He has two fashion statements: the first is a pair of black goggles with reflective gold lenses that he has strapped to his forehead. The second is a black balaclava with a fanged skull on the front in white paint.
Faction: The Forgotten
Personality: (Optional)
Notes: - Uses a military grade marksman rifle.
- Has a love of music, and keeps his iPod charged on a constant basis.
- Drake considers The Forgotten his family, and will go to any length to protect or avenge them. |
49,512 | 1,336 | 6 | 220 | 2,523 | Charon adjusted his coat for the ninth time. ''Omnibus Scientia''? More like Omnidork Scum. The jaded young medic made a gesture half of disgust, half of feigned pain. And he thought the scientists and tecnophytes of the old world were conceited. They had nothing on these guys. But it wasn't the day to let his actual feelings towards the faction arise. No, Charon was committed to all of Kano. All of mankind in general.
Perhaps he should've gone to the Forgotten instead. They had been hit pretty bad in a raid recently and probably needed his medical services. But well, these guys and the crazy Oracle child held some precious medical books as they were sitting atop the best libraries.
He entered what he supposed to be an "audience hall" with keen gaze and firm steps, evaluating the room and the little girl who seemed the center of it all. Surrounded by guards. Some of them with only peachy fuzz.
"Well then... well met, I'm Charon. Half of Kano has heard of me I think. I suppose you're the one in charge of the faction, miss." He paused.
"I heard you have some good quality medical books lying around. If I could get some reads, that would be extremely helpful." The medic droned. "I can pay you with medical services. Those are rare nowadays." He replied the same sales pitch he did for all factions.
And then he remembered something, and patted his pockets. He had heard this rumour concerning this particular leader. About a secret weapon quite effective against her. He let out an "Aha!" cheer when he produced a (surprisingly) unexpired small plastic bag of chocolate chip cookies.
Gotta thank those Coyote scavengers for paying my medical care with the stuff they found in the wrecked gas station.
"Yeah, you can keep the bag of cookies too." He added nonchalantly. | Name:Charles D. Ronnington, M.D. (self appointed) AKA Charon
Age: 22
Faction:Straggler, To Be Determined.
Personality: Charles appears at first an even tempered individual with a flawless work ethic, a rare throwback to how life was before the Virus. Charles doesn't compromise on human lives, and he tries to live and let live the best way he can in this world, offering guidance as perhaps one of the last -adults- this world has seen. However, cracks in his psyche are apparent. Charles has just lost too many things to the Virus to remain unaffected, and his inability to fight it burns him from the inside out. He's single-mindedly determined to find a cure or breakthrough to such an ailment.
Backstory: Charles was a humble medical student who was barely 19 when the outbreak started. As the plague overpowered the vast majority of adults and depleted the medical ranks aswell, Charles was soon fielded, despite his relative youth and lack of experience. Fully exploiting his resistance to the virus, he volunteered to deal with many afflicted patients, despite the obvious risk of infection. Seniors, children, all died in his hands without him unable to do anything about it. Yet he still lived. And he kept stubbornly refusing to ever give up.
By the time the plague had reshaped Kano, Charles was already a seasoned field medic, but one terribly broken and in grief. Taking the nickname of "Charon", the ferryman of the dead, as a self-parody of his ghastly patient record, he shouldered on, still determined to maintain the one little piece of medical expertise that the Virus was unable to exterminate, himself.
Other: Charon has been infected a grand total of 12 times during his tenure as field medic. As such, he's adquired a great degree of resistance to the illness even if he's past the assumed safe age of infection. He's familiar with many of the workings of the old world, specially in the way of medical expertise and equipment. Charon is also rather fit, and he has a decent left hook when the situation calls for it, but he's not a master martial artist. He has surgical precision when using blades, but it's more useful for proper healing than fighting. He usually wears a portable medkit in his backpack, as well as sample recollection material. He can drive decently, and he's managed to keep a motorbike up and running to this point. |
49,513 | 1,336 | 7 | 1,576 | 358 | Kim Marie
Kim stood by the graves. Shabby places of rest, but the best that could be arranged in current circumstances. Abel and Drake were murmuring two halves of a psalm, like paired bookends that bracketed a eulogy that evaded words and construction.
Turning her gaze to the crosses that marked the fallen, Kim wondered what it must feel like beneath layers of packed dirt. She had been present at the raid and attack. Her body could have easily joined the seven that already lay. She considered the prospect of her death - none too strange. How she had thrown her shoulder into the fight and retaliated with military precision and near-suicidal vigour, marching like a soldier into Death's open arms, only to have them rescinded from her.
Juxtaposed besides Drake and Abel, and their wrenching hearts, Kim felt alien, and so she turned away from the graves to leave. The loss of seven lives was a heavy blow to morale and manpower - she would not deny. Yet she could not muster the sorrow to grieve for them. They had fought and died on the battlefield, defending all the Forgotten had left in the world. One day, Kim would traverse the same path.
She came across Kin, huddled in the foetal position in quiet, palpable despair. Kin topped a hundred and eighty centimetres, but standing before the boy, Kim towered over him. She gazed down at him, with a peculiar expression wiped carefully blank. People talked often, and she knew what they thought of her - this curiously strange, grim robot. She was, however, far from blind to some of the nuances of human emotion, sighted enough to say the truth she thought he deserved to hear, in a flattened voice that broached no argument. "You did the best anyone could have to keep them alive. I hope you know that."
The boy was tough, hardened and lined, aged beyond his years. He was fearsome to stand against, a dedicated guard who laid down his life for his new community, and who rained hell on any who dared trespass the Forgotten. Of good men, Kim did not know many. But Kin - he was not a bad man. He had the makings of a heart Kim had imagined impossible to find anymore in this new world, encased in a tempered body and mind.
Backing herself up the wall, Kim slid down the texture of brick to sprawl her legs next to Kin. She thought of the foot-soldiers in World War Two - trapped in the runnels and trenches they had dug for themselves; taking their meals and rest together; standing shoulder-to-shoulder crossing fire with a faceless enemy; entertaining promises and fantasies of leaving the war zone behind, so that they may bear with the bloodshed of the present - and clapped Kin on the shoulder, in a show of solidarity. | Name:
Kim Marie
Age:
18
Faction:
The Forgotten
Personality:
Before the infection, Kim was a happy-go-lucky girl. The youngest and only daughter in a family of reasonably affluent means, there was little she had to worry for. She was clever enough, and got good grades, occasionally topping her class in the good years.
But she came to the Forgotten a shell of who she had been. At the start, she was just a scared, shaking fifteen-year-old, who quaked in her Converse sneakers. Now, she is nothing if not quiet. You would have to pry her lips open for conversation, and her replies are often grunts, or monosyllabic. She’s a person of few words, Kim is, and sullen. She would make a good soldier; sometimes, she stands like she’s carved of marble, still enough to convince flies to land on her. Even then, she does not move. She takes orders, if they’re yelled at her, or passed under a breath. Enlist her into a turf war and she’ll throw herself into the battle, frontline or no. People have whispered rumours about her, but just because she is close to mute, she’s not deaf. She knows some of them think she’s cold-blooded. She’s heard gossip that she kills squirrels for fun – ridiculous, there are hardly enough around for that anymore. It’s strange though, she could embark on a mission with almost suicidal determination. But the moment she is attacked, she lunges forward screaming, fighting ruthlessly, tooth and claw, her way back to life. Once, when she was out on a personal scavenge, a Scorp jumped her. They scuffled, but it was Kim who left with nothing but a bloody lip and crooked tooth, and the nameless Scorp lying in a pool of growing blood.
Backstory: Kim was fifteen when the outbreak struck. With one fell blow, she lost mother, father, and twin brothers. For two weeks, she sealed the windows and locked the doors and grieved. She barely ate. In the bubble of her home while the world wreaked havoc outside the walls, time was not sanctioned to pass, as she haunted the halls like the ghosts her family had become.
One day Kim opened the door after someone had been banging on it for five minutes straight, to reveal an old friend on the other side. Josephina forced herself in and locked the door behind her back. She was bleeding from a cut above her temple, but she managed to propel herself into Kim’s arms and almost knock her over. Perhaps it was the way warm blood dripped onto Kim’s back and shoulder, or the sensation of heat and flesh under her hands, but it was enough to pull her back into the present, and do for Josephina what she had had no opportunity to do for her family. Kim cleaned the wound and wrapped Josephina up; Josephina made sure Kim had enough sustenance and brought her back from the brink of a wasted death. She told Kim about her short stint with the Gamers, that she had abandoned when fights for glory and bullshit started taking place. She had tales about a faction they could both go to, and live out the rest of the apocalypse back-to-back, arm-in-arm.
Kim had to admit the prospect of having someone else to live for was attractive.
When they were both well, Josephina led them out the door for the last time, the two of them laden down with all the supplies they could carry. She had heard that the Forgotten were stationed in a shopping district, and that was where they went. But on the way, they encountered Coyotes, who fell on them like a tsunami wave, pouring in from all sides. Armed with bricks, shovels, and pitchforks, they descended upon the two girls.
Kim fought back, scratching and kicking at hands that tried to fall on her. Eventually, she wrenched a hammer out of one Coyote’s hands, and began to beat her way out. She broke elbows and collarbones and the fingers of someone who had been holding a gun. He dropped it. But not before a shot rang out and Kim heard a quiet exhale of breath from behind her.
Death never loses its flavour. At least, it hadn’t in the first three weeks. Even though the population had been decimated, and the streets were still littered with errant corpses no one had bothered to clean up, the children from The Coyotes weren’t acquainted with murder. But as they scurried like kids about to be told on, and she crawled to Josephina - whose blood was flowing in a steady free stream from the gunshot wound over her heart - Kim felt she could kill someone right there and then. Or had she already?
She stayed there for a long time, Josephina’s head cradled in her lap. She watched those eyes empty until they were as blank as the sky they stared up at, and the life drained from her cheeks through a hole in her chest. Kim waited for a deathbed acquittal, for the Coyotes to return with whooping calls and an axe to cleave her neck clean through. But neither ever came. Josephina died quietly, the wind whistled hollowly around them, and the blame for her last friend’s death sat heavily on Kim’s shoulders.
Kim picked up the pistol – ill-gotten gains, that made her feel sick to the stomach – and the bag Josephina had been carrying. With each step feeling like lead, and each breath like a knife in the heart, Kim found her way to the Forgotten.
She never spoke Josephina’s name again.
Other:
A mean grappler. She can defend herself, even on the ground.
Owns a pistol, and scavenges for ammunition
Will use anything within sight to fight. Bottles, knives, and sticks are all fair-game
Light on her feet, and proficient in sneaking quietly in the cover of shadows
Has been with the Forgotten for three years, is aware she could be considered disposable and has no qualms about how trivially her life could be used by authority as a means to an end (i.e. in a turf war) |
49,514 | 1,336 | 8 | 2,126 | 2,875 | Alphonsé Akiyama
In front of The Forgotten's Base
"Psalm 119:105, Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path." Rōnin lightly brushed the ruined brick wall of the abandoned building, dust and dirt falling to the ground. He travelled alone mostly, paying no attention to the outside world of the wasteland except for the occasional visit to The Gamers. He never stayed in one place, moving from building to building, collecting as much water and medicine as he could. You could survive two weeks without food but only three days without water. That was what killed the young ones in the wasteland.
'O simple ones, learn prudence; O fools, learn sense.' Alphonsé thought grimly, stepping over the corpse of a rotting child. He gripped his trusted AR-15 tightly in his hands, eyes scanning the road in front of him for any animals. Damn animals carried the Virus, killing most of the adult population. He had kept track of the time, the man realised that as a 22 year old, he was one of the oldest people in the wasteland.
Alphonsé spent most of his time contemplating his previous life, the horrors and abuse that came with fighting in a damn street gang. '2 years in prison and I still didn't learn.' He paused to stare at his callous hands, the famous four fingered hand stared at him back. Shaking his head, he looked up to see a pawn shop up ahead. It was the base of the so called "Forgotten." They were conducting a funeral for a few of their people, killed by the Scorps. In his opinion, the gangs of Kano were full of wannabes, people who have never climbed up the ranks of a street gang before. Bunch of murderers and rapists who grouped together for mutual survival.
Rōnin walked forward slowly, making sure to his hat to cover his face. He was pretty famous out here, known for his bloody gladiator matches and as one of the longest living loners. He loosened his grip on the rifle and used the strap to sling it on his back, right hand holding the hilt of the gūnto sword. He walked to the front of their pawn shop confidently, holding a cross in his left hand. He knelt down on his knees, laying the cross down in front of him.
And there, he prayed. He prayed for the dead and dying. He prayed for the wounded. He was known for these kinds of acts, praying publicly for the dead. He was known to be the "Wandering Priest", although he wasn't qualified to be one and his sins weighed him down too much. He looked up at Shiba and made the sign of the cross before turning around and walking away. The cross he left was one of dozens in his possession | Name:
Alphonsé Akiyama
Alias:
Rōnin
Age:
22
Appearance:
Alphonsé appears to be one of the more crazier individuals you will ever meet. He is covered, from chest downwards, in tattoos signifying gang relations, drug use, crimes done in the past and scary visages of death. His face is kept clean and sharp, shaven with not a single tattoo. His hollow green eyes are dark and seem to sink into his face. Unruly black hair is safely tucked in to the hat he wears almost constantly. Scratches and scars adorn his body, wounds old and fresh. However, the scariest thing about the Akiyama is not his tattoos or scars. It is his smile. His smile is manic and crazy, a smile fit only for a predator. It almost looks comical on someone as lean as him but it always promises bloody murder.
Faction:
Straggler
Personality:
Rōnin is a more silent character, seemingly contemplating past conquests and failures. He almost never talks outside the battlefield, his face looking resigned and almost pained. If he does need to talk, he communicates in hand signals and grunts. As one of the oldest people in the wasteland, he has seen things that would've mentally scarred many. Very few know of his mental disorders. The quietness and withdrawal is from the drugs to suppress his bipolar and schizophrenic tendencies. He scours the wasteland for them, scared of what would happen if the drugs ran out. Though no one knows it, the Akiyama is actually a very religiously connected person and will often recite quotes from the bible out of nowhere. This god-fearing persona may be due to his fear of going crazy.
In battlefield however, his other side takes over. Alphonsé becomes an absolute monster, shooting and cleaving with manic precision. He is crazed and in a berserker like state. He screams, howls and shouts curses at the enemy and sometimes at friends. His desires take over and he will not rest until the last enemy falls to the ground, pelted with bullets or beheaded by sword.
Backstory:
To be revealed
Other:
Customised AR-15
-Collapsable Stock
-Extended Magazine (~45 rounds)
-Sound Suppressor
-5 Magazines
Colt Python
-40 bullets
Gūnto Sword
Swiss Army Knife |
49,515 | 1,336 | 9 | 1,570 | 4,066 | Marion had been placed at the counter of the pawn shop during the funeral procession. She made note to visit the grave site later in the day, but for now she had a duty to watch over things from raiders and looters alike. It wasn't an unlikely thought for The Forgotten to be kicked while they were down, so despite their grieving they had to remain strong.
Her dark brown eyes were sunken, tired. A blank expression plastered on the usual cheerful girl's lips. Sounds of sobbing, and gasps of breath from several children could be heard scattered around the compound. It was enough to make even the hardest soul feel compassion. Mari hadn't lost anyone close to her, but everyone in The Forgotten was still like family, blood by choice.
Suddenly from the store front a man came into view, Marion's stubby fingers gripped the side of the counter top watching as the renowned 'Wandering Priest' came into view and placed a cross on the ground in front of the building. Mari's eyes gazed up to the ceiling, knowing Shiba had been on watch for the same shift as her and hoping he was holding up alright. She knew he was tough, and probably drowning his sorrows in liquor rather than the alternative.
The man walked away as quickly as he came.
Mari's grip around the counter edge loosened and slipped onto a more relaxed position on her thighs.
It would be a very long day. | Name:
Marion Dwight. But most call her Mari.
Age:
16
Faction:
The Forgotten
Personality:
Clever. Idealistic. Lazy. Proud. Humorous.
Backstory:
Marion is the type of girl to steal borrow your jacket and try to sell it to you a week later. She's clever and crafty, making her a prime saleswoman at the pawn shop. Though she is young, she has a good understanding of how people work and isn't afraid to tell you exactly what she knows and how well she knows it. Unfortunately, to get this far, you have to get up and off your ass, something Mari often struggles with every morning.
It is not rare to find Mari cracking jokes or playing pranks on people during down time. Which in turn has caused many fights to break out. She isn't the best fighter, but she can wrestle with the best of them. Before the outbreak of the virus, Mari was in between a juvenile detention center and an alternative school in North Minneapolis, trying to get on the right track. She made her way to Kano with the group of kids from the juvenile center, but when things became overly violent and tense, she left the group and eventually found her way to her current sanction. She's thankful for their hospitality, even though she doesn't always show it.
Other:
Skills:
- Sales
- Cooking
- Getting a smile out of Kin
Equipment:
- Has tons of winter gear that she has stolen
- Usually has a cigarette or blunt behind her ear
Weapons:
- Pocket knife
Quirks:
- Knows how to braid, dread, and cut hair |
49,516 | 1,336 | 10 | 1,118 | 7,627 | Shiba took a swig of his scotch before he saw someone get close to the perimeter. Shiba immediately went into defensive mode and put him in his sights. One wrong move and the guy would have a bullet between the eyes. However on closer inspection Shiba saw that he was the wandering priest that he has heard about. He made sure to watch him as he left the cross nearby and simply walked away, he waited till the wanderer was out of his rifle range before giving a loud whistle trying to get Mari's attention hey he dropped the cross, mind going over to pick it up. Don't worry I got you covered from up here Shiba said since he couldn't go down to get it himself since he was on watch and the others were still mourning. She was the closest to it and he thought it was a nice gesture and shouldn't be left out with the other corpses out their. | Name: Shiba Akabane
Age: just turned 18
but his necklace is his dads dog tag
Faction: The forgotten
Personality: an adaptive person he will always try to negotiate first and try diplomacy before he lets the enemy into his trap, he always has a back up plan to his back up plan. Shiba wants to live and figure things out but honestly but he will always try to figure out a way to survive and speed up his hopes of being a father. Shiba while seemly cold to others actually has a warm heart and has a soft spot for kids. Shiba is loyal to his group and will remain loyal until asked to perform something....atrocious then he will not perform it and may even quit if the issue is pressed.
Backstory: January 13th Friday evening, today is Angelo birthday. Yeah happy birthday and all that right? well Angelo just turned 18 and you know what he did to celebrate? He found a nice bottle of scotch and cracked it open, oh don't judge. You know what else he did to celebrate? no he didn't have a birthday cake he didn't go to the fair or anything like that, he spent the rest of his day taking pot shots at a few gang members. Surprised? well you shouldn't be. This is the end of the world as we know it and right now all Angelo bothers to do is drink and kill you would think an 18 year old killing others would be a traumatizing experience but in reality he has already accepted it as the norm ever since all the adults were killed off in some weird way. Angelo grieved for his parents when it happened but what else could he do, he played enough video games to know that the end of the world meant he needed to find a way to survive. Thankfully his father was in the army so he had a good stash of weapons and military rations and he played enough video games and went to the shooting range with his dad enough to figure out which end of the gun to point.
Angelo spent his time making his home into a makeshift fort placing all his furniture out towards the windows and doors to keep himself locked in and he figure out how to stretch the rations for a good while before they dried up on him which meant he had to get moving and find some survivors or at least supplies so he could head back home. The odd thing was that when Angelo went into town he saw that other people his age were still alive nobody old enough to have a grey hair mind you but those of us who were still going through puberty or just finished. Angelo fully expected a zombie horde like in the movies but instead their was gang violence. Angelo made sure to keep away from them he wanted nothing to do with them. Angelo looked around but what else could he expect other then to find out the gangs looted everything so he decided to just lone wolf it.
Angelo wandered around with his gun taking shelter in whatever place looked defensible he tried to go to his fathers army base but it seemed to be taken over by a gang so their was no luck their. Whenever Angelo tried to trade with others he seemed like he was making some sort of ambush and was immediately shot on site, thankfully Angelo had enough sense to wear a bulletproof vest and his dads old army helmet. So Angelo carried guns with no food or water. Along the way he sold a few pieces to some loners like him for food and whatever else they could spare to keep himself alive but soon enough he was starting to starve, he still had the guns to trade but no food. eventually he found the pawn shop and he almost pleaded to trade and when they did they asked Angelo if his was part of gang and once Angelo explained how appalled he was by them they gave him a hand and said that he could join them. Angelo took their hand and never looked back which brings us to today, drinking some scotch and shooting some gang bangers that thought they could steal from their shop. happy birthday....
Skills: strategic mindset able to outmaneuver the enemy into his own trap or ambush, eagle eyes, stealth: able to find a way past enemy lines
Weapons of choice:
*Cheytac .408 cal sniper rifle able to blast a hole through a wall at 100 yards (just exaggeration im not sure if this is actually true I just know its a badass sniper rifle)
*Remington Model 870 pump action combat shotgun meant for close quarters combat |
49,517 | 1,336 | 11 | 1,214 | 18 | Fox, personally, was not overly fond of having to hunt specific people down. Especially for someone else. But for someone like him it was easy work, aside from the blood. He liked traveling and spending time on his own and got quite the thrill from carrying out an execution sentence in someones place, plus the reward for returning with their head or some defining mark of theirs was definitely worth it. The reward was often good, depending on who it was for. Even if it didn't reap anything physically useful, it did leave you with some good standing and reliability in their eyes- all of which could lead to better things down the line. Once again, though, depending on who it was.
Today was not one Fox particularly cared to really think about. It had been nearly a week and he had been hunting after some strange doctor fellow, but he hadn't had even the slightest bit of luck finding them. Instead, he had ran into several Scorp members while they rested. Feeling particularly irritated from his lack of fortune while scavenging and 'hunting', they made for the perfect targets to release some of his irritation. And to top it all off, he managed to leave most of their supplies blood free, which was always a good bonus if you were planning on pawning off their junk or trading it for better goods elsewhere. Which was exactly what he was planning to do.
Groaning very quietly, Fox steadily made his way towards the pawnshop, four different bags in tow. Three rather large dufflebags were slung over his chest and rested against his back while another one was resting against his right hip. All of the bags seemed rather full and probably very heavy- but the one that rested upon his right hip was the most concerning. Well, maybe not concerning, but it was not pretty too look at. The bottom of the green bag was practically stained a permanent black-brown color, it actually dripped dark red liquid onto his pantleg. Not that he was giving it much notice while he stepped over some trash and the alike- not giving much attention to his surroundings.
Aside from the blood that ran down his right leg from the bag of questionable contents, he had bits of it splattered elsewhere too. Some of it stained his pale blond hair, a bit of it on his face, but most of all there was still evidence of it on his arms. It looked like he had tried to wash it away at some point prior, but not well enough. There were still smears all over the leather that covered over his arms.
Growing closer to the pawnshop, Fox quickly lifted up both hands in 'surrender' and 'I come in peace'. At least the best he could, considering the extra weight he was carrying around with him at the moment and the fact that his entire right side was just a bit too stiff. He spotted a familiar figure leaving, but he was not going to bother trying to converse with him right now.
Hands still raised as he drew closer, Fox gave one small wave of one of his raised hands, a somewhat friendly smile forming onto his face- like he hadn't just been killing some people. "Open?" He called towards the shop, coming to a stop beside a pile of rubble- just in case. He wasn't always welcome in places while carrying body parts for bounty and trade, but ya' know, he wasn't willing to leave their heads behind. If anything, he knew his old friends The Coyote's would love to do some more business with him. But they were farther away than the pawnshop, he didn't want to have to travel that far just for some supplies he would waste in the time it took for him to get back to the Arena. But hey! Today he didn't just have body parts! He had other stuff too, a whole three dufflebags worth. | Name: 'The Fox'
Real Name: Unknown
Age: 20
Appearance: 5'4"(164CM), 122lbs(55KG). Pale blond hair, tanned skin with obvious tan-lines around clothing edges. Rather lithe with some impressive upper-arm strength. Scars cover his hands, in very thin lines and some thicker jagged cuts. They mostly cover over the second joints of all of his fingers, around his wrists, the palms of his hands, and on the outside of each hand. A lot of them connect and cross over each other, a few places are even purely scar-tissue. On the right side of his head, trailing from the corner of his right eye and traveling back into his hairline, a crude and jagged scar can be found.
Faction:Ex-Coyote (By Personal Choice), Currently a Straggler
Personality: Fickle with loyalty and adaptive, Fox is someone purely driven by self interests that change more often than the weather. He does not trust anyone as far as he can throw them and lets be honest here, he isn't built for throwing human bodies very far. While friendly and respectful to an extent, he really doesn't get close with people unless he becomes curious- which is rather rare. He is easily bored with 'common' things and it isn't uncommon for him to throw a stick in the middle of someone's plans to see more of a reaction or to cause trouble. If anything, he likes to test people, he likes to watch people squirm. And in the same hand, while he does enjoy causing trouble for others, he always has some way of keeping himself out of it most of the time. At least enough to the point that he cannot be directly blamed for it. Fox, as a few who have met him before or maybe heard rumor, has absolutely no empathy for other people or any other living thing. While it doesn't seem like he was always this way, it is how he is now and because of it he has been known to be downright monstrous when people try to double-cross him or put his observations/plans on hold. He isn't above killing someone- or entire small groups- that get in his way.
He really isn't all that bad though! Somewhere... deep down inside. Probably.
Backstory: Fox, despite what he says at times, cannot remember anything before the Virus or the first year or so after it spread. The most that can be recalled it something along the lines of 'The Coyotes found me and gave me a name and a purpose' and 'Then I got bored and moved on to greener pastures'. Someone (or Someones) within the Coyote's took Amnesiac Fox under their care for a time and within that short time managed to create a monster they lost control of.
Other:
Clothing;
Fox wears typical scavenger garb. He has a very thick jacket that bundles up around his hips with a few places where it has been patched, a single massive front pocket that has been modified to hold various things. Each arm has a special 'wrap' of thick cloth that is cut out at the elbows to allow for perfectly free movement, it is held in place with straps and buckles on his upper arms and forearms. Covering his hands most often are a pair of heavy duty gloves, a mixture of cloth, leather, and small metal plates individually put in place to protect the pads of his hands and the sides of them. He seems to have several pairs of these gloves. Going down the rest of him, he has a very heavy-duty belt that is always tied securely around his waist. Attached to this belt is several small bags and pouches, filled with all sorts of things he uses and or has collected. His pants are well worn, the knees have been purposely cut and a few other places have been as well to allow for the best possible movement for the wearer. Though they are also patched in several places as well. As far as footwear goes, Fox only ever wears a pair of black combat boots that lace all the way up to the middle of his calf. They are old seeming and have been well used, nails have been inserted into certain parts of the bottom of the shoe. They seem pretty sharp and dangerous.
Weaponry;
As an Ex-Coyote scavenger, Fox is never without some kind of weapon. He has an array of pocket knives and daggers of the sorts. But his most well used 'weapon' is wire. Somewhere on his person he carries at least three different kinds of wire. Some of it is simple and basic metal wire, but mostly it is razor wire. Most of the scars on his hands are from having used said wire long before he got his metal-plated gloves.
Is suffering from head trauma. If you ask him who he was before the Virus, he wouldn't be able to tell you.
Despite his overly violent tendencies and kill record, Fox is utterly terrified of blood and will actively avoid it if possible.
Perfectly able to survive on his own with the barest of things, he is a great scavenger.
He left the Coyote's on good terms, but they are still actively seeking him to return. |
49,518 | 1,336 | 12 | 69 | 678 | Alice held her hand in front of her mouth in a token attempt to stifle a yawn as another older looking man approached her. She leaned on the table, chin resting on one palm, showing no emotion save through the reflexive twitching of one eyebrow at her latest supplicant's irreverent tone. According to the visitor, he was some famous doctor. Whatever. It didn't really matter whether he was telling the truth or not; he wasn't asking for very much compared to some of her recent visitors.
The Oracle's apathy melted away when the newcomer revealed a bag.
Cookies, just like Mama used to make! How long had it been since she'd had any of those? A couple of months, at the least! Of course, these cookies were the generic, store bought kind, a far cry from the heavenly ones she had loved so much. But, still, they were cookies!
Alice coughed, realizing that she was now sitting up straight, her eyes a bit wide. A few of her guards shot her nervous, sidelong glances, as if shocked by her behavior. Whatever! They wouldn't understand - all of the cookies were for her, after all!
"You, take that and run the tests on it," said Alice to one of her servants. Then, she turned her gaze to the man who called himself Charon. "As long as those are free from impurities, I suppose I can grant your request," said Alice, careful to keep the excitement out of her voice. "You will not be permitted to take the books out of our libraries, of course, and I warn you, you will be watched, so be a good boy. Now, if you have no further inquiries, you are dismissed." She shot a furtive glance toward the servant carrying her treats. He had better hurry up - if he didn't, her mouth was bound to start watering, and that would look very unOraclelike. | Name: Alice Graethem
Age: 10
Faction: Omnibus Scientia
Personality/Backstory: Long story short, Alice is a genius. At the age of six, she was zooming through advanced calculus problems at a pace that made her father's college students quiver with insecurity. However, because of her high intelligence, she was always something of a loner - children her age were so stupid it was obnoxious, and adults never understood her idea of fun. As a result, Alice grew distant from others, viewed them as inferior. They treated her like the outcast she was, and soon, Alice learned that cruelty was the only way to protect herself from the ridicule of others. After the plague wiped out her entire family, Alice decided to make a change - she would project a kind, bubbly image to the world, to endear herself to others, for she could not survive on her own. Her ruse worked all too well; before long, the marriage of her feigned innocence and ruthless intellect had given birth to companions, and, with the help of a few well placed lies designed to revive the dashed hopes of the unsuspecting, Alice turned her companions into followers, and Omnibus Scientia was formed. And, oh, the fools kept joining and joining...
Other: Alice's greatest tool is her intellect. She is useless in a fight, and relies on her followers to defend her. However, Alice does have a talent for hiding herself, when she must. She is very paranoid about what she eats and drinks out of a fear of assassins. Nonetheless, on rare occasions, she may let down her guard if offered chocolate chip cookies. |
49,519 | 1,336 | 13 | 1,570 | 4,066 | A sharp whistle could be heard from the ceiling as Marion took full attention. The steady voice of Shiba called down, "Hey, he dropped the cross, mind going over to pick it up. Don't worry I got you covered from up here." he stated, and Marion called back in return, "I got it!" Her voice was smooth and low like a woman that knew exactly what she was doing at all times.
Walking around the counter quickly, she went out the doors and squatted down into the dirt where the cross was laid. Looking at it curiously, she dare not touch it yet without a good examination. It appeared to be relatively harmless, a basic cross. "Wonder why he'd leave a lower case T on our front lawn!" Marion called up, teasining inappropriately to Shiba before picking it up and examining it closer. Her jokes were in bad taste, and she often wondered if Shiba would just shoot her in the back of the head one of these days. She turned the cross over and over in her hands. She would give this to Drake when he returned, knowing that he out of anyone would appreciate the gift.
Very suddenly her almond eyes glanced up to be met with a not very tall boy (Mari was around 5ft 2), with his hands raised up. Marion's mouth gaped, as she pulled the cross close to her chest. "Open?" the boy called, and Marion nodded her head, the mess of brown dreads that adorned her head shaking with it. Taking a better look at the boy and his belongings, Mari couldn't help but notice the bag seeping with blood. "We don't take human parts over here." Marion stated as nonchalant as one could say that statement. She made a little smirk, "Not so good to eat once the maggots get em'" she played, looking up at Shiba and placing three of fingers in the air. This signaled that if she didn't hear anything from them within three minutes, something had gone wrong.
"Follow me." Marion cooed, jamming the cross into the side of her black boots, fitting tight against the cuff of her jeans as she made her way around the counter. Leaning down she picked up a very abused table cloth and laid it across the counter. This was to have an easy clean up if the trader's items were on the messier side. Which from the looks of the bags, they were going to be. "Alright, let's see what you got, and you may even get something back in return." she patted the counter, urging the boy to empty out his belongings. | Name:
Marion Dwight. But most call her Mari.
Age:
16
Faction:
The Forgotten
Personality:
Clever. Idealistic. Lazy. Proud. Humorous.
Backstory:
Marion is the type of girl to steal borrow your jacket and try to sell it to you a week later. She's clever and crafty, making her a prime saleswoman at the pawn shop. Though she is young, she has a good understanding of how people work and isn't afraid to tell you exactly what she knows and how well she knows it. Unfortunately, to get this far, you have to get up and off your ass, something Mari often struggles with every morning.
It is not rare to find Mari cracking jokes or playing pranks on people during down time. Which in turn has caused many fights to break out. She isn't the best fighter, but she can wrestle with the best of them. Before the outbreak of the virus, Mari was in between a juvenile detention center and an alternative school in North Minneapolis, trying to get on the right track. She made her way to Kano with the group of kids from the juvenile center, but when things became overly violent and tense, she left the group and eventually found her way to her current sanction. She's thankful for their hospitality, even though she doesn't always show it.
Other:
Skills:
- Sales
- Cooking
- Getting a smile out of Kin
Equipment:
- Has tons of winter gear that she has stolen
- Usually has a cigarette or blunt behind her ear
Weapons:
- Pocket knife
Quirks:
- Knows how to braid, dread, and cut hair |
49,520 | 1,336 | 14 | 1,118 | 7,627 | Shiba watched her as she went out to grab the cross then make a bad joke about it being a lower case t, honestly those jokes were just bad but Shiba couldn't blame her for trying to be upbeat. However once Shiba saw someone else come into view he took aim at them but saw that they came in peace to trade. The Mari made a signal saying to give her 3 minutes with the customer and he nodded. He went to his watch and started the timer, it was an old digital watch but it served its purpose and Shiba started the clock once they were both inside to start trading. Shiba then switched to his Remington shotgun ready to jump down and point the shotgun at their customer. Shiba will be damned if he lets anyone else get killed today so Shiba was ready to stick this right between the eyes and make the customers head explode.....if he didn't trade anyway.... | Name: Shiba Akabane
Age: just turned 18
but his necklace is his dads dog tag
Faction: The forgotten
Personality: an adaptive person he will always try to negotiate first and try diplomacy before he lets the enemy into his trap, he always has a back up plan to his back up plan. Shiba wants to live and figure things out but honestly but he will always try to figure out a way to survive and speed up his hopes of being a father. Shiba while seemly cold to others actually has a warm heart and has a soft spot for kids. Shiba is loyal to his group and will remain loyal until asked to perform something....atrocious then he will not perform it and may even quit if the issue is pressed.
Backstory: January 13th Friday evening, today is Angelo birthday. Yeah happy birthday and all that right? well Angelo just turned 18 and you know what he did to celebrate? He found a nice bottle of scotch and cracked it open, oh don't judge. You know what else he did to celebrate? no he didn't have a birthday cake he didn't go to the fair or anything like that, he spent the rest of his day taking pot shots at a few gang members. Surprised? well you shouldn't be. This is the end of the world as we know it and right now all Angelo bothers to do is drink and kill you would think an 18 year old killing others would be a traumatizing experience but in reality he has already accepted it as the norm ever since all the adults were killed off in some weird way. Angelo grieved for his parents when it happened but what else could he do, he played enough video games to know that the end of the world meant he needed to find a way to survive. Thankfully his father was in the army so he had a good stash of weapons and military rations and he played enough video games and went to the shooting range with his dad enough to figure out which end of the gun to point.
Angelo spent his time making his home into a makeshift fort placing all his furniture out towards the windows and doors to keep himself locked in and he figure out how to stretch the rations for a good while before they dried up on him which meant he had to get moving and find some survivors or at least supplies so he could head back home. The odd thing was that when Angelo went into town he saw that other people his age were still alive nobody old enough to have a grey hair mind you but those of us who were still going through puberty or just finished. Angelo fully expected a zombie horde like in the movies but instead their was gang violence. Angelo made sure to keep away from them he wanted nothing to do with them. Angelo looked around but what else could he expect other then to find out the gangs looted everything so he decided to just lone wolf it.
Angelo wandered around with his gun taking shelter in whatever place looked defensible he tried to go to his fathers army base but it seemed to be taken over by a gang so their was no luck their. Whenever Angelo tried to trade with others he seemed like he was making some sort of ambush and was immediately shot on site, thankfully Angelo had enough sense to wear a bulletproof vest and his dads old army helmet. So Angelo carried guns with no food or water. Along the way he sold a few pieces to some loners like him for food and whatever else they could spare to keep himself alive but soon enough he was starting to starve, he still had the guns to trade but no food. eventually he found the pawn shop and he almost pleaded to trade and when they did they asked Angelo if his was part of gang and once Angelo explained how appalled he was by them they gave him a hand and said that he could join them. Angelo took their hand and never looked back which brings us to today, drinking some scotch and shooting some gang bangers that thought they could steal from their shop. happy birthday....
Skills: strategic mindset able to outmaneuver the enemy into his own trap or ambush, eagle eyes, stealth: able to find a way past enemy lines
Weapons of choice:
*Cheytac .408 cal sniper rifle able to blast a hole through a wall at 100 yards (just exaggeration im not sure if this is actually true I just know its a badass sniper rifle)
*Remington Model 870 pump action combat shotgun meant for close quarters combat |
49,521 | 1,336 | 15 | 220 | 2,523 | Charon raised an eyebrow as the girl before him mentioned free of impurities. It was a foil-covered plastic bag. There wasn't getting anything getting inside without tampering the with the bag, and he was sure those cookies were so chock-full of preservatives and grease, the only risk they offered was their taste going stale and bland. Well, maybe being paranoid was to be expected. He nevertheless parted with the bag easily.
"Here you go." He nonchalantly said as the Oracle's supposed guards swiped the bag from his hand in a rough fashion to present it before the girl.
Charon tucked his hands in his pockets, his head tilted somewhat. "Watched, right. Well It's okay. I might need the occassional person around to hold on the pesky books and bring the ladder, I guess." He scratched his head. The nonchalant attitude and casual dismissal of the kid made him wonder. Well, some of the rumours were true. But even so, beneath that oracular set up and intellectual approach, there's a 10 year old girl still. Charon smirked. Maybe he could attempt it.
"You seem to be bored out of your mind. As if you had expired your options long time ago. Well, I -am- always recruiting. How about you help me? You could pick a thing or two, you're smart. Very smart. Probably over 150 if we were to run an IQ test on you. And I so happen to be one of the last people who experienced the Old World education."
He smiled thinly. "I'll even let you piggy ride when you're tired." | Name:Charles D. Ronnington, M.D. (self appointed) AKA Charon
Age: 22
Faction:Straggler, To Be Determined.
Personality: Charles appears at first an even tempered individual with a flawless work ethic, a rare throwback to how life was before the Virus. Charles doesn't compromise on human lives, and he tries to live and let live the best way he can in this world, offering guidance as perhaps one of the last -adults- this world has seen. However, cracks in his psyche are apparent. Charles has just lost too many things to the Virus to remain unaffected, and his inability to fight it burns him from the inside out. He's single-mindedly determined to find a cure or breakthrough to such an ailment.
Backstory: Charles was a humble medical student who was barely 19 when the outbreak started. As the plague overpowered the vast majority of adults and depleted the medical ranks aswell, Charles was soon fielded, despite his relative youth and lack of experience. Fully exploiting his resistance to the virus, he volunteered to deal with many afflicted patients, despite the obvious risk of infection. Seniors, children, all died in his hands without him unable to do anything about it. Yet he still lived. And he kept stubbornly refusing to ever give up.
By the time the plague had reshaped Kano, Charles was already a seasoned field medic, but one terribly broken and in grief. Taking the nickname of "Charon", the ferryman of the dead, as a self-parody of his ghastly patient record, he shouldered on, still determined to maintain the one little piece of medical expertise that the Virus was unable to exterminate, himself.
Other: Charon has been infected a grand total of 12 times during his tenure as field medic. As such, he's adquired a great degree of resistance to the illness even if he's past the assumed safe age of infection. He's familiar with many of the workings of the old world, specially in the way of medical expertise and equipment. Charon is also rather fit, and he has a decent left hook when the situation calls for it, but he's not a master martial artist. He has surgical precision when using blades, but it's more useful for proper healing than fighting. He usually wears a portable medkit in his backpack, as well as sample recollection material. He can drive decently, and he's managed to keep a motorbike up and running to this point. |
49,522 | 1,336 | 16 | 1,936 | 1,025 | "Any time." Abel replied, giving Drake half a smile. He stared at the ground, the dirt squished underneath his shoes, and ran a hand through his well-kempt, dark blond hair unsurely. "Well... yeah..."
Abel looked dismally at the dim, blue-gray sky, and his eyes begged it for answers as if it could tell him all he needed to know. "Everything went to hell, three years ago. Since then, nothin's ever been quite the same. Violence shouldn't be the answer, and yet here we all are. No government. No law. No enforcement. Just a bunch o' kids. If we had a government, we could order society. If we had a law, we could discourage crime. If we had enforcement, we could guarantee the other two," Abel rambled. Truth be told, without any central authority and only chaos between several struggling groups, things could only get worse. They needed something to bring unity and law to the land if they were ever to escape the cesspool.
"Those Scorps are dangerous. They were rich and powerful before everything went bad, but we're not big enough to take them alone yet." He shrugged and let out a deep sigh, and he looked around himself and spotted other members of the group, still hanging outside. "Let's go inside." Abel put an arm around his friend. "Is there anything I can do for you? To make you feel better or help you with any business?" | Name: Abel Levi Dunst
Age: 17
Faction: The Forgotten
Appearance:
Personality: Optimistic, skeptical. A strong follower of Nietzsche's philosophy and of liberalism and also a hopeless romantic. Sentimental. Borderline depressive, outwardly positive, attentive, and attention loving. Easily empathizes and sympathizes with other people. Also enjoys social contact and affection.
Backstory:
A lone, maroon Kia Spectra zipped down the I-35 thoroughfare, vacant except for a few cars wrecked or damaged on the shoulder of the road. The driver's gloved hands were steady on the wheel, and his feet were like lead on the gas pedal. He tore his eyes from the road to snag a glance at his cargo. A leather-bound journal sat in the passenger seat on top of some other books, the works of Nietzsche, the entire Hunger Games trilogy, Utilitarianism by John Stuart Mill, and Hero by Perry Moore among the pile, and a small, black suitcase occupied the backseat next to a blue, plastic tub. The driver eyed the suitcase in his rear-view mirror for a long while before he noticed something green out of the corner of his blue-gray eyes and, in one jerky motion, swerved the car back on the right path. He barely had a chance to glimpse the sign he nearly slammed into and calculated something on the top of his head.
"Minneapolis. One more hour," the driver sighed, fixing his hands on the wheel and his steely glare on the road.
Abel Dunst's trek to the North began in a quiet Texas suburb. The year was 2016, and the United States was set to vote for a new president in November. Abel would have been a freshman in high school by then. But fate had other plans. When he lost his parents, Abel became lost and depressed. He had no reason to continue living after the disease took them. They gave him a purpose. He lived to make them and his friends happy, carry the family name, succeed in his life, and reach the goals of their collective efforts. Without them, without the society that had demanded that he do so, Abel gave up all structure and desire, yet still he could never commit suicide. He didn't have the strength or nerve to end his own life. Abel remained for whatever reason no matter how much it hurt, even when everything fell apart.
That was two years ago. Abel had spent the rest of 2016 and most of 2017 in his home state. He joined a local gang with his friends and neighbors, but their policy of mercy and compassion fell to violence and madness as things grew worse and times became desperate. Conservative extremists, terrorist thugs, and sadistic rich kids took control of territories in the suburbs in bloody turf wars. The fear, bloodshed, and delusion they inspired caused so much madness and made Abel's situation so much worse. He protected his friends and fellow gang members as best he could, and his group did what it could to help those most in need. Those goals filled the gaps Abel's parents left and gave Abel's life a renewed purpose.
What tenuous stability they had for that short year obviously did not last forever. Abel helplessly watched as more kids died in what their enemies called "holy" crusades and "righteous" battles, and he struggled to keep his friends safe. When they were at the end of their rope, Abel made a decision with the hopes of helping his friends escape. One enemy faction chased him, thinking he had his friends and other crucial members of the group in tow. Secretly, Abel sent his friends off in a separate vehicle headed in a different direction while he took his personal possessions with him in his mom's dented 2008 Kia and drove north. They gave up, but Abel continued until he had less than half a gallon.
The car's tank took him to Oklahoma where he learned from another local group to siphon gas and refilled the car. They begged for him to stay, and Abel did. He lived with them for half a year, and together they expanded their turf and piled more resources. That was around the time when Abel began taking new books into his collection. When they started asking Abel more pressing questions, though, Abel became stressed. They developed a certain lunacy as they tried to pry into his personal business. They watched his interactions. Their leader in particular preached homophobia and called for the group members to watch suspicious persons closer. That included Abel. He made his plans to leave in the dead of night, and when everyone was sleeping under his watch, Abel snuck off and floored the gas pedal into the horizon.
Abel spent the next year a drifter. He floated from town to town in his Kia. He stole gas, he stored nonperishable food in his trunk, he collected more books. He did what he could to make ends meet, and he continued to write in his journals. He made sloppy calendars in them, and he wrote many stories and diary entries to pass the time when he was sleeping in his car somewhere on high alert. Most of all, Abel made sure nobody stole from him. He kept a knife at his side as he slept, and he threatened to kill or maim whoever dared to take what was his. Whether at the request of others or by his own choice, Abel joined strong groups who would protect his property and him and underdog groups who would request his aid. For what he did and who he was, Abel earned himself several nicknames and titles, like "Scribe," "Texas Guy," "Wanderer," "The Lone Ranger."
A while after he left Minneapolis, Abel came across the rural town of Kano. He cautiously entered the pawn shop claimed by the Forgotten, and they moved to tentatively accept him as one of their own. He read to them the books he collected, even getting some of the ones they were less fond of, but he neglected to share his story. Nonetheless, they were more tolerant of his sexuality and came to trust Abel more, and Abel enjoyed the hospitality and acceptance they offered him as an outsider both to Kano and society. He chose to stay with them as long as possible, even if by some irony he'd been less open about things with them. For worse or for better, Abel Levi Dunst, who wanted to preserve old knowledge into the future and establish order in the land, became one of the Forgotten.
Other:
Broad range of knowledge, high intellect.
Eccentric and impulsive.
Usually carries a knife or a homemade bow.
Book collector.
Some less obvious knowledge about survival.
Good speaker and writer. |
49,523 | 1,336 | 17 | 69 | 678 | Alice watched in horror, her cheeks growing hot, as that foolish, condescending man dared to patronize her in front of her entire court. Her eyes darted back and forth; everyone was now looking at her, their expressions ranging from excited expectation to fear. She was not know among her followers for her mercy; the last time someone had dared challenge her, she had made them the live subjects of a dissection. She hadn't watched personally, of course. She hated the sight of blood; it made her squeamish. But, this time, she had to make an exception. She couldn't afford to look weak in front of all these people. He had offered her a piggy back ride!
Two of her guards moved to block off the doors, assault weapons in hand, before Alice even spoke. Everyone knew what was coming - all that remained was the execution.
"KIll him!" said Alice, her voice coming out shrill. Immediately, all of the guards' weapons were trained on the doctor, and in a moment, they would fire. Alice bit her lip imperceptibly. She couldn't look away. This moron had earned his demise, and it was her duty to observe it. | Name: Alice Graethem
Age: 10
Faction: Omnibus Scientia
Personality/Backstory: Long story short, Alice is a genius. At the age of six, she was zooming through advanced calculus problems at a pace that made her father's college students quiver with insecurity. However, because of her high intelligence, she was always something of a loner - children her age were so stupid it was obnoxious, and adults never understood her idea of fun. As a result, Alice grew distant from others, viewed them as inferior. They treated her like the outcast she was, and soon, Alice learned that cruelty was the only way to protect herself from the ridicule of others. After the plague wiped out her entire family, Alice decided to make a change - she would project a kind, bubbly image to the world, to endear herself to others, for she could not survive on her own. Her ruse worked all too well; before long, the marriage of her feigned innocence and ruthless intellect had given birth to companions, and, with the help of a few well placed lies designed to revive the dashed hopes of the unsuspecting, Alice turned her companions into followers, and Omnibus Scientia was formed. And, oh, the fools kept joining and joining...
Other: Alice's greatest tool is her intellect. She is useless in a fight, and relies on her followers to defend her. However, Alice does have a talent for hiding herself, when she must. She is very paranoid about what she eats and drinks out of a fear of assassins. Nonetheless, on rare occasions, she may let down her guard if offered chocolate chip cookies. |
49,524 | 1,336 | 18 | 220 | 2,523 | Welp. I shouldn't have pushed my luck this far. Aw geeze. Charon displayed a disgusted, defeatist grimace for a second, before replacing it with a stern gaze. Before the Virus, a single gun would've him scared witless and visiblely intimidated, but now... not even the prospective of being torn to ribbons was able to make his heart skip a little. Sometime, somewhere along the way, his mind had cracked under the pressure, and he had subsequently lost a great deal of the emotion known as fear. He wasn't entirely sane.
But then again, someone sane would've given up on finding a cure long time ago. Someone sane would've sought to start over, instead of stubborningly clinging to an age that would never come back, and not making sworn enemies out of barely-living things like the Virus.
"Wait!" He said in a sharp inflection. "Before you do, though, I do have to warn you." Charon interjected his soon to be demise. "I am a medic. And I also happen to research the Virus in hopes for a cure." Of course, up to this point anyone could've said it, in a last ditch attempt to save its life. What set it apart was that Charon then added another sentence. "I so happen to keep samples in my backpack. So if a stray bullet did hit there... I can't guarantee the safety of this environment. Specially for people who haven't hit puberty yet. Like your leader. Me too but I don't really care about it, seeing as you're going to kill me regardless." Well, he wasn't sure if any of those samples were infectious, but he was telling part of the truth.
Without pause, he then added. "Then there's the fact that, well, you'll kill a much needed medic in this town... so next time flu, tetanus, pneumonia and all sorts of nasties come and knock your folks down... you might come to regret it. And that's it, i'm done."
Charon then spread his arms, a smile across his lips, the nasty glint of madness on his eyes. "SO HURRY UP! KILL ME! I DONT REALLY CARE! IN FACT, BEING OFFED BY CHILD WORSHIPPING CULTISTS IS SO FUNNY I CAN'T HELP BUT LAUGH!" Charon's eyes went wide as a muted chortle erupted into a spine-chilling laughter filled with madness. | Name:Charles D. Ronnington, M.D. (self appointed) AKA Charon
Age: 22
Faction:Straggler, To Be Determined.
Personality: Charles appears at first an even tempered individual with a flawless work ethic, a rare throwback to how life was before the Virus. Charles doesn't compromise on human lives, and he tries to live and let live the best way he can in this world, offering guidance as perhaps one of the last -adults- this world has seen. However, cracks in his psyche are apparent. Charles has just lost too many things to the Virus to remain unaffected, and his inability to fight it burns him from the inside out. He's single-mindedly determined to find a cure or breakthrough to such an ailment.
Backstory: Charles was a humble medical student who was barely 19 when the outbreak started. As the plague overpowered the vast majority of adults and depleted the medical ranks aswell, Charles was soon fielded, despite his relative youth and lack of experience. Fully exploiting his resistance to the virus, he volunteered to deal with many afflicted patients, despite the obvious risk of infection. Seniors, children, all died in his hands without him unable to do anything about it. Yet he still lived. And he kept stubbornly refusing to ever give up.
By the time the plague had reshaped Kano, Charles was already a seasoned field medic, but one terribly broken and in grief. Taking the nickname of "Charon", the ferryman of the dead, as a self-parody of his ghastly patient record, he shouldered on, still determined to maintain the one little piece of medical expertise that the Virus was unable to exterminate, himself.
Other: Charon has been infected a grand total of 12 times during his tenure as field medic. As such, he's adquired a great degree of resistance to the illness even if he's past the assumed safe age of infection. He's familiar with many of the workings of the old world, specially in the way of medical expertise and equipment. Charon is also rather fit, and he has a decent left hook when the situation calls for it, but he's not a master martial artist. He has surgical precision when using blades, but it's more useful for proper healing than fighting. He usually wears a portable medkit in his backpack, as well as sample recollection material. He can drive decently, and he's managed to keep a motorbike up and running to this point. |
49,525 | 1,336 | 19 | 2,633 | 3,130 | Erren stood off to the side of the funeral procession and watched from a short distance. He had connections to the people who were dead, of course, but he never really stayed with the Forgotten long enough to make any real bonds. The only two he actually had some kind of relationship with were Hans and Kim, but even then there wasn't much. He lifted his right hand and looked at the card he held; 17. Then his arm dropped to his side, and he stared into the distance and past the graves.
"Fear thee not, oh beautiful, for he is a dead man." he sung under his breath, flipping the card in between his fingers in a melodic fashion to the music. The only people there were Hans, Abe and him, which left an eerie quiet atmosphere over the graveyard only broken by the disjointed psalm or hymn or whatever the two were reciting. Erren then pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and slid the 17 back in, careful to aim for the exact spot it had left. Then he dropped it into his coat and pulled out a small revolver from his pocket, before spinning the barrel. He always kept one bullet in for times when he needed occupying.
"No bullet," he said quietly, spinning it again, "No bullet," and again, "No bullet," until, after 7 attempts, he said "Loaded," and emptied the barrel, the bullet sliding from the chamber where he predicted. Dropping that in his pocket, he turned and walked off with the revolver in hand, towards the Forgotten base. | Erren "Nine" Drake
Age:
17
Faction:
Mostly the Forgotten, but he has been known to go alone on occasion.
Personality:
Erren is rather brash, often saying things that are offensive on a whim without thinking. He has been known to be rather uncaring with his actions and often doesn't care about neither the repercussions or the people involved. He has also been known to be very violent, to the point of almost killing people, but tends to hide it from his friends. Despite this, he is actually extremely intelligent in both chemistry and computer science, whilst also being a rather impressive fiction writer. And, to put it simply, he has a mild case of chuunibyou.
Backstory:
To be revealed, except maybe one part. Try and guess ^_^
Other:
He keeps a set of very sharp knives, two katanas and a shotgun in his secret area. He also has a set of 52 cards that he made himself, all with summoning circles printed on them.
He has also adopted the moniker of Nine from somewhere, but he has also called himself the "Ninth Ruler of the Continuum Throne". Whatever that means... |
49,526 | 1,336 | 20 | 1,214 | 18 | Fox couldn't quite stop his small smile from turning into a grin, especially at the girls words, she was only a bit shorter than he was. Give it a few more years, she would probably be taller than him. Not that he really cared, height was never a serious problem for him anyway. Even if the whole 'not so good to eat once it has maggots' wasn't really a joke, he sure thought it was one. Even meat with maggots in it was salvageable. Strange people to let it something like that go to waste, he supposed.
"Yup, yup." He muttered, quickly closing the distance and following after the girl with dreads- choosing to ignore the fact she had raised three fingers into the air. Some kind of signal to someone he couldn't quite see. Not that he minded- he was here to do business, after all. Fox waited very patiently for her to spread the cloth out over the counter, humming very quietly to himself as he gently tapped his fingers against the straps of the various bags he carried.
The moment the cloth was down and she patted the counter, no time was wasted as he carefully slipped the first dufflebag strap from around his chest and onto the counter- quickly followed by two more. There was some clanking and clicking from all three of them and some blood splattered on the outside of the bags, but otherwise they seemed clean-ish. He left the bloodied bag that rested on his right hip alone, only sparsely touching it to move it out of the way while he picked up one bag and set it on the counter-cloth and unzipped it. Or well, tried to, it was stuck!
"Ran into some Scorps while traveling and figured I should deal with them while they were down." He mused quietly, his grin having vanished into a small smile. "Nasty bunch, they are. But they had some good stuff! Seems they had been killing all sorts of people, though. Tons of different shit they had on them, not raiding but... collecting, almost?" Fox made a slightly annoyed noise as the bag zipper refused to open, but after a few rough tugs it finally came free and he flipped the bag, spilling most of its contents onto the counter.
This batch of stuff seemed mostly clean, a few drops of blood on the items. The first bag, it seemed, mostly consisted of canned food and small blankets. There was a good variety among the canned foods too, ranging anywhere from potatoes to what appeared to be some ravioli. Fox then moved to grab both of the other bags and place them onto the counter as well, unzipping them without any problem, though he did not flip them. Instead he merely pulled them as far open as he possibly could to show all of their contents. In both of the other bags there were countless oddities and the alike. Partially filled gun-clips, some clothing that was relatively free of blood, a pair of shoes, and so on and so forth. A bunch of stuff though that was all still in relatively good use and repair.
"Oh. Whoops, that wasn't supposed to be in there." Fox said with a small grin, quickly reaching a gloved hand out to yank a small sewing kit with a large crack in the case. He promptly shoved the small case into one of the small bags that were attached to his belt, not having to even tare his gaze away from the girl. He hadn't bothered with anything that had been too bloody, having to carry around a dufflebag of three different heads and various limbs and sections of flesh, he honestly didn't want to carry anything with more blood than necessary. | Name: 'The Fox'
Real Name: Unknown
Age: 20
Appearance: 5'4"(164CM), 122lbs(55KG). Pale blond hair, tanned skin with obvious tan-lines around clothing edges. Rather lithe with some impressive upper-arm strength. Scars cover his hands, in very thin lines and some thicker jagged cuts. They mostly cover over the second joints of all of his fingers, around his wrists, the palms of his hands, and on the outside of each hand. A lot of them connect and cross over each other, a few places are even purely scar-tissue. On the right side of his head, trailing from the corner of his right eye and traveling back into his hairline, a crude and jagged scar can be found.
Faction:Ex-Coyote (By Personal Choice), Currently a Straggler
Personality: Fickle with loyalty and adaptive, Fox is someone purely driven by self interests that change more often than the weather. He does not trust anyone as far as he can throw them and lets be honest here, he isn't built for throwing human bodies very far. While friendly and respectful to an extent, he really doesn't get close with people unless he becomes curious- which is rather rare. He is easily bored with 'common' things and it isn't uncommon for him to throw a stick in the middle of someone's plans to see more of a reaction or to cause trouble. If anything, he likes to test people, he likes to watch people squirm. And in the same hand, while he does enjoy causing trouble for others, he always has some way of keeping himself out of it most of the time. At least enough to the point that he cannot be directly blamed for it. Fox, as a few who have met him before or maybe heard rumor, has absolutely no empathy for other people or any other living thing. While it doesn't seem like he was always this way, it is how he is now and because of it he has been known to be downright monstrous when people try to double-cross him or put his observations/plans on hold. He isn't above killing someone- or entire small groups- that get in his way.
He really isn't all that bad though! Somewhere... deep down inside. Probably.
Backstory: Fox, despite what he says at times, cannot remember anything before the Virus or the first year or so after it spread. The most that can be recalled it something along the lines of 'The Coyotes found me and gave me a name and a purpose' and 'Then I got bored and moved on to greener pastures'. Someone (or Someones) within the Coyote's took Amnesiac Fox under their care for a time and within that short time managed to create a monster they lost control of.
Other:
Clothing;
Fox wears typical scavenger garb. He has a very thick jacket that bundles up around his hips with a few places where it has been patched, a single massive front pocket that has been modified to hold various things. Each arm has a special 'wrap' of thick cloth that is cut out at the elbows to allow for perfectly free movement, it is held in place with straps and buckles on his upper arms and forearms. Covering his hands most often are a pair of heavy duty gloves, a mixture of cloth, leather, and small metal plates individually put in place to protect the pads of his hands and the sides of them. He seems to have several pairs of these gloves. Going down the rest of him, he has a very heavy-duty belt that is always tied securely around his waist. Attached to this belt is several small bags and pouches, filled with all sorts of things he uses and or has collected. His pants are well worn, the knees have been purposely cut and a few other places have been as well to allow for the best possible movement for the wearer. Though they are also patched in several places as well. As far as footwear goes, Fox only ever wears a pair of black combat boots that lace all the way up to the middle of his calf. They are old seeming and have been well used, nails have been inserted into certain parts of the bottom of the shoe. They seem pretty sharp and dangerous.
Weaponry;
As an Ex-Coyote scavenger, Fox is never without some kind of weapon. He has an array of pocket knives and daggers of the sorts. But his most well used 'weapon' is wire. Somewhere on his person he carries at least three different kinds of wire. Some of it is simple and basic metal wire, but mostly it is razor wire. Most of the scars on his hands are from having used said wire long before he got his metal-plated gloves.
Is suffering from head trauma. If you ask him who he was before the Virus, he wouldn't be able to tell you.
Despite his overly violent tendencies and kill record, Fox is utterly terrified of blood and will actively avoid it if possible.
Perfectly able to survive on his own with the barest of things, he is a great scavenger.
He left the Coyote's on good terms, but they are still actively seeking him to return. |
49,527 | 1,336 | 21 | 1,761 | 2,984 | Well, I suppose bringing the internet back is impossible, said Drake. He chuckled. "So getting yuri doujins is probably out of the question." He started back towards the shop. "Life goes on, Abe. And as much as I miss the internet and Xbox Live, I'm glad in a way.
"Not that I approve of billions of people dying, but the government we had was screwed up. What was wrong was the people on the far right, and far left. Nobody got anything done. Just politicians with fat wallets and their thumbs up their asses, being elected by morons. Garbage in, garbage out." | Name: Hans Drake
Age: 19
Appearance: Drake stands at 5'8", and is of a somewhat stocky build. His eyes are gray, and his short, thick locks are black in color with (permanent) red highlights. More often than not, he can be seen wearing black, and/or camouflage. He has two fashion statements: the first is a pair of black goggles with reflective gold lenses that he has strapped to his forehead. The second is a black balaclava with a fanged skull on the front in white paint.
Faction: The Forgotten
Personality: (Optional)
Notes: - Uses a military grade marksman rifle.
- Has a love of music, and keeps his iPod charged on a constant basis.
- Drake considers The Forgotten his family, and will go to any length to protect or avenge them. |
49,528 | 1,336 | 22 | 1,936 | 1,025 | Abel laughed, and he trailed barely behind Drake as they walked to the shop. "I know. We have to keep going. Personally, I wasn't very attached to the way things were, either. I just try to salvage the good things that I can. And even then, I just want to feel close to someone again." That was only as close as Abel ever got to talking about depression. He was numb, hollow, and without purpose.
The blond put his hands back into his pockets as he and Drake stepped into the pawn shop. "Yeah." He accidentally stepped on the back of one of Drake's shoes. "Sorry." Abel went quiet after that, and he waited for something new to come up, to distract him from his thoughts. | Name: Abel Levi Dunst
Age: 17
Faction: The Forgotten
Appearance:
Personality: Optimistic, skeptical. A strong follower of Nietzsche's philosophy and of liberalism and also a hopeless romantic. Sentimental. Borderline depressive, outwardly positive, attentive, and attention loving. Easily empathizes and sympathizes with other people. Also enjoys social contact and affection.
Backstory:
A lone, maroon Kia Spectra zipped down the I-35 thoroughfare, vacant except for a few cars wrecked or damaged on the shoulder of the road. The driver's gloved hands were steady on the wheel, and his feet were like lead on the gas pedal. He tore his eyes from the road to snag a glance at his cargo. A leather-bound journal sat in the passenger seat on top of some other books, the works of Nietzsche, the entire Hunger Games trilogy, Utilitarianism by John Stuart Mill, and Hero by Perry Moore among the pile, and a small, black suitcase occupied the backseat next to a blue, plastic tub. The driver eyed the suitcase in his rear-view mirror for a long while before he noticed something green out of the corner of his blue-gray eyes and, in one jerky motion, swerved the car back on the right path. He barely had a chance to glimpse the sign he nearly slammed into and calculated something on the top of his head.
"Minneapolis. One more hour," the driver sighed, fixing his hands on the wheel and his steely glare on the road.
Abel Dunst's trek to the North began in a quiet Texas suburb. The year was 2016, and the United States was set to vote for a new president in November. Abel would have been a freshman in high school by then. But fate had other plans. When he lost his parents, Abel became lost and depressed. He had no reason to continue living after the disease took them. They gave him a purpose. He lived to make them and his friends happy, carry the family name, succeed in his life, and reach the goals of their collective efforts. Without them, without the society that had demanded that he do so, Abel gave up all structure and desire, yet still he could never commit suicide. He didn't have the strength or nerve to end his own life. Abel remained for whatever reason no matter how much it hurt, even when everything fell apart.
That was two years ago. Abel had spent the rest of 2016 and most of 2017 in his home state. He joined a local gang with his friends and neighbors, but their policy of mercy and compassion fell to violence and madness as things grew worse and times became desperate. Conservative extremists, terrorist thugs, and sadistic rich kids took control of territories in the suburbs in bloody turf wars. The fear, bloodshed, and delusion they inspired caused so much madness and made Abel's situation so much worse. He protected his friends and fellow gang members as best he could, and his group did what it could to help those most in need. Those goals filled the gaps Abel's parents left and gave Abel's life a renewed purpose.
What tenuous stability they had for that short year obviously did not last forever. Abel helplessly watched as more kids died in what their enemies called "holy" crusades and "righteous" battles, and he struggled to keep his friends safe. When they were at the end of their rope, Abel made a decision with the hopes of helping his friends escape. One enemy faction chased him, thinking he had his friends and other crucial members of the group in tow. Secretly, Abel sent his friends off in a separate vehicle headed in a different direction while he took his personal possessions with him in his mom's dented 2008 Kia and drove north. They gave up, but Abel continued until he had less than half a gallon.
The car's tank took him to Oklahoma where he learned from another local group to siphon gas and refilled the car. They begged for him to stay, and Abel did. He lived with them for half a year, and together they expanded their turf and piled more resources. That was around the time when Abel began taking new books into his collection. When they started asking Abel more pressing questions, though, Abel became stressed. They developed a certain lunacy as they tried to pry into his personal business. They watched his interactions. Their leader in particular preached homophobia and called for the group members to watch suspicious persons closer. That included Abel. He made his plans to leave in the dead of night, and when everyone was sleeping under his watch, Abel snuck off and floored the gas pedal into the horizon.
Abel spent the next year a drifter. He floated from town to town in his Kia. He stole gas, he stored nonperishable food in his trunk, he collected more books. He did what he could to make ends meet, and he continued to write in his journals. He made sloppy calendars in them, and he wrote many stories and diary entries to pass the time when he was sleeping in his car somewhere on high alert. Most of all, Abel made sure nobody stole from him. He kept a knife at his side as he slept, and he threatened to kill or maim whoever dared to take what was his. Whether at the request of others or by his own choice, Abel joined strong groups who would protect his property and him and underdog groups who would request his aid. For what he did and who he was, Abel earned himself several nicknames and titles, like "Scribe," "Texas Guy," "Wanderer," "The Lone Ranger."
A while after he left Minneapolis, Abel came across the rural town of Kano. He cautiously entered the pawn shop claimed by the Forgotten, and they moved to tentatively accept him as one of their own. He read to them the books he collected, even getting some of the ones they were less fond of, but he neglected to share his story. Nonetheless, they were more tolerant of his sexuality and came to trust Abel more, and Abel enjoyed the hospitality and acceptance they offered him as an outsider both to Kano and society. He chose to stay with them as long as possible, even if by some irony he'd been less open about things with them. For worse or for better, Abel Levi Dunst, who wanted to preserve old knowledge into the future and establish order in the land, became one of the Forgotten.
Other:
Broad range of knowledge, high intellect.
Eccentric and impulsive.
Usually carries a knife or a homemade bow.
Book collector.
Some less obvious knowledge about survival.
Good speaker and writer. |
49,529 | 1,336 | 23 | 69 | 678 | Alice flinched as the madman before her started yelling. How dare he yell at her? He deserved to die several times over now, but... those samples might not be a bluff...
Without realizing it, Alice began chewing on her lip. She looked weak right now - she knew she did! But what was she supposed to do when her own life was being threatened? She didn't want to die... the guards weren't supposed to have allowed anything so suspect in...!
"Oracle," whispered a soft voice. Alice jumped a little, but turned to find Katie, a nineteen year old blonde girl who was among her loyalest, longest-standing servants. "It's not safe for you here - nor is it prudent to dispose of a medic. Please, retreat to safety and allow me to handle this. I will not fail you, I swear."
Safety? When was the last time Alice had really been safe in this messed up world? She was always putting herself in danger... it was ludicrous to expect one of her followers to be able to protect her from doing so! But, still...
An image flashed before her eyes; water surrounded her on all sides, and her arms flailed weakly, uselessly, as the last of her breath left her. Then, as if from nowhere, a woman's face - her mother's - emerged from the blue, and she wrapped her arms around Alice, pulling her...
Katie. She was like Mama.
"F-fine," said Alice, hopping to her feet. She allowed two armed guards to escort her toward quarters; there, she would be able to observe the scene from a safe distance. As she hurried through the door, she heard Katie ask, "Now, Charon, you have shown disrespect our Oracle, chosen by the Highest, and by extension, you have insulted us all. Do you have anything to say in your defense?" | Name: Alice Graethem
Age: 10
Faction: Omnibus Scientia
Personality/Backstory: Long story short, Alice is a genius. At the age of six, she was zooming through advanced calculus problems at a pace that made her father's college students quiver with insecurity. However, because of her high intelligence, she was always something of a loner - children her age were so stupid it was obnoxious, and adults never understood her idea of fun. As a result, Alice grew distant from others, viewed them as inferior. They treated her like the outcast she was, and soon, Alice learned that cruelty was the only way to protect herself from the ridicule of others. After the plague wiped out her entire family, Alice decided to make a change - she would project a kind, bubbly image to the world, to endear herself to others, for she could not survive on her own. Her ruse worked all too well; before long, the marriage of her feigned innocence and ruthless intellect had given birth to companions, and, with the help of a few well placed lies designed to revive the dashed hopes of the unsuspecting, Alice turned her companions into followers, and Omnibus Scientia was formed. And, oh, the fools kept joining and joining...
Other: Alice's greatest tool is her intellect. She is useless in a fight, and relies on her followers to defend her. However, Alice does have a talent for hiding herself, when she must. She is very paranoid about what she eats and drinks out of a fear of assassins. Nonetheless, on rare occasions, she may let down her guard if offered chocolate chip cookies. |
49,530 | 1,336 | 24 | 220 | 2,523 | Charon stopped his rant and lowered his arms, his head tilted so slightly. When it was clear that he wasn't going to be immediatly shot, his awful visage of madness relaxed quite a bit. "Defense? Girl, You can't be serious. 10 year olds should be able to fool around and play, not be God-Queens of a cult. I tried to play by the rules and civility. Then I tried to offer both the opportunity to hone her mind even further, and even perhaps fool around in the last remnants of her already ruined childhood."
He folded his arms. "There was no harm intended. Haa, I tire of this rethoric." Charon took his glasses off and began cleaning them, sighing loudly. "Truth to be told I thought she was like my kid sister. Little cute loud 10 year old thing. And then she puked blood on me and died on my arms. The usual story." Charon's voice didn't waver the slightlest when saying it.
"Alongside three hundred odd patients which also died on my arms back then." He added his eyes glaring at Katie. "And 12 accidental infections, plus having to forcibly learn 5 years of medicine in just two because all the good doctors kept dying." He paused.
"Not only the doctors, but pretty much everyone. I had become, at age 19, the world's last adult, in theory. But I'm rambling aren't I? My bad." He then snapped his finger. "Chosen of the Highest, too! Might as well, cause otherwise I can't understand why my life has been a shitty hell of death and impotence." He put his glasses back on.
"So stop wasting my time. Kill me, evict me, or let me read those goddamn books." He finished snarling. "I don't like posturing nor self-entitlement." | Name:Charles D. Ronnington, M.D. (self appointed) AKA Charon
Age: 22
Faction:Straggler, To Be Determined.
Personality: Charles appears at first an even tempered individual with a flawless work ethic, a rare throwback to how life was before the Virus. Charles doesn't compromise on human lives, and he tries to live and let live the best way he can in this world, offering guidance as perhaps one of the last -adults- this world has seen. However, cracks in his psyche are apparent. Charles has just lost too many things to the Virus to remain unaffected, and his inability to fight it burns him from the inside out. He's single-mindedly determined to find a cure or breakthrough to such an ailment.
Backstory: Charles was a humble medical student who was barely 19 when the outbreak started. As the plague overpowered the vast majority of adults and depleted the medical ranks aswell, Charles was soon fielded, despite his relative youth and lack of experience. Fully exploiting his resistance to the virus, he volunteered to deal with many afflicted patients, despite the obvious risk of infection. Seniors, children, all died in his hands without him unable to do anything about it. Yet he still lived. And he kept stubbornly refusing to ever give up.
By the time the plague had reshaped Kano, Charles was already a seasoned field medic, but one terribly broken and in grief. Taking the nickname of "Charon", the ferryman of the dead, as a self-parody of his ghastly patient record, he shouldered on, still determined to maintain the one little piece of medical expertise that the Virus was unable to exterminate, himself.
Other: Charon has been infected a grand total of 12 times during his tenure as field medic. As such, he's adquired a great degree of resistance to the illness even if he's past the assumed safe age of infection. He's familiar with many of the workings of the old world, specially in the way of medical expertise and equipment. Charon is also rather fit, and he has a decent left hook when the situation calls for it, but he's not a master martial artist. He has surgical precision when using blades, but it's more useful for proper healing than fighting. He usually wears a portable medkit in his backpack, as well as sample recollection material. He can drive decently, and he's managed to keep a motorbike up and running to this point. |
49,531 | 1,336 | 25 | 386 | 332 | Kin stopped crying. His grief hadn't passed yet, but its sting felt weaker than it did before, weak enough that Kin could try to start pulling himself together. He sat up leaning against the wall and opened his bloodshot eyes to the world. The light of the sunset burned his eyes, and he had to blink several times before his vision returned to him. He felt numb and tired, but mostly just tired. From the shouting, gunfire and fighting from the raid, and moving the bodies of his once-friends to the graveyard, Kim was drained.
While he had been crying, Kim had sat next to him, keeping him company. Kim wasn't the type of person to pressure him into talking, and Kin was thankful for that. He really couldn't summon the energy needed for a conversation, and besides that, her mere presence was kindness enough anyways.
It felt like he had been crying for an age, and yet the sun was still crossing the horizon. For a while, Kin sat there, motionless, staring at the sky watching it gradually change color from amber to red, his mind calming. The home of the Forgotten stood before him, engulfed in a bright orange light like a bonfire. Somewhere within were seven empty spaces where people used to be. In the back of his mind, he remembered that the Vikings used to place their dead on a burning boat.
Kin took a jagged breath, the fresh air displacing the clammy air inside his lungs. The dead were still in the front of his mind. Some time after the sun sets, he would stand up and walk back to his room. He would wash his face in the sink. He would get in bed, and lay there awake for God knows how long until exhaustion finally carted him away to a restless sleep. This happened every time they lost somebody. For now though, the sky was turning a dark rust color. | Name: Kin
Real Name: Keith Wyatt
Age: 17
Appearance: Caucasian, 180cm, 80kg, toned body. Grey hairs coming out, looks 10 years older than he is. Has perpetual bags under his eyes.
He wears Kevlar under a heavy jacket, denim jeans and construction steel-toe boots
Faction: The Forgotten
Personality: Everybody knows Kin the guard. The one that that patrols the place far more than he needs to. The one that reflexively grips his weapon if he hears a gunshot in the distance. The one that looked down the length of a raider's gun barrel, pushed it to one side and dislocated the raider's shoulder as he pinned the poor bastard to the ground. Despite this, so long as you're on good terms with him, he is possibly one of the most dependable and protective people you'll meet. The Forgotten is his home, and he will fight to his last breath defending it and everyone in it. He's loosened up in the past years, but you'll still be hard-pressed to find him smiling, or even laughing at anything.
Equipment: Remington 870 Shotgun (max. 7 shells), Kevlar vest, binoculars, makeshift spear.
Skills: Shooting, endurance, strength.
Other: He is suspicious of anything that could possibly present a threat to his home, and is a little jumpy, as a result. |
49,532 | 1,336 | 26 | 2,126 | 2,875 | Alphonsé Akiyama
The Forgotten Base of Operations
As soon as the stench of dead human reached him, Rōnin froze in place. Warning sirens rang in his head, telling him to run as far as he could. His senses dulled, a tingling sensation waking in his mind. It was not the 22 year old "Wandering Priest" anymore. It was the fourteen year old 8th Street runaway, firing blindly into the hideout of a rival gang. Memories fired at him, flashes of blood and murder festering in the dark places of his brain. Frail, willow voices howled at him, emotions dropping and falling like a wave.
'You think you can run from me, fool? You thought wrong!' Alphonsé felt as he lost control of his body, feeling being lost everywhere. His rage grew as his Inner took control of his body. 'NO! YOU WILL NOT CONTROL ME TODAY NOR EVER AGAIN!' He bit back, his body twitching wildly as the two fought for control. Using his mental strength, he overpowered the voice in his head was beating it into the corners of his mind.
Rōnin strained to look back at the pawn shop and walked back. He was using this to show defiance against Inner, showing who was the boss of his body. The smell was getting more powerful as he walked further and as he reached the door, he thought about what he was doing. He has always been alone, his certain "tendencies" made sure of that fact. Maybe this was a change, the possibility of some sort of therapy around comrades. 'This won't work if you don't even get through the damn door!'
Alphonsé agreed and opened it, looking at the interior of the pawn shop. The man who carried the corpses and immediately recognised him. Fox was one of the stragglers he often came across and was one of the few people that knew his true name. He nodded in his direction before going up to the counter. He looked up at the shopkeeper's eyes and said, voice straining "How can I join The Forgotten?" The silence was deafening. | Name:
Alphonsé Akiyama
Alias:
Rōnin
Age:
22
Appearance:
Alphonsé appears to be one of the more crazier individuals you will ever meet. He is covered, from chest downwards, in tattoos signifying gang relations, drug use, crimes done in the past and scary visages of death. His face is kept clean and sharp, shaven with not a single tattoo. His hollow green eyes are dark and seem to sink into his face. Unruly black hair is safely tucked in to the hat he wears almost constantly. Scratches and scars adorn his body, wounds old and fresh. However, the scariest thing about the Akiyama is not his tattoos or scars. It is his smile. His smile is manic and crazy, a smile fit only for a predator. It almost looks comical on someone as lean as him but it always promises bloody murder.
Faction:
Straggler
Personality:
Rōnin is a more silent character, seemingly contemplating past conquests and failures. He almost never talks outside the battlefield, his face looking resigned and almost pained. If he does need to talk, he communicates in hand signals and grunts. As one of the oldest people in the wasteland, he has seen things that would've mentally scarred many. Very few know of his mental disorders. The quietness and withdrawal is from the drugs to suppress his bipolar and schizophrenic tendencies. He scours the wasteland for them, scared of what would happen if the drugs ran out. Though no one knows it, the Akiyama is actually a very religiously connected person and will often recite quotes from the bible out of nowhere. This god-fearing persona may be due to his fear of going crazy.
In battlefield however, his other side takes over. Alphonsé becomes an absolute monster, shooting and cleaving with manic precision. He is crazed and in a berserker like state. He screams, howls and shouts curses at the enemy and sometimes at friends. His desires take over and he will not rest until the last enemy falls to the ground, pelted with bullets or beheaded by sword.
Backstory:
To be revealed
Other:
Customised AR-15
-Collapsable Stock
-Extended Magazine (~45 rounds)
-Sound Suppressor
-5 Magazines
Colt Python
-40 bullets
Gūnto Sword
Swiss Army Knife |
49,533 | 1,336 | 27 | 1,436 | 1,402 | The Cyclops
Scope and Spy
Matted blood-red hair, one piercing green eye, and two steel-booted feet. The small figure watching from under a hat the slopped down her head, wasn't all that imposing. In fact she was passably ignorable. She counted at least five fresh graves among the Fallen Forgotten's quaint cemetery. It was almost funny. The world crumbles and what do people do? They just make it worse. If there was a God, then this was one sick and twisted way of destroying his little mortal toys.
Nah. There was no such thing as the Christian God. To say there was bordered between delusional and complete insanity. But whatever helped those kids sleep at night, Cy thought. A tall figure, dressed in what she considered pretty odd attire, caught her attention. The short nineteen year old frowned in distain. Looked like someone older than her. Great. Well, if they thought that made them better than anyone else, she'd give them a nice punch in the gut, no charge.
Cy still wore the patch of the Gamers on the sleeve of her jacket, realizing that it kept most people off her tail, so as long as they weren't Scorp Scum. The territory battles between the Gamers and the Scorps were getting worse by the day, and she didn't need to get involved in any of that. She already had more than a few people breathing down her neck.
Tailing the tall samurai-looking guy, she kept her distance, but watched intently. What made Creepy McSlinker over there sudden turn tail and dart back to the pawn shop. Nothing against the Forgotten or whatever, but they weren't exactly the most respected gang around. In fact they were more like a big version of one of the pathetic groups that organized to keep their hearts beating. Okay, that was a bit harsh. Everyone deserved a chance at life. But then again, tell that to the quickly decaying world.
Peering through her treasured binoculars, Cy frowned again. The ex-Cyote was in there too? Well, well, maybe she had underestimated the Forgotten. They got Mister Tall McSlinker and a rouge Cyote inside their walls, they were a bit stronger than the last time she had come around to gather info. What, were they hiding an O.S. doctor in there too? Smirking, she put away her binoculars and started her own approach to the pawn shop, booted feet trudging forwards in a mockingly languid saunter. | Name: Cy (yeah, cuz of the one eye, thanks for pointing it out)
Age: 19
Appearance:
Faction: newly made ex-Gamer
Personality: Temperamental, Snarky, Secretive, Soft Hearted, Vengeance Driven
Backstory: As RP goes on
Skills: She may not look like much but her short build gives her advantages. Advantage Uno: Protect yer goods, cuz she will take dirty shots with those brass knuckles and steel toed boots. Advantage B: She's quick and low to the ground so gettin' yer hands on her is hard. Advantage III: She doesn't have to be a good shot tah get you with her shot gun. As for more practical stuff, her one good eye is pretty darn observant, maybe making up for only havin' one or whatever. Nothing escapes her sight. She has, uh, connections too, but don't ask who they are if you want yer info, yah hear? She also seems to still have her hands in some hush-hush trading, but yah better keep yer mouth shut.
Equipment/Weapons: Shot Gun, Couple of knives, steel toed boots, brass knuckles
Character Quirks: Don't mention the eye unless you want to lose one of yer own. No parent talkin' either. Nail biter. Has a fondness for her food to be on the rawer side of things. |
49,534 | 1,336 | 28 | 69 | 678 | Alice slammed the door of her room shut, locking it behind her before turning on the monitor at her short desk. The video feed loaded just in time for her to hear that stupid Charon compare her to his little sister. She folded her arms angrily. She was nothing like that dumb girl must have been - she had lived, after all!
Katie, who was standing next to Alice's now vacant seat, responded calmly to the medic's criticisms.
"Regardless of your feelings about the Oracle, she was sent to us by the Highest. Yes, she is a girl in stature, but most of the living would be considered children by old world standards. The Oracle founded an organization of hundreds, one that is doing its utmost to find a cure for the virus. That's more than you can say for yourself."
Alice nodded, though she didn't expect an idiot like Charon to understand Katie's reasoning. He was blinded, and would probably just continue to judge her by age alone.
"Now," said Katie, "I would prefer not to have to kill you, so I will give you two options. You can either die now, or you can read your books and join us in our cause. If it's your intention to abandon the noble cause of this world's redemption, then there's little point in leaving you alive."
Alice frowned, amusement battling annoyance. This dumb doctor really did deserve to die, but she couldn't deny the value in holding the services of a medic for however many months he had left. Of course, the point was hardly to redeem the world - the Highest was just something she made up to convince people to obey her. No, Charon's purpose would be to preserve the lives of her silly followers for as long as possible. After all, without them, she would be just as vulnerable as Charon's dead sister. She needed them! | Name: Alice Graethem
Age: 10
Faction: Omnibus Scientia
Personality/Backstory: Long story short, Alice is a genius. At the age of six, she was zooming through advanced calculus problems at a pace that made her father's college students quiver with insecurity. However, because of her high intelligence, she was always something of a loner - children her age were so stupid it was obnoxious, and adults never understood her idea of fun. As a result, Alice grew distant from others, viewed them as inferior. They treated her like the outcast she was, and soon, Alice learned that cruelty was the only way to protect herself from the ridicule of others. After the plague wiped out her entire family, Alice decided to make a change - she would project a kind, bubbly image to the world, to endear herself to others, for she could not survive on her own. Her ruse worked all too well; before long, the marriage of her feigned innocence and ruthless intellect had given birth to companions, and, with the help of a few well placed lies designed to revive the dashed hopes of the unsuspecting, Alice turned her companions into followers, and Omnibus Scientia was formed. And, oh, the fools kept joining and joining...
Other: Alice's greatest tool is her intellect. She is useless in a fight, and relies on her followers to defend her. However, Alice does have a talent for hiding herself, when she must. She is very paranoid about what she eats and drinks out of a fear of assassins. Nonetheless, on rare occasions, she may let down her guard if offered chocolate chip cookies. |
49,535 | 1,336 | 29 | 220 | 2,523 | Charon folded his arms and lifted up his chin, as if caught in some thoughts.
"Hmm a convincing mediator pitch. But you've slipped up. You should've used "healing" instead of redemption. It hints at your ulterior motives. That was a mistake of a rookie. A mistake your Oracle wouldn't make. Kid's gotta have serious sass and charisma if what you said is true. Wish I had as much."
The medic paused, eyeing up and down the nineteen year old. "Weell, I could consider joining. I mean, you at least try to research a cure."
Charon then looked around, until the telltale glare of the lens pointed where the video feed. He dedicated a long, hypocritical smile and waved to it. I ain't going to be snagged so easily
"Nice to meet you all, my name is Charles Ronnington. Where are the books?" He added, extending a hand. | Name:Charles D. Ronnington, M.D. (self appointed) AKA Charon
Age: 22
Faction:Straggler, To Be Determined.
Personality: Charles appears at first an even tempered individual with a flawless work ethic, a rare throwback to how life was before the Virus. Charles doesn't compromise on human lives, and he tries to live and let live the best way he can in this world, offering guidance as perhaps one of the last -adults- this world has seen. However, cracks in his psyche are apparent. Charles has just lost too many things to the Virus to remain unaffected, and his inability to fight it burns him from the inside out. He's single-mindedly determined to find a cure or breakthrough to such an ailment.
Backstory: Charles was a humble medical student who was barely 19 when the outbreak started. As the plague overpowered the vast majority of adults and depleted the medical ranks aswell, Charles was soon fielded, despite his relative youth and lack of experience. Fully exploiting his resistance to the virus, he volunteered to deal with many afflicted patients, despite the obvious risk of infection. Seniors, children, all died in his hands without him unable to do anything about it. Yet he still lived. And he kept stubbornly refusing to ever give up.
By the time the plague had reshaped Kano, Charles was already a seasoned field medic, but one terribly broken and in grief. Taking the nickname of "Charon", the ferryman of the dead, as a self-parody of his ghastly patient record, he shouldered on, still determined to maintain the one little piece of medical expertise that the Virus was unable to exterminate, himself.
Other: Charon has been infected a grand total of 12 times during his tenure as field medic. As such, he's adquired a great degree of resistance to the illness even if he's past the assumed safe age of infection. He's familiar with many of the workings of the old world, specially in the way of medical expertise and equipment. Charon is also rather fit, and he has a decent left hook when the situation calls for it, but he's not a master martial artist. He has surgical precision when using blades, but it's more useful for proper healing than fighting. He usually wears a portable medkit in his backpack, as well as sample recollection material. He can drive decently, and he's managed to keep a motorbike up and running to this point. |
49,536 | 1,336 | 30 | 1,576 | 358 | Kim Marie
As the sun rolled heavy and slow across the sky, and dragged with it a cloak that rippled over clouds and pulsed warmly, the sobs beside Kim eased. Kin raised his head, and Kim said nothing, silence the medium and currency often exchanged between them. She didn't consider the boy unmanned for his tears. Only human.
But people - friends, sometimes - died, and the Earth continued to spin on its axis, the trade continued to flow. And duty could not be neglected. Kim rose to her feet. Weariness rolled off Kin's skin in waves, and she said, "I can cover some extra shifts." lest he need time off his feet. Lord - or whatever deity that remained - knew Kim felt hollow for the deaths. But the emptiness was no new sensation, and perhaps there was some part of her that felt she ought to be penalised for such a callous lack of grief. Slipping her pistol out of its holster on her hip, she nodded to Kin in brief goodbye, and turned to make her way back to base.
The landscape was half-barren, with patches of dry grass weaving across sand. Kim trod through them, taking care not to make so much as a crinkle, pistol in hand. As she rounded to base, she spotted Shiba, stationed atop the roof to watch the perimeter. She sent him a curt two-finger salute, and caught sight of a ginger straggler approaching the shophouse. Her gait bordered on a swagger, and an eye-patch dominated half her face. She was armed, and Kim was wary as she scrutinised the girl and stood at the threshold of the shop - inside which Marion Dwight was managing two guests. One - a blond, scarred on the face - had bags draped over the countertop. The second, dark-haired one didn't seem to have brought anything for trade, his tattoos like a second skin. He was speaking to Dwight.
A pair of strangers in the shop - soon to be three. They might have a guard atop the roof, but...
Kim stood by the entrance, keeping an eye on their visitors with a stoic expression. But she regarded the girl with sharper care. She appeared to have lost an eye, and it was the infirm who still walked that were inclined to warrant Kim's caution and concern. When they had forsaken a part of themselves, what else would they be willing to risk in a scuffle? How loose were their canons? In a low voice that carried, she spoke to the redheaded girl, "Have you come to trade?" | Name:
Kim Marie
Age:
18
Faction:
The Forgotten
Personality:
Before the infection, Kim was a happy-go-lucky girl. The youngest and only daughter in a family of reasonably affluent means, there was little she had to worry for. She was clever enough, and got good grades, occasionally topping her class in the good years.
But she came to the Forgotten a shell of who she had been. At the start, she was just a scared, shaking fifteen-year-old, who quaked in her Converse sneakers. Now, she is nothing if not quiet. You would have to pry her lips open for conversation, and her replies are often grunts, or monosyllabic. She’s a person of few words, Kim is, and sullen. She would make a good soldier; sometimes, she stands like she’s carved of marble, still enough to convince flies to land on her. Even then, she does not move. She takes orders, if they’re yelled at her, or passed under a breath. Enlist her into a turf war and she’ll throw herself into the battle, frontline or no. People have whispered rumours about her, but just because she is close to mute, she’s not deaf. She knows some of them think she’s cold-blooded. She’s heard gossip that she kills squirrels for fun – ridiculous, there are hardly enough around for that anymore. It’s strange though, she could embark on a mission with almost suicidal determination. But the moment she is attacked, she lunges forward screaming, fighting ruthlessly, tooth and claw, her way back to life. Once, when she was out on a personal scavenge, a Scorp jumped her. They scuffled, but it was Kim who left with nothing but a bloody lip and crooked tooth, and the nameless Scorp lying in a pool of growing blood.
Backstory: Kim was fifteen when the outbreak struck. With one fell blow, she lost mother, father, and twin brothers. For two weeks, she sealed the windows and locked the doors and grieved. She barely ate. In the bubble of her home while the world wreaked havoc outside the walls, time was not sanctioned to pass, as she haunted the halls like the ghosts her family had become.
One day Kim opened the door after someone had been banging on it for five minutes straight, to reveal an old friend on the other side. Josephina forced herself in and locked the door behind her back. She was bleeding from a cut above her temple, but she managed to propel herself into Kim’s arms and almost knock her over. Perhaps it was the way warm blood dripped onto Kim’s back and shoulder, or the sensation of heat and flesh under her hands, but it was enough to pull her back into the present, and do for Josephina what she had had no opportunity to do for her family. Kim cleaned the wound and wrapped Josephina up; Josephina made sure Kim had enough sustenance and brought her back from the brink of a wasted death. She told Kim about her short stint with the Gamers, that she had abandoned when fights for glory and bullshit started taking place. She had tales about a faction they could both go to, and live out the rest of the apocalypse back-to-back, arm-in-arm.
Kim had to admit the prospect of having someone else to live for was attractive.
When they were both well, Josephina led them out the door for the last time, the two of them laden down with all the supplies they could carry. She had heard that the Forgotten were stationed in a shopping district, and that was where they went. But on the way, they encountered Coyotes, who fell on them like a tsunami wave, pouring in from all sides. Armed with bricks, shovels, and pitchforks, they descended upon the two girls.
Kim fought back, scratching and kicking at hands that tried to fall on her. Eventually, she wrenched a hammer out of one Coyote’s hands, and began to beat her way out. She broke elbows and collarbones and the fingers of someone who had been holding a gun. He dropped it. But not before a shot rang out and Kim heard a quiet exhale of breath from behind her.
Death never loses its flavour. At least, it hadn’t in the first three weeks. Even though the population had been decimated, and the streets were still littered with errant corpses no one had bothered to clean up, the children from The Coyotes weren’t acquainted with murder. But as they scurried like kids about to be told on, and she crawled to Josephina - whose blood was flowing in a steady free stream from the gunshot wound over her heart - Kim felt she could kill someone right there and then. Or had she already?
She stayed there for a long time, Josephina’s head cradled in her lap. She watched those eyes empty until they were as blank as the sky they stared up at, and the life drained from her cheeks through a hole in her chest. Kim waited for a deathbed acquittal, for the Coyotes to return with whooping calls and an axe to cleave her neck clean through. But neither ever came. Josephina died quietly, the wind whistled hollowly around them, and the blame for her last friend’s death sat heavily on Kim’s shoulders.
Kim picked up the pistol – ill-gotten gains, that made her feel sick to the stomach – and the bag Josephina had been carrying. With each step feeling like lead, and each breath like a knife in the heart, Kim found her way to the Forgotten.
She never spoke Josephina’s name again.
Other:
A mean grappler. She can defend herself, even on the ground.
Owns a pistol, and scavenges for ammunition
Will use anything within sight to fight. Bottles, knives, and sticks are all fair-game
Light on her feet, and proficient in sneaking quietly in the cover of shadows
Has been with the Forgotten for three years, is aware she could be considered disposable and has no qualms about how trivially her life could be used by authority as a means to an end (i.e. in a turf war) |
49,537 | 1,336 | 31 | 1,436 | 1,402 | The Cyclops
The Meat-Eating Cyclops and the Sullen Squirrel Strangler
A slow smile crossed Cy's face, the kind of smile that seems sincere till you realize it never reaches the eyes. Those kinds of smiles were a dime-a-dozen these days, and Cy was always generous with insincere smiles. Her heavy footed saunter came to a slow stop as a lean girl who was a few inches taller than herself spoke. Spoke? More like guarded the door and ask a low suspicious question. That was fine. In an area like this, right after a funeral, it was good that these kids were keeping on their toes.
Though now that she looked, it seemed as though this 'girl' was actually more around her own age, if a bit younger. According to observations gathered, there was only one nineteen year old in the Forgotten so far. Most were younger. Which was probably why they were a laughable misfit group in the eyes of every other gang around. Tipping her head back a little so the shadows didn't play so dangerously on her face, Cy continued to smile. It would suck to get shot just for looking creepy. The Gamer colors on her jacket probably weren't going to be much help with these guys.
"Trade? Well, yeah, I guess yah could put it that way," Cy deep mountain twang rung out warm against her sharp smile, "This is tha' Forgotten HQ right?" Okay, shaky start. Intros were never her best, but she always flourished so as long as she kept the ball rolling. Her one good eye caught the gleam of the sun from one of her clearly visible blades. It gave the green gaze a hint of fire, like see was searching for something in the other female's face.
The air was heavy, thick with left over remorse and sorrow. But the deep velvet sun-stained wasteland around them seemed unable to leave its mark on Cy. In fact it seemed to transform that cheap smile of hers into something more substantial. Her gloved hands looked too heavy around the knuckles. Her boots looked too heavy. Her shot gun and ammo looked too heavy. Yet her head had a light tilt and an even lighter grin.
"Feel antsy about havin' so many new face 'round, huh?" her words held a small chuckle, "Don't blame yah, doll. Not after the show that Scorp o' Scum pulled on yah." Touchy topic, but the former Gamer kept going, reading everything with her unwavering gaze.
"Truth is," she continued, "I ain't here to dance with you or yer sharp shot on the roof up there. I'm here tah sit at the big kids table." Her eye slowly looked over to the Cyote and Slinker, who she couldn't see inside from her position. But she knew the willow pixie in front of her would know what she was referring to.
"No need tah get jumpy," she put her hands up finally, tilting her head back a bit more, "The Cyote and Creepy Dude in there would give yah more trouble than me." Okay, she was beating around the bush now, just taking her sweet time. And time was luxury. Something she was used to too much with the G-Squad.
"So yah gonna let me in, little pig, little pig," her accent got thick as she got more and more amused with her slow study of the girl before her, "Or should I jus' shout my offer from here?" The burnt up sky got heavier with her words, or maybe it just looked like that to her. Dangerous little tasks, like the betrayal she was about to put in play, always made the world look more vibrant. Like her body was trying to savor every bit of life it could. Ahhh... Now that was what she loved about her self-made job. | Name: Cy (yeah, cuz of the one eye, thanks for pointing it out)
Age: 19
Appearance:
Faction: newly made ex-Gamer
Personality: Temperamental, Snarky, Secretive, Soft Hearted, Vengeance Driven
Backstory: As RP goes on
Skills: She may not look like much but her short build gives her advantages. Advantage Uno: Protect yer goods, cuz she will take dirty shots with those brass knuckles and steel toed boots. Advantage B: She's quick and low to the ground so gettin' yer hands on her is hard. Advantage III: She doesn't have to be a good shot tah get you with her shot gun. As for more practical stuff, her one good eye is pretty darn observant, maybe making up for only havin' one or whatever. Nothing escapes her sight. She has, uh, connections too, but don't ask who they are if you want yer info, yah hear? She also seems to still have her hands in some hush-hush trading, but yah better keep yer mouth shut.
Equipment/Weapons: Shot Gun, Couple of knives, steel toed boots, brass knuckles
Character Quirks: Don't mention the eye unless you want to lose one of yer own. No parent talkin' either. Nail biter. Has a fondness for her food to be on the rawer side of things. |
49,538 | 1,336 | 32 | 1,118 | 7,627 | Shiba was watching everything from his perch up high when he saw that they came to trade he kept an eye on his watch timer but was able to go back to drinking his scotch. soon he noticed that Kim was talking to someone outside but that person she was talking to just gave Shiba a bad vibe. He kept his eyes on his timer but he got set up quickly and got that woman in his scope, This time Shiba was ready to take them down the second Kim gave the signal for shoot which was making a gun with their index finger and 'shooting' the trespasser The second that she gave the signal Shiba would have the green light to take her out. Shiba would avoid killing the trespasser and try to just shoot her in the shoulder but it would none the less get their point across. Shiba will always avoid the killing blow when possible but he wont take any chances when it comes to the shop and his friends... | Name: Shiba Akabane
Age: just turned 18
but his necklace is his dads dog tag
Faction: The forgotten
Personality: an adaptive person he will always try to negotiate first and try diplomacy before he lets the enemy into his trap, he always has a back up plan to his back up plan. Shiba wants to live and figure things out but honestly but he will always try to figure out a way to survive and speed up his hopes of being a father. Shiba while seemly cold to others actually has a warm heart and has a soft spot for kids. Shiba is loyal to his group and will remain loyal until asked to perform something....atrocious then he will not perform it and may even quit if the issue is pressed.
Backstory: January 13th Friday evening, today is Angelo birthday. Yeah happy birthday and all that right? well Angelo just turned 18 and you know what he did to celebrate? He found a nice bottle of scotch and cracked it open, oh don't judge. You know what else he did to celebrate? no he didn't have a birthday cake he didn't go to the fair or anything like that, he spent the rest of his day taking pot shots at a few gang members. Surprised? well you shouldn't be. This is the end of the world as we know it and right now all Angelo bothers to do is drink and kill you would think an 18 year old killing others would be a traumatizing experience but in reality he has already accepted it as the norm ever since all the adults were killed off in some weird way. Angelo grieved for his parents when it happened but what else could he do, he played enough video games to know that the end of the world meant he needed to find a way to survive. Thankfully his father was in the army so he had a good stash of weapons and military rations and he played enough video games and went to the shooting range with his dad enough to figure out which end of the gun to point.
Angelo spent his time making his home into a makeshift fort placing all his furniture out towards the windows and doors to keep himself locked in and he figure out how to stretch the rations for a good while before they dried up on him which meant he had to get moving and find some survivors or at least supplies so he could head back home. The odd thing was that when Angelo went into town he saw that other people his age were still alive nobody old enough to have a grey hair mind you but those of us who were still going through puberty or just finished. Angelo fully expected a zombie horde like in the movies but instead their was gang violence. Angelo made sure to keep away from them he wanted nothing to do with them. Angelo looked around but what else could he expect other then to find out the gangs looted everything so he decided to just lone wolf it.
Angelo wandered around with his gun taking shelter in whatever place looked defensible he tried to go to his fathers army base but it seemed to be taken over by a gang so their was no luck their. Whenever Angelo tried to trade with others he seemed like he was making some sort of ambush and was immediately shot on site, thankfully Angelo had enough sense to wear a bulletproof vest and his dads old army helmet. So Angelo carried guns with no food or water. Along the way he sold a few pieces to some loners like him for food and whatever else they could spare to keep himself alive but soon enough he was starting to starve, he still had the guns to trade but no food. eventually he found the pawn shop and he almost pleaded to trade and when they did they asked Angelo if his was part of gang and once Angelo explained how appalled he was by them they gave him a hand and said that he could join them. Angelo took their hand and never looked back which brings us to today, drinking some scotch and shooting some gang bangers that thought they could steal from their shop. happy birthday....
Skills: strategic mindset able to outmaneuver the enemy into his own trap or ambush, eagle eyes, stealth: able to find a way past enemy lines
Weapons of choice:
*Cheytac .408 cal sniper rifle able to blast a hole through a wall at 100 yards (just exaggeration im not sure if this is actually true I just know its a badass sniper rifle)
*Remington Model 870 pump action combat shotgun meant for close quarters combat |
49,539 | 1,336 | 33 | 1,761 | 2,984 | Drake went inside to double-check the merchendise. He knew that some people had sticky fingers, or less self-control when it came to food. In a way, he couldn't blame them-- rationing sucked, even when there was a food source at the local Wally World. The ganja guys there probably had the munchies just as much as someone who didn't partake in the herb.
A thought suddenly struck him funny as he took inventory. I wonder if they bake the chickens before they cook them? he thought. He grinned, chuckling. "Pot for every chicken!" | Name: Hans Drake
Age: 19
Appearance: Drake stands at 5'8", and is of a somewhat stocky build. His eyes are gray, and his short, thick locks are black in color with (permanent) red highlights. More often than not, he can be seen wearing black, and/or camouflage. He has two fashion statements: the first is a pair of black goggles with reflective gold lenses that he has strapped to his forehead. The second is a black balaclava with a fanged skull on the front in white paint.
Faction: The Forgotten
Personality: (Optional)
Notes: - Uses a military grade marksman rifle.
- Has a love of music, and keeps his iPod charged on a constant basis.
- Drake considers The Forgotten his family, and will go to any length to protect or avenge them. |
49,540 | 1,336 | 34 | 2,633 | 3,130 | Erren walked towards the shop, sky in tow,many begun to reload his revolver. Leaving the graveyard behind was an easy task, yet he couldn't understand how some people found it so hard to peel themselves away. People were dead, yes, but there was truly nothing that could be done to save them; not even the continuum could. Even still, the idea of praying to Gods for the peace of souls, or even talking to the graves in any manner was looked upon by him as nothing but mad triviality created by people that could not let go of the people they had lost. Maybe the people who did such things weren't mentally capable to deal with change and loss, but there were some that could handle the stress. It felt so alien to him; so otherworldly that he couldn't fathom it.
Approaching the shop from the side, Erren heard an unmistakably thick accent from... Was it Scotish, or something else? He couldn't quite tell, but coming to the entrance pretty much forced him to a conclusion. A girl with a thick accent, missing eye and red hair? Definitely Scotish, even if it was pretty uncommon for someone with that thick an accent to be around these parts. There were a couple others who seemed to have come to trade or whatnot, but the woman seemed the most... Unapproachable.
"Kim, hey. This kid giving you trouble?" he asked, looking at the woman with a cold stare of distrust. Then he tapped the revolver to the side of his head in a slight attempt to threaten her.
"If she is, why don't we show her how I deal with people who come knocking on a door of outcasts after a large number of us were killed? Should make for a great... Spectacle..." he said, a small smile creasing the sides of his lips as he finished.
Kim was a quiet person, as everyone knew, but there was a lot more to her than everyone probably thought. She almost looked like a personal war front slave; throwing herself into the line of battle like a freaking suicide bomber, with deadly skills to boot. Erren took a couple guess a while back, with most coming to the possible conclusion she might have had some kind of inferiority complex. To throw herself into war on a whim or flip of a coin seemed a little... Absurd, to say the least, but it was like she didn't care. Either she was extremely cocky, or mostly crazy, or a bit of both. Yet, neither seemed to fit her entirely perfectly. She had the skills to warrant an ego, but the ferocity and willingness to complete insanity. But nothing seemed to be a perfect piece to finish her psyche. Erren had taken quite a while trying to figure out what the hell was going on inside her head, but only ever coming to the idea of 'inventing a brain extrapolation device and cutting her head open'. For some reason, though, that didn't seem very appealing.
He stood in front of both Kim and the Scotish woman, holding the revolver slightly upwards past his head, but resting against it. Then, he brought it down to hip height and aimed it at her.
"Please, state your true intentions before I put a bullet through your spleen. That, or show us what you have to either sell or trade, because we aren't really in the mood for petty games." he said, the last of the light in the sky glinting in his eyes, "And don't lie to me, or our little friend on the roof will be the least of your worries." he finished, the smile that cracked his lips blossoming into a smile of enjoyment. He hadn't held someone at gunpoint since he took a couple Gamers hostage a few months back, and he felt elated; ecstatic. A feeling that couldn't be rivalled by anything. | Erren "Nine" Drake
Age:
17
Faction:
Mostly the Forgotten, but he has been known to go alone on occasion.
Personality:
Erren is rather brash, often saying things that are offensive on a whim without thinking. He has been known to be rather uncaring with his actions and often doesn't care about neither the repercussions or the people involved. He has also been known to be very violent, to the point of almost killing people, but tends to hide it from his friends. Despite this, he is actually extremely intelligent in both chemistry and computer science, whilst also being a rather impressive fiction writer. And, to put it simply, he has a mild case of chuunibyou.
Backstory:
To be revealed, except maybe one part. Try and guess ^_^
Other:
He keeps a set of very sharp knives, two katanas and a shotgun in his secret area. He also has a set of 52 cards that he made himself, all with summoning circles printed on them.
He has also adopted the moniker of Nine from somewhere, but he has also called himself the "Ninth Ruler of the Continuum Throne". Whatever that means... |
49,541 | 1,336 | 35 | 1,436 | 1,402 | The Cyclops
Don't Shot Me, Bro
'Kid'? Her? Now she was highly amused. Were there really any actual 'kids' left in this world? Seemed like only snakes and salamanders were truly left. A soft laugh left her lips. Tilting her head to the side, the red head turned her one piercing green eye to the boy in front of her. He looked a little too happy to be pointing that gun at her. And being shot so soon wasn't exactly in the plans for today. Her lash marks were only just healing. The dust on her face was a good cover up of her abnormally pale complexion, but there was no way she was going to let these trigger happy kiddies see her weakness.
You couldn't exactly just walk out of the Gamer Gang. Not without a punishment.
One she had been just fine at taking. But now it seemed to have become a disadvantage, instead of a badge of honor. It made her shirt stick to her back and her shot gun made it ache a bit too much. She hoped she wasn't bleeding through the jacket. It was her favorite jacket. With a small sigh, the amusement drained from her face. Looking up at the sky, she supposed there was not much more free time left before she got another pretty pucker bullet wound to match the other. Her eye shot down, the sharp pale color a bit cold, but could you blame her? She was in serious pain and this little snips weren't making this easy.
With the Cyote and Slinker inside, she had assumed she would be treated with suspicion, but allowed to meet inside as well. The Slinker was a lot creepier than her. Hey, she was friggin' adorable compared to that guy. But they were being cautious. After losing their friends, it was only right. They were mad and wanted to take it out on someone. She could empathize. Just...maybe not at this moment.
"Look, Greenie," she stared the boy down, "If I wanted a fight, I would of stayed wit' the Gamers, not risked meh skin comin' here alone." Cy grabbed the Gamer patch on her jacket sleeve and with one solid tug it was released from its stitches with a nice RIIIIIP! Tossing it in the dust at their feet, she just put her hands up.
"If you think this is a game, yer in for a cold wakin' up, Greenie," her voice was warm but low and serious, "Gamer-Scorp fightin' is about tah blow up in the matter o' days. A lil' tussle with some of their stranglers ain't gonna be nothin' compared to the truf war that's comin'." She gestured to the area around her. "And a few extra guns is somethin' worth more than twinkies and a can o' Coke for both sides," Cy stared him down, "Some smaller gangs have already been assimilated. And some wiped out."
She let the simmer for a bit.
"Ain't you wonderin' why yeh been gettin' so much attention lately?" she cocked her head towards the graves, "Ya'll think yeh can handle both them gangs on yer own? But whatever. Shot meh if ya like. I thought ye lot with be a little more intelligent, but maybe I should try my hand with the the Earthkin." She slipped a little white sheet of paper from on of her pockets and twirled it this way and that. Looking at it, it was oddly untouched by the grim of the world around it. Like it had been from a very well kept up book.
"Heh, don't think the O.S. will let meh back in their mess fer a while," she looked back at the child soldiers then up at the sharp shooter, "Try not to mess up meh pretty face, alright Sharp Shot?" She looked back down at the boy and girl before her. "Gotta keep The Cyclops face a might bit prettier these days. Bad fer business if an info seller looks like a Frankenstein."
She licked her lips and set one foot back. Bracing herself. Hey, not everyone could be reasoned with and this crazy eyed Greenie looked thirsty for her blood. "Map of the Scorps hangout," she said plainly, "That, kiddies, is meh trade." | Name: Cy (yeah, cuz of the one eye, thanks for pointing it out)
Age: 19
Appearance:
Faction: newly made ex-Gamer
Personality: Temperamental, Snarky, Secretive, Soft Hearted, Vengeance Driven
Backstory: As RP goes on
Skills: She may not look like much but her short build gives her advantages. Advantage Uno: Protect yer goods, cuz she will take dirty shots with those brass knuckles and steel toed boots. Advantage B: She's quick and low to the ground so gettin' yer hands on her is hard. Advantage III: She doesn't have to be a good shot tah get you with her shot gun. As for more practical stuff, her one good eye is pretty darn observant, maybe making up for only havin' one or whatever. Nothing escapes her sight. She has, uh, connections too, but don't ask who they are if you want yer info, yah hear? She also seems to still have her hands in some hush-hush trading, but yah better keep yer mouth shut.
Equipment/Weapons: Shot Gun, Couple of knives, steel toed boots, brass knuckles
Character Quirks: Don't mention the eye unless you want to lose one of yer own. No parent talkin' either. Nail biter. Has a fondness for her food to be on the rawer side of things. |
49,542 | 1,336 | 36 | 69 | 678 | Alice scowled at the monitor in her room as Charon looked straight at the camera. What an annoying man! She didn't seem to be the only one who found him obnoxious - when he greeted the onlookers, he received no response at all.
"Before you get to look through your books," said Katie, "I'm afraid there are some formalities to deal with. You'll be meeting with the Oracle... remotely, so you can't threaten her again. Follow me."
Katie left her position and made for one of the room's back exits, motioning for Charon to follow.
***
As she approached the room she was leading the medic to, Katie whispered, "You and I should talk later... privately. But, for now, just try not to get into trouble. She can be a fickle little one."
Without awaiting a response, Katie turned on her heel, leaving Charon alone with the brat.
***
Despite her best attempts to maintain regal composure, Alice couldn't quite hide her irritation at the fact that the man she had ordered to be killed was now standing before her, alive as ever. "Sit down," she said coldly, "If you want to keep living, you'd better do what I say. Firstly, you will give up those samples you mentioned. They don't belong anywhere near me. Secondly, you must swear not to try to undermine my authority again. Usually, I make people swear it in the name of the Highest, but I doubt that would hold much weight with you, so how about you swear it in the name of your sister, and everyone else you've failed to save?" An icy smile formed on Alice's lips. If Charon dared refuse, he would just be killed like she had wanted, and he was bound not to agree to such an oath! | Name: Alice Graethem
Age: 10
Faction: Omnibus Scientia
Personality/Backstory: Long story short, Alice is a genius. At the age of six, she was zooming through advanced calculus problems at a pace that made her father's college students quiver with insecurity. However, because of her high intelligence, she was always something of a loner - children her age were so stupid it was obnoxious, and adults never understood her idea of fun. As a result, Alice grew distant from others, viewed them as inferior. They treated her like the outcast she was, and soon, Alice learned that cruelty was the only way to protect herself from the ridicule of others. After the plague wiped out her entire family, Alice decided to make a change - she would project a kind, bubbly image to the world, to endear herself to others, for she could not survive on her own. Her ruse worked all too well; before long, the marriage of her feigned innocence and ruthless intellect had given birth to companions, and, with the help of a few well placed lies designed to revive the dashed hopes of the unsuspecting, Alice turned her companions into followers, and Omnibus Scientia was formed. And, oh, the fools kept joining and joining...
Other: Alice's greatest tool is her intellect. She is useless in a fight, and relies on her followers to defend her. However, Alice does have a talent for hiding herself, when she must. She is very paranoid about what she eats and drinks out of a fear of assassins. Nonetheless, on rare occasions, she may let down her guard if offered chocolate chip cookies. |
49,543 | 1,336 | 37 | 1,576 | 358 | Kim Marie
"This is tha' Forgotten HQ right?" Kim nodded at that question, but her face did not waver from its stony expression. Not at the mention of the Scorps, nor when the redheaded girl called her doll, little pig. And then Erren came, to ask after the redhead. "...why don't we show her how I deal with people who come knocking on a door of outcasts after a large number of us were killed?" Brusque, was Erren, cutting to the point with a serrated edge.
"She hasn't started anything," Kim replied, with a glance at Erren, before her eyes snapped back to the ginger. "Yet."
But it transpired the girl did trade, and with information that came free of charge. Her hand - ashen with dust - tossed her Gamer badge and fealty to the dirt. That earned a smite of Kim's interest. So she hadn't come to speak for the colours that Kim harboured no interest in crossing. But then she spoke of a Scorps hangout. "That, kiddies, is meh trade."
Cards were on the table now. Not all of them, but that was too much a rarity. Kim raised her free hand to shoulder-height, in a universal sign for wait. Calm. "All right," she said evenly, briefly bending her first and last fingers in a sign of three fingers - for as many minutes - before she folded those against her palm too. Shiba on the roof would have seen that. Kim lowered her clenched fist, turning her body inward, and stared at the ginger's last remaining eye. "I do not suppose I have to tell a lass like you we do not invite trouble in our shop." She jerked her head towards the open entrance to the shop, and waited for the girl to pass.
She looked at Erren, and swiped the flat of her thumb across her temple, the sign for I'll keep a watch. There were three in the shop now, all shifty characters. Kim liked it none, but these days she liked little. With a beat of remote hesitation, she knocked her knuckles on her collar-bone, and turned into the shop in the wake of the girl. Her own signal for thanks.
Their base was small enough, and with a total of five in its quarters, it made for cramped arrangements. Feet shoulder-width apart, Kim stationed herself in the corner by the entrance. A bead of sweat careened down her forehead. It was only a matter of waiting before more streaked the same path. But cupping her hands around her ever ready pistol, she stood sentry to watch the trade carefully. | Name:
Kim Marie
Age:
18
Faction:
The Forgotten
Personality:
Before the infection, Kim was a happy-go-lucky girl. The youngest and only daughter in a family of reasonably affluent means, there was little she had to worry for. She was clever enough, and got good grades, occasionally topping her class in the good years.
But she came to the Forgotten a shell of who she had been. At the start, she was just a scared, shaking fifteen-year-old, who quaked in her Converse sneakers. Now, she is nothing if not quiet. You would have to pry her lips open for conversation, and her replies are often grunts, or monosyllabic. She’s a person of few words, Kim is, and sullen. She would make a good soldier; sometimes, she stands like she’s carved of marble, still enough to convince flies to land on her. Even then, she does not move. She takes orders, if they’re yelled at her, or passed under a breath. Enlist her into a turf war and she’ll throw herself into the battle, frontline or no. People have whispered rumours about her, but just because she is close to mute, she’s not deaf. She knows some of them think she’s cold-blooded. She’s heard gossip that she kills squirrels for fun – ridiculous, there are hardly enough around for that anymore. It’s strange though, she could embark on a mission with almost suicidal determination. But the moment she is attacked, she lunges forward screaming, fighting ruthlessly, tooth and claw, her way back to life. Once, when she was out on a personal scavenge, a Scorp jumped her. They scuffled, but it was Kim who left with nothing but a bloody lip and crooked tooth, and the nameless Scorp lying in a pool of growing blood.
Backstory: Kim was fifteen when the outbreak struck. With one fell blow, she lost mother, father, and twin brothers. For two weeks, she sealed the windows and locked the doors and grieved. She barely ate. In the bubble of her home while the world wreaked havoc outside the walls, time was not sanctioned to pass, as she haunted the halls like the ghosts her family had become.
One day Kim opened the door after someone had been banging on it for five minutes straight, to reveal an old friend on the other side. Josephina forced herself in and locked the door behind her back. She was bleeding from a cut above her temple, but she managed to propel herself into Kim’s arms and almost knock her over. Perhaps it was the way warm blood dripped onto Kim’s back and shoulder, or the sensation of heat and flesh under her hands, but it was enough to pull her back into the present, and do for Josephina what she had had no opportunity to do for her family. Kim cleaned the wound and wrapped Josephina up; Josephina made sure Kim had enough sustenance and brought her back from the brink of a wasted death. She told Kim about her short stint with the Gamers, that she had abandoned when fights for glory and bullshit started taking place. She had tales about a faction they could both go to, and live out the rest of the apocalypse back-to-back, arm-in-arm.
Kim had to admit the prospect of having someone else to live for was attractive.
When they were both well, Josephina led them out the door for the last time, the two of them laden down with all the supplies they could carry. She had heard that the Forgotten were stationed in a shopping district, and that was where they went. But on the way, they encountered Coyotes, who fell on them like a tsunami wave, pouring in from all sides. Armed with bricks, shovels, and pitchforks, they descended upon the two girls.
Kim fought back, scratching and kicking at hands that tried to fall on her. Eventually, she wrenched a hammer out of one Coyote’s hands, and began to beat her way out. She broke elbows and collarbones and the fingers of someone who had been holding a gun. He dropped it. But not before a shot rang out and Kim heard a quiet exhale of breath from behind her.
Death never loses its flavour. At least, it hadn’t in the first three weeks. Even though the population had been decimated, and the streets were still littered with errant corpses no one had bothered to clean up, the children from The Coyotes weren’t acquainted with murder. But as they scurried like kids about to be told on, and she crawled to Josephina - whose blood was flowing in a steady free stream from the gunshot wound over her heart - Kim felt she could kill someone right there and then. Or had she already?
She stayed there for a long time, Josephina’s head cradled in her lap. She watched those eyes empty until they were as blank as the sky they stared up at, and the life drained from her cheeks through a hole in her chest. Kim waited for a deathbed acquittal, for the Coyotes to return with whooping calls and an axe to cleave her neck clean through. But neither ever came. Josephina died quietly, the wind whistled hollowly around them, and the blame for her last friend’s death sat heavily on Kim’s shoulders.
Kim picked up the pistol – ill-gotten gains, that made her feel sick to the stomach – and the bag Josephina had been carrying. With each step feeling like lead, and each breath like a knife in the heart, Kim found her way to the Forgotten.
She never spoke Josephina’s name again.
Other:
A mean grappler. She can defend herself, even on the ground.
Owns a pistol, and scavenges for ammunition
Will use anything within sight to fight. Bottles, knives, and sticks are all fair-game
Light on her feet, and proficient in sneaking quietly in the cover of shadows
Has been with the Forgotten for three years, is aware she could be considered disposable and has no qualms about how trivially her life could be used by authority as a means to an end (i.e. in a turf war) |
49,544 | 1,336 | 38 | 1,118 | 7,627 | ]
Shiba watched seeing that Erren showed up to talk to the new person on the ground along with Kim. Shiba was getting an itchy trigger finger which was only worsened when he saw through the scope that she was giving the signal to stay calm and wait 3 minutes. Shiba then reset the timer in his watch to go for the next 3 minutes. He had a scope in the pawn shop itself so he could see what was happening and was able to know that the trader from before hasn't tried anything so now Shiba was just going to have to watch and wait a little longer. Damn it Shiba was on edge he started to get the feeling of pins and needles on his hands needing to do something. He gets this way when their members die and he feels like he cant do anything! its so frustrating! Shiba put down his sniper rifle and then took a few more swigs of his scotch to calm down his trigger finger. Shiba needed to stay calm and trust in his friends to keep the trade going. Shiba knew that this is what they did so he couldn't interfere until necessary, didn't mean he couldn't feel nervous around the amount of people in the shop though.... | Name: Shiba Akabane
Age: just turned 18
but his necklace is his dads dog tag
Faction: The forgotten
Personality: an adaptive person he will always try to negotiate first and try diplomacy before he lets the enemy into his trap, he always has a back up plan to his back up plan. Shiba wants to live and figure things out but honestly but he will always try to figure out a way to survive and speed up his hopes of being a father. Shiba while seemly cold to others actually has a warm heart and has a soft spot for kids. Shiba is loyal to his group and will remain loyal until asked to perform something....atrocious then he will not perform it and may even quit if the issue is pressed.
Backstory: January 13th Friday evening, today is Angelo birthday. Yeah happy birthday and all that right? well Angelo just turned 18 and you know what he did to celebrate? He found a nice bottle of scotch and cracked it open, oh don't judge. You know what else he did to celebrate? no he didn't have a birthday cake he didn't go to the fair or anything like that, he spent the rest of his day taking pot shots at a few gang members. Surprised? well you shouldn't be. This is the end of the world as we know it and right now all Angelo bothers to do is drink and kill you would think an 18 year old killing others would be a traumatizing experience but in reality he has already accepted it as the norm ever since all the adults were killed off in some weird way. Angelo grieved for his parents when it happened but what else could he do, he played enough video games to know that the end of the world meant he needed to find a way to survive. Thankfully his father was in the army so he had a good stash of weapons and military rations and he played enough video games and went to the shooting range with his dad enough to figure out which end of the gun to point.
Angelo spent his time making his home into a makeshift fort placing all his furniture out towards the windows and doors to keep himself locked in and he figure out how to stretch the rations for a good while before they dried up on him which meant he had to get moving and find some survivors or at least supplies so he could head back home. The odd thing was that when Angelo went into town he saw that other people his age were still alive nobody old enough to have a grey hair mind you but those of us who were still going through puberty or just finished. Angelo fully expected a zombie horde like in the movies but instead their was gang violence. Angelo made sure to keep away from them he wanted nothing to do with them. Angelo looked around but what else could he expect other then to find out the gangs looted everything so he decided to just lone wolf it.
Angelo wandered around with his gun taking shelter in whatever place looked defensible he tried to go to his fathers army base but it seemed to be taken over by a gang so their was no luck their. Whenever Angelo tried to trade with others he seemed like he was making some sort of ambush and was immediately shot on site, thankfully Angelo had enough sense to wear a bulletproof vest and his dads old army helmet. So Angelo carried guns with no food or water. Along the way he sold a few pieces to some loners like him for food and whatever else they could spare to keep himself alive but soon enough he was starting to starve, he still had the guns to trade but no food. eventually he found the pawn shop and he almost pleaded to trade and when they did they asked Angelo if his was part of gang and once Angelo explained how appalled he was by them they gave him a hand and said that he could join them. Angelo took their hand and never looked back which brings us to today, drinking some scotch and shooting some gang bangers that thought they could steal from their shop. happy birthday....
Skills: strategic mindset able to outmaneuver the enemy into his own trap or ambush, eagle eyes, stealth: able to find a way past enemy lines
Weapons of choice:
*Cheytac .408 cal sniper rifle able to blast a hole through a wall at 100 yards (just exaggeration im not sure if this is actually true I just know its a badass sniper rifle)
*Remington Model 870 pump action combat shotgun meant for close quarters combat |
49,545 | 1,336 | 39 | 220 | 2,523 | Charon stared intently at the monitor, grabbing his glasses and cleaning them. When the girl mentioned parting away with the samples, his whole body tensed significantly. His nostrils flared up.
"They're part of my research, those. I would rather defend those with my life." He unintentionally get out, his anger getting the best of him. He quickly realized his mistake though, as he composed his face in a thin illusion of civility. The second comment she made didn't help. Reminded him of his failures. I´m gonna go the full mile and strangle you, you little shit. Even if it means breaking... hold on. Charon's gears clicked in his mind, as his murderous thoughts brought him awareness of a little detail, the wording of the oath. He lowered his head. She wasn't aware of that, was she?
Like a methodical adult, he swallowed hard. Losing the samples would be quite a blow, but you couldn't win all of your battles. You needed to look at the bigger scheme. Lose a battle, win a war. He inhaled.
"Alright. Both of those I accept. I swear on my sister's tomb and all the tombs of my patients I will not to try undermine your authority as the Oracle."
I'll undermine you for sure. Or outright kill you. This oath has a second reading. | Name:Charles D. Ronnington, M.D. (self appointed) AKA Charon
Age: 22
Faction:Straggler, To Be Determined.
Personality: Charles appears at first an even tempered individual with a flawless work ethic, a rare throwback to how life was before the Virus. Charles doesn't compromise on human lives, and he tries to live and let live the best way he can in this world, offering guidance as perhaps one of the last -adults- this world has seen. However, cracks in his psyche are apparent. Charles has just lost too many things to the Virus to remain unaffected, and his inability to fight it burns him from the inside out. He's single-mindedly determined to find a cure or breakthrough to such an ailment.
Backstory: Charles was a humble medical student who was barely 19 when the outbreak started. As the plague overpowered the vast majority of adults and depleted the medical ranks aswell, Charles was soon fielded, despite his relative youth and lack of experience. Fully exploiting his resistance to the virus, he volunteered to deal with many afflicted patients, despite the obvious risk of infection. Seniors, children, all died in his hands without him unable to do anything about it. Yet he still lived. And he kept stubbornly refusing to ever give up.
By the time the plague had reshaped Kano, Charles was already a seasoned field medic, but one terribly broken and in grief. Taking the nickname of "Charon", the ferryman of the dead, as a self-parody of his ghastly patient record, he shouldered on, still determined to maintain the one little piece of medical expertise that the Virus was unable to exterminate, himself.
Other: Charon has been infected a grand total of 12 times during his tenure as field medic. As such, he's adquired a great degree of resistance to the illness even if he's past the assumed safe age of infection. He's familiar with many of the workings of the old world, specially in the way of medical expertise and equipment. Charon is also rather fit, and he has a decent left hook when the situation calls for it, but he's not a master martial artist. He has surgical precision when using blades, but it's more useful for proper healing than fighting. He usually wears a portable medkit in his backpack, as well as sample recollection material. He can drive decently, and he's managed to keep a motorbike up and running to this point. |
49,546 | 1,336 | 40 | 1,570 | 4,066 | Watching carefully as the man unloaded his bags, Marion took inventory in her head of things they would need and things they wouldn't need. "Yes. no. yes. yes. yes. no." she thought to herself as he filled the counter with his items. Mari had been zoning out while the boy spoke, most customers if they weren't apart of the forgotten just rambled about how well their group was doing, or hadn't seen another person for weeks upon weeks so they used Marion as a crutch for a good conversation. However, when the boy said "Seems they had been killing all sorts of people, though." she felt a twinge of grief for the mass of lives they lost recently. "They are savages and not deserving of life, let alone freedom." Mari replied, giving the boy a stern look. He fiddled around with his bags some more, making mistakes that she took not much notice in, nor care. Turning her straight face into a small smile.
In the distance of the store front Drake and Abel made their way to the shop. "Here comes Drake, he will be able to help you better than I can. Even though, between you and I, I'm the best salesperson there is around these parts. Could have sold you your shoes that you're wearing if I tried." she teased as the man from before suddenly busted through the doors.
"How can I join The Forgotten?"
Marion stared with her mouth agape. It wasn't often that people asked to join their group, it just sort of happened over time. People that didn't belong anywhere else came, did favors, just stayed around. Some seasonal, some forever. "I-I uh." Mari started, a bit overwhelmed with how many things were going on at the time.
As if someone was punishing her, Kim came around the corner to join in on the party. Marion didn't know much about Kim, but what she did know scared the shit out of her. She heard the girl killed her entire family even before the virus happened. She heard that Kim once killed a 300lb man with just a ballpoint pen. She heard Kim would kick anyone's ass if you even looked at her funny. All of these were rumors of course, but all rumors have a bit of truth to em'.
Now more members had came around, surrounding the shop. Speaking with yet another new face. "What is it about new people today?" she thought to herself, wishing someone would give her a hand. Kim moved to the side letting yet ANOTHER person into the shop. "Is it getting hot in here, or just me?" Marion whispered to herself, with a nervous chuckle as she arranged the items they needed to the side and the others to the side. "Okay shorty, this is what I'll take. What are you looking to trade? We'll go from there." Looking towards the wandering priest, "You will have to talk to someone with some more power, I suggest you wait outside. I don't have any business here for you." and now to the one eyed girl she spoke, pointing a finger towards her, "I hope you see something you like here to trade with me, or we have no business for you either." Marion said with a smug look upon her face.
She thought she handled that relatively well. | Name:
Marion Dwight. But most call her Mari.
Age:
16
Faction:
The Forgotten
Personality:
Clever. Idealistic. Lazy. Proud. Humorous.
Backstory:
Marion is the type of girl to steal borrow your jacket and try to sell it to you a week later. She's clever and crafty, making her a prime saleswoman at the pawn shop. Though she is young, she has a good understanding of how people work and isn't afraid to tell you exactly what she knows and how well she knows it. Unfortunately, to get this far, you have to get up and off your ass, something Mari often struggles with every morning.
It is not rare to find Mari cracking jokes or playing pranks on people during down time. Which in turn has caused many fights to break out. She isn't the best fighter, but she can wrestle with the best of them. Before the outbreak of the virus, Mari was in between a juvenile detention center and an alternative school in North Minneapolis, trying to get on the right track. She made her way to Kano with the group of kids from the juvenile center, but when things became overly violent and tense, she left the group and eventually found her way to her current sanction. She's thankful for their hospitality, even though she doesn't always show it.
Other:
Skills:
- Sales
- Cooking
- Getting a smile out of Kin
Equipment:
- Has tons of winter gear that she has stolen
- Usually has a cigarette or blunt behind her ear
Weapons:
- Pocket knife
Quirks:
- Knows how to braid, dread, and cut hair |
49,547 | 1,336 | 41 | 2,126 | 2,875 | Alphonsé Akiyama
The Forgotten HQ
The tension was high on the shop and Rōnin did not like it one bit. People began flooding the shop and with more people, more potential hostiles. He gripped his gūnto tighter now, one hand on his revolver ready to gun everyone down. Years of loneliness didn't make him the most trusting of people and he's actually the direct opposite. Staring intently at the nervous girl with hollow eyes, he waited for his answer. Though the man looked incredibly calm in the outside, he was straining for control. Inner, with every whiff of dead body, gained strength to try and take him over.
'This would all be very simple if you let me out and slaughter all these people.' Alphonsé rolled his eyes before stomping on the little insect and kicking him into a cage. He felt calmer now but if this tension wasn't cut soon, parts of him would be tempted to let Inner do his thing. "You will have to talk to someone with some more power, I suggest you wait outside. I don't have any business here for you." He almost flipped table, slightly angered at the inefficiency of the Forgotten.
Rōnin placed his hands on the table, eyes staring intently at the girl, and rumbled in a deep voice "Well. I shall wait outside but I will not wait there for long." He smiled and turned to walk towards the door. He knew how intimidating his smile, the inner horrors that it hid and how it creeped the majority of people out. It was the smile of a crazy man living a crazy life. It was enough to make most people shudder or cry. He walked towards the entrance before pausing to look at the situation in front of him.
'It's even more fucking tense out here than it is there!' He watched as the man, presumably a part of the Forgotten, drew a gun and aimed it at the girl. Alphonsé wasn't called the "Wandering Priest" for no reason and was deeply religious and had a chivalry second to none. No matter how long he stayed in those damn gangs, no one can change his upbringing. He opened the door and stepped in between the gun and the girl.
"Boy." He said in a deep Japanese accent, looking down at the younger man with disappointed eyes. "You know what they do in the Yakuza when you don't treat a woman with respect?" He raised his left hand, showing him the famous four fingered hand. "You put that gun away and let the girl into the shop. I don't mean no harm but if you don't let this Lady in, I will find service elsewhere." He indicated to the door to let the redhead in. | Name:
Alphonsé Akiyama
Alias:
Rōnin
Age:
22
Appearance:
Alphonsé appears to be one of the more crazier individuals you will ever meet. He is covered, from chest downwards, in tattoos signifying gang relations, drug use, crimes done in the past and scary visages of death. His face is kept clean and sharp, shaven with not a single tattoo. His hollow green eyes are dark and seem to sink into his face. Unruly black hair is safely tucked in to the hat he wears almost constantly. Scratches and scars adorn his body, wounds old and fresh. However, the scariest thing about the Akiyama is not his tattoos or scars. It is his smile. His smile is manic and crazy, a smile fit only for a predator. It almost looks comical on someone as lean as him but it always promises bloody murder.
Faction:
Straggler
Personality:
Rōnin is a more silent character, seemingly contemplating past conquests and failures. He almost never talks outside the battlefield, his face looking resigned and almost pained. If he does need to talk, he communicates in hand signals and grunts. As one of the oldest people in the wasteland, he has seen things that would've mentally scarred many. Very few know of his mental disorders. The quietness and withdrawal is from the drugs to suppress his bipolar and schizophrenic tendencies. He scours the wasteland for them, scared of what would happen if the drugs ran out. Though no one knows it, the Akiyama is actually a very religiously connected person and will often recite quotes from the bible out of nowhere. This god-fearing persona may be due to his fear of going crazy.
In battlefield however, his other side takes over. Alphonsé becomes an absolute monster, shooting and cleaving with manic precision. He is crazed and in a berserker like state. He screams, howls and shouts curses at the enemy and sometimes at friends. His desires take over and he will not rest until the last enemy falls to the ground, pelted with bullets or beheaded by sword.
Backstory:
To be revealed
Other:
Customised AR-15
-Collapsable Stock
-Extended Magazine (~45 rounds)
-Sound Suppressor
-5 Magazines
Colt Python
-40 bullets
Gūnto Sword
Swiss Army Knife |
49,548 | 1,336 | 42 | 1,436 | 1,402 | The Cyclops
Not Just A Job, But Survival
Cy was hesitant to move for a moment, but she supposed that the Willow Pixie was her best bet at survival next to Sharp Shot and Greenie. Boys... Honestly. Giving one last look up to the roof, she followed the expressionless pixie girl. Sure, the red head knew she wasn't the most trustworthy looking person around, but who was these days? It was people who looked too trustworthy that Cy never wanted to mess with. That was just asking for trouble. At least she was honest about having no real side but her own. Good thing the girl decided to risk Cy though. The lash marks on her back were starting to make her worry.
Slinker ended up coming outside and stepping in front of the gun pointed at her. Curious. Most people didn't like getting shot for other. How odd. She wasn't often surprised. But this rouge was surprising to her. Tilting her head back, she peered at him curiously, then gave him a nod of gratitude as she passed. Curiouser and curiouser... She'd have to to study him a bit later. Yea know, when she was bleeding through her shirt.
Trouble? Her? She had meant it when she had said that she would be less of a threat than the other strangers in the shop. Cy was starting to feel a bit light headed, but she refused to show weakness. Not with Greenie eyeing her like she eyed a nice rabbit in the brush. Hand signals were exchanged, and Cy followed the other girl into the building. It was a lot smaller than it looked, all cramped and claustrophobic. The kind of place she hated. But she was coming towards the end of her rope. It was still a good trek to the Earthkin territory, and the Forgotten were a better risk that the O.S., Scorps, or any other small gang who could be easy targets.
Rubbing a gloved hand over her brow, she removed some dust and cold sweat. Dammit, she was was getting weak now? Now when she had to watch her back? Great. A sun-kissed, badger-attitude girl was working the shop. Cy shifted her green eye to the ex-Cyote cautiously. She hadn't worked with either of this guy or the Slinker, but rumors were enough. Possible connections with either would be nice, but she was working a game plan right now. Speaking of which...
Badger Girl had turned her sharp tone right on Cy. Putting her map on the untouched side of the table, she slowly took off the shot gun and ammo straps, keeping them on her arm, just in case anyone decided to try and grab a bit of extra around here. Then, slowly, carefully, she shrugged off her jacket with a small hiss. Turn her back to the sharp-tongued girl, she jabbed a thumb at a her back. The shirt she wore stuck to her back with dark dingy red stick stains, slowly seeping out with more and more blood.
"Got anythin' fer this?" she grunted through her teeth, head held high, "It's sorta ruin' my shirt. Salve or bandages or anythin' would be nice."
Smug little badger girl... She just wanted to trade as quickly as possible. Maybe find some run down forgotten place where she could apply medicine and sleep for a bit. A nice easy night. For once. Geez, she hated feeling pathetic. Let's just get this over with. | Name: Cy (yeah, cuz of the one eye, thanks for pointing it out)
Age: 19
Appearance:
Faction: newly made ex-Gamer
Personality: Temperamental, Snarky, Secretive, Soft Hearted, Vengeance Driven
Backstory: As RP goes on
Skills: She may not look like much but her short build gives her advantages. Advantage Uno: Protect yer goods, cuz she will take dirty shots with those brass knuckles and steel toed boots. Advantage B: She's quick and low to the ground so gettin' yer hands on her is hard. Advantage III: She doesn't have to be a good shot tah get you with her shot gun. As for more practical stuff, her one good eye is pretty darn observant, maybe making up for only havin' one or whatever. Nothing escapes her sight. She has, uh, connections too, but don't ask who they are if you want yer info, yah hear? She also seems to still have her hands in some hush-hush trading, but yah better keep yer mouth shut.
Equipment/Weapons: Shot Gun, Couple of knives, steel toed boots, brass knuckles
Character Quirks: Don't mention the eye unless you want to lose one of yer own. No parent talkin' either. Nail biter. Has a fondness for her food to be on the rawer side of things. |
49,549 | 1,336 | 43 | 2,633 | 3,130 | a new challenger approaches Erren thought, as the wondering priest stepped in between him and the Scotish one. When people stood in front of a shot normally, the bullet would just pass them through and then move onto the next. However, bullets were a lot less fun than playing with people and their ideals. Especially someone who both seemed religious, as well as gang material, or at least that's what he claimed.
"Well that's unlucky for you, because we aren't a Yakuza. Nor do we play by their rules." he said, flipping the revolver into his hand so he was holding the barrel, "You seem like a... Mostly, reasonable person. But don't cross me when I'm having fun, or it'll be your name on my bullet, not hers." he finished, motioning to the redhead who had now made her way into the shop. He had a right mind to shoot him where he stood just to get the thing over with, but for some reason that almost didn't feel right. It wasn't that morals stood in his way, but that there was a lot more this priest could do for the Forgotten alive than being worm food, and one such thing was not bloody prayers.
"I heard our shopkeeper wanted you to speak to a Drake. Now, I would love to help you in your predicament of joining the wounded field, but I have much better things to be doing that don't involve helping lost thugs make their own goddy way in life. Talk to Hans if he can be arsed, but don't expect much. They're either grieving or don't trust you as far as they could through you, which," he paused, quickly looking over the priests body and shape, "Would be about a couple centimetres, give or take whatever you land on." he said, throwing the pistol lightly into the air and then catching it by the handle. Then he stuffed it into has pocket and stepped around the priest, heading into the shop to see what kind of crap was going on inside. | Erren "Nine" Drake
Age:
17
Faction:
Mostly the Forgotten, but he has been known to go alone on occasion.
Personality:
Erren is rather brash, often saying things that are offensive on a whim without thinking. He has been known to be rather uncaring with his actions and often doesn't care about neither the repercussions or the people involved. He has also been known to be very violent, to the point of almost killing people, but tends to hide it from his friends. Despite this, he is actually extremely intelligent in both chemistry and computer science, whilst also being a rather impressive fiction writer. And, to put it simply, he has a mild case of chuunibyou.
Backstory:
To be revealed, except maybe one part. Try and guess ^_^
Other:
He keeps a set of very sharp knives, two katanas and a shotgun in his secret area. He also has a set of 52 cards that he made himself, all with summoning circles printed on them.
He has also adopted the moniker of Nine from somewhere, but he has also called himself the "Ninth Ruler of the Continuum Throne". Whatever that means... |
49,550 | 1,336 | 44 | 1,118 | 7,627 | Shiba noticed that this was going to be one of their busy days. Today they would be dealing with more customers then just one person could handle. Shiba sighed and he put his sniper rifle behind his back then he got his shotgun and started to load it with the bullets as well as putting on his bandoleer just in case. Shiba wasn't a good a salesperson as but at least he could make sure that everything was in order and things would happen accordingly. The one time Shiba let things go on the customers nearly took over the HQ thankfully Shiba was as good with a shotgun as he was with a sniper otherwise that would have gotten a lot worse. Once Shiba was loaded he threw over the rope end of the grappling hook he kept up their just in case for quick entrances into the shop. He then slid down the rope and cocked his shotgun.
Time to take charge. Alright people please remain in a orderly line behind the counter if you are not here to trade or join us then get out before I blow you out. All trades will be handled by mari today who is already seeing someone. If you are here to handout then again get out, the only exception to these being if you are pregnant or a small child. As long as you are here to do business then you have nothing to worry about if you start causing a ruckus and disrupt our business I will not hesitate to kick you out on your ass. Shiba said cocking his shotgun again so please cause some trouble so I can use this thing today he said making sure that everyone that was not part of the group heard him. This was standard protocol for all people who came to them but Shiba was able to speak them with more authority then the others could, one of the advantages of having a military officer for a father; you could project the authority you need to get your point across... | Name: Shiba Akabane
Age: just turned 18
but his necklace is his dads dog tag
Faction: The forgotten
Personality: an adaptive person he will always try to negotiate first and try diplomacy before he lets the enemy into his trap, he always has a back up plan to his back up plan. Shiba wants to live and figure things out but honestly but he will always try to figure out a way to survive and speed up his hopes of being a father. Shiba while seemly cold to others actually has a warm heart and has a soft spot for kids. Shiba is loyal to his group and will remain loyal until asked to perform something....atrocious then he will not perform it and may even quit if the issue is pressed.
Backstory: January 13th Friday evening, today is Angelo birthday. Yeah happy birthday and all that right? well Angelo just turned 18 and you know what he did to celebrate? He found a nice bottle of scotch and cracked it open, oh don't judge. You know what else he did to celebrate? no he didn't have a birthday cake he didn't go to the fair or anything like that, he spent the rest of his day taking pot shots at a few gang members. Surprised? well you shouldn't be. This is the end of the world as we know it and right now all Angelo bothers to do is drink and kill you would think an 18 year old killing others would be a traumatizing experience but in reality he has already accepted it as the norm ever since all the adults were killed off in some weird way. Angelo grieved for his parents when it happened but what else could he do, he played enough video games to know that the end of the world meant he needed to find a way to survive. Thankfully his father was in the army so he had a good stash of weapons and military rations and he played enough video games and went to the shooting range with his dad enough to figure out which end of the gun to point.
Angelo spent his time making his home into a makeshift fort placing all his furniture out towards the windows and doors to keep himself locked in and he figure out how to stretch the rations for a good while before they dried up on him which meant he had to get moving and find some survivors or at least supplies so he could head back home. The odd thing was that when Angelo went into town he saw that other people his age were still alive nobody old enough to have a grey hair mind you but those of us who were still going through puberty or just finished. Angelo fully expected a zombie horde like in the movies but instead their was gang violence. Angelo made sure to keep away from them he wanted nothing to do with them. Angelo looked around but what else could he expect other then to find out the gangs looted everything so he decided to just lone wolf it.
Angelo wandered around with his gun taking shelter in whatever place looked defensible he tried to go to his fathers army base but it seemed to be taken over by a gang so their was no luck their. Whenever Angelo tried to trade with others he seemed like he was making some sort of ambush and was immediately shot on site, thankfully Angelo had enough sense to wear a bulletproof vest and his dads old army helmet. So Angelo carried guns with no food or water. Along the way he sold a few pieces to some loners like him for food and whatever else they could spare to keep himself alive but soon enough he was starting to starve, he still had the guns to trade but no food. eventually he found the pawn shop and he almost pleaded to trade and when they did they asked Angelo if his was part of gang and once Angelo explained how appalled he was by them they gave him a hand and said that he could join them. Angelo took their hand and never looked back which brings us to today, drinking some scotch and shooting some gang bangers that thought they could steal from their shop. happy birthday....
Skills: strategic mindset able to outmaneuver the enemy into his own trap or ambush, eagle eyes, stealth: able to find a way past enemy lines
Weapons of choice:
*Cheytac .408 cal sniper rifle able to blast a hole through a wall at 100 yards (just exaggeration im not sure if this is actually true I just know its a badass sniper rifle)
*Remington Model 870 pump action combat shotgun meant for close quarters combat |
49,551 | 1,336 | 45 | 69 | 678 | Alice's eyes narrowed as Charon spoke his empty oath. The man had gone from rage to subservience so quickly... he was far from broken. No, he was only playing along to preserve his meaningless life. But, as long as he continued, Alice needed nothing more.
"Good boy," she said, a playful smile forming on her lips as she absently wrapped a strand of hair around one finger. "I will have Miss Katie take your little samples after you leave this room. But I wonder..."
She leaned forward in her chair, eyes widening as they approached the screen. She didn't really understand the medic, and others like him. Perhaps he could help her to.
"You don't believe in the Highest. Everyone you care about is already dead, right? So why do you even bother trying to find a cure? Do you really think you can do it in time to save yourself?"
Alice bit the inside of her lip as she realized the things she was saying about Charon applied equally to herself - she knew the Highest was a sham, and her family was long gone. Omnibus Scientia's mission to eradicate the virus was just an excuse she used to maintain a powerful group to protect herself - horrible things could happen to undefended children in this brutal world. But Alice didn't have any reason to live - there was nothing she hoped for. In time, she would grow, and she would cease to be the prodigy sent to save humanity in its time of need. What would happen to her then? | Name: Alice Graethem
Age: 10
Faction: Omnibus Scientia
Personality/Backstory: Long story short, Alice is a genius. At the age of six, she was zooming through advanced calculus problems at a pace that made her father's college students quiver with insecurity. However, because of her high intelligence, she was always something of a loner - children her age were so stupid it was obnoxious, and adults never understood her idea of fun. As a result, Alice grew distant from others, viewed them as inferior. They treated her like the outcast she was, and soon, Alice learned that cruelty was the only way to protect herself from the ridicule of others. After the plague wiped out her entire family, Alice decided to make a change - she would project a kind, bubbly image to the world, to endear herself to others, for she could not survive on her own. Her ruse worked all too well; before long, the marriage of her feigned innocence and ruthless intellect had given birth to companions, and, with the help of a few well placed lies designed to revive the dashed hopes of the unsuspecting, Alice turned her companions into followers, and Omnibus Scientia was formed. And, oh, the fools kept joining and joining...
Other: Alice's greatest tool is her intellect. She is useless in a fight, and relies on her followers to defend her. However, Alice does have a talent for hiding herself, when she must. She is very paranoid about what she eats and drinks out of a fear of assassins. Nonetheless, on rare occasions, she may let down her guard if offered chocolate chip cookies. |
49,552 | 1,336 | 46 | 220 | 2,523 | Charon made an exercise of self-restraint and balled his fists tightly. The little girl had what she wanted, and in a characteristical display of smugness and a maturity befitting her, proceed to rub her token victory in his face. Just endure it. He bit his lip as she kept on her rant.
And then she stopped, and leaned towards the screen. She made a question. Or was it a taunt? Charon at this point didn't know nor cared to. And yet...So, the Oracle chosen by the Highest claims to don't understand how I work? He paused, deciding to taunt her back or not. In the end, he breathed deep. Well, I should share my experiences with those younger than me. It's what responsible adults do.
"Hum... It's a bit hard to explain if you haven't experienced it first hand." Charles mused, his sight lost in recalling his memories. "It's how would I put it...there's not a single morning I ask myself that question. Wether if it is worth it all or not... All the things I've to do and to endure, with no one else but me putting my life at stake. And yet."
He paused, his voice seemed to trail of before raising again, a deeper tone. "I find myself repeating that stupid poem day after day. It's funny, considering how I learned it." He stopped himself, before changing subject.
"I saw it, Humanity's last stand against the virus. I had a first row ticket to it all. And among all the death and misery, there was this one patient who had died with a beaming smile on his face. Imcomprehensible, right? I searched for the reason why there was such a thing, and his cold dead hand was clutching a book of poems. It was opened in a peculiar one." He cleared his throat and closed his eyes before continuing.
"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
His eyes reopened, and stared vividly into the camera. Through the camera towards the ten year old girl. "I understood then. Why the man was smiling. It was his last act of defiance. Humanity was full of these people. People who, beyond all reason and expectations, still stood up. Even if they had lost everything." He folded his arms and stretched himself.
"Death eventually comes for us all, girl. No matter age, sex or status. But If my death is certain, I can still choose how I want to go down. And I'll go down with everything I've got and with my boots on, because I won't yield to a fucking Virus, I got my human pride left." | Name:Charles D. Ronnington, M.D. (self appointed) AKA Charon
Age: 22
Faction:Straggler, To Be Determined.
Personality: Charles appears at first an even tempered individual with a flawless work ethic, a rare throwback to how life was before the Virus. Charles doesn't compromise on human lives, and he tries to live and let live the best way he can in this world, offering guidance as perhaps one of the last -adults- this world has seen. However, cracks in his psyche are apparent. Charles has just lost too many things to the Virus to remain unaffected, and his inability to fight it burns him from the inside out. He's single-mindedly determined to find a cure or breakthrough to such an ailment.
Backstory: Charles was a humble medical student who was barely 19 when the outbreak started. As the plague overpowered the vast majority of adults and depleted the medical ranks aswell, Charles was soon fielded, despite his relative youth and lack of experience. Fully exploiting his resistance to the virus, he volunteered to deal with many afflicted patients, despite the obvious risk of infection. Seniors, children, all died in his hands without him unable to do anything about it. Yet he still lived. And he kept stubbornly refusing to ever give up.
By the time the plague had reshaped Kano, Charles was already a seasoned field medic, but one terribly broken and in grief. Taking the nickname of "Charon", the ferryman of the dead, as a self-parody of his ghastly patient record, he shouldered on, still determined to maintain the one little piece of medical expertise that the Virus was unable to exterminate, himself.
Other: Charon has been infected a grand total of 12 times during his tenure as field medic. As such, he's adquired a great degree of resistance to the illness even if he's past the assumed safe age of infection. He's familiar with many of the workings of the old world, specially in the way of medical expertise and equipment. Charon is also rather fit, and he has a decent left hook when the situation calls for it, but he's not a master martial artist. He has surgical precision when using blades, but it's more useful for proper healing than fighting. He usually wears a portable medkit in his backpack, as well as sample recollection material. He can drive decently, and he's managed to keep a motorbike up and running to this point. |
49,553 | 1,336 | 47 | 1,214 | 18 | A very faint, sly smile formed onto Foxes face upon hearing the girl with dreads reply to his comment about the Scorps. Personally, he didn't have much recollection of why he should hate them. He knew what they did and could understand why, but anything other that was just impressions he got from everyone he had met or ran into. None of it was good, in all truth. Not even from some Scorp members themselves. Not that he spent a lot of time chattering with any of them- there had been a few he had tortured before killing them a time or two. Ironically, all eight times (at least ones that he could remember) regarding having a fellow Coyote scavenger killed. Or when they had killed someone else he was interested in. They always seemed to know who to target and who to kill... it actually really pissed him off the more he thought about it.
The sly smile quickly vanished from his face as the 'Wandering Priest' stepped up and spoke, Fox himself remained quiet and watched in utter silence as everything unfolded. The girl who had been dealing with him and his stuff to be traded moved elsewhere, guns were pulled out, some shit was said- and Fox payed no attention to it. Instead, he merely turned and leaned against the counter, resting his head in his palm while lightly tapping his right hand against the bloodied bag that rested upon his right hip.
None of it really interested him greatly, it just barely caught his attention, if anything. The thought did cross his mind though that if Alphonsé ended up starting something, he might be inclined to join him in his escapades. But even then, he didn't make any motion to reach for wire or any throwing knives of the sort. He merely remained leaning against the counter while trying his best to not shift his weight any more than necessary, knowing well enough it was better to drag blood anywhere else if he could help it. Thankfully the bag the body parts were in was mostly leak-proof. Mostly. There were a few holes, but they just dripped on his pantleg.
Foxes mind began to wander a bit, but a small chill ran up his spine, forcing him to jerk his golden eyed gaze upwards and his free hand to instinctively reach for his front pocket. But he stopped short as his eyes caught his attention. A stranger he had completely over-looked- he caught her eye just for a moment before her attentions turned elsewhere. He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, letting out a small breath through his nose. Attempting to trade something for bandages...? The small breath he allowed to escape from his nose quickly turned into a relatively loud sigh.
While he wasn't entirely interested, he was at least a tiny bit curious about that map.
"Miss, with the map?" Fox started, pushing himself up from leaning on the counter, voice a bit louder than necessary. "I've got some bandages here and an ol' first-aid kit if you would like to have them, if you wouldn't mind giving me just a few moments of your time. But if you want it, you have to grab it yourself." He then lifted his right hand and wiggled the gloved fingers, starting to stick together through drying blood. After a moment though he carefully pointed to one of the bags that hung off of his belt. "Unless you'd like them already covered in blood. But that really isn't sanitary." | Name: 'The Fox'
Real Name: Unknown
Age: 20
Appearance: 5'4"(164CM), 122lbs(55KG). Pale blond hair, tanned skin with obvious tan-lines around clothing edges. Rather lithe with some impressive upper-arm strength. Scars cover his hands, in very thin lines and some thicker jagged cuts. They mostly cover over the second joints of all of his fingers, around his wrists, the palms of his hands, and on the outside of each hand. A lot of them connect and cross over each other, a few places are even purely scar-tissue. On the right side of his head, trailing from the corner of his right eye and traveling back into his hairline, a crude and jagged scar can be found.
Faction:Ex-Coyote (By Personal Choice), Currently a Straggler
Personality: Fickle with loyalty and adaptive, Fox is someone purely driven by self interests that change more often than the weather. He does not trust anyone as far as he can throw them and lets be honest here, he isn't built for throwing human bodies very far. While friendly and respectful to an extent, he really doesn't get close with people unless he becomes curious- which is rather rare. He is easily bored with 'common' things and it isn't uncommon for him to throw a stick in the middle of someone's plans to see more of a reaction or to cause trouble. If anything, he likes to test people, he likes to watch people squirm. And in the same hand, while he does enjoy causing trouble for others, he always has some way of keeping himself out of it most of the time. At least enough to the point that he cannot be directly blamed for it. Fox, as a few who have met him before or maybe heard rumor, has absolutely no empathy for other people or any other living thing. While it doesn't seem like he was always this way, it is how he is now and because of it he has been known to be downright monstrous when people try to double-cross him or put his observations/plans on hold. He isn't above killing someone- or entire small groups- that get in his way.
He really isn't all that bad though! Somewhere... deep down inside. Probably.
Backstory: Fox, despite what he says at times, cannot remember anything before the Virus or the first year or so after it spread. The most that can be recalled it something along the lines of 'The Coyotes found me and gave me a name and a purpose' and 'Then I got bored and moved on to greener pastures'. Someone (or Someones) within the Coyote's took Amnesiac Fox under their care for a time and within that short time managed to create a monster they lost control of.
Other:
Clothing;
Fox wears typical scavenger garb. He has a very thick jacket that bundles up around his hips with a few places where it has been patched, a single massive front pocket that has been modified to hold various things. Each arm has a special 'wrap' of thick cloth that is cut out at the elbows to allow for perfectly free movement, it is held in place with straps and buckles on his upper arms and forearms. Covering his hands most often are a pair of heavy duty gloves, a mixture of cloth, leather, and small metal plates individually put in place to protect the pads of his hands and the sides of them. He seems to have several pairs of these gloves. Going down the rest of him, he has a very heavy-duty belt that is always tied securely around his waist. Attached to this belt is several small bags and pouches, filled with all sorts of things he uses and or has collected. His pants are well worn, the knees have been purposely cut and a few other places have been as well to allow for the best possible movement for the wearer. Though they are also patched in several places as well. As far as footwear goes, Fox only ever wears a pair of black combat boots that lace all the way up to the middle of his calf. They are old seeming and have been well used, nails have been inserted into certain parts of the bottom of the shoe. They seem pretty sharp and dangerous.
Weaponry;
As an Ex-Coyote scavenger, Fox is never without some kind of weapon. He has an array of pocket knives and daggers of the sorts. But his most well used 'weapon' is wire. Somewhere on his person he carries at least three different kinds of wire. Some of it is simple and basic metal wire, but mostly it is razor wire. Most of the scars on his hands are from having used said wire long before he got his metal-plated gloves.
Is suffering from head trauma. If you ask him who he was before the Virus, he wouldn't be able to tell you.
Despite his overly violent tendencies and kill record, Fox is utterly terrified of blood and will actively avoid it if possible.
Perfectly able to survive on his own with the barest of things, he is a great scavenger.
He left the Coyote's on good terms, but they are still actively seeking him to return. |
49,554 | 1,336 | 48 | 1,436 | 1,402 | The Cyclops
A 'Shank' Is Something That Is Useless
Cy could feel her senses heightening. Risky job she was trying to pull off and to save her own skin no less, but it would be worth it if she could just get out of here a alive. She could hear Greenie and Slinker talking outside, but didn't really pay attention to either of their words. Not with the Cyote standing so close. Out of all of them gathered, she was wary of him the most. And it wasn't just because a certain ex-lover who had stolen her eye had been part of the Cyote pack. Nah, it was more like anyone who was a former member of that gang had to be bad news, even for that pack of flea-bitten mutts. But then again who knew what other lovely party guests the Forgotten held in their ranks?
And if showing her weakness hadn't been enough for one day, another wonderfully friendly and inviting character decided to enter the already cramped pawnshop room. Her one green eye slid over to Sharp Shot and narrowed slightly. This guy irritated her more than most people usually did. Barking out orders like she was suppose to get all wide-eyed and fall at his feet like a trained pomeranian puff pup. Without moving, she scoffed at him, showing the boy just what she thought of his so called 'authority'. He was about as intimidating as the little pedigree pup he wanted to treat them all as.
"Shove it, shank," she grumbled at Sharp Shot's order. She was already hurt and the pain was just pissing her off. A shotgun in this tiny place wouldn't just hit her, but it'd hit anyone around her too. Like pretty little Badger girl, standing on the other side of the trading table. Sharp Shot wasn't too bright was he? "Badger Girl is doin' just fine without yer green tooth mouth flappin'," she gritted through her teeth with a very calm and level voice, "Both of yer customers got stuff on the table, don't they, or are ye blind?" Oh no, she was on a roll now. "Ye must be blind, cuz even a one-eye like me can see their ain't no friggin' room fer this 'line' thing yer talking 'bout," she sounded like her elder sister when she got into lecturing rants, "You see anyone doin' friggin' anything but what we're suppose be doin' to in this store? Quit chewin' on cat meat and eat some carrots, ye wee jack-o-nip bairn."
Cy had a sharp tongue, but she only used it when she was upset. Or angry. Or affectionate. Okay, maybe she wasn't the cute little flower fairy people painted girls as in old world ads, but she wasn't bad. In fact she had been a girly person once. But in the new world you had to be tough to keep yer heart pumping. Having throughly let Sharp Shot know what she thought of him and his 'jack-o-nip' (English suck-up) 'bairn' (baby) authority, turned her attention back to the business at hand. The sooner she traded, the soon she'd be out of this mad house. Little boys acting like lunatics and trigger happy two-year-olds... This is why girls should of ruled the world. Men was pretty but, God's Blood, they needed to keep their mouths shut.
Looking back to the Cyote, she raised a brow, though it was hardly noticeable from behind her nice large eye-patch fashion statement. He could sigh all he liked, but odds were something her spiderweb had captured had probably affected him in the past. Cy kept a lot of info on people from all the major gangs. Mostly for her own amusement, since watching people interact normally interested her more than the arena massacres her sister and the Gamers had been into. Every now and then, someone wanted revenge on someone else, and she'd show up like their bloody fairy godmother. Or maybe more like Rumplestiltskin. Hey, hard won info was never free. A bargain was always ripe for the picking as long as you kept your... eye out.
He talked all polite-like to her, making her just a bit curious as to what he wanted. And why he was being so loud about it. She was standing right there. Cy let out her own sigh, but it more in annoyance at the itchy ache in her back than anything else. Bandages and a first aid kit? Color her curious. Alright she'd bite.
"Before I go explorin' yer, er, person," her eye drifted down the length of him before landing on the satchel he had motioned to hanging off his belt. Cheeky guy. Good thing she wasn't a shy little schoolgirl...anymore. "What do ye want for 'em?" she mused, letting her green eye rise back to his golden Cyote gaze. | Name: Cy (yeah, cuz of the one eye, thanks for pointing it out)
Age: 19
Appearance:
Faction: newly made ex-Gamer
Personality: Temperamental, Snarky, Secretive, Soft Hearted, Vengeance Driven
Backstory: As RP goes on
Skills: She may not look like much but her short build gives her advantages. Advantage Uno: Protect yer goods, cuz she will take dirty shots with those brass knuckles and steel toed boots. Advantage B: She's quick and low to the ground so gettin' yer hands on her is hard. Advantage III: She doesn't have to be a good shot tah get you with her shot gun. As for more practical stuff, her one good eye is pretty darn observant, maybe making up for only havin' one or whatever. Nothing escapes her sight. She has, uh, connections too, but don't ask who they are if you want yer info, yah hear? She also seems to still have her hands in some hush-hush trading, but yah better keep yer mouth shut.
Equipment/Weapons: Shot Gun, Couple of knives, steel toed boots, brass knuckles
Character Quirks: Don't mention the eye unless you want to lose one of yer own. No parent talkin' either. Nail biter. Has a fondness for her food to be on the rawer side of things. |
49,555 | 1,336 | 49 | 69 | 678 | Alice rolled her eyes and slumped back into her chair, arms folding. Charon's answer... it was just stupid! Why would anyone risk their lives over some silly poem? Even the most unhinged of her followers wasn't that insane!
"Standing up to death, as if it were a person... so dumb," she said harshly, "But I suppose I can't expect any more from you than the truth. So, whatever. Katie will take your samples from you when you leave - be a good boy and just hand them over without a fuss, 'kay?"
She waved her hand dismissively, but her eyes were already out of focus, her brow furrowed. This guy couldn't be a complete moron, could he? He was a doctor, after all... he was supposed to be at least sort of smart! So why did he put so much stock in some old poem? Was he afraid to admit that there was no point to his life? Alice had already all but accepted that was true of her own life. She lived because she wanted to, because she was afraid to die. Even if life sucked, she would cling to it rather than accept the alternative.
As Alice put a hand to her forehead to lightly massage it, she blinked. The light on her camera... it was still on! He was probably still watching, and if so, he had seen her moment of weakness!
"I said leave!" she yelled, cheeks burning. How could she be so careless? | Name: Alice Graethem
Age: 10
Faction: Omnibus Scientia
Personality/Backstory: Long story short, Alice is a genius. At the age of six, she was zooming through advanced calculus problems at a pace that made her father's college students quiver with insecurity. However, because of her high intelligence, she was always something of a loner - children her age were so stupid it was obnoxious, and adults never understood her idea of fun. As a result, Alice grew distant from others, viewed them as inferior. They treated her like the outcast she was, and soon, Alice learned that cruelty was the only way to protect herself from the ridicule of others. After the plague wiped out her entire family, Alice decided to make a change - she would project a kind, bubbly image to the world, to endear herself to others, for she could not survive on her own. Her ruse worked all too well; before long, the marriage of her feigned innocence and ruthless intellect had given birth to companions, and, with the help of a few well placed lies designed to revive the dashed hopes of the unsuspecting, Alice turned her companions into followers, and Omnibus Scientia was formed. And, oh, the fools kept joining and joining...
Other: Alice's greatest tool is her intellect. She is useless in a fight, and relies on her followers to defend her. However, Alice does have a talent for hiding herself, when she must. She is very paranoid about what she eats and drinks out of a fear of assassins. Nonetheless, on rare occasions, she may let down her guard if offered chocolate chip cookies. |
49,556 | 1,336 | 50 | 220 | 2,523 | D'aaw, you got a 10 year old pouty side after all. Charon said, tilting his head, smiling somewhat. Even after the whole ordeal, this flustering of the girl made him a bit at ease. And to think he was considering to kill her before. God, he was really gone off the deep end this time. "I's okay though, not many have seen the burning hellfire of madness that's beyond my usual mask of civility. You would rock Hollywood if it still existed."
He put a hand in his hip. "Determination and courage aren't something easily taught. As the distinction between that and foolishness isn't very clear. Some could say you either have it or not." He paused.
"Still, now that we're still here, alone... let me tell you something before I leave." He paused. "I could really use a plan B. What I know and I have experienced, despite not being able to cure the Virus, could save many people. That's why I wanted to recruit you. You're the only one around here who would have the highest amount of time to do so." He coughed.
"In a year or so, you'll begin to undergo changes. You'll become the youngest privileged mind of this wasteland. And without fear of being felled to the virus. If I manage to train you as a medic during that and you finish what others started." He continued.
"Instead of an Oracle chosen by the Highest, you would be the Saviour of Mankind." He smirked.
"And the reason why I am entrusting you this is because you've flustered like a tomato and showed me your doubts, and the fact you questioned me. You know your own weakness in the end." He motioned towards the door. "But as you said, this is dumb. I'll leave you, lest you change my mind about our deal." He added, picking up his things and heading towards the door, where Katie would be. "I'll repeat this offer as many times as you need, but I need you, in person to take the first step." | Name:Charles D. Ronnington, M.D. (self appointed) AKA Charon
Age: 22
Faction:Straggler, To Be Determined.
Personality: Charles appears at first an even tempered individual with a flawless work ethic, a rare throwback to how life was before the Virus. Charles doesn't compromise on human lives, and he tries to live and let live the best way he can in this world, offering guidance as perhaps one of the last -adults- this world has seen. However, cracks in his psyche are apparent. Charles has just lost too many things to the Virus to remain unaffected, and his inability to fight it burns him from the inside out. He's single-mindedly determined to find a cure or breakthrough to such an ailment.
Backstory: Charles was a humble medical student who was barely 19 when the outbreak started. As the plague overpowered the vast majority of adults and depleted the medical ranks aswell, Charles was soon fielded, despite his relative youth and lack of experience. Fully exploiting his resistance to the virus, he volunteered to deal with many afflicted patients, despite the obvious risk of infection. Seniors, children, all died in his hands without him unable to do anything about it. Yet he still lived. And he kept stubbornly refusing to ever give up.
By the time the plague had reshaped Kano, Charles was already a seasoned field medic, but one terribly broken and in grief. Taking the nickname of "Charon", the ferryman of the dead, as a self-parody of his ghastly patient record, he shouldered on, still determined to maintain the one little piece of medical expertise that the Virus was unable to exterminate, himself.
Other: Charon has been infected a grand total of 12 times during his tenure as field medic. As such, he's adquired a great degree of resistance to the illness even if he's past the assumed safe age of infection. He's familiar with many of the workings of the old world, specially in the way of medical expertise and equipment. Charon is also rather fit, and he has a decent left hook when the situation calls for it, but he's not a master martial artist. He has surgical precision when using blades, but it's more useful for proper healing than fighting. He usually wears a portable medkit in his backpack, as well as sample recollection material. He can drive decently, and he's managed to keep a motorbike up and running to this point. |
49,557 | 1,336 | 51 | 1,118 | 7,627 | When Shiba got to the ground floor he kept watch to make sure nobody would try anything stupid and after his little speech the one eyes girl started talking. Obviously to Shiba but....Shiba couldn't understand a damn thing she was saying so he was scratching his head looking at her as she talked Um okay I'll bite, what the hell are you saying? Shiba said honestly not able to understand her thick accent but he did notice she was in pain so maybe she was asking for help? Maybe she was just cussing out from all The pain? Shiba couldn't tell but he would just stand where he was near the entrance and simply act as bouncer in case others came by or the sales started to go down with Mari and they needed to leave. Such is the life of the forgotten sharp shooter... | Name: Shiba Akabane
Age: just turned 18
but his necklace is his dads dog tag
Faction: The forgotten
Personality: an adaptive person he will always try to negotiate first and try diplomacy before he lets the enemy into his trap, he always has a back up plan to his back up plan. Shiba wants to live and figure things out but honestly but he will always try to figure out a way to survive and speed up his hopes of being a father. Shiba while seemly cold to others actually has a warm heart and has a soft spot for kids. Shiba is loyal to his group and will remain loyal until asked to perform something....atrocious then he will not perform it and may even quit if the issue is pressed.
Backstory: January 13th Friday evening, today is Angelo birthday. Yeah happy birthday and all that right? well Angelo just turned 18 and you know what he did to celebrate? He found a nice bottle of scotch and cracked it open, oh don't judge. You know what else he did to celebrate? no he didn't have a birthday cake he didn't go to the fair or anything like that, he spent the rest of his day taking pot shots at a few gang members. Surprised? well you shouldn't be. This is the end of the world as we know it and right now all Angelo bothers to do is drink and kill you would think an 18 year old killing others would be a traumatizing experience but in reality he has already accepted it as the norm ever since all the adults were killed off in some weird way. Angelo grieved for his parents when it happened but what else could he do, he played enough video games to know that the end of the world meant he needed to find a way to survive. Thankfully his father was in the army so he had a good stash of weapons and military rations and he played enough video games and went to the shooting range with his dad enough to figure out which end of the gun to point.
Angelo spent his time making his home into a makeshift fort placing all his furniture out towards the windows and doors to keep himself locked in and he figure out how to stretch the rations for a good while before they dried up on him which meant he had to get moving and find some survivors or at least supplies so he could head back home. The odd thing was that when Angelo went into town he saw that other people his age were still alive nobody old enough to have a grey hair mind you but those of us who were still going through puberty or just finished. Angelo fully expected a zombie horde like in the movies but instead their was gang violence. Angelo made sure to keep away from them he wanted nothing to do with them. Angelo looked around but what else could he expect other then to find out the gangs looted everything so he decided to just lone wolf it.
Angelo wandered around with his gun taking shelter in whatever place looked defensible he tried to go to his fathers army base but it seemed to be taken over by a gang so their was no luck their. Whenever Angelo tried to trade with others he seemed like he was making some sort of ambush and was immediately shot on site, thankfully Angelo had enough sense to wear a bulletproof vest and his dads old army helmet. So Angelo carried guns with no food or water. Along the way he sold a few pieces to some loners like him for food and whatever else they could spare to keep himself alive but soon enough he was starting to starve, he still had the guns to trade but no food. eventually he found the pawn shop and he almost pleaded to trade and when they did they asked Angelo if his was part of gang and once Angelo explained how appalled he was by them they gave him a hand and said that he could join them. Angelo took their hand and never looked back which brings us to today, drinking some scotch and shooting some gang bangers that thought they could steal from their shop. happy birthday....
Skills: strategic mindset able to outmaneuver the enemy into his own trap or ambush, eagle eyes, stealth: able to find a way past enemy lines
Weapons of choice:
*Cheytac .408 cal sniper rifle able to blast a hole through a wall at 100 yards (just exaggeration im not sure if this is actually true I just know its a badass sniper rifle)
*Remington Model 870 pump action combat shotgun meant for close quarters combat |
49,558 | 1,336 | 52 | 1,570 | 4,066 | When Shiba entered the store, Marion could have kissed him. She'd never admit to have needed a hand in store with the influx of strange characters coming through today, but she was at the least bit overwhelmed and under prepared. Not wanting to seem this way, Mari nodded her head, speaking confidently, "Everything is alright Shiba, I got this."
The girl with one eye and the other customer began chatting between one another into trading a map. Doe eyed, Mari would be floored if someone out traded her in her own shop. "Ahem." the girl cleared her throat obnoxiously, "If you'll want that map shorty, you'll have to trade it with me. I'll give you anything he'll give you and more." the girl stated albeit a bit foolishly. Giving a mischievous grin towards the boy, showing him that she wasn't one to let this type of actions come into play while she was in charge.
"Um okay I'll bite, what the hell are you saying?"
Shiba's voice resonated and Marion instantly retracted her earlier thought about kissing him. Did he want to start a fight? Perhaps he had been bored from the day's slow start and wanted some action. Marion placed her face into her hand, her finger tips rubbing against her closed eyelids. She wondered how any man made it this far since the virus exploded. | Name:
Marion Dwight. But most call her Mari.
Age:
16
Faction:
The Forgotten
Personality:
Clever. Idealistic. Lazy. Proud. Humorous.
Backstory:
Marion is the type of girl to steal borrow your jacket and try to sell it to you a week later. She's clever and crafty, making her a prime saleswoman at the pawn shop. Though she is young, she has a good understanding of how people work and isn't afraid to tell you exactly what she knows and how well she knows it. Unfortunately, to get this far, you have to get up and off your ass, something Mari often struggles with every morning.
It is not rare to find Mari cracking jokes or playing pranks on people during down time. Which in turn has caused many fights to break out. She isn't the best fighter, but she can wrestle with the best of them. Before the outbreak of the virus, Mari was in between a juvenile detention center and an alternative school in North Minneapolis, trying to get on the right track. She made her way to Kano with the group of kids from the juvenile center, but when things became overly violent and tense, she left the group and eventually found her way to her current sanction. She's thankful for their hospitality, even though she doesn't always show it.
Other:
Skills:
- Sales
- Cooking
- Getting a smile out of Kin
Equipment:
- Has tons of winter gear that she has stolen
- Usually has a cigarette or blunt behind her ear
Weapons:
- Pocket knife
Quirks:
- Knows how to braid, dread, and cut hair |
49,559 | 1,336 | 53 | 69 | 678 | Alice tasted a hint of iron as she chewed her lip. Charon wasn't taking her seriously at all! And she would only look worse if she threw a tantrum!
"Don't you dare talk to anyone else about this, or I will have you killed," she said, and pressed the button that ended her transmission before her guest - no, her servant - could respond. A long breath escaped her. Her fingers violently danced atop her keyboard as she sent Katie her instructions. Charon had called her pouty... how dare he? He ought to already be dead for that! So... why didn't she want to give her underlings the command? They would obey her, would dismiss the medic's tale as the babbling of a desperate man. So what was stopping her?
Charon's attempts to entice her to study under him were laughable. 'Savior of mankind?' Really? Alice was no hero. She didn't really care about finding a cure for the virus - her only goal was to stay alive, and make her short life as comfortable as it could be. And she was doing excellently. The hope Charon had spoken of, the one even Alice herself presented to others... it was a lie. The virus would never be cured, least of all by her. She was a genius, not a god. Ten or twelve years wasn't long enough to learn all the science she'd have to know to stand a chance.
There was no point in denying it. Oracle or not, in a decade or so, she would die.
***
Katie gestured for Charon to wait as he exited the room. A moment later, the girl had sent her message. Katie looked up, smirking at the visitor.
"She says I'm to take your samples. That's unfortunate." On the contrary; it was exactly what she needed. In the right hands, those samples might actually help develop a cure. No one man should hold them.
"Follow me," said Katie with a wave of her hand. Her office was not far. Once she had led Charon to it, she closed the door behind him and gestured toward the seat in front of her desk. Casually, she sat down opposite him.
"You may speak freely in here," she said simply. "I promise, this is no test of your loyalty. You have no reason to be loyal to... her. So tell me: having spoken to the Oracle one on one, what did you think?" | Name: Alice Graethem
Age: 10
Faction: Omnibus Scientia
Personality/Backstory: Long story short, Alice is a genius. At the age of six, she was zooming through advanced calculus problems at a pace that made her father's college students quiver with insecurity. However, because of her high intelligence, she was always something of a loner - children her age were so stupid it was obnoxious, and adults never understood her idea of fun. As a result, Alice grew distant from others, viewed them as inferior. They treated her like the outcast she was, and soon, Alice learned that cruelty was the only way to protect herself from the ridicule of others. After the plague wiped out her entire family, Alice decided to make a change - she would project a kind, bubbly image to the world, to endear herself to others, for she could not survive on her own. Her ruse worked all too well; before long, the marriage of her feigned innocence and ruthless intellect had given birth to companions, and, with the help of a few well placed lies designed to revive the dashed hopes of the unsuspecting, Alice turned her companions into followers, and Omnibus Scientia was formed. And, oh, the fools kept joining and joining...
Other: Alice's greatest tool is her intellect. She is useless in a fight, and relies on her followers to defend her. However, Alice does have a talent for hiding herself, when she must. She is very paranoid about what she eats and drinks out of a fear of assassins. Nonetheless, on rare occasions, she may let down her guard if offered chocolate chip cookies. |
49,560 | 1,336 | 54 | 220 | 2,523 | Really, now...you're not regretting it in the slightlest. Charon snapped back as he exited towards the female, fumbling around his backpack and producing a series of carefully wrapped test-tubes. "Here. I hope you have better luck with them than I did." He said, with his teeth clenched in barely contained disgust.
He sat down quietly, clasping his hands in front of his mouth as the nineteen year old questioned him. No test of loyalty, huh. He paused quietly. What to say... Well, for starters, he wanted to strangle the little girl until she ceased to be annoying. His eyebrow twitched slightly, his annoyance being patent. However, he couldn't display this to one who truly believed she had been granted the Oracle with the Highest grace.
"If you knew someone has untapped potential, and could be helpful towards helping this world, but misuses it, how would you feel?" Charon replied, taking off his glasses. They were not needed. Truth to be told, he was just wearing them because it made him look more intellectual... and less agressive. "Even if it's a ten year old girl." He added.
"She talks high and mighty about being an Oracle. A chosen of the Highest." He paused. "You know who else did that? Alexander the Great. However, unlike Alexander, she doesn't even believe in herself, despite being a rambunctious child who turns off an offer of becoming the last medical apprentice of this city."
He paused. "Your equipment in here is great. You do have even security cameras and informatic appliances up and running. Not to mention electrical power." Charon muttered.
And then, all of a sudden, his hand shot to a side, grabbing one of the precious test tubes. "So close, yet so far. I showed my intentions. I even tended an honest olive branch at her. I want to help a 10 year old girl with so much untapped potential learn how to live and love life in this wasteland, and perhaps, maybe perhaps, find a cure."
"But she won't listen to me. She's shut herself in, coddled by sycophants. But the dream won't hold for long. Soon, she'll crumble. Like everything keeps crumbling." The medic said, in a quiet raspy tone. "And that burns. It burns me from the inside out. To see what's left of this wonderful world that once was keep spiraling into madness, like I do. We'll be back to the bronze age at this rate."
"You who have been the longest with her. She'll listen to you. Engrave this in your mind." He popped the cap of the sample. "This is how Hope is brought." He then drank the contents of the sample. "Yeeuch, stale infected crow blood. I wanted to do this on a more controlled environment, and with additional safeguards..."
He then deposited the now empty tube, rolling it towards Katie. "If my theory is correct, I won't die. I've been building resistance to the illness for 3 years straight, by tossing myself headfirst in the pandemic. I should be able to retain it, even if I'm past the assumed safe age. I'm my most precious sample, in a sense, heh." He then raised himself from the table.
"Well then, I'm off to see my books. See ya." | Name:Charles D. Ronnington, M.D. (self appointed) AKA Charon
Age: 22
Faction:Straggler, To Be Determined.
Personality: Charles appears at first an even tempered individual with a flawless work ethic, a rare throwback to how life was before the Virus. Charles doesn't compromise on human lives, and he tries to live and let live the best way he can in this world, offering guidance as perhaps one of the last -adults- this world has seen. However, cracks in his psyche are apparent. Charles has just lost too many things to the Virus to remain unaffected, and his inability to fight it burns him from the inside out. He's single-mindedly determined to find a cure or breakthrough to such an ailment.
Backstory: Charles was a humble medical student who was barely 19 when the outbreak started. As the plague overpowered the vast majority of adults and depleted the medical ranks aswell, Charles was soon fielded, despite his relative youth and lack of experience. Fully exploiting his resistance to the virus, he volunteered to deal with many afflicted patients, despite the obvious risk of infection. Seniors, children, all died in his hands without him unable to do anything about it. Yet he still lived. And he kept stubbornly refusing to ever give up.
By the time the plague had reshaped Kano, Charles was already a seasoned field medic, but one terribly broken and in grief. Taking the nickname of "Charon", the ferryman of the dead, as a self-parody of his ghastly patient record, he shouldered on, still determined to maintain the one little piece of medical expertise that the Virus was unable to exterminate, himself.
Other: Charon has been infected a grand total of 12 times during his tenure as field medic. As such, he's adquired a great degree of resistance to the illness even if he's past the assumed safe age of infection. He's familiar with many of the workings of the old world, specially in the way of medical expertise and equipment. Charon is also rather fit, and he has a decent left hook when the situation calls for it, but he's not a master martial artist. He has surgical precision when using blades, but it's more useful for proper healing than fighting. He usually wears a portable medkit in his backpack, as well as sample recollection material. He can drive decently, and he's managed to keep a motorbike up and running to this point. |
49,561 | 1,336 | 55 | 1,576 | 358 | Kim Marie
Kim's eyes flickered to life, as Shiba came sliding down a rope. From their corner, she spied Erren walking into the shop. The redheaded girl had revealed wounds that looked mortal, the sprawling scarlet stain an explanation for her grey pallor. She sucked her breath in between teeth, as Shiba began cocking his shotgun. Excessively, for Kim's taste. Before the outbreak, she had been stoutly against the Second Amendment - at least, she assumed so, from the faded wisps of memory she managed to cling to. Circumstance had ruled on the necessity of firearms, however, and they had become a presence in her life, as constant as her own shadow.
Still, it did not change the presumed affectedness in Shiba's tone. Leadership one tugged like a cloak unto his own back was not frequently received well, and - to be sure - the ginger appeared to like Shiba none for it. She ranted at him, a quick explosion that took Kim one step forward, shifting on a knife's edge as to whether or not to intervene before violence could ensue.
But the redhead retreated, turning to the golden-eyed boy to begin a coy exchange. And in a separate waltz, the observer's tango, Kim stepped back. Loosened her vice-grip on her pistol. Let out a lungful of air.
But then Shiba scratched at his head, and Kim noticed Marion bury her face in her palms. She knew little and less of the girl, only that she was a sly businessman, yet easy-going. They were both of the same mind, then, in their feelings for Shiba's current actions. Without missing a beat, Kim took a gaping stride forward, coiling wiry fingers around the boy's elbow, and tugged him back into her corner. "She appreciates your concern, but feels it inapplicable to her and the visitor at the counter," she translated loosely, adding far more dashes of courtesy than she had found in the redhead's words. Glancing between Marion, the redhead, and the golden-eyed boy, she flicked her eyes stonily to the map. If she values her life, best that it is not counterfeit, but genuine. Then, in a voice coloured with the bite of steel - when previously she had been flat and emotionless - she added lowly so as to avoid humiliation on Shiba's part, "Stand down, Shiba." | Name:
Kim Marie
Age:
18
Faction:
The Forgotten
Personality:
Before the infection, Kim was a happy-go-lucky girl. The youngest and only daughter in a family of reasonably affluent means, there was little she had to worry for. She was clever enough, and got good grades, occasionally topping her class in the good years.
But she came to the Forgotten a shell of who she had been. At the start, she was just a scared, shaking fifteen-year-old, who quaked in her Converse sneakers. Now, she is nothing if not quiet. You would have to pry her lips open for conversation, and her replies are often grunts, or monosyllabic. She’s a person of few words, Kim is, and sullen. She would make a good soldier; sometimes, she stands like she’s carved of marble, still enough to convince flies to land on her. Even then, she does not move. She takes orders, if they’re yelled at her, or passed under a breath. Enlist her into a turf war and she’ll throw herself into the battle, frontline or no. People have whispered rumours about her, but just because she is close to mute, she’s not deaf. She knows some of them think she’s cold-blooded. She’s heard gossip that she kills squirrels for fun – ridiculous, there are hardly enough around for that anymore. It’s strange though, she could embark on a mission with almost suicidal determination. But the moment she is attacked, she lunges forward screaming, fighting ruthlessly, tooth and claw, her way back to life. Once, when she was out on a personal scavenge, a Scorp jumped her. They scuffled, but it was Kim who left with nothing but a bloody lip and crooked tooth, and the nameless Scorp lying in a pool of growing blood.
Backstory: Kim was fifteen when the outbreak struck. With one fell blow, she lost mother, father, and twin brothers. For two weeks, she sealed the windows and locked the doors and grieved. She barely ate. In the bubble of her home while the world wreaked havoc outside the walls, time was not sanctioned to pass, as she haunted the halls like the ghosts her family had become.
One day Kim opened the door after someone had been banging on it for five minutes straight, to reveal an old friend on the other side. Josephina forced herself in and locked the door behind her back. She was bleeding from a cut above her temple, but she managed to propel herself into Kim’s arms and almost knock her over. Perhaps it was the way warm blood dripped onto Kim’s back and shoulder, or the sensation of heat and flesh under her hands, but it was enough to pull her back into the present, and do for Josephina what she had had no opportunity to do for her family. Kim cleaned the wound and wrapped Josephina up; Josephina made sure Kim had enough sustenance and brought her back from the brink of a wasted death. She told Kim about her short stint with the Gamers, that she had abandoned when fights for glory and bullshit started taking place. She had tales about a faction they could both go to, and live out the rest of the apocalypse back-to-back, arm-in-arm.
Kim had to admit the prospect of having someone else to live for was attractive.
When they were both well, Josephina led them out the door for the last time, the two of them laden down with all the supplies they could carry. She had heard that the Forgotten were stationed in a shopping district, and that was where they went. But on the way, they encountered Coyotes, who fell on them like a tsunami wave, pouring in from all sides. Armed with bricks, shovels, and pitchforks, they descended upon the two girls.
Kim fought back, scratching and kicking at hands that tried to fall on her. Eventually, she wrenched a hammer out of one Coyote’s hands, and began to beat her way out. She broke elbows and collarbones and the fingers of someone who had been holding a gun. He dropped it. But not before a shot rang out and Kim heard a quiet exhale of breath from behind her.
Death never loses its flavour. At least, it hadn’t in the first three weeks. Even though the population had been decimated, and the streets were still littered with errant corpses no one had bothered to clean up, the children from The Coyotes weren’t acquainted with murder. But as they scurried like kids about to be told on, and she crawled to Josephina - whose blood was flowing in a steady free stream from the gunshot wound over her heart - Kim felt she could kill someone right there and then. Or had she already?
She stayed there for a long time, Josephina’s head cradled in her lap. She watched those eyes empty until they were as blank as the sky they stared up at, and the life drained from her cheeks through a hole in her chest. Kim waited for a deathbed acquittal, for the Coyotes to return with whooping calls and an axe to cleave her neck clean through. But neither ever came. Josephina died quietly, the wind whistled hollowly around them, and the blame for her last friend’s death sat heavily on Kim’s shoulders.
Kim picked up the pistol – ill-gotten gains, that made her feel sick to the stomach – and the bag Josephina had been carrying. With each step feeling like lead, and each breath like a knife in the heart, Kim found her way to the Forgotten.
She never spoke Josephina’s name again.
Other:
A mean grappler. She can defend herself, even on the ground.
Owns a pistol, and scavenges for ammunition
Will use anything within sight to fight. Bottles, knives, and sticks are all fair-game
Light on her feet, and proficient in sneaking quietly in the cover of shadows
Has been with the Forgotten for three years, is aware she could be considered disposable and has no qualms about how trivially her life could be used by authority as a means to an end (i.e. in a turf war) |
49,562 | 1,336 | 56 | 1,214 | 18 | "Well." Fox started, falling silent for a few moments to allow the other guy that had descended from somewhere and started showing his guns off a bit too much. It almost made him cringe, almost. While not a huge fan of such weaponry, it sure did have its uses. It made hunting easier, be it human or animal. But they were loud and required ammo. You couldn't always find the correct shells, the gunpowder, and so on and so forth. And as far as he knew, no one really knew how to actually craft more bullets. So eventually they would be obsolete. Maybe not for another few years, maybe not for another twenty- but eventually. If anything, something that did not need to be reloaded was better anyway. Might not have a lot of range but at least you wouldn't be caught in the middle of reloading or in the middle of a fight when you run out of bullets.
If his hands were not covered in blood, there was a good possibility he would have been rubbing his face with his hands as the girl with dreads was doing. He gave a small bow of his head towards the other woman that had appeared and attempted to pull the gun-wielding manic away- if anything, she had just earned herself some serious points for that. If he ever had to actively seek out the people here to kill them, he would kill her first!
"Well, Dreads, you might be able to offer her more than what I've got for that map- but I never said I was interested in the map." He turned his head to face her, just enough so she could see the grin as it slid across his face with the bit of a twinkle in his eye. But it faded quickly as a more serious look appeared, one that made him appear much older than the kid many assumed him to be because of his height. "But I will run across them eventually and I can guarantee I would have less trouble with them than any one of you would, even with your guns." Fox sucked in a sharp breath, only to exhale very slowly. "But like I said, I am not interested in her map."
He once again turned his gaze to the one-eyed woman, the serious look remaining on his face. This time he took a small step forward, the nails that had been implanted in the bottom of his boots scratched on the floor with the forceful bit of weight he allowed with the movement towards her. In doing this, the bag still against his right him jostled a bit too much, causing a bit of blood to finally hit the floor. "I have seen you around a time or two, you know things I want to know." A very small pause as he narrowed his gaze slightly. "I'd be willing to offer you my delightful services of never glancing in your general direction when I go hunting anymore. Or maybe we could figure out some kind of other trade? I wouldn't mind cutting off a few heads in your name if you'd like." | Name: 'The Fox'
Real Name: Unknown
Age: 20
Appearance: 5'4"(164CM), 122lbs(55KG). Pale blond hair, tanned skin with obvious tan-lines around clothing edges. Rather lithe with some impressive upper-arm strength. Scars cover his hands, in very thin lines and some thicker jagged cuts. They mostly cover over the second joints of all of his fingers, around his wrists, the palms of his hands, and on the outside of each hand. A lot of them connect and cross over each other, a few places are even purely scar-tissue. On the right side of his head, trailing from the corner of his right eye and traveling back into his hairline, a crude and jagged scar can be found.
Faction:Ex-Coyote (By Personal Choice), Currently a Straggler
Personality: Fickle with loyalty and adaptive, Fox is someone purely driven by self interests that change more often than the weather. He does not trust anyone as far as he can throw them and lets be honest here, he isn't built for throwing human bodies very far. While friendly and respectful to an extent, he really doesn't get close with people unless he becomes curious- which is rather rare. He is easily bored with 'common' things and it isn't uncommon for him to throw a stick in the middle of someone's plans to see more of a reaction or to cause trouble. If anything, he likes to test people, he likes to watch people squirm. And in the same hand, while he does enjoy causing trouble for others, he always has some way of keeping himself out of it most of the time. At least enough to the point that he cannot be directly blamed for it. Fox, as a few who have met him before or maybe heard rumor, has absolutely no empathy for other people or any other living thing. While it doesn't seem like he was always this way, it is how he is now and because of it he has been known to be downright monstrous when people try to double-cross him or put his observations/plans on hold. He isn't above killing someone- or entire small groups- that get in his way.
He really isn't all that bad though! Somewhere... deep down inside. Probably.
Backstory: Fox, despite what he says at times, cannot remember anything before the Virus or the first year or so after it spread. The most that can be recalled it something along the lines of 'The Coyotes found me and gave me a name and a purpose' and 'Then I got bored and moved on to greener pastures'. Someone (or Someones) within the Coyote's took Amnesiac Fox under their care for a time and within that short time managed to create a monster they lost control of.
Other:
Clothing;
Fox wears typical scavenger garb. He has a very thick jacket that bundles up around his hips with a few places where it has been patched, a single massive front pocket that has been modified to hold various things. Each arm has a special 'wrap' of thick cloth that is cut out at the elbows to allow for perfectly free movement, it is held in place with straps and buckles on his upper arms and forearms. Covering his hands most often are a pair of heavy duty gloves, a mixture of cloth, leather, and small metal plates individually put in place to protect the pads of his hands and the sides of them. He seems to have several pairs of these gloves. Going down the rest of him, he has a very heavy-duty belt that is always tied securely around his waist. Attached to this belt is several small bags and pouches, filled with all sorts of things he uses and or has collected. His pants are well worn, the knees have been purposely cut and a few other places have been as well to allow for the best possible movement for the wearer. Though they are also patched in several places as well. As far as footwear goes, Fox only ever wears a pair of black combat boots that lace all the way up to the middle of his calf. They are old seeming and have been well used, nails have been inserted into certain parts of the bottom of the shoe. They seem pretty sharp and dangerous.
Weaponry;
As an Ex-Coyote scavenger, Fox is never without some kind of weapon. He has an array of pocket knives and daggers of the sorts. But his most well used 'weapon' is wire. Somewhere on his person he carries at least three different kinds of wire. Some of it is simple and basic metal wire, but mostly it is razor wire. Most of the scars on his hands are from having used said wire long before he got his metal-plated gloves.
Is suffering from head trauma. If you ask him who he was before the Virus, he wouldn't be able to tell you.
Despite his overly violent tendencies and kill record, Fox is utterly terrified of blood and will actively avoid it if possible.
Perfectly able to survive on his own with the barest of things, he is a great scavenger.
He left the Coyote's on good terms, but they are still actively seeking him to return. |
49,563 | 1,336 | 57 | 1,436 | 1,402 | The Cyclops
Pins and Needles Down the Spine
Sharp Shot was as deaf as he was dumb and blind it seemed. So instead of bothering with him any more, she turned her back on him. He wasn't even worth the energy. She had said her piece. If he wanted to play moron, or perhaps he really was just plain stupid, it didn't bother her a bit. Though if he wanted to step outside and go for a round with bare fists, she'd gladly pop that air-filled head of his.
"Aye, alrighty then," Cy grinned slightly, liking Badger Girl's no nonsense attitude about her business handling. She could respect anyone who kept up their trade well. And it seemed like she had more sense in her than Sharp Shot. She could hear Willow Pixie whispering behind her, but paid it no attention. For some reason she trust the thin, wispy girl. It was probably because she reminded her of an old O.S. connection of hers. While Cy prided herself on having connections to all the major gangs, she didn't have many true friends. Slice, a thin and pale kid who was only in the O.S. for the books they looked after, had the same deadpan look alway on his face. Ever since the kid had lost his family to the Virus, he hadn't cared a lick about his own pulse.
Cy had beat the tar out of him for almost getting himself killed. Getting him out of his dead-eyed haze was an insurmountable task that she knew she'd never be able to win against. But giving him something to do, something to live for, had given her some peace of mind. He was dug deeper into the O.S. than a tick on a mutt. And feeding her info seemed to be the only thing he truly enjoyed doing. The kid was loyal to a fault and she could respect anyone like that. Even if it was nigh bit closer to ridiculous the way they tried to throw their lives away. But in cases like that, they had to be their own saviors. There wasn't much anyone could do for them till they actually wanted to be saved. Till they actually desired to taste life once again.
Her back ached. The redheaded girl growled softly, closing her eyes and clenching her teeth. Looking up at Badger Girl as the Cyote smirked and smattered on his charm, Cy let out a wavering sigh. "I donna care who is interested in what," she sighed, "Please can ye just trade me some bandages, a bottle of watter and a bit o' salve, so I can clean up an' be on my way? I'm no' exactly comfortable here."
Her one green eye shifted back to the Cyote. "Well, you 'n I can speak after we finish tradin'," she said calmly, though she felt like she was getting a bit light headed, "It's rude ta keep the nice girl waitin'." She tilted her head to Marion and groaned a bit as she stood up straight.
"Ye can tell me sweet nothin's about whatever ye like later, Cyote," she smirked through her pain at his serious looking face. So he knew her, did he? Well, well, seemed he had a keener eye than most. His thinly veiled threat made her smile. A full lipped, rosy cheeked, girlish smile. "Let's talk about yer delightful services after I get my back mended, aye?" It sounded like mischievous and flirtatious banter with that smile on her face. But she was anything but a simpering fangirl.
Sliding the map towards Marion, she gave the other girl a lesser smile. Ah, but she was tired of this goings on. "All I want is wha' is a bottle of water, bandages and salve. That's it," she grit her teeth again, "An' if ye could hurry, t'would be appreciated."
"Listen, Cyote," she let the nickname roll off her tongue without looking at him, "Let's talk elsewhere about wha' ye have an' haven't seen, aye? I got things, ye got things, and we're both mighty interested in seein' what each other got." She rubbed a gloved palm over her face, pushing her fingers under the broad eye patch across her face. "But I ain't usually one ta share wit' the class," she pulled the patch off, right along with her hat.
An ugly scar was puckered across the side of a face that had obviously been rather symmetrical and heart-shaped at one time. While it had mostly missed the straight pert freckled nose, it had healed in an in an upside down crescent moon shape. The skin had been peeled back from her face, like someone had not only torn out her eye, but had made her suffer further. It had knitted itself back together, but the result of self tending had left uneven valleys and mounds of flesh around pink puckered scar tissue. The scars threading outwards from her eye tapered over her eyebrow and cheekbone. It wasn't exactly the most appetizing sight in the whole world. Plenty of people had scar, but not many of them were as...excessive as her little prize winner. Pushing her red hair back, so her face was in clear view, it was quiet clear that the wound had been made on purpose. Absolute and unrefined torture.
Rubbing her face down with the back of her hand, she smiled as if the scar still hurt. And sometimes it did. Remembering the hand of a lover that had turned into the hand of her torturer had made a wound deeper than the pucker ugly one on her skin. Fitting her eye patch back on, along with her hat, she leaned over the trading counter with a grimace and looked up at the golden-eye boy for a good long minute. She then turned and looked back at Badger Girl.
"We got ourselves a trade, darlin'?" she smiled softly, her third genuine smile in one day, "I'm feelin' a wee bit drained, if ye know wut I mean." | Name: Cy (yeah, cuz of the one eye, thanks for pointing it out)
Age: 19
Appearance:
Faction: newly made ex-Gamer
Personality: Temperamental, Snarky, Secretive, Soft Hearted, Vengeance Driven
Backstory: As RP goes on
Skills: She may not look like much but her short build gives her advantages. Advantage Uno: Protect yer goods, cuz she will take dirty shots with those brass knuckles and steel toed boots. Advantage B: She's quick and low to the ground so gettin' yer hands on her is hard. Advantage III: She doesn't have to be a good shot tah get you with her shot gun. As for more practical stuff, her one good eye is pretty darn observant, maybe making up for only havin' one or whatever. Nothing escapes her sight. She has, uh, connections too, but don't ask who they are if you want yer info, yah hear? She also seems to still have her hands in some hush-hush trading, but yah better keep yer mouth shut.
Equipment/Weapons: Shot Gun, Couple of knives, steel toed boots, brass knuckles
Character Quirks: Don't mention the eye unless you want to lose one of yer own. No parent talkin' either. Nail biter. Has a fondness for her food to be on the rawer side of things. |
49,564 | 1,336 | 58 | 2,126 | 2,875 | Alphonsé Akiyama
The Forgotten HQ
Rōnin's anger simmered, glaring dangerously at the back of the boy walking into the store. His hand gripped his revolver tightly, cocking the gun in a threatening manner. 'This boy has more balls than you, old man! You're fucking pathetic! It looks like your days moping around with that whore of yours didn't do you any good, made you soft! Come on, shoot him in the back and let me take over here, I'll kill the rest for you!' The Yakuza raised the one finger salute to the boy's back, spitting on where he stood. To cool down, he went around to the side of the group, leaning against the Forgotten HQ.
'You weak bastard.' Inner taunted, poking at the hidden anger contained within Alphonsé. But he had ways of calming down from a heated situation, to weaken Inner's strength. He looked at his shaking hands, jitters from an older time. He dug into his pocket, feeling around for his sanity keeper. The man felt the smooth surface of the pill and grabbed it, putting it straight into his mouth. He took a swig of water from his canteen to ease it downwards, the cool liquid refreshing his throat. The antipsychotic pills were useful but only temporary, calming his mania symptoms and bipolar disorder.
Rōnin knew that he was running out of antipsychotics, antidepressants and crucial anti-anxiety pills. The occasional thought of killing himself and giving up on life became common due to the absence of his daily dose of the pill. And he knew that there wasn't only one pill, there were dozens of pills labeled as "anti-anxiety" and most of them don't work for him. If he took the wrong one, it could worsen his disorder. The Yakuza knew his time would be up soon, stopping these pills abruptly meant one thing. Symptoms.
Weakness, fatigue, severe confusion of surroundings and seizures are all symptoms of stopping daily doses and Alphonsé knew he stopped taking anti-anxiety medicine for at least three days. Any of those could lead to death in the Wasteland. He knew that being in the Forgotten was not only an act of defiance but also a last resort, he needed that medicine. His thoughts were interrupted by the entering of the Forgotten guard. He carried himself with false bravado and threatened everyone to get in line. He scoffed at the boy, thinking he was so big and tough around people that were armed with their own guns.
As the situation unfolded before him, Rōnin was in the background. There was no point in interfering, with no obvious threat towards him. Waiting patiently outside, he knew he needed to trade. His medicine was hard to come by but the Forgotten were known merchants. 'Then again, how would they react to a member relying on antidepressants, anti-anxiety and antipsychotics pills?' The Yakuza concluded that they wouldn't react well and waited for the trades to be done before finding the person named "Drake". | Name:
Alphonsé Akiyama
Alias:
Rōnin
Age:
22
Appearance:
Alphonsé appears to be one of the more crazier individuals you will ever meet. He is covered, from chest downwards, in tattoos signifying gang relations, drug use, crimes done in the past and scary visages of death. His face is kept clean and sharp, shaven with not a single tattoo. His hollow green eyes are dark and seem to sink into his face. Unruly black hair is safely tucked in to the hat he wears almost constantly. Scratches and scars adorn his body, wounds old and fresh. However, the scariest thing about the Akiyama is not his tattoos or scars. It is his smile. His smile is manic and crazy, a smile fit only for a predator. It almost looks comical on someone as lean as him but it always promises bloody murder.
Faction:
Straggler
Personality:
Rōnin is a more silent character, seemingly contemplating past conquests and failures. He almost never talks outside the battlefield, his face looking resigned and almost pained. If he does need to talk, he communicates in hand signals and grunts. As one of the oldest people in the wasteland, he has seen things that would've mentally scarred many. Very few know of his mental disorders. The quietness and withdrawal is from the drugs to suppress his bipolar and schizophrenic tendencies. He scours the wasteland for them, scared of what would happen if the drugs ran out. Though no one knows it, the Akiyama is actually a very religiously connected person and will often recite quotes from the bible out of nowhere. This god-fearing persona may be due to his fear of going crazy.
In battlefield however, his other side takes over. Alphonsé becomes an absolute monster, shooting and cleaving with manic precision. He is crazed and in a berserker like state. He screams, howls and shouts curses at the enemy and sometimes at friends. His desires take over and he will not rest until the last enemy falls to the ground, pelted with bullets or beheaded by sword.
Backstory:
To be revealed
Other:
Customised AR-15
-Collapsable Stock
-Extended Magazine (~45 rounds)
-Sound Suppressor
-5 Magazines
Colt Python
-40 bullets
Gūnto Sword
Swiss Army Knife |
49,565 | 1,336 | 59 | 1,570 | 4,066 | Well, Dreads, you might be able to offer her more than what I've got for that map- but I never said I was interested in the map. the boy that the one eyed girl had been referring to as "Cyote" spoke, and Marion nodded her head diligently. She understood what the boy was coming at, and Mari didn't feel the need to interfere much more than she did. "It's Marion by the way. Mari for short. If you're going to be doing business with me in the future, I prefer you use my name and not my hairstyle. Could get pretty nasty if we all started referring to one another with by how we look, huh?" a sly grin came across the young girl's face as she was was reminded by the presence of the other customer.
With a doe like gaze, Marion watched as the young woman adjusted various parts of herself in a slow and regulated matter. "We got ourselves a trade, darlin'?" the sly tongue of the woman spoke, and Mari nodded once again. "I'm feelin' a wee bit drained, if ye know wut I mean." Marion chuckled, it felt like the day had been going on for several days at once already. "You're telling me..." Mari started, before putting her two fingers up to her forehead and doing a small salute. "Deal. Give me a minute." In normal times she would have given a handshake but with the outbreak and bandits afoot, you never know what could be lingering on anyone's hands.
Ducking down behind the counter, Marion pressed a series of numbers on the key pad that was installed on their cabinets of goodies. In emergency it could be opened with the key that Marion kept in the left cup of her bra, but in most cases she just used the 6 number sequence. "Bottle of water, bandages and salve" Marion repeated to herself grabbing the bandages and salve from the cabinet and closing it back up tightly with the kick of her foot while she was standing up. "Bandages and salve." Marion said, moving some of the boy's laid out items to the side so that she could place them on the counter. Turning around she took an empty plastic water bottle from the pile and began using the water pump system they had in place for clean filtered water at all times. Twisting the cap back on, tightly- she placed it next to the two other items. "And, the water." The trade with the woman was now almost complete.
"As for you shortie, I'd like to get some of your items off my counter top, so let me know what you want for these things here." she motioned towards the items she had picked out from his pile that could be of use to them. | Name:
Marion Dwight. But most call her Mari.
Age:
16
Faction:
The Forgotten
Personality:
Clever. Idealistic. Lazy. Proud. Humorous.
Backstory:
Marion is the type of girl to steal borrow your jacket and try to sell it to you a week later. She's clever and crafty, making her a prime saleswoman at the pawn shop. Though she is young, she has a good understanding of how people work and isn't afraid to tell you exactly what she knows and how well she knows it. Unfortunately, to get this far, you have to get up and off your ass, something Mari often struggles with every morning.
It is not rare to find Mari cracking jokes or playing pranks on people during down time. Which in turn has caused many fights to break out. She isn't the best fighter, but she can wrestle with the best of them. Before the outbreak of the virus, Mari was in between a juvenile detention center and an alternative school in North Minneapolis, trying to get on the right track. She made her way to Kano with the group of kids from the juvenile center, but when things became overly violent and tense, she left the group and eventually found her way to her current sanction. She's thankful for their hospitality, even though she doesn't always show it.
Other:
Skills:
- Sales
- Cooking
- Getting a smile out of Kin
Equipment:
- Has tons of winter gear that she has stolen
- Usually has a cigarette or blunt behind her ear
Weapons:
- Pocket knife
Quirks:
- Knows how to braid, dread, and cut hair |
49,566 | 1,336 | 60 | 69 | 678 | Wait! said Katie urgently, forcing herself to act despite Charon's insane move. "What if I were to say... you can have the girl. She's changed. She used to be endearing, in her own way. She brought us together. But, now, she's only concerned with appearing strong. We do still need her... but only as a figurehead. If she keeps going the way she has been, she will turn too much of Omnibus against her. For her sake, I have been trying to think of ways keep her out of our affairs, if only for a while. But I haven't the slightest idea how to convince her." Katie sighed. "I trust you realize that I'm putting my neck on the line by telling you all this. The Oracle would be furious. But this is for her own good. Will you help me?"
***
Alice crinkled up her nose at the sight of her mashed potatoes, which bore a rounded off mark where one of her servants had tested the food for poison. Before the virus hit, she had never been willing to share her food with anyone - it was so icky! - but, now, the measure was necessary. She sighed and took a bite. The food was passable, of course, but it was bland compared to what her mother used to make. With a scowl, she set out a napkin on her lap, covering her dark skirt. To make matters all the more disappointing, there were no cookies to be had - after that stupid medic had threatened to use his samples on her, she could hardly trust anything he brought to her, even if they did pass all the purity tests.
After eating, Alice turned on her monitor and connected with the head of her Acquirers.
"Captain, I have an assignment for you. Mr. Farley needs some parts - I have sent to the list. I want you and your team to go out to the nearest junkyard that calls itself a store and get them. Oh, and keep your eyes open for cookies..." | Name: Alice Graethem
Age: 10
Faction: Omnibus Scientia
Personality/Backstory: Long story short, Alice is a genius. At the age of six, she was zooming through advanced calculus problems at a pace that made her father's college students quiver with insecurity. However, because of her high intelligence, she was always something of a loner - children her age were so stupid it was obnoxious, and adults never understood her idea of fun. As a result, Alice grew distant from others, viewed them as inferior. They treated her like the outcast she was, and soon, Alice learned that cruelty was the only way to protect herself from the ridicule of others. After the plague wiped out her entire family, Alice decided to make a change - she would project a kind, bubbly image to the world, to endear herself to others, for she could not survive on her own. Her ruse worked all too well; before long, the marriage of her feigned innocence and ruthless intellect had given birth to companions, and, with the help of a few well placed lies designed to revive the dashed hopes of the unsuspecting, Alice turned her companions into followers, and Omnibus Scientia was formed. And, oh, the fools kept joining and joining...
Other: Alice's greatest tool is her intellect. She is useless in a fight, and relies on her followers to defend her. However, Alice does have a talent for hiding herself, when she must. She is very paranoid about what she eats and drinks out of a fear of assassins. Nonetheless, on rare occasions, she may let down her guard if offered chocolate chip cookies. |
49,567 | 1,336 | 61 | 1,118 | 7,627 | Shiba smiled at Mari as she told him that she had things covered in terms of the sales. Shiba always liked her for some reason, maybe it was because she was always smiling and making it seem like things weren't so bad. Shiba didn't know but he did like her. Shiba then turned his attention to everyone like the girl trying to curse him out in an accent he clearly didn't understand our the yakuza that was angry with one of their members threatening a lady. Honestly Shiba didn't know what to really do other then to keep an eye on everyone. Obviously Kim was the one who translated Mari kind words for him by dragging him into a corner. She was the one who explained that Shiba needed to stand down "fine I just wanted to help is all" Shiba said with a sigh knowing she was trying to spare Shiba the embarrassment of what he did without action. "Thanks Kim, but I really do want to help" Shiba explained looking over at Mari as he said that knowing she was going to be overwhelmed without help... | Name: Shiba Akabane
Age: just turned 18
but his necklace is his dads dog tag
Faction: The forgotten
Personality: an adaptive person he will always try to negotiate first and try diplomacy before he lets the enemy into his trap, he always has a back up plan to his back up plan. Shiba wants to live and figure things out but honestly but he will always try to figure out a way to survive and speed up his hopes of being a father. Shiba while seemly cold to others actually has a warm heart and has a soft spot for kids. Shiba is loyal to his group and will remain loyal until asked to perform something....atrocious then he will not perform it and may even quit if the issue is pressed.
Backstory: January 13th Friday evening, today is Angelo birthday. Yeah happy birthday and all that right? well Angelo just turned 18 and you know what he did to celebrate? He found a nice bottle of scotch and cracked it open, oh don't judge. You know what else he did to celebrate? no he didn't have a birthday cake he didn't go to the fair or anything like that, he spent the rest of his day taking pot shots at a few gang members. Surprised? well you shouldn't be. This is the end of the world as we know it and right now all Angelo bothers to do is drink and kill you would think an 18 year old killing others would be a traumatizing experience but in reality he has already accepted it as the norm ever since all the adults were killed off in some weird way. Angelo grieved for his parents when it happened but what else could he do, he played enough video games to know that the end of the world meant he needed to find a way to survive. Thankfully his father was in the army so he had a good stash of weapons and military rations and he played enough video games and went to the shooting range with his dad enough to figure out which end of the gun to point.
Angelo spent his time making his home into a makeshift fort placing all his furniture out towards the windows and doors to keep himself locked in and he figure out how to stretch the rations for a good while before they dried up on him which meant he had to get moving and find some survivors or at least supplies so he could head back home. The odd thing was that when Angelo went into town he saw that other people his age were still alive nobody old enough to have a grey hair mind you but those of us who were still going through puberty or just finished. Angelo fully expected a zombie horde like in the movies but instead their was gang violence. Angelo made sure to keep away from them he wanted nothing to do with them. Angelo looked around but what else could he expect other then to find out the gangs looted everything so he decided to just lone wolf it.
Angelo wandered around with his gun taking shelter in whatever place looked defensible he tried to go to his fathers army base but it seemed to be taken over by a gang so their was no luck their. Whenever Angelo tried to trade with others he seemed like he was making some sort of ambush and was immediately shot on site, thankfully Angelo had enough sense to wear a bulletproof vest and his dads old army helmet. So Angelo carried guns with no food or water. Along the way he sold a few pieces to some loners like him for food and whatever else they could spare to keep himself alive but soon enough he was starting to starve, he still had the guns to trade but no food. eventually he found the pawn shop and he almost pleaded to trade and when they did they asked Angelo if his was part of gang and once Angelo explained how appalled he was by them they gave him a hand and said that he could join them. Angelo took their hand and never looked back which brings us to today, drinking some scotch and shooting some gang bangers that thought they could steal from their shop. happy birthday....
Skills: strategic mindset able to outmaneuver the enemy into his own trap or ambush, eagle eyes, stealth: able to find a way past enemy lines
Weapons of choice:
*Cheytac .408 cal sniper rifle able to blast a hole through a wall at 100 yards (just exaggeration im not sure if this is actually true I just know its a badass sniper rifle)
*Remington Model 870 pump action combat shotgun meant for close quarters combat |
49,568 | 1,336 | 62 | 220 | 2,523 | Charon stopped, his fist clenching tightly. "Ha. That's funny actually. The loyal servant willing to stab the leader in the back for her own good." The medic smirked and decided to not give more thought to the whole act. Things had gone downhill. Until gears in his mind clicked. They turned. Since plan B is no good and I just drank a vial of tainted blood, let's try plan C...
"You should've stepped as surrogate mother sooner." Charles muttered under his breath. "Lots of standoffish stuff could've been avoided if she just listened." He added, facepalming. "Fine, I suppose I could do that. I could help you make her look strong." Charon added, noting his stomach slightly upset, maybe because of the blood. "And make you betray her." He cleared his throat.
" Will you risk all your trust in this gamble, I wonder." Charon said. "Responsability is a term you should begin to understand." He paused. "For example, I have assumed the responsability of dying. The responsability of not saving other factions..." He added. "Think about it carefully. You'll have to."
He began to walk. "I'll now quarantine myself for a while, see how it goes. If i survive this..." Charon paused. "...I know of a way she will stay both strong and controlled. Put me to her side." The medic mused. "And make her come to see me alone without any kind of security whatsoever. I don't care if you've got to deceive her. But she needs some old fashioned parenting and scolding."
"Don't worry, I won't kill her." Charon added as an afterthought. "I mean, I'm still a good person. Just crazy and focused on finding a cure."
And with that, Charon trailed off to somewhere he could read and rest. | Name:Charles D. Ronnington, M.D. (self appointed) AKA Charon
Age: 22
Faction:Straggler, To Be Determined.
Personality: Charles appears at first an even tempered individual with a flawless work ethic, a rare throwback to how life was before the Virus. Charles doesn't compromise on human lives, and he tries to live and let live the best way he can in this world, offering guidance as perhaps one of the last -adults- this world has seen. However, cracks in his psyche are apparent. Charles has just lost too many things to the Virus to remain unaffected, and his inability to fight it burns him from the inside out. He's single-mindedly determined to find a cure or breakthrough to such an ailment.
Backstory: Charles was a humble medical student who was barely 19 when the outbreak started. As the plague overpowered the vast majority of adults and depleted the medical ranks aswell, Charles was soon fielded, despite his relative youth and lack of experience. Fully exploiting his resistance to the virus, he volunteered to deal with many afflicted patients, despite the obvious risk of infection. Seniors, children, all died in his hands without him unable to do anything about it. Yet he still lived. And he kept stubbornly refusing to ever give up.
By the time the plague had reshaped Kano, Charles was already a seasoned field medic, but one terribly broken and in grief. Taking the nickname of "Charon", the ferryman of the dead, as a self-parody of his ghastly patient record, he shouldered on, still determined to maintain the one little piece of medical expertise that the Virus was unable to exterminate, himself.
Other: Charon has been infected a grand total of 12 times during his tenure as field medic. As such, he's adquired a great degree of resistance to the illness even if he's past the assumed safe age of infection. He's familiar with many of the workings of the old world, specially in the way of medical expertise and equipment. Charon is also rather fit, and he has a decent left hook when the situation calls for it, but he's not a master martial artist. He has surgical precision when using blades, but it's more useful for proper healing than fighting. He usually wears a portable medkit in his backpack, as well as sample recollection material. He can drive decently, and he's managed to keep a motorbike up and running to this point. |
49,569 | 1,337 | 0 | 908 | 430 | Everything was finally in place… those who were chosen for the project have all finally assembled.
“It’s so good to have fresh cadets… especially those who hold have such great potential, wouldn’t you say so, Cedric?” spoke the long white haired and rather thin scientist with a smirk as he looked over the papers.
The other man, whose build was bulky and who looked rather stern in comparison simply shrugged. “My duty is simply to look after you as you are the XO here. I technically don’t have the right to voice my opinion.”
“How dull… I’d expect you to at least be a bit livelier in my presence.”
“Sir-“
“Just call me Lorenzo, that’s an order,” spoke the scientist as he looked over the ‘thing’ being forced to kneel before them.
“…Lorenzo, are you sure we can be casually discussing things in front of ‘it’?”
“Why not?” grinned Lorenzo as he stared at his prized possession, “I would like to see what it has to say about us. Wouldn’t you like to know that, too?”
“…”
The thing kneeling simply continues to hang its ‘head’ as wires and tubes are protruded from… or into its body. From anyone else’s point of view, one would assume that the being is simply dead, but from what was heard from the conversation between Cedric and Lorenzo, it is clear that isn’t the case. After bit of silence, Lorenzo simply laughs to himself.
“Nothing as usual… So this is what our little companion sees of us.”
“What do you mean…?” asks Cedric.
“Even like this, it still sees us as nothing more than insignificant nuisances.”
“You’re saying that this thing, despite its condition, still believes it can win?”
“No, it knows it can win.”
“What?!”
“We’ve probed it, interrogated it constantly, and done so many unethical things to it that even serial killers of old would be disgusted at… yet this thing hasn’t flinched or winched once in pain. Hell, we’ve wasted so many truth serums that this thing should be a drugged mess, however, you can see that it is perfectly fine, yes?”
“That’s true. It’s still fine… Why is that?”
“Hard to say, Cedric my friend… but this is the difference between them and us… We would break easily as human beings were we to be enslaved, they however… I believe they would never break if we were to capture them.”
“So… what’s the point in keeping it alive if we aren’t getting anything from it?”
“That’s where you are wrong! We are learning from it despite its reluctance to cooperate. They are the perfect soldiers, but their lack of emotions is something that holds them back. They don’t particularly seem to have much of anything that they’re fighting for from what I’ve noticed… they’re just fighting to kill us. We all have our reasons to fight and that gives us strength.”
“I never thought those words would come from your mouth, Sir.”
“I told you to call me Lorenzo.”
“Sorry… but still, what we learned from them isn’t much.”
“I suppose… but we have learned something interesting… and that is that they are capturing humans, and I’m sure that this particular Cruxi has all the answers. I also intend to get those answers out of it one way or another.”
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"Welcome Cadets, to Solaire," spoke the woman in a Framewerk suit in front of the group. "I am Lieutenant Ritsu and as of this moment, you are all officially government property and will be taking orders directly from both myself and-"
"Oho! So these are the Cadets!" blurted another voice as a tall white-haired man practically shoved her aside. "Sorry Ritsu, I didn't notice you were there! I was so excited to see the new Cadets that I could barely contain myself!"
"-a-and our XO Lorenzo," mumbled Ritsu as she tried desperately to regain her balance and giving a salute. "Attention! XO! Shouldn't you have more pressing matters than to welcome the new Cadets?"
"Not at all... It would be rude of me not to. Besides, I'm interested to see what they can do already."
"I see... Anyway, Cadets, this is our XO on the base Professor Lorenzo, most of his work is classified so don't bother asking about it. Just know that he'll be observing our progress periodically from time to time to see how well we do. Also, we will be holding a mock battle in an hour to determine who will be squad leader... so do perform admirably, that is all."
"Hoho, so soon?" grinned the XO as he looked at the Cadets. " Nonetheless do well and try to get along, introduce yourselves to each other why don't you, I'm interested to see how this'll go..."
With that... the two seniors left you all to yourselves. Only an hour to determine who will be Squad Leader so might as well get to know one another while you can. | Name: Korie Ridley
Age: 16
Personality: Korie is an interesting individual, coming off as a kind person and putting everyone before them. They’re someone who follows orders without question but at the same time only if it is what they believe to be best for humanity. Telling lies is something that they would do if it means to protect and keep people safe, and if Korie would have to kill the few to save the many then they would do so. In the field of battle, Korie is calm and collected, keeping a level head even through the toughest of situations… but sometimes, sometimes they question if they truly are fighting for all these other people, or if deep down they are just wanting to fight for themselves.
Motive to live: To be honest, Korie doesn’t have much of a reason except for the orders given to them. They just want to live and survive and see the next day… to see the sun and breathe the air again. To have a chance to continue dreaming.
Background: Korie comes from mother Earth, and raised from birth to be a soldier by parents who aimed to create a child who would be ‘perfect’. Korie was their prize, something to be cherished and taken care of. Homeschooled and given regularly tests on a daily basis, this was their child’s life for years. To Korie, however, life was incomplete; everyday was another unhappy lecture or rudimentary test… the same old, same old… everything was the same. Until Korie’s mother was killed in a lab explosion. After the incident, Korie’s father began to perform even more tests on his own as he abandoned his child to the military. Years passed and Korie was taken into the Framewerk units.
Notable Deaths: Korie’s Mother… Not much is known about their father or even if they are still alive or not.
Other things: Prefers to keep gender hidden. Good luck getting to know them.
Framewerk Code Name: Aester
Signature Weapon System: Aester’s weapon is its ability to cause enormous vibrations throughout its body and focus it towards a single focus point to cause severe damage by using the pendulums that are hidden in its arms, shoulders, chest, and legs. While the limbs are well armored as a result, the joints are not, allowing flexible maneuverability for Aesther; a Jack-of-trades of sort.
Secondary Weapon System: Aesther has retractable stakes underneath its arms and legs that allow it to pierce and stick to large foes, or to hold its ground if it needs to unleash a large shockwave to collapse the nearby surroundings (for example a canyon pass) , or if it just needs an immediate weapon.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Korie’s Framewerk has built-in thrusters that are fairly normal and capable of decent flight and space travel if necessary, but for the most part it maneuvers like a normal Framewerk.
Special Ability: Blank. |
49,570 | 1,337 | 1 | 181 | 1,997 | Nervousness. That was the only emotion Elora could feel, stronger than anything else in the world. Her hands trembled as she kept them close to her chest, and she felt how her heart pounded like a hammer as she looked at her feet. She knew that this day would come, but she always hoped it would have come a bit later, so she could become strong enough to face what was coming. However, before she knew it, she was whisked from the familiarity of Meridia and into an entirely new and hostile atmosphere. She was now expected to work with others, and her anxiety only grew from that realization.
The people who gathered them there didn't seem that scary; in fact, Lieutenant Ritsu had a confidence to her that cast a calming aura around herself. Professor Lorenzo on the other hand seemed like someone who had his eyes linger on them a bit too long for her liking. Of course, she had no say about it, but she hoped that his behavior won't turn into harassment.
For a moment she wanted to ask about the mock battle, but she knew that even if questions were allowed, she may have been too shy to even ask it. She thought about it, and something terrifying came to her mind: there is a possibility she could be picked as squad leader. It wasn't entirely impossible; after all, she specialized in a tactical role, providing other pilots with battlefield data and intelligence, so it would make sense for her to also be giving out orders since the two roles would have synergy. Her face started to turn red, and she felt like she wanted to cry.
I can't do it. I'm not a leader-type at all! I would just mess everything up. Please let somebody else do it. Anybody else.
Elora lifted her head up, and took a quick look at the others. So far she has managed to avoid eye contact with the others, but she knew she was going to at some point. She was glad to see there was an even number of boys and girls in the group; at least she could try to get support from a girl if any of the boys decided to bully her. They were ordered to introduce themselves to each other, so she took a big gulp, and with a low voice, said:
"Umm, I-I-I'm, uhh..." She was starting to stutter, which she knew was horrible for first impressions. She mentally punched herself in the face, and continued, "... I'm Elora Liu'un. I pilot the F-Framewerk XJ9-RSU, or Rilus as I call it, the d-data collector. P-Pleased to meet you." She made a deep bow once she finished speaking. | Name: Elora Liu'un
Appearance: Elora Liu'un
Age: 14
Personality: Elora is really shy and timid around others, and has a fear of offending anyone. If a boy starts talking to her she may spontaneously start crying, followed by her apologizing profusely. She is submissive and obedient due to being an emotional doormat, but has a bad habit of panicking when the situation turns bad. She blames herself for her colony world being destroyed, and thus apologizes for even the smallest of things in a pitiful attempt to forgive herself.
Motive to live: Elora wants to protect the human worlds from Cruxi invasion, and if possible, find out what happened to her parents.
Background: Elora never knew her parents, and lived in an orphanage for as long as she could remember. She was bullied there for being timid and shy around others. She wished for the bullying to stop at any cost, and she got her wish granted: her entire colony world was destryoed in a Cruxi attack, and as one of the few survivors she was sent to train in the piloting of a Framewerk. She doesn't remember it, but she has suspicions that she has been experimented on in some way.
Notable Deaths: Her orphanage, and by extension the colony world she lived on. Possibly her parents.
Other things: She likes computers and technical stuff, and has a dream of growing up to be an engineer.
________________________________________
Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: XJ9-RSU. Elora calls it Rilus.
Appearance: XJ9-RSU.
Signature Weapon System: Rilus' main mode of operation is collecting battlefield data which is achieved with the combined efforts of a built-in Combat Analyzer and Data Drones that shoot out from slots in Rilus' back. The Data Drones have laser turrets crafted into them for support fire, but their main use is in scanning enemy data for possible weak points or other noteworthy intelligence for the pilot to analyze and then relay to other pilots during a mission using the specialized antenna Rilus is also built with. The intelligence collecting speed is inversely proportional to Rilus' distance to enemy units, forcing Elora to keep close during combat despite having poor offensive capability. However, given the support of other Framewerks, the tactical advantage given by the collected data is sure to aid the entire squad.
Secondary Weapon System: Rilus is equipped with an Alloy Battle Rifle, or ABR, that has a high rate of fire and low recoil. It is most useful against swarmers or other low-armor enemies, but has minimal performance against above-average defenses, and completely useless against energy-based shields.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Rilus is equipped with a high-performance jet booster assisted by anti-grav projectors, allowing for high speed maneuvers and swift acceleration. This is unusual for a Framewerk with a quality of armor as high as Rilus has, but is possible due to the lack of effective weaponry the Framewerk has.
Synchro Rate: 87%
Special Ability: Blank |
49,571 | 1,337 | 2 | 665 | 141 | ...With that... the two seniors left you all to yourselves.
"Hey, don't walk off! I have questions for you!
The two seemed to completely ignore Antwon, keeping a steady pace out of the room. Ant followed after them with an angry pace.
"HEY, I know you two can hear me! HEEEY!"
And then, they were gone. Antwon, now standing farther ahead of his peers, eyed up the rest of the 'Cadets', as referred to by their superiors as if they were a homogenous pack of helpless lab rats. Then, much to Ant's surprise, one of the mousier looking girls spoke up.
"Umm, I-I-I'm, uhh..." She was starting to stutter, which she knew was horrible for first impressions. She mentally punched herself in the face, and continued, "... I'm Elora Liu'un. I pilot the F-Framewerk XJ9-RSU, or Rilus as I call it, the d-data collector. P-Pleased to meet you." She made a deep bow once she finished speaking.
Antwon sighed audibly, but controlled himself. He could tell she was way out of her element, but had at least the courage to speak first despite a crippling social anxiety. "So polite. Hope you're less timid in your suit." Then, addressing the rest of the group, "My name is Antwon. And I don't know about the rest of you, but I think some explanations are in order." | Name: Matsuda Takeo
Age: 16
Personality: Takeo is known to be quite passive, though cheerful and optimistic. He floats through life with a smile on his face, and is quick to help those whom ask. Though despite his friendliness, he is very hard to know, and has an unwillingness to form bonds. He is quiet beyond idle banter, only truly opening up when asked about his work. He is somewhat lazy and often reluctant to go above the minimum of what he is asked, though he will do nearly anything if pressed. He is quick to laugh and soft of voice, and enjoys food more than most.
Motive to live: Takeo was selected for the project, and found he could not turn down the offer of working directly with the engineers on his own Framewerk. Part of the bargain demanded he also pilot it to eliminate alien threats to the Earth, but he is ignorant to the true implications of this. In light of this, he fights only because he was asked to.
Background: Takeo grew up in an outer-rim planet locked in war with the Cruxi. His parents were killed early into his childhood, and he remembers little of them. He was quickly drafted into helping maintain and repair armed vehicles as a combat engineer, and honed his skills over the years. Though his creations lack polish, they are usually strong and functional, and he is capable of delicate operations in the thick of battle. Just after his sixteenth birthday, Takeo was extracted from his home world and brought to Earth to serve in the Framewerks project.
Notable Deaths: Ivan Sparrow - Six months before Takeo was drafted into the Framewerk project, his best friend Ivan was killed in an explosion during a skirmish with the Cruxi. Takeo still blames himself for the event, and it has led to his emotional vacancy and inability to form new friendships.
________________________________________
Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: Iron Sparrow
Appearance:
Iron Sparrow is a crude Frame made of thick, heavy, unpolished gray steel. Dexterity is lost upon it - its legs have little mobility, instead requiring powerful thrusters in the feet to aid in locomotion. Its only marking is a white-blue star on the center of the mask, a symbol Takeo also wears on a cord around his neck.
Signature Weapon System: Paladin - Iron Sparrow is equipped with a massive steel blade, connected at the wrist, and a giant kite-shaped shield plate embedded in its back. The blade can retract along the arm, but the shield is stationary. The blade is not very sharp - rather, it crushes foes through sheer force with the aid of the thrusters on the forearms of the Frame. The shield is rudimentary, but its sheer size and thickness allows it to withstand almost anything while Iron Sparrow protects its comrades.
Secondary Weapon System: Iron Sparrow contains hundreds of repair drones within itself, allowing minor repairs to other Framewerks. Its own plating is too thick, however, for repair drones to be of any use on itself.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Iron Sparrow uses thrusters mounted on the wrists and feet for movement. It is quite slow, and to make up for this, Iron Sparrow has the unique capability to equip a device known as an Overbooster thanks to the shield on its back. The Overbooster is planted directly on the shield, and is a massive engine capable of propelling Iron Sparrow linearly at extreme speeds. Once its fuel is depleted, it detaches. This allows Iron Sparrow to punch immediately into enemy ranks, where it can do the most good, but does nothing to help with the Framewerk's otherwise poor mobility.
Sync Ratio: 85%
Special Ability: N/A |
49,572 | 1,337 | 3 | 220 | 2,530 | Sigma sighed so slightly. Quirky at best. Idiots at worst. I am expected to do battle with the Cruxi with this people? She thought herself, all while the goofiness and interventions happened around her. She leaned against one of the walls, arms folded at chest height. Some people were having the typical nervous reactions. It was to expected, Cruxi didn't work with seasoned individuals. First, of all the pilots, one girl spoke up. It was a rather nervous intervention, and the pilot herself didn't seem the most confident of people.
Nice try, but you're probably going to cause more harm than good with that submissive attitude of yours. Still, the fact you have such a Framewerk makes for good potential. Now if you could only hold those nerves in check... Sigma thought about the first person, Elora. She was younger than Sigma, too.
And then a boy spoke up. Brash, with a lame attempt to make fun of Elora's awkwardness. Also, confusing and demanding. She then raised a hand slowly, and waited for her turn to speak. "My name is Sigma, pilot of Comet Sigma. I will be working with you people from now on. Pleased to make your acquaintance." The 15-year old monotonely droned, without even a hint of emotion or care in her words. Her sight rested on Elora, and then on the loud Antwon.
"Explanations should be on the operation manuals. I trust you have read upon then, pilot Antwon. We're pilots and soldiers, and when they tell us to do something, we simply obey. Does that explanation satisfy you?" The white-haired pilot said to Antwon. | Name: Sigma
Appearance: Frowning upon you
Age: 15
Personality: Sigma is polite, proper and composed. She however, does not talk much outside formalities and she has a rather icy and cold perspective. She isn't actively avoiding people but for some reason, her interactions with others are merely secondary. Sigma is often fond of quiet places and meditating, and her hobbies save one are all tailored to the perfectioning of her combat skills and tactical thinking. She is often sparring or playing chess. Her only exception seems to be cooking. She has a huge sweet tooth and good cooking skills, surprisingly.
Motive to live: Soldiers do not question their existence. They will live as much as they're told to.
Background: Sigma is... a clone of another person. The only success of Project Homunculus, Sigma was a test of mass production of clone soldiers from already adult stock to replace the losses from the war, but the project's goal shifted to create teenager replicas of actual combat soldiers to pilot Framewerks. So, with that in mind Sigma was trained and implanted with the memories of the original soldier who donned her genetic material: Irina Spanova. The training was brutal and Irina didn't care whether the "dolls" (as she would call it) died or not, since they could be replaced. Only Sigma managed to survive the training and be fielded in a mecha.
Notable Deaths: Sigma wasn't the only viable clone produced in Project Homunculus, but she is the only survivor. Dozens were stillborn, and six of them perished during the initial training and testing. Sigma still regards her fellow clones as sisters and secretly mourns them.
Other things: Cooking is unique to Sigma. Her original can't cook anything.
________________________________________
Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: Comet Sigma
Appearance:Couldn't find a better pic, okay?
Signature Weapon System: A high powered Rail weapon. It does not give a big energy signature (being a material projectile) and it can pierce even very thick armors. The downside is that the recharge time is rather awful and it is not suited for close combat.
Secondary Weapon System: A very short range plasma cutter. Useful for fighting in CQC as a last resort and also to extract valuables and people from wrecks.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: It has basic maneuverability by means of thrusters in the main limbs and torso. It also has a special jetpack on the back designed for space travel, which gives a significant range of movement but it is unwieldy and thus unuseable in combat (but not in retreat).
Synchro Rate : 78% > 82%
Special Ability: |
49,573 | 1,337 | 4 | 665 | 141 | Takeo's superiors departed, and he immediately dropped his salute and body together, falling back on a large dismantled pipe abandoned and forgotten at the back end of the maintenance bay they had assembled in. He wedged his elbow against his knee and propped his head on a gloved hand, smiling casually to the other cadets. He did not make any sound beyond the shifting of his bulky work coat - he simply watched, observing the interactions between his future teammates.
It was quite a mixed bag, as he would have noticed if he had attempted to discern their psychology. The only conclusion he actually made, however, was that they looked like a fun bunch, and in the very least he would never be bored in their presence. I wonder who I'll be calling Captain by the end of the day, he thought.
By this time, the chatter had mostly tapered off and several of the cadets looked at the silent boy sitting behind them.
"Matsuda Takeo," he said, his cheerful smile never waning. He raised his free hand to wave. "You can call me Matsuda, or Takeo, whatever you feel like depending on which planet you come from." | Name: Matsuda Takeo
Age: 16
Personality: Takeo is known to be quite passive, though cheerful and optimistic. He floats through life with a smile on his face, and is quick to help those whom ask. Though despite his friendliness, he is very hard to know, and has an unwillingness to form bonds. He is quiet beyond idle banter, only truly opening up when asked about his work. He is somewhat lazy and often reluctant to go above the minimum of what he is asked, though he will do nearly anything if pressed. He is quick to laugh and soft of voice, and enjoys food more than most.
Motive to live: Takeo was selected for the project, and found he could not turn down the offer of working directly with the engineers on his own Framewerk. Part of the bargain demanded he also pilot it to eliminate alien threats to the Earth, but he is ignorant to the true implications of this. In light of this, he fights only because he was asked to.
Background: Takeo grew up in an outer-rim planet locked in war with the Cruxi. His parents were killed early into his childhood, and he remembers little of them. He was quickly drafted into helping maintain and repair armed vehicles as a combat engineer, and honed his skills over the years. Though his creations lack polish, they are usually strong and functional, and he is capable of delicate operations in the thick of battle. Just after his sixteenth birthday, Takeo was extracted from his home world and brought to Earth to serve in the Framewerks project.
Notable Deaths: Ivan Sparrow - Six months before Takeo was drafted into the Framewerk project, his best friend Ivan was killed in an explosion during a skirmish with the Cruxi. Takeo still blames himself for the event, and it has led to his emotional vacancy and inability to form new friendships.
________________________________________
Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: Iron Sparrow
Appearance:
Iron Sparrow is a crude Frame made of thick, heavy, unpolished gray steel. Dexterity is lost upon it - its legs have little mobility, instead requiring powerful thrusters in the feet to aid in locomotion. Its only marking is a white-blue star on the center of the mask, a symbol Takeo also wears on a cord around his neck.
Signature Weapon System: Paladin - Iron Sparrow is equipped with a massive steel blade, connected at the wrist, and a giant kite-shaped shield plate embedded in its back. The blade can retract along the arm, but the shield is stationary. The blade is not very sharp - rather, it crushes foes through sheer force with the aid of the thrusters on the forearms of the Frame. The shield is rudimentary, but its sheer size and thickness allows it to withstand almost anything while Iron Sparrow protects its comrades.
Secondary Weapon System: Iron Sparrow contains hundreds of repair drones within itself, allowing minor repairs to other Framewerks. Its own plating is too thick, however, for repair drones to be of any use on itself.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Iron Sparrow uses thrusters mounted on the wrists and feet for movement. It is quite slow, and to make up for this, Iron Sparrow has the unique capability to equip a device known as an Overbooster thanks to the shield on its back. The Overbooster is planted directly on the shield, and is a massive engine capable of propelling Iron Sparrow linearly at extreme speeds. Once its fuel is depleted, it detaches. This allows Iron Sparrow to punch immediately into enemy ranks, where it can do the most good, but does nothing to help with the Framewerk's otherwise poor mobility.
Sync Ratio: 85%
Special Ability: N/A |
49,574 | 1,337 | 5 | 1,918 | 8,272 | Ian was currently watching everybody attempt to have conversation, though it seemed to be building up to an arguement the way things were building up. Ian was more focused on the mock battle, though, as the thought of piloting Anubus 14 always made his heart race with excitement. Even now, he couldn't help but tap his foot rapidly against the floor, looking this way and that as he tried to work off a bit of his excess energy. While he did this, he though about both the other cadets and the two adults that seemed to be in charge of them. So we've got the hot captain, creepy lab guy that reminds me too much of this drug addict I used to know, cute shy girl, a outspoken guy, and a by the books soldier type. Hmmm, I've been with worse company, though I'm going keep an eye on the doctor guy, something about him don't smell quite right. After a couple minutes more of waiting, Ian decided to give his own introduction, as well as his own inconsequential two cents in the matter.
Walking up to the group, he took the shy girl's hand without a word and gave it a kiss, looking back up at her with a mischievous smile on his face before he released it and turned to address the group as a whole. "Hello there, beautiful ladies and gentleman involved in this conversation, my name is Ian Blackwood, my Framewerk is Anubis 14, whose main asset is high damage output frontlining and impressive speed and agility, the main drawback being a lack of defensive capabilities." Ian gave a bright grin to all those present, as well as a wink to the ladies present for added measure before he continued speaking, turning towards the other boy first. "Antwon, right? While I see where you're coming from, as I'm sure most of us have similar questions, the beautifully stoic Sigma here has a point that as soldiers, we aren't supposed to question orders. . . Buuuuuuut, that will only make you a goid soldier, and that isn't good enough for who we're going up against in the future. A great soldier is one who thinks and questions just enough to out maneuver the enemy, but not so much so that he's constantly doubting his motives and actions."
Ian walked over to where Antwon was sitting above the rest of them, the smile never leaving his face. "Keep whatever questions you got, my friend, but save them until after the combat exercise. I'm sure they'll be more willing to answer your questions after you show them you're worth it. Oh, and don't judge Elora so quickly know, she's the most important member of the team. 'Any fight fought without information on the enemy will always be an uphill battle', a little quote my dad told me from time to time. Told me the thing about soldiers too." Ian stepped away fro, Antwon to stand in the center of the group, barely able to keep still with the amount of anticipation he was feeling, ge kept fidgeting with his hands as he begun to pace back and forth. "So, since we've got an hour to decide, do any of you have an idea on who should be our squad leader yet, cause I've yet to see any obvious choices myself. And who else is excited to get into their Framewerks, I mean, isn't it the best feeling in the world to pilot those things. My heart feels like it'll explode from the pure, adrenaline pumping, heart-stopping pleasure of it. Am I the only one who feels that way?" | Name: Ian Blackwood
Age: 16
Current Synch-ratio: 76%
Personality: Ian is a thrill-seeking, happy go lucky kind of guy, never stopping to think about what he does as long as he has fun doing it. He may also have a bit of a perverted side to him, and definitely is one to chase after girls, whether he believe he has a chance or not. He's a friendly guy, but has a mischievous streak a mile wide, always on the look out to pull one. Adrenaline junky, skirt-chaser, prankster, these facets of his personality tend to make it hard for him to make friends, and while that does depress him, he never lets it get to him too much. If something bothers or hurts him, he leaves it behind and never looks back.
Another side to Ian is one he'd like to forget. Having grown up in the slums, he's no stranger to violence, death, and crime, he himself having participated in that kind of life in order to get by in his early life. Back then he was a cold, manipulative person, with little care for anyone other than himself. And while he's strived to change himself, he can't get rid of that part of him, so he wields it like a weapon, ready to pull it out whenever the situation calls for it.
Background: Ian used to be an orphan living in the slums, eeking out a living by doing as everyone else did, through crime, violence, and even murder at times. ONe day, however, he crossed the head of a crime organization, and was quickly caught and brought before them with a choice, to steal from them from now on, or to pay for his crime with his life. However, the organization soon found itself under raid by government officials. WIP
Motive to live:Ian believes that he has been given a new start in this life free from the filth of his childhood, so he works his hardest to make it worth something, and even more so to make sure he never wastes it. He lives or himself, for his father, for everyone that helped him reach the point he has today. Not only that, but he feels a sense of duty to protect those of the world from feeling the same pain as he did, the pain of losing a love one to war. He knows he can't stop them all, but he'll be dammed if he lets it happen on his watch.
Notable Deaths: His family was killed by the Cruxi while his father was touring one of the local planets in the system. The Cruxi ravaged the city they were in until it was nothing but ashes, then left to attack the next, only to soon be driven off by the military. Ian had stayed at home, for a reason he can no longer remember. The loss is still very fresh in his mind and heart, but Ian never dwells on it when he can help it, sticking to his motto of never looking back on things that caused him pain, and to look forward into the brilliant light of the future.
Other:
Framewerk Code Name: Anubis 14
The Rod of Anubis: Ian's motto in a fight has always been to strike fast and strike hard, and Anubis 14 symbolizes that. Wielding a specialized energy rod, he can form it into either a powerful Naginata-like weapon that bears a blade made completely of a special energy that holds considerable slashing and piercing power, a pair of dual short-swords that have a higher attack speed at the cost of some attack power and becoming completely for slashing attacks only, or a powerful energy spear that has lower attack speed in exchange for an increase of offensive capabilities and nearly unstoppable piercing power.
Another interesting facet of this weapon is that the energy has two emissions variants:The normal one, which takes on a color of sterling silver, and Disruption energy, which is red in color. It has the capability to mess with Cruxi systems, allowing it to be a viable option for disabling stationary weapon systems or weakening and disorienting the tougher forces the Cruxi have in store for Anubis and his pilot.
Switching between energies takes some time however, and after used, it takes even longer for disruption energy to be used again. Silver energy can be used whenever.
Last Rites: Attached to Anubis 14's Arm, these spikes are able to create energy constructs similar to that of the Rod, but on a smaller scale. They can create small shields of energy and bolts that can be charged before firing, making it an effective mid-range weapon for a mostly close-range combatant
Shroud: The blades hovering behind Anubis 14 are top of the line Kinetic thrusters, built to stand the test of battle and giving Anubis a very high amount of maneuverability and speed on the battle field both on the ground, in the air, and in the void of space. A trade off for this agility, however, is that the defenses for Anubis 14 are average at best, which makes it a risky mech to pilot since it does best in the thick of engagement with the enemy.
Special Ability: |
49,575 | 1,337 | 6 | 908 | 430 | Korie simply watched as both Ritsu and Lorenzo made their way out of the room and as the others started to begin arguing among one another. A sigh was all that could be produced from them as they promptly made their way to a nearby machine and flashed a card of some sort across it. Punching in a few numbers, the machine made a few unnatural noises before a plastic covered sandwich emerged from it; a vending machine. Taking out the sandwich and flashing their unique card again before punching in a few more numbers until two warm canisters that was labelled ‘coffee’ plopped out from where the sandwich came from. Not paying mind to the others Korie took a seat and immediately began unwrapping the sandwich before biting into it in a dignified manner.
“I’ll be sure to take that information and that arrogance of yours into account as I defeat you in the upcoming battle,” spoke Korie as they smiled a bit upon taking a sip from their coffee. “While it is true that we are all on the same team right now... we are all aiming for the goal of Squad Leader… something that I think neither you, Antwon, nor Elora here could handle based upon what I have just seen from your actions. We are fighting the Cruxi, an overwhelming race that has humanity backed into a corner and yet there are people here that are trying to get all the answers like they have earned them already.” It was clear that specific remark was directed at Antwon. Biting into their sandwich again and swallowing, Korie continued this time in a much softer voice, “Sorry for my rudeness, I didn’t mean to offend or interrupt anything, I was just talking aloud. Oh, I have forgotten to introduce myself; my name is Korie, Korie Ridley and I was born and raised for the most part on Earth until recently for the obvious reasons of working with you all.”
Giving off a warm smile, Korie drank some more coffee before tilting and looking off in some random direction. “I believe my Aester is still being tuned… You have all probably seen it as the White Framework on our way here as we passed the hangar, yes? Anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing how your Frameworks fare in comparison to it.” Confidence; for some reason that was what was coming from this person who was both calm and collected with no signs of shaking of having any of pumping adrenaline that Ian was having.
After a short moment, Korie looked to their side and gazed at Takeo, remembering why they got another coffee. "Almost forgot, here. Thirsty?" They handed Takeo the can of warm coffee, simply staring at them while munching on their sandwich. | Name: Korie Ridley
Age: 16
Personality: Korie is an interesting individual, coming off as a kind person and putting everyone before them. They’re someone who follows orders without question but at the same time only if it is what they believe to be best for humanity. Telling lies is something that they would do if it means to protect and keep people safe, and if Korie would have to kill the few to save the many then they would do so. In the field of battle, Korie is calm and collected, keeping a level head even through the toughest of situations… but sometimes, sometimes they question if they truly are fighting for all these other people, or if deep down they are just wanting to fight for themselves.
Motive to live: To be honest, Korie doesn’t have much of a reason except for the orders given to them. They just want to live and survive and see the next day… to see the sun and breathe the air again. To have a chance to continue dreaming.
Background: Korie comes from mother Earth, and raised from birth to be a soldier by parents who aimed to create a child who would be ‘perfect’. Korie was their prize, something to be cherished and taken care of. Homeschooled and given regularly tests on a daily basis, this was their child’s life for years. To Korie, however, life was incomplete; everyday was another unhappy lecture or rudimentary test… the same old, same old… everything was the same. Until Korie’s mother was killed in a lab explosion. After the incident, Korie’s father began to perform even more tests on his own as he abandoned his child to the military. Years passed and Korie was taken into the Framewerk units.
Notable Deaths: Korie’s Mother… Not much is known about their father or even if they are still alive or not.
Other things: Prefers to keep gender hidden. Good luck getting to know them.
Framewerk Code Name: Aester
Signature Weapon System: Aester’s weapon is its ability to cause enormous vibrations throughout its body and focus it towards a single focus point to cause severe damage by using the pendulums that are hidden in its arms, shoulders, chest, and legs. While the limbs are well armored as a result, the joints are not, allowing flexible maneuverability for Aesther; a Jack-of-trades of sort.
Secondary Weapon System: Aesther has retractable stakes underneath its arms and legs that allow it to pierce and stick to large foes, or to hold its ground if it needs to unleash a large shockwave to collapse the nearby surroundings (for example a canyon pass) , or if it just needs an immediate weapon.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Korie’s Framewerk has built-in thrusters that are fairly normal and capable of decent flight and space travel if necessary, but for the most part it maneuvers like a normal Framewerk.
Special Ability: Blank. |
49,576 | 1,337 | 7 | 665 | 141 | Ian walked over to where Antwon was sitting above the rest of them, the smile never leaving his face. "Keep whatever questions you got, my friend, but save them until after the combat exercise. I'm sure they'll be more willing to answer your questions after you show them you're worth it. Oh, and don't judge Elora so quickly know, she's the most important member of the team. 'Any fight fought without information on the enemy will always be an uphill battle', a little quote my dad told me from time to time. Told me the thing about soldiers too."
Ant hung nonchalantly upside down, facing the opposite direction from the rest of the group. Antwon merely offered the chatter box an un-enthused, facetious 'thumbs up', but didn't turn for him, and proceeded to tune him out. The guy meant well, but there was only so much Ant could listen to. What Ant was more curious about was how they assumed he was actually trying to insult the little mouse; in his mind, it was a genuine source of concern. His ears did perk up, however, upon the new voice:
“While it is true that we are all on the same team right now... we are all aiming for the goal of Squad Leader… something that I think neither you, Antwon, nor Elora here could handle based upon what I have just seen from your actions. We are fighting the Cruxi, an overwhelming race that has humanity backed into a corner and yet there are people here that are trying to get all the answers like they have earned them already.”
Antwon laughed loudly, nonchalantly swaying a free hand away in the... its, direction, as if swatting away a fly; he didn't even bother to look over for this clear insult. This thing is so deluded in its own self-worth... does it really think I actually want to lead this ragtag group of meatbags?, the thought entertained Ant, and he couldn't help but laugh out loud once again. | Name: Matsuda Takeo
Age: 16
Personality: Takeo is known to be quite passive, though cheerful and optimistic. He floats through life with a smile on his face, and is quick to help those whom ask. Though despite his friendliness, he is very hard to know, and has an unwillingness to form bonds. He is quiet beyond idle banter, only truly opening up when asked about his work. He is somewhat lazy and often reluctant to go above the minimum of what he is asked, though he will do nearly anything if pressed. He is quick to laugh and soft of voice, and enjoys food more than most.
Motive to live: Takeo was selected for the project, and found he could not turn down the offer of working directly with the engineers on his own Framewerk. Part of the bargain demanded he also pilot it to eliminate alien threats to the Earth, but he is ignorant to the true implications of this. In light of this, he fights only because he was asked to.
Background: Takeo grew up in an outer-rim planet locked in war with the Cruxi. His parents were killed early into his childhood, and he remembers little of them. He was quickly drafted into helping maintain and repair armed vehicles as a combat engineer, and honed his skills over the years. Though his creations lack polish, they are usually strong and functional, and he is capable of delicate operations in the thick of battle. Just after his sixteenth birthday, Takeo was extracted from his home world and brought to Earth to serve in the Framewerks project.
Notable Deaths: Ivan Sparrow - Six months before Takeo was drafted into the Framewerk project, his best friend Ivan was killed in an explosion during a skirmish with the Cruxi. Takeo still blames himself for the event, and it has led to his emotional vacancy and inability to form new friendships.
________________________________________
Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: Iron Sparrow
Appearance:
Iron Sparrow is a crude Frame made of thick, heavy, unpolished gray steel. Dexterity is lost upon it - its legs have little mobility, instead requiring powerful thrusters in the feet to aid in locomotion. Its only marking is a white-blue star on the center of the mask, a symbol Takeo also wears on a cord around his neck.
Signature Weapon System: Paladin - Iron Sparrow is equipped with a massive steel blade, connected at the wrist, and a giant kite-shaped shield plate embedded in its back. The blade can retract along the arm, but the shield is stationary. The blade is not very sharp - rather, it crushes foes through sheer force with the aid of the thrusters on the forearms of the Frame. The shield is rudimentary, but its sheer size and thickness allows it to withstand almost anything while Iron Sparrow protects its comrades.
Secondary Weapon System: Iron Sparrow contains hundreds of repair drones within itself, allowing minor repairs to other Framewerks. Its own plating is too thick, however, for repair drones to be of any use on itself.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Iron Sparrow uses thrusters mounted on the wrists and feet for movement. It is quite slow, and to make up for this, Iron Sparrow has the unique capability to equip a device known as an Overbooster thanks to the shield on its back. The Overbooster is planted directly on the shield, and is a massive engine capable of propelling Iron Sparrow linearly at extreme speeds. Once its fuel is depleted, it detaches. This allows Iron Sparrow to punch immediately into enemy ranks, where it can do the most good, but does nothing to help with the Framewerk's otherwise poor mobility.
Sync Ratio: 85%
Special Ability: N/A |
49,577 | 1,337 | 8 | 1,918 | 8,272 | Ian said nothing as the newcomer joined in the conversation, he simple walked over to them with an unnatural steady pace, all the energy from before seeming to have disappeared. He had bern keeping a close eye on this one, something about them making it impossible for him to ignore the person. When he finally reached where the individual was sitting, he simoly acted on his first impulse. His hand reached out to grab Korie's chin, bring it around to face Ian's, then he kissed them. A full on, passionate and experienced french kiss as well, and he held them there for some time, before finaly separating from them,,taking a low breathe, before he walked over to the vending machine.
He then took out the card that he had fliched from Korie while he had kissed thm, and used it the same way they had done to get himself a sandwich and a coffee cup. He then walked back over to Korie, tossed over the guard, giving them a wink as he did so, before walking onward to a solitary spot on the wall nit to far away from the rest. He opened his sandwich, took a few bites, washed them down with some coffee, gave out a refreshed sigh, than he finally responded.
"I honestly don't care about the leadership position, or that I've told you about my Framewerk because, to be frank, you're not the enemy. You're just a cadet, just like me, and whatever happens in that battle doesn't really mean anything when you think about it. It isn't each other we should be worrying about, it should be the 'overwhelming race that pushed humanity into,a corner', as you put it. Like it or not, we're going to need to rely on each other to survive any battle we enter, so isn't it better to be cordial and friendly on our first day together." Ian raised his sandwuch inself toast before he continued to munch away at his sandwich. "By the way, I'm straight so if you're a guy, speak up now if you don't want me to kiss you again, or condemn yourself to that fate . . . and brush your teeth while you're at it, your breath was a bit rank." | Name: Ian Blackwood
Age: 16
Current Synch-ratio: 76%
Personality: Ian is a thrill-seeking, happy go lucky kind of guy, never stopping to think about what he does as long as he has fun doing it. He may also have a bit of a perverted side to him, and definitely is one to chase after girls, whether he believe he has a chance or not. He's a friendly guy, but has a mischievous streak a mile wide, always on the look out to pull one. Adrenaline junky, skirt-chaser, prankster, these facets of his personality tend to make it hard for him to make friends, and while that does depress him, he never lets it get to him too much. If something bothers or hurts him, he leaves it behind and never looks back.
Another side to Ian is one he'd like to forget. Having grown up in the slums, he's no stranger to violence, death, and crime, he himself having participated in that kind of life in order to get by in his early life. Back then he was a cold, manipulative person, with little care for anyone other than himself. And while he's strived to change himself, he can't get rid of that part of him, so he wields it like a weapon, ready to pull it out whenever the situation calls for it.
Background: Ian used to be an orphan living in the slums, eeking out a living by doing as everyone else did, through crime, violence, and even murder at times. ONe day, however, he crossed the head of a crime organization, and was quickly caught and brought before them with a choice, to steal from them from now on, or to pay for his crime with his life. However, the organization soon found itself under raid by government officials. WIP
Motive to live:Ian believes that he has been given a new start in this life free from the filth of his childhood, so he works his hardest to make it worth something, and even more so to make sure he never wastes it. He lives or himself, for his father, for everyone that helped him reach the point he has today. Not only that, but he feels a sense of duty to protect those of the world from feeling the same pain as he did, the pain of losing a love one to war. He knows he can't stop them all, but he'll be dammed if he lets it happen on his watch.
Notable Deaths: His family was killed by the Cruxi while his father was touring one of the local planets in the system. The Cruxi ravaged the city they were in until it was nothing but ashes, then left to attack the next, only to soon be driven off by the military. Ian had stayed at home, for a reason he can no longer remember. The loss is still very fresh in his mind and heart, but Ian never dwells on it when he can help it, sticking to his motto of never looking back on things that caused him pain, and to look forward into the brilliant light of the future.
Other:
Framewerk Code Name: Anubis 14
The Rod of Anubis: Ian's motto in a fight has always been to strike fast and strike hard, and Anubis 14 symbolizes that. Wielding a specialized energy rod, he can form it into either a powerful Naginata-like weapon that bears a blade made completely of a special energy that holds considerable slashing and piercing power, a pair of dual short-swords that have a higher attack speed at the cost of some attack power and becoming completely for slashing attacks only, or a powerful energy spear that has lower attack speed in exchange for an increase of offensive capabilities and nearly unstoppable piercing power.
Another interesting facet of this weapon is that the energy has two emissions variants:The normal one, which takes on a color of sterling silver, and Disruption energy, which is red in color. It has the capability to mess with Cruxi systems, allowing it to be a viable option for disabling stationary weapon systems or weakening and disorienting the tougher forces the Cruxi have in store for Anubis and his pilot.
Switching between energies takes some time however, and after used, it takes even longer for disruption energy to be used again. Silver energy can be used whenever.
Last Rites: Attached to Anubis 14's Arm, these spikes are able to create energy constructs similar to that of the Rod, but on a smaller scale. They can create small shields of energy and bolts that can be charged before firing, making it an effective mid-range weapon for a mostly close-range combatant
Shroud: The blades hovering behind Anubis 14 are top of the line Kinetic thrusters, built to stand the test of battle and giving Anubis a very high amount of maneuverability and speed on the battle field both on the ground, in the air, and in the void of space. A trade off for this agility, however, is that the defenses for Anubis 14 are average at best, which makes it a risky mech to pilot since it does best in the thick of engagement with the enemy.
Special Ability: |
49,578 | 1,337 | 9 | 908 | 430 | Standing up, Korie promptly walked towards Ian without even a trace of embarrassment across their face. Approaching Ian, Korie took their card back and immediately spat on the floor. “Forgive the reek breath, I thought you would have been accustomed to it considering you grew up in the slums like an orphaned rat after your family died,” spoke Korie as they stared directly into Ian’s eyes with a smile. With that statement alone, it was clear Korie knew Ian’s upbringing. “Knowledge is power and you’d do best to remember that.”
“Another thing, my gender is unimportant since we are all humans... and if you’re truly aiming to only get your carnal urges satiated look elsewhere, for I am uninterested and never will be. I’d also like it if you’d refrain from touching me again in such a manner, since once I become Squad Leader and if I see that you’re continuing to make trouble, I will kill you myself if I deem you a hindrance to the squad.”
“Oh, and Antwon,” Korie looked towards the one who casually ‘swatted’ them aside, “Do change that attitude and do at least try to at least put up a fight… so that you can at least be able to protect someone this time instead of leaving them to die,” they said with a clear indication of Antwon’s own past. Without another word Korie returned to their spot and put take out a container from their pocket. Opening it up, Korie took out one of the many small tubes with liquids in it, most likely mouthwash and rinsed their mouth before spitting into a nearby waste bin. It seems that this hasn’t been the first time that they’ve been kissed randomly by someone in order to get a response. Putting the tube back and closing the container, Korie sat back down and returned to their meal next to Takeo. “Your drink is going to get cold by the way,” murmured Korie as if the incident before was perfectly normal and had not even happened. | Name: Korie Ridley
Age: 16
Personality: Korie is an interesting individual, coming off as a kind person and putting everyone before them. They’re someone who follows orders without question but at the same time only if it is what they believe to be best for humanity. Telling lies is something that they would do if it means to protect and keep people safe, and if Korie would have to kill the few to save the many then they would do so. In the field of battle, Korie is calm and collected, keeping a level head even through the toughest of situations… but sometimes, sometimes they question if they truly are fighting for all these other people, or if deep down they are just wanting to fight for themselves.
Motive to live: To be honest, Korie doesn’t have much of a reason except for the orders given to them. They just want to live and survive and see the next day… to see the sun and breathe the air again. To have a chance to continue dreaming.
Background: Korie comes from mother Earth, and raised from birth to be a soldier by parents who aimed to create a child who would be ‘perfect’. Korie was their prize, something to be cherished and taken care of. Homeschooled and given regularly tests on a daily basis, this was their child’s life for years. To Korie, however, life was incomplete; everyday was another unhappy lecture or rudimentary test… the same old, same old… everything was the same. Until Korie’s mother was killed in a lab explosion. After the incident, Korie’s father began to perform even more tests on his own as he abandoned his child to the military. Years passed and Korie was taken into the Framewerk units.
Notable Deaths: Korie’s Mother… Not much is known about their father or even if they are still alive or not.
Other things: Prefers to keep gender hidden. Good luck getting to know them.
Framewerk Code Name: Aester
Signature Weapon System: Aester’s weapon is its ability to cause enormous vibrations throughout its body and focus it towards a single focus point to cause severe damage by using the pendulums that are hidden in its arms, shoulders, chest, and legs. While the limbs are well armored as a result, the joints are not, allowing flexible maneuverability for Aesther; a Jack-of-trades of sort.
Secondary Weapon System: Aesther has retractable stakes underneath its arms and legs that allow it to pierce and stick to large foes, or to hold its ground if it needs to unleash a large shockwave to collapse the nearby surroundings (for example a canyon pass) , or if it just needs an immediate weapon.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Korie’s Framewerk has built-in thrusters that are fairly normal and capable of decent flight and space travel if necessary, but for the most part it maneuvers like a normal Framewerk.
Special Ability: Blank. |
49,579 | 1,337 | 10 | 2,401 | 173 | Welcome Cadets, to Solaire, said a woman wearing a Framewerk suit that standing in front of the group. "I am Lieutenant Ritsu"
As soon as the woman introduced herself as a superior officer, Zan's military training at boot camp kicked in. "Attention!", said the tall guy dressed in military fatigues, quite loudly as he quickly stood up at attention and saluted Lieutenant Ritsu.
"and as of this moment, you are all officially government property and will be taking orders directly from both myself and-" said Lieutenant Ritsu before getting interrupted by a taller man with white hair, who shoved her out of the way.
"Oho! So these are the Cadets!" the white-haired man blurted out. "Sorry Ritsu, I didn't notice you were there! I was so excited to see the new Cadets that I could barely contain myself!"
"-a-and our XO Lorenzo," mumbled Lieutenant Ritsu as she tried desperately to regain her balance and give a salute. "Attention! XO! Shouldn't you have more pressing matters than to welcome the new Cadets?"
"Not at all... It would be rude of me not to. Besides, I'm interested to see what they can do already."
"I see... Anyway, Cadets, this is our XO on the base Professor Lorenzo, most of his work is classified so don't bother asking about it. Just know that he'll be observing our progress periodically from time to time to see how well we do. Also, we will be holding a mock battle in an hour to determine who will be squad leader... so do perform admirably, that is all."
"Hoho, so soon?" grinned the XO as he looked at the group of pilots. " Nonetheless do well and try to get along, introduce yourselves to each other why don't you, I'm interested to see how this'll go..."
After that Zan's new superiors left, he sat back down. Then some of the other cadets started introducing themselves, but Zan was distracted by his watch beeping. Which set to 'tell' Zan when it was time for his daily training. Zan clicked some buttons on his watched to stop the beeping. "I'm sorry, but I have to leave," said Zan as he stood up, "My name is Zan Carter, I'll see you guys later." introduced Zan, who then left to start his daily training. | •Name: "The next potential pilot's name is Zan Carter."
•Appearance: "He is 6'3" and weighs 200 lbs. He has short black hair, brown eyes. He has an above average amount of muscle for someone his age. He could be described as handsome. For noticeable markings, he has a scar on his face that goes from below his right eye to past his bottom lip."
•Age: "The potential pilot is sixteen years old."
•Personality: "From what we observed he seems to have his friends' back no matter what the situation is, and would die for them. He tends listen more that talk. People seem to come to him for advice, quite a bit. He seems to be an all around nice guy."
•Motive to live: "His reason to live appears to be to kill the Cruxi."
•Background: "From what we could find was that his family was average. He had five younger sisters. He became an older brother when he was eight years old. The last one was born the year he turned twelve years old. Both of his parents worked, so it seems he helped take care of his sisters. His mom and dad both worked, so helped take care of his younger sisters. The potential pilot had an extremely average childhood, until the planet he lived on was attacked by the Cruxi. It appears his family died on the planet, while he lived and made it off world onboard the last military ship. He became a ward of the state on account of having no living family. Later on, he was forced to go to a military boot camp for his behavior, which is where he is currently."
•Notable Deaths: "His entire family appears to have been wiped out by the Cruxi attacks.
•Other things: "He needs medication to sleep."
•Framewerk Code Name: Пожертвовать
•Signature Weapon System: This Framewerk uses it hands to destroy enemies, mainly ripping them apart. This Framewerk has reinforced joints and strong actuators ('muscles') compared to other Framewerks.
•Secondary Weapon System: The mouth of this Framewerk is full of razor sharp teeth meant to bit through Cruxi armor.
•Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Basic thrusters on it's back and shoulders, just enough to maneuver in space.
•Current Synchro Rate: 99%
•Special Ability: Sacrifice; No More: Zan’s Framewerk’s True ability… which grants it unbelievable raw power and speed compared to the other Framewerks; giving it the title of the strongest Framewerk in terms of raw strength. Quadrupling its strength that it can destroy things 50x stronger than diamonds with its bare hands and its jaws alone due to its special make up and its speed going at absurd rates such as 1000 miles per hour that has been in development since 2200, however, because the strain on the pilot is severe in this situation, this state of performance can only be maintained for 15 minutes before the pilot suffers a 30% Synch Ratio loss. |
49,580 | 1,337 | 11 | 665 | 141 | His hand reached out to grab Korie's chin, bring it around to face Ian's, then he kissed them. A full on, passionate and experienced french kiss as well, and he held them there for some time, before finaly separating from them,,taking a low breathe, before he walked over to the vending machine.
This certainly got Antwon's attention, having him shoot back upright on the angled pillar. He had to admit, the guy knew how to get a reaction. Not necessarily a good one, leaving Ant with a very clear mental note to never let this guy five feet in his vicinity. But it was quite impressive to get any attention out of the delinquent. Then the one with the desperate need for assurance spoke up again.
“Oh, and Antwon,” Korie looked towards the one who casually ‘swatted’ them aside, “Do change that attitude and do at least try to at least put up a fight… so that you can at least be able to protect someone this time instead of leaving them to die"
Antwon turned his head slowly in its direction, very slowly. He simply looked at it, his fists clenched, filled with anger and pity for the creature. He shook his head with a scoff, attempting to hold back a response, but was clearly distraught by the distasteful commentary. "You call a cheap blow earning answers." He leaps down from his raised platform, and can't help but laugh under his breath again. He approaches the table, sits down next to them. "Maybe I don't deserve an answer to that. But this false sense of superiority you're playing? You sure as shit can't convince anyone you have any answers. Real answers, anyway."
Antwon pushes his chair back forcefully, swats again. "That's all you'll be getting from me." And with that, he moved back to his arched pillar, swinging up to the horizontal axis, hanging out as he was before. | Name: Matsuda Takeo
Age: 16
Personality: Takeo is known to be quite passive, though cheerful and optimistic. He floats through life with a smile on his face, and is quick to help those whom ask. Though despite his friendliness, he is very hard to know, and has an unwillingness to form bonds. He is quiet beyond idle banter, only truly opening up when asked about his work. He is somewhat lazy and often reluctant to go above the minimum of what he is asked, though he will do nearly anything if pressed. He is quick to laugh and soft of voice, and enjoys food more than most.
Motive to live: Takeo was selected for the project, and found he could not turn down the offer of working directly with the engineers on his own Framewerk. Part of the bargain demanded he also pilot it to eliminate alien threats to the Earth, but he is ignorant to the true implications of this. In light of this, he fights only because he was asked to.
Background: Takeo grew up in an outer-rim planet locked in war with the Cruxi. His parents were killed early into his childhood, and he remembers little of them. He was quickly drafted into helping maintain and repair armed vehicles as a combat engineer, and honed his skills over the years. Though his creations lack polish, they are usually strong and functional, and he is capable of delicate operations in the thick of battle. Just after his sixteenth birthday, Takeo was extracted from his home world and brought to Earth to serve in the Framewerks project.
Notable Deaths: Ivan Sparrow - Six months before Takeo was drafted into the Framewerk project, his best friend Ivan was killed in an explosion during a skirmish with the Cruxi. Takeo still blames himself for the event, and it has led to his emotional vacancy and inability to form new friendships.
________________________________________
Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: Iron Sparrow
Appearance:
Iron Sparrow is a crude Frame made of thick, heavy, unpolished gray steel. Dexterity is lost upon it - its legs have little mobility, instead requiring powerful thrusters in the feet to aid in locomotion. Its only marking is a white-blue star on the center of the mask, a symbol Takeo also wears on a cord around his neck.
Signature Weapon System: Paladin - Iron Sparrow is equipped with a massive steel blade, connected at the wrist, and a giant kite-shaped shield plate embedded in its back. The blade can retract along the arm, but the shield is stationary. The blade is not very sharp - rather, it crushes foes through sheer force with the aid of the thrusters on the forearms of the Frame. The shield is rudimentary, but its sheer size and thickness allows it to withstand almost anything while Iron Sparrow protects its comrades.
Secondary Weapon System: Iron Sparrow contains hundreds of repair drones within itself, allowing minor repairs to other Framewerks. Its own plating is too thick, however, for repair drones to be of any use on itself.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Iron Sparrow uses thrusters mounted on the wrists and feet for movement. It is quite slow, and to make up for this, Iron Sparrow has the unique capability to equip a device known as an Overbooster thanks to the shield on its back. The Overbooster is planted directly on the shield, and is a massive engine capable of propelling Iron Sparrow linearly at extreme speeds. Once its fuel is depleted, it detaches. This allows Iron Sparrow to punch immediately into enemy ranks, where it can do the most good, but does nothing to help with the Framewerk's otherwise poor mobility.
Sync Ratio: 85%
Special Ability: N/A |
49,581 | 1,337 | 12 | 125 | 3,106 | Serah yawned as the chaos unfolded before her very eyes. The superiors hadn't eve left for 10 minutes and we already have someone kissing another, 2 people mad, a girl who looks like she's about to go in tears and another who just... Seems way too professional. Actually, this was hilarious now that she thought it over, letting out a silent giggle. These people were older than her? Wait, no, the shy girl seemed her age... Ah well.
"Oh come oooon, fighting already? We're all pilots here!" She had the biggest grin on her face and hopped over to Antwon, clearly angry with all that's happened. "Heeeey. Come on. It's only the first day, No need for a frown. We're not supposed to be fighting ourselves, are we~?" ...And then Serah made her way back to where she was before opening her mouth again: "Oh uh, whoops! I guess I should introduce myself huh? Serah! Serah Gene! I pilot Atty, The red one in the hangar! ...Well... It's real name is AA-TROXX... But I like to call them Atty. It's a cute nickname!" Then she noticed Zan walking away, leaving her a bit dejected. They probably didn't hear what she said, huh?
Hm. The young pilot didn't have much else to say... And standing alone was a bit boring. The first victim person that caught her eye was Sigma, so Serah decided to go bug them for a bit. She looked so serious... "Heeeey. No need to be so professional around us. We're going to be your squadmembers!" And with that the blue-haired girl leaned against the same wall, hands behind her back and far enough not to invade the other's personal space. Serah was blissfully unaware of the others' upbrining, and she liked it that way. People need to tell it from the bottom of their heart, not through some papers... Where's the fun in that? | Name: Serah Gene
Appearance: LOOK AT THIS CUTIE
Age: 14
Personality: Very open and eager to meet new people, always puts on a bright face. Just a little bundle of joy on the outside shell.
Motive to live: The orphanage where she lived in wasn't the... Best... Of places. They really wanted kids to get shoved out of the door quickly and thus when the Framewerk opportunity came Serah got the boot on it. She doesn't mind it, though. At least she can make sure others smile, right?
Background: When she was about 9, she got in an... Accident. The cruxi were on hunt again, attacking spaceships to get closer to the homeworld... One of them was a cruiser. Serah was taken out to see space from up close, enjoying every minute of the wonderful sights and with her entire family to boot... Until an explosion hit the front. Suddenly everything got out of control, she doesn't really... Remember much at all of the accident. Just that she and several others were launched in escape pods, shooting back down to the base in hopes of survival while the rest... ...Yeah. For the next 5 years the survivor was forced to be orphaned, although even in the bad circumstances she took it well. Not because she really felt it, but more like Serah had to. Everyone else seemed so sad... Someone needed to cheer them up, right? Nothing wrong with that.
...Nothing at all.
Notable Deaths: All of her relatives, none of them got to escape pods.
Framewerk Code Name: AA-TROXX. Serah calls it Atty.
Appearance: Just imagine it bigger.
Signature Weapon System: The blade you see can be retracted at any time and is also able to shoot out sickle-like projectiles when swung. It takes away a part of the blade's energy which is used to generate the edge, although by taking some energy from the core it can be immediately reversed. Using this too much would quickly have it run out of energy, though.
Secondary Weapon System: The wings on it's back aren't for show, they're reflector barriers meant to repel/block attacks. They can detach and move on their own via some technology, as long as it stays withing close range of AA-TROXX.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Since it isn't a very combat-oriented focused Framewerk and only has basic weapon systems. It's got thrusters on their feet, elbows, hands, back etc. Not all of them have to be activated at once, but if they do it can be one hell of a bullet soaring through space.
Special Ability: Blank, as requested!
Synchronization rate: Recieved + 3 - I mean 76% |
49,582 | 1,337 | 13 | 935 | 1,934 | Ridiculous.
Everything here was ridiculous. What exactly were they expecting from kids here? She herself, should be feeling outraged at this... travesty of her rights, but everything was so unreal she oddly felt nothing at all. Odd, she was plucked from her home and a promising career to be put in this... pilot program and she can barely feel anything.
Kiyokawa Utano was still in her SONG clothes, something she often used when going on a performance. It was a suit containing most of her recording and performing gears, and as such it was very eye catching with her usual purple motive. As of now, she was still hoping, against all her reasoning, that all of this was an elaborate prank by someone, and they were filming her with hidden cameras. It wouldn't be the first time she had been in one after all.
She sighed, and looked towards the others. It was no use. This was too elaborate to be a prank. And once she was stuck in a suit fighting, most of them will die, herself included. It can't be helped. Most of them weren't even from a military background after all. That she was being kidnapped spoke of how desperate they were. Sending a performer to the front lines would be the last option anyone would take in a war after all.
That was why she simply leaned against the nearest wall and closed her eyes, remaining silent. Prank or not, everything will be over in the coming battle. | Name: Kiyokawa Utano
Age: 15
Personality: Concise, honest, and very direct, she is very level headed, preferring to logical, rational thoughts before acting on anything. Precisely because of this, she fears doing anything too risky, preferring to err on the side of caution. This does leave her without many friends however, as her bluntness and concise nature are often seen as abrasive to others. Her idol persona however, belies this, as she dons the mask of an extremely cheerful joyous person who lives in the present and acts on instinct.
Motive to live: To live another day
Background: Utano lives in one of the older planets, where things are more developed than the outer rim planets and still less than the oldest planets. She started her career there as an Idol relatively young, singing first for someone's birthday party, and then was scouted out by an agency. From then on, she lived a dual life as a simple schoolgirl barely anyone noticed, and as the up and rising Idol UTAU. Barely anyone else but her family and her producer knew about her dual life, and the income she was receiving. Seeing a way to amass a lot of fortune, she concentrated on being the best Idol she could, following in a lot of different classes; fitness, flexibility, singing, and the like.
Her brother, one day, left for a better job, leaving her with a promise to come back in time for her birthday. He never returned.
She didn't have to guess why. The news of the Cruxi was enough to tell her what happened. But still, Utano had to continue on living. Regardless of whether he was there, regardless of
Notable Deaths: Older brother.
Other things: If there is anything else you believe that needs telling, say so here.
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Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: AGAS-P01 "Shrike"
Appearance:
Signature Weapon System: HAR-P01 - A heavy assault rifle firing powerful rounds with a lower rate of fire. The rifle itself is extremely hardy. No real distinguishing features or marks, save that it is a belt fed assault rifle.
Secondary Weapon System: A large flat vibroblade sheathed on the side of the ammopack on the back, a side pulse pistol which uses energy instead of bullets, and two plasma grenades.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Shrike is heavily armored, and optimized for movements on land, but it has a booster attachment for space deployments.
Special Ability:
Synchronization rate:74% |
49,583 | 1,337 | 14 | 181 | 1,997 | Antwon sighed audibly, but controlled himself. He could tell she was way out of her element, but had at least the courage to speak first despite a crippling social anxiety. "So polite. Hope you're less timid in your suit."
"Eep. I'm sorry," she answered back with a whisper once Antwon spoke to the rest of the group.
The unpleasant looking boy turned out to be far worse than Elora imagined, and she braced herself like she was expecting a hit from him. She immediately regretted ever speaking up, and started to imagine all the horrible teasing she suffered back at Epsilon V repeating here. Tears started to form at the corners of her eyes.
She then raised a hand slowly, and waited for her turn to speak. "My name is Sigma, pilot of Comet Sigma. I will be working with you people from now on. Pleased to make your acquaintance." The 15-year old monotonely droned, without even a hint of emotion or care in her words. Her sight rested on Elora, and then on the loud Antwon.
"Explanations should be on the operation manuals. I trust you have read upon then, pilot Antwon. We're pilots and soldiers, and when they tell us to do something, we simply obey. Does that explanation satisfy you?" The white-haired pilot said to Antwon.
Sigma also seemed like an unpleasant person, but at least she focused her attention on Antwon, ignoring her. Still, for a moment she could feel her un-approving gaze burn on her skin like a ray of heat. She was serious about this, and clearly didn't want to work with someone like her. Not that Elora herself ever wanted to in the first place.
By this time, the chatter had mostly tapered off and several of the cadets looked at the silent boy sitting behind them.
"Matsuda Takeo," he said, his cheerful smile never waning. He raised his free hand to wave. "You can call me Matsuda, or Takeo, whatever you feel like depending on which planet you come from."
Matsuda on the other hand seemed like the first person that Elora wouldn't have to fear, seeing as he was really calm and easy-going about the situation. She made a mental note to try and learn about him, since he could eventually teach her how to stay so calm. Of course, that would require talking to a boy, and Elora's shook her head a bit due to embarrassment.
Walking up to the group, he took the shy girl's hand without a word and gave it a kiss, looking back up at her with a mischievous smile on his face before he released it and turned to address the group as a whole.
"Eep!" Elora was startled by the very forward gesture one of the boys suddenly did, since she was deep in her own thoughts and didn't realize he came so close to her. She couldn't avoid looking deep into his eyes, and after seeing the smile the boy gave to her, she immediately covered her face with her hands, trying to hide how her face turned bright red like a tomato. She was embarrassed to have something like this happening in front of so many people. Still, it did take her thoughts away from the mock battle and the bully, and she honestly felt a bit better about herself, not that she could ever admit it.
"Hello there, beautiful ladies and gentleman involved in this conversation, my name is Ian Blackwood, my Framewerk is Anubis 14, whose main asset is high damage output frontlining and impressive speed and agility, the main drawback being a lack of defensive capabilities." Ian gave a bright grin to all those present, as well as a wink to the ladies present for added measure before he continued speaking, turning towards the other boy first. "Antwon, right? While I see where you're coming from, as I'm sure most of us have similar questions, the beautifully stoic Sigma here has a point that as soldiers, we aren't supposed to question orders. . . Buuuuuuut, that will only make you a goid soldier, and that isn't good enough for who we're going up against in the future. A great soldier is one who thinks and questions just enough to out maneuver the enemy, but not so much so that he's constantly doubting his motives and actions."
Once she realized that the crowd was focused on Ian, she lowered her hands back to her chest and listened along with the others, noting his Framewerk's specs which were easy to remember since they were basically opposite to her own. To an easily impressionable person like Elora, Ian's words sounded inspiring, and she was glad to know not all the confident people here were jerks about it.
Ian walked over to where Antwon was sitting above the rest of them, the smile never leaving his face. "Keep whatever questions you got, my friend, but save them until after the combat exercise. I'm sure they'll be more willing to answer your questions after you show them you're worth it. Oh, and don't judge Elora so quickly know, she's the most important member of the team. 'Any fight fought without information on the enemy will always be an uphill battle', a little quote my dad told me from time to time. Told me the thing about soldiers too." Ian stepped away fro, Antwon to stand in the center of the group, barely able to keep still with the amount of anticipation he was feeling, ge kept fidgeting with his hands as he begun to pace back and forth. "So, since we've got an hour to decide, do any of you have an idea on who should be our squad leader yet, cause I've yet to see any obvious choices myself. And who else is excited to get into their Framewerks, I mean, isn't it the best feeling in the world to pilot those things. My heart feels like it'll explode from the pure, adrenaline pumping, heart-stopping pleasure of it. Am I the only one who feels that way?"
Elora covered her mouth in reaction to her name being mentioned, and braced the quick looks she got from the others before they turned back to Ian. While she was flattered to hear she was the most important member of the team, she also feared that would result in the others wanting her to be squad leader. She thought for a moment about objecting to his praise, but was too shy to do so. She hoped the adults would make the decision separate of them.
“I’ll be sure to take that information and that arrogance of yours into account as I defeat you in the upcoming battle,” spoke Korie as they smiled a bit upon taking a sip from their coffee. “While it is true that we are all on the same team right now... we are all aiming for the goal of Squad Leader… something that I think neither you, Antwon, nor Elora here could handle based upon what I have just seen from your actions. We are fighting the Cruxi, an overwhelming race that has humanity backed into a corner and yet there are people here that are trying to get all the answers like they have earned them already.” It was clear that specific remark was directed at Antwon. Biting into their sandwich again and swallowing, Korie continued this time in a much softer voice, “Sorry for my rudeness, I didn’t mean to offend or interrupt anything, I was just talking aloud. Oh, I have forgotten to introduce myself; my name is Korie, Korie Ridley and I was born and raised for the most part on Earth until recently for the obvious reasons of working with you all.”
Giving off a warm smile, Korie drank some more coffee before tilting and looking off in some random direction. “I believe my Aester is still being tuned… You have all probably seen it as the White Framework on our way here as we passed the hangar, yes? Anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing how your Frameworks fare in comparison to it.”
Korie didn't think she would be a good fit for being squad leader, and Elora sighed in relief. Of course, Korie also insulted her by saying that, but Elora felt that the pilot was just being honest, and she could only agree. Korie seemed to be another no-nonsense person like Sigma, but unlike her, Korie apologized. She wondered about what kind of person the pilot is, and when Korie mentioned a white Framewerk Elora remembered seeing one. It looked very impressive and state-of-the-art. Elora started to think at this point that if they were going to vote on their squad leader, her vote would go to either Ian or Korie, since the both of them seemed to know what they were doing, but they also weren't mean. Antwon then suddenly started laughing loudly, causing Elora to startle. She decided she would stay as far away from him as possible.
His hand reached out to grab Korie's chin, bring it around to face Ian's, then he kissed them.
Elora blushed at the scene, deathly afraid of making a single sound as she covered her mouth again. She knew it was impolite, but she couldn't help but stare at what happened. Does Ian come from a world where kissing is a greeting? Even the thought of it embarrassed Elora, and she cutely shook her head.
"I'm sorry, but I have to leave," said Zan as he stood up, "My name is Zan Carter, I'll see you guys later." introduced Zan, who then left to start his daily training.
Elora didn't mind that Zan suddenly left from the group before she got to know him, in fact she was herself thinking about doing the same but was afraid to do so. Still, she was glad he gave his name before he left, so there wouldn't be any confusion later when the mock battle starts.
She looked aside for a moment, and noticed the pretty girl leaning against the wall, ignoring everyone else. She recognized her outfit belonging to idols, and wondered how a celebrity like her was there with the rest of them. She seemed to be in a bad mood, and fearing her possible scorn she stopped looking at her.
"Oh come oooon, fighting already? We're all pilots here!" She had the biggest grin on her face and hopped over to Antwon, clearly angry with all that's happened. "Heeeey. Come on. It's only the first day, No need for a frown. We're not supposed to be fighting ourselves, are we~?" ...And then Serah made her way back to where she was before opening her mouth again: "Oh uh, whoops! I guess I should introduce myself huh? Serah! Serah Gene! I pilot Atty, The red one in the hangar! ...Well... It's real name is AA-TROXX... But I like to call them Atty. It's a cute nickname!"
Serah seemed like a nice girl, and Elora was glad to see her trying to calm everyone down, since she knew she couldn't do it. Elora watched as she went to speak with Sigma. Elora wanted to join in, but she was too shy to. Besides, maybe they didn't like her, and would just tease her if she tried to be friendly with them. At least Sigma would, she thought to herself. Elora just kept looking at them, trying to build her courage up bit by bit. | Name: Elora Liu'un
Appearance: Elora Liu'un
Age: 14
Personality: Elora is really shy and timid around others, and has a fear of offending anyone. If a boy starts talking to her she may spontaneously start crying, followed by her apologizing profusely. She is submissive and obedient due to being an emotional doormat, but has a bad habit of panicking when the situation turns bad. She blames herself for her colony world being destroyed, and thus apologizes for even the smallest of things in a pitiful attempt to forgive herself.
Motive to live: Elora wants to protect the human worlds from Cruxi invasion, and if possible, find out what happened to her parents.
Background: Elora never knew her parents, and lived in an orphanage for as long as she could remember. She was bullied there for being timid and shy around others. She wished for the bullying to stop at any cost, and she got her wish granted: her entire colony world was destryoed in a Cruxi attack, and as one of the few survivors she was sent to train in the piloting of a Framewerk. She doesn't remember it, but she has suspicions that she has been experimented on in some way.
Notable Deaths: Her orphanage, and by extension the colony world she lived on. Possibly her parents.
Other things: She likes computers and technical stuff, and has a dream of growing up to be an engineer.
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Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: XJ9-RSU. Elora calls it Rilus.
Appearance: XJ9-RSU.
Signature Weapon System: Rilus' main mode of operation is collecting battlefield data which is achieved with the combined efforts of a built-in Combat Analyzer and Data Drones that shoot out from slots in Rilus' back. The Data Drones have laser turrets crafted into them for support fire, but their main use is in scanning enemy data for possible weak points or other noteworthy intelligence for the pilot to analyze and then relay to other pilots during a mission using the specialized antenna Rilus is also built with. The intelligence collecting speed is inversely proportional to Rilus' distance to enemy units, forcing Elora to keep close during combat despite having poor offensive capability. However, given the support of other Framewerks, the tactical advantage given by the collected data is sure to aid the entire squad.
Secondary Weapon System: Rilus is equipped with an Alloy Battle Rifle, or ABR, that has a high rate of fire and low recoil. It is most useful against swarmers or other low-armor enemies, but has minimal performance against above-average defenses, and completely useless against energy-based shields.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Rilus is equipped with a high-performance jet booster assisted by anti-grav projectors, allowing for high speed maneuvers and swift acceleration. This is unusual for a Framewerk with a quality of armor as high as Rilus has, but is possible due to the lack of effective weaponry the Framewerk has.
Synchro Rate: 87%
Special Ability: Blank |
49,584 | 1,337 | 15 | 220 | 2,530 | Tch Sigma sighed in annoyance at the display. She folded her arms tightly, even more so, as the talk went from Ian to Antwon, to a newcomer who seemed to have all answers, then to Ian kissing the newcomer, which made Sigma raise an eyebrow in dull surprise. They all seemed to like attention and talk big, but none of them, save perhaps, the mild exception of Korie, was delivering the real deal. The remaining two members were mostly unwilling to even make some kind of polite attempt at salutation, judging how one excused himself quickly and left, and the other, who looked like a diva of sorts, was too busy brooding. Just like Sigma.
And then came some strange sort of cute creature that was adamant in starting conversation with her. She even went so far to mimick Sigma's gait, and called things boring. Sigma couldn't agree more, but a gut feeling told her than expressing certain kind of attitudes would backfire. Why did they leave them alone? Why they chose to say that they would do a drill and then choose squad leader? Sigma wasn't certain, but she had the feeling there was more than just the fight. After all, she knew that not always the best fighter was the best squad leader. Maybe they were just observing them right now, and taking notes.
Her gaze wandered to Elora. She was looking at them both, with a longing stare. Lost puppy. It was what came to Sigma's mind. Well, she had already had one cute thing tailing her, so might aswell take the big price. Elora was possibly starving for a friendly hand, this whole world of teenager rants was dazzling her. Looking once at Serah, she then focused on Elora, rummaging through her pockets. "One second."
She produced a single chocolate candy bar, which she handed to Elora.
Treat your soldiers like your own sons and they will follow you to the deepest valley. The words of Sun Tzu were on her mind, and she could at some degree understand the feeling of not being able to connect socially. "You did well." She said to Elora, leaning before her and whispering in a soft voice. "You probably break into hives when someone addresses you with the slightest tinge of annoyance. And despite that, you came all the way here. Your confidence may be low, but your spirit is great." She added.
"And I daresay, I do want to see that framewerk in action." Sigma added as she gently reached for Elora's shoulder, trying for a comfort pat.
"Now, do you want to play a little game?" Sigma said as low as she could. "Girls only." She added, with a small wink. She also motioned Serah to come closer. | Name: Sigma
Appearance: Frowning upon you
Age: 15
Personality: Sigma is polite, proper and composed. She however, does not talk much outside formalities and she has a rather icy and cold perspective. She isn't actively avoiding people but for some reason, her interactions with others are merely secondary. Sigma is often fond of quiet places and meditating, and her hobbies save one are all tailored to the perfectioning of her combat skills and tactical thinking. She is often sparring or playing chess. Her only exception seems to be cooking. She has a huge sweet tooth and good cooking skills, surprisingly.
Motive to live: Soldiers do not question their existence. They will live as much as they're told to.
Background: Sigma is... a clone of another person. The only success of Project Homunculus, Sigma was a test of mass production of clone soldiers from already adult stock to replace the losses from the war, but the project's goal shifted to create teenager replicas of actual combat soldiers to pilot Framewerks. So, with that in mind Sigma was trained and implanted with the memories of the original soldier who donned her genetic material: Irina Spanova. The training was brutal and Irina didn't care whether the "dolls" (as she would call it) died or not, since they could be replaced. Only Sigma managed to survive the training and be fielded in a mecha.
Notable Deaths: Sigma wasn't the only viable clone produced in Project Homunculus, but she is the only survivor. Dozens were stillborn, and six of them perished during the initial training and testing. Sigma still regards her fellow clones as sisters and secretly mourns them.
Other things: Cooking is unique to Sigma. Her original can't cook anything.
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Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: Comet Sigma
Appearance:Couldn't find a better pic, okay?
Signature Weapon System: A high powered Rail weapon. It does not give a big energy signature (being a material projectile) and it can pierce even very thick armors. The downside is that the recharge time is rather awful and it is not suited for close combat.
Secondary Weapon System: A very short range plasma cutter. Useful for fighting in CQC as a last resort and also to extract valuables and people from wrecks.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: It has basic maneuverability by means of thrusters in the main limbs and torso. It also has a special jetpack on the back designed for space travel, which gives a significant range of movement but it is unwieldy and thus unuseable in combat (but not in retreat).
Synchro Rate : 78% > 82%
Special Ability: |
49,585 | 1,337 | 16 | 125 | 3,106 | ...Heeeey! Why did she get chocolate? No fair... Serah mumbles, tailing Sigma soon after they'd stop leaning against the wall to go and comfort Elora. It was suprisingly nice of them. Well, Serah wasn't expecting them to be completely devoid of kindness, but from someone who looked so serious... It was admirable! She didn't even mind losing out on chocolate now. Sigma can be bugged about it later, anyway. Speaking of Sigma, she ushered Serah to come closer which made her burst with excitement. Ooh! What's the secret? She came as close as it took for the low monotone of Sigma to be audible which was... Suprisingly close. They were really good at lowering their voice, huh? | Name: Serah Gene
Appearance: LOOK AT THIS CUTIE
Age: 14
Personality: Very open and eager to meet new people, always puts on a bright face. Just a little bundle of joy on the outside shell.
Motive to live: The orphanage where she lived in wasn't the... Best... Of places. They really wanted kids to get shoved out of the door quickly and thus when the Framewerk opportunity came Serah got the boot on it. She doesn't mind it, though. At least she can make sure others smile, right?
Background: When she was about 9, she got in an... Accident. The cruxi were on hunt again, attacking spaceships to get closer to the homeworld... One of them was a cruiser. Serah was taken out to see space from up close, enjoying every minute of the wonderful sights and with her entire family to boot... Until an explosion hit the front. Suddenly everything got out of control, she doesn't really... Remember much at all of the accident. Just that she and several others were launched in escape pods, shooting back down to the base in hopes of survival while the rest... ...Yeah. For the next 5 years the survivor was forced to be orphaned, although even in the bad circumstances she took it well. Not because she really felt it, but more like Serah had to. Everyone else seemed so sad... Someone needed to cheer them up, right? Nothing wrong with that.
...Nothing at all.
Notable Deaths: All of her relatives, none of them got to escape pods.
Framewerk Code Name: AA-TROXX. Serah calls it Atty.
Appearance: Just imagine it bigger.
Signature Weapon System: The blade you see can be retracted at any time and is also able to shoot out sickle-like projectiles when swung. It takes away a part of the blade's energy which is used to generate the edge, although by taking some energy from the core it can be immediately reversed. Using this too much would quickly have it run out of energy, though.
Secondary Weapon System: The wings on it's back aren't for show, they're reflector barriers meant to repel/block attacks. They can detach and move on their own via some technology, as long as it stays withing close range of AA-TROXX.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Since it isn't a very combat-oriented focused Framewerk and only has basic weapon systems. It's got thrusters on their feet, elbows, hands, back etc. Not all of them have to be activated at once, but if they do it can be one hell of a bullet soaring through space.
Special Ability: Blank, as requested!
Synchronization rate: Recieved + 3 - I mean 76% |
49,586 | 1,337 | 17 | 181 | 1,997 | Elora saw how the two girls came closer, and she was frozen with fright. Sigma wasn't content with just staring at her, now she wanted to scold her like she did Antwon. Taking a big gulp, Elora took a better stance with her feet, and braced for the verbal abuse she was expecting. She had to become strong if she was going to survive here.
However, the exact opposite happened, and Sigma offered her a chocolate candy bar, along with words of kindness. Having not prepared emotionally at all at such an action she couldn't take it anymore, and tears started to drip from her red face. Her hands trembled as she took hold of the candy.
"Th-Thank you. I-I hope to see yours, too."
She was hesitant to let Sigma touch her shoulder, but she quickly yielded. She calmed down, and stopped crying. She was truly happy at how things turned out, and if she was fortunate enough, maybe she could even make friends. Friends she wished she had at Epsilon V before she destroyed it with her wish. Nonetheless, Sigma's action really changed Elora's perception of her, and her fear of her started to subside.
Sigma proposed some kind of game, and Elora, though nervous, gained enough courage to accept the proposal, and nodded silently in consent. She didn't know what she had in mind, but whatever it was Elora at least wanted to try it; it was like she was partaking of Sigma's own confidence. | Name: Elora Liu'un
Appearance: Elora Liu'un
Age: 14
Personality: Elora is really shy and timid around others, and has a fear of offending anyone. If a boy starts talking to her she may spontaneously start crying, followed by her apologizing profusely. She is submissive and obedient due to being an emotional doormat, but has a bad habit of panicking when the situation turns bad. She blames herself for her colony world being destroyed, and thus apologizes for even the smallest of things in a pitiful attempt to forgive herself.
Motive to live: Elora wants to protect the human worlds from Cruxi invasion, and if possible, find out what happened to her parents.
Background: Elora never knew her parents, and lived in an orphanage for as long as she could remember. She was bullied there for being timid and shy around others. She wished for the bullying to stop at any cost, and she got her wish granted: her entire colony world was destryoed in a Cruxi attack, and as one of the few survivors she was sent to train in the piloting of a Framewerk. She doesn't remember it, but she has suspicions that she has been experimented on in some way.
Notable Deaths: Her orphanage, and by extension the colony world she lived on. Possibly her parents.
Other things: She likes computers and technical stuff, and has a dream of growing up to be an engineer.
________________________________________
Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: XJ9-RSU. Elora calls it Rilus.
Appearance: XJ9-RSU.
Signature Weapon System: Rilus' main mode of operation is collecting battlefield data which is achieved with the combined efforts of a built-in Combat Analyzer and Data Drones that shoot out from slots in Rilus' back. The Data Drones have laser turrets crafted into them for support fire, but their main use is in scanning enemy data for possible weak points or other noteworthy intelligence for the pilot to analyze and then relay to other pilots during a mission using the specialized antenna Rilus is also built with. The intelligence collecting speed is inversely proportional to Rilus' distance to enemy units, forcing Elora to keep close during combat despite having poor offensive capability. However, given the support of other Framewerks, the tactical advantage given by the collected data is sure to aid the entire squad.
Secondary Weapon System: Rilus is equipped with an Alloy Battle Rifle, or ABR, that has a high rate of fire and low recoil. It is most useful against swarmers or other low-armor enemies, but has minimal performance against above-average defenses, and completely useless against energy-based shields.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Rilus is equipped with a high-performance jet booster assisted by anti-grav projectors, allowing for high speed maneuvers and swift acceleration. This is unusual for a Framewerk with a quality of armor as high as Rilus has, but is possible due to the lack of effective weaponry the Framewerk has.
Synchro Rate: 87%
Special Ability: Blank |
49,587 | 1,337 | 18 | 220 | 2,530 | Sigma raised an eyebrow and visiblely jolted upon seeing Elora's reaction. People could cry even if they were praised? She didn't quite get it. Well, it wasn't a big surprise. She barely remembered when was the last time she ever cried during her upbringing. Still, there was no need of a teary face when she was about to explain things, so she took out her handkerchief and slowly wiped Elora's face. Serah had apparently followed her. Mainly because she was bored. Well, it was one way to get distracted already.
"It's a bit of everything. It's like a liar game, tag, shoot the duck, and you won't feel guilty if you cheat a little." Sigma whispered to both. "I'll treat you two to one of my strawberry cakes if you do well." She added, a bit forced. Maybe if I dangle such obvious bribe they'll resist the temptation to join others.. She paused. "We're going to, well, team up against the boys. But first, we'll tell a little white lie so that we're left alone."
She then raised her voice. "She doesn't feel so well. Let's get her to the bathroom to wash her face a little, Serah." She said out loud, hoping the other kids would follow. | Name: Sigma
Appearance: Frowning upon you
Age: 15
Personality: Sigma is polite, proper and composed. She however, does not talk much outside formalities and she has a rather icy and cold perspective. She isn't actively avoiding people but for some reason, her interactions with others are merely secondary. Sigma is often fond of quiet places and meditating, and her hobbies save one are all tailored to the perfectioning of her combat skills and tactical thinking. She is often sparring or playing chess. Her only exception seems to be cooking. She has a huge sweet tooth and good cooking skills, surprisingly.
Motive to live: Soldiers do not question their existence. They will live as much as they're told to.
Background: Sigma is... a clone of another person. The only success of Project Homunculus, Sigma was a test of mass production of clone soldiers from already adult stock to replace the losses from the war, but the project's goal shifted to create teenager replicas of actual combat soldiers to pilot Framewerks. So, with that in mind Sigma was trained and implanted with the memories of the original soldier who donned her genetic material: Irina Spanova. The training was brutal and Irina didn't care whether the "dolls" (as she would call it) died or not, since they could be replaced. Only Sigma managed to survive the training and be fielded in a mecha.
Notable Deaths: Sigma wasn't the only viable clone produced in Project Homunculus, but she is the only survivor. Dozens were stillborn, and six of them perished during the initial training and testing. Sigma still regards her fellow clones as sisters and secretly mourns them.
Other things: Cooking is unique to Sigma. Her original can't cook anything.
________________________________________
Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: Comet Sigma
Appearance:Couldn't find a better pic, okay?
Signature Weapon System: A high powered Rail weapon. It does not give a big energy signature (being a material projectile) and it can pierce even very thick armors. The downside is that the recharge time is rather awful and it is not suited for close combat.
Secondary Weapon System: A very short range plasma cutter. Useful for fighting in CQC as a last resort and also to extract valuables and people from wrecks.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: It has basic maneuverability by means of thrusters in the main limbs and torso. It also has a special jetpack on the back designed for space travel, which gives a significant range of movement but it is unwieldy and thus unuseable in combat (but not in retreat).
Synchro Rate : 78% > 82%
Special Ability: |
49,588 | 1,337 | 19 | 125 | 3,106 | Awww... Serah honestly couldn't say anything to Sigma being so nice and wiping off the other girl's tears. Then Sigma explained the "Game". She was about to say something but then the promise of cake caught her attention, somehow her smile widening even further. Anymore and it'd fall off... Wait, Elora was feeling I-? Oh, OOOOH! It's a lie! Serah got it. "Yeah, I agree. I'm sure it'll do her good." The blue haired pilot winked to the other 14 year old, waiting on Sigma's lead. | Name: Serah Gene
Appearance: LOOK AT THIS CUTIE
Age: 14
Personality: Very open and eager to meet new people, always puts on a bright face. Just a little bundle of joy on the outside shell.
Motive to live: The orphanage where she lived in wasn't the... Best... Of places. They really wanted kids to get shoved out of the door quickly and thus when the Framewerk opportunity came Serah got the boot on it. She doesn't mind it, though. At least she can make sure others smile, right?
Background: When she was about 9, she got in an... Accident. The cruxi were on hunt again, attacking spaceships to get closer to the homeworld... One of them was a cruiser. Serah was taken out to see space from up close, enjoying every minute of the wonderful sights and with her entire family to boot... Until an explosion hit the front. Suddenly everything got out of control, she doesn't really... Remember much at all of the accident. Just that she and several others were launched in escape pods, shooting back down to the base in hopes of survival while the rest... ...Yeah. For the next 5 years the survivor was forced to be orphaned, although even in the bad circumstances she took it well. Not because she really felt it, but more like Serah had to. Everyone else seemed so sad... Someone needed to cheer them up, right? Nothing wrong with that.
...Nothing at all.
Notable Deaths: All of her relatives, none of them got to escape pods.
Framewerk Code Name: AA-TROXX. Serah calls it Atty.
Appearance: Just imagine it bigger.
Signature Weapon System: The blade you see can be retracted at any time and is also able to shoot out sickle-like projectiles when swung. It takes away a part of the blade's energy which is used to generate the edge, although by taking some energy from the core it can be immediately reversed. Using this too much would quickly have it run out of energy, though.
Secondary Weapon System: The wings on it's back aren't for show, they're reflector barriers meant to repel/block attacks. They can detach and move on their own via some technology, as long as it stays withing close range of AA-TROXX.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Since it isn't a very combat-oriented focused Framewerk and only has basic weapon systems. It's got thrusters on their feet, elbows, hands, back etc. Not all of them have to be activated at once, but if they do it can be one hell of a bullet soaring through space.
Special Ability: Blank, as requested!
Synchronization rate: Recieved + 3 - I mean 76% |
49,589 | 1,337 | 20 | 181 | 1,997 | Elora now understood what Sigma wanted; victory over the boys in the mock battle. It made her feel like she was just nice so she could use her. Then again, if Elora helped her succeed with her plan maybe they could be real friends then, after she has shown she can be reliable. Elora didn't want to waste her only chance at friendship, so she went along with her plan. Besides, she was feeling a bit bad from her crying, so in her mind it wasn't as much a lie as it was an exaggeration.
The cake also intrigued a bit, but Elora wasn't much of a sweet tooth, and preferred salty treats instead. Serah on the other hand was immediately on board the plan, which made her feel reassured of going along with it.
Elora continued looking miserable, and with a normal voice (which she considered to be really loud), she said: "Good idea. I need some water..." | Name: Elora Liu'un
Appearance: Elora Liu'un
Age: 14
Personality: Elora is really shy and timid around others, and has a fear of offending anyone. If a boy starts talking to her she may spontaneously start crying, followed by her apologizing profusely. She is submissive and obedient due to being an emotional doormat, but has a bad habit of panicking when the situation turns bad. She blames herself for her colony world being destroyed, and thus apologizes for even the smallest of things in a pitiful attempt to forgive herself.
Motive to live: Elora wants to protect the human worlds from Cruxi invasion, and if possible, find out what happened to her parents.
Background: Elora never knew her parents, and lived in an orphanage for as long as she could remember. She was bullied there for being timid and shy around others. She wished for the bullying to stop at any cost, and she got her wish granted: her entire colony world was destryoed in a Cruxi attack, and as one of the few survivors she was sent to train in the piloting of a Framewerk. She doesn't remember it, but she has suspicions that she has been experimented on in some way.
Notable Deaths: Her orphanage, and by extension the colony world she lived on. Possibly her parents.
Other things: She likes computers and technical stuff, and has a dream of growing up to be an engineer.
________________________________________
Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: XJ9-RSU. Elora calls it Rilus.
Appearance: XJ9-RSU.
Signature Weapon System: Rilus' main mode of operation is collecting battlefield data which is achieved with the combined efforts of a built-in Combat Analyzer and Data Drones that shoot out from slots in Rilus' back. The Data Drones have laser turrets crafted into them for support fire, but their main use is in scanning enemy data for possible weak points or other noteworthy intelligence for the pilot to analyze and then relay to other pilots during a mission using the specialized antenna Rilus is also built with. The intelligence collecting speed is inversely proportional to Rilus' distance to enemy units, forcing Elora to keep close during combat despite having poor offensive capability. However, given the support of other Framewerks, the tactical advantage given by the collected data is sure to aid the entire squad.
Secondary Weapon System: Rilus is equipped with an Alloy Battle Rifle, or ABR, that has a high rate of fire and low recoil. It is most useful against swarmers or other low-armor enemies, but has minimal performance against above-average defenses, and completely useless against energy-based shields.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Rilus is equipped with a high-performance jet booster assisted by anti-grav projectors, allowing for high speed maneuvers and swift acceleration. This is unusual for a Framewerk with a quality of armor as high as Rilus has, but is possible due to the lack of effective weaponry the Framewerk has.
Synchro Rate: 87%
Special Ability: Blank |
49,590 | 1,337 | 21 | 1,918 | 8,272 | Takeo accepted the abrupt gift from Korie with a bright grin and a nod, cracking the tab on the cannister before the idle banter between the other cadets turned into a bustling conversation. He was fascinated with the developing dynamic in the group, setting his coffee down and forgetting it until Korie returned and indicated it to him. Takeo was glad he had not yet taken a sip, as he was still recovering from witnessing Ian's bold oral assault and predicted the coffee would have now been all over the floor before him if it had been in his mouth at the time.
Korie's outreach had been as equally surprising as their gift, and while he felt warmly comforted by the companionship, he felt bothered as well. Making friends, going through the motions, it was all too troublesome for him. He kept his masking smile on, but never said a further word as he watched the events unfold before him. Bonds were already being made between the cadets. He knew it was only a matter of time until he was left to his own devices, never being spared a thought. Good, he thought. Just the way I like it.
Takeo found his head subtly inclining towards where he knew Iron Sparrow was in the hangar. What was it Korie had said? “Do change that attitude and do at least try to at least put up a fight… so that you can at least be able to protect someone this time instead of leaving them to die.” He brought his fingertips up to brush the necklace hidden beneath his shirt, a harshly painful memory welling up inside of him and twisting his face grimly, before realizing what he was doing. As soon as he did, he brought the coffee to his lips and chugged eagerly, and when the can was brought away, his smile was right back on his face. | Name: Ian Blackwood
Age: 16
Current Synch-ratio: 76%
Personality: Ian is a thrill-seeking, happy go lucky kind of guy, never stopping to think about what he does as long as he has fun doing it. He may also have a bit of a perverted side to him, and definitely is one to chase after girls, whether he believe he has a chance or not. He's a friendly guy, but has a mischievous streak a mile wide, always on the look out to pull one. Adrenaline junky, skirt-chaser, prankster, these facets of his personality tend to make it hard for him to make friends, and while that does depress him, he never lets it get to him too much. If something bothers or hurts him, he leaves it behind and never looks back.
Another side to Ian is one he'd like to forget. Having grown up in the slums, he's no stranger to violence, death, and crime, he himself having participated in that kind of life in order to get by in his early life. Back then he was a cold, manipulative person, with little care for anyone other than himself. And while he's strived to change himself, he can't get rid of that part of him, so he wields it like a weapon, ready to pull it out whenever the situation calls for it.
Background: Ian used to be an orphan living in the slums, eeking out a living by doing as everyone else did, through crime, violence, and even murder at times. ONe day, however, he crossed the head of a crime organization, and was quickly caught and brought before them with a choice, to steal from them from now on, or to pay for his crime with his life. However, the organization soon found itself under raid by government officials. WIP
Motive to live:Ian believes that he has been given a new start in this life free from the filth of his childhood, so he works his hardest to make it worth something, and even more so to make sure he never wastes it. He lives or himself, for his father, for everyone that helped him reach the point he has today. Not only that, but he feels a sense of duty to protect those of the world from feeling the same pain as he did, the pain of losing a love one to war. He knows he can't stop them all, but he'll be dammed if he lets it happen on his watch.
Notable Deaths: His family was killed by the Cruxi while his father was touring one of the local planets in the system. The Cruxi ravaged the city they were in until it was nothing but ashes, then left to attack the next, only to soon be driven off by the military. Ian had stayed at home, for a reason he can no longer remember. The loss is still very fresh in his mind and heart, but Ian never dwells on it when he can help it, sticking to his motto of never looking back on things that caused him pain, and to look forward into the brilliant light of the future.
Other:
Framewerk Code Name: Anubis 14
The Rod of Anubis: Ian's motto in a fight has always been to strike fast and strike hard, and Anubis 14 symbolizes that. Wielding a specialized energy rod, he can form it into either a powerful Naginata-like weapon that bears a blade made completely of a special energy that holds considerable slashing and piercing power, a pair of dual short-swords that have a higher attack speed at the cost of some attack power and becoming completely for slashing attacks only, or a powerful energy spear that has lower attack speed in exchange for an increase of offensive capabilities and nearly unstoppable piercing power.
Another interesting facet of this weapon is that the energy has two emissions variants:The normal one, which takes on a color of sterling silver, and Disruption energy, which is red in color. It has the capability to mess with Cruxi systems, allowing it to be a viable option for disabling stationary weapon systems or weakening and disorienting the tougher forces the Cruxi have in store for Anubis and his pilot.
Switching between energies takes some time however, and after used, it takes even longer for disruption energy to be used again. Silver energy can be used whenever.
Last Rites: Attached to Anubis 14's Arm, these spikes are able to create energy constructs similar to that of the Rod, but on a smaller scale. They can create small shields of energy and bolts that can be charged before firing, making it an effective mid-range weapon for a mostly close-range combatant
Shroud: The blades hovering behind Anubis 14 are top of the line Kinetic thrusters, built to stand the test of battle and giving Anubis a very high amount of maneuverability and speed on the battle field both on the ground, in the air, and in the void of space. A trade off for this agility, however, is that the defenses for Anubis 14 are average at best, which makes it a risky mech to pilot since it does best in the thick of engagement with the enemy.
Special Ability: |
49,591 | 1,337 | 22 | 935 | 1,934 | Hello there, I don't think I caught your name and in case you didn't catch mine, it's Ian. Also, have we met somewhere before, I feel like I've seen you from somewhere before?
She opened her eyes to the view of a rather delinquent-looking fellow standing right in front of her. Not really the type she'd be surprised to see here. Ian was it? He mentioned having seen her before. It was still a bit exciting when someone said they know her or have seen her perform before, no matter how many times she heard it. He doesn't seem the type to be a fan of her music though, so he most likely have seen her picture in passing, like on the cover of an album or something. Utano did manage to perform alongside a few famous bands though, so that might also be the cause.
Cautiously she assumed her business persona, smiling slightly at the boy. "Hmm, I'd remember if we met before, but it would come as no surprised if you had seen my likeness before. I'm UTAU, an aspiring Idol." | Name: Kiyokawa Utano
Age: 15
Personality: Concise, honest, and very direct, she is very level headed, preferring to logical, rational thoughts before acting on anything. Precisely because of this, she fears doing anything too risky, preferring to err on the side of caution. This does leave her without many friends however, as her bluntness and concise nature are often seen as abrasive to others. Her idol persona however, belies this, as she dons the mask of an extremely cheerful joyous person who lives in the present and acts on instinct.
Motive to live: To live another day
Background: Utano lives in one of the older planets, where things are more developed than the outer rim planets and still less than the oldest planets. She started her career there as an Idol relatively young, singing first for someone's birthday party, and then was scouted out by an agency. From then on, she lived a dual life as a simple schoolgirl barely anyone noticed, and as the up and rising Idol UTAU. Barely anyone else but her family and her producer knew about her dual life, and the income she was receiving. Seeing a way to amass a lot of fortune, she concentrated on being the best Idol she could, following in a lot of different classes; fitness, flexibility, singing, and the like.
Her brother, one day, left for a better job, leaving her with a promise to come back in time for her birthday. He never returned.
She didn't have to guess why. The news of the Cruxi was enough to tell her what happened. But still, Utano had to continue on living. Regardless of whether he was there, regardless of
Notable Deaths: Older brother.
Other things: If there is anything else you believe that needs telling, say so here.
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Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: AGAS-P01 "Shrike"
Appearance:
Signature Weapon System: HAR-P01 - A heavy assault rifle firing powerful rounds with a lower rate of fire. The rifle itself is extremely hardy. No real distinguishing features or marks, save that it is a belt fed assault rifle.
Secondary Weapon System: A large flat vibroblade sheathed on the side of the ammopack on the back, a side pulse pistol which uses energy instead of bullets, and two plasma grenades.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Shrike is heavily armored, and optimized for movements on land, but it has a booster attachment for space deployments.
Special Ability:
Synchronization rate:74% |
49,592 | 1,337 | 23 | 220 | 2,530 | Sigma sighed. "Serah, go ahead with her. I might catch with you later. I believe i can get more help." The stoic-faced pilot looked at both girls, before looking at the girl who was being approached by Ian. Are they already wisening up? She pondered. Now how would she approach the possible fourth member of the alliance she was trying to brew. The strawberry alliance, it would be called.
Now, the trick was the approach. What would be the best way to do it? Well, of course by keeping act. She had seen those garish outfits in the assorted shows that the civilians kept themselves busy with. Some kind of performer. Well, that could be worked as an excuse...
Walking with brief steps, she then approached the girl and the loudmouth called Ian, choosing to tap the shoulder of the performer in question.
"May I have a second with you? We've got a bad case of scenery panic... and you seem the type to be acknowledged with it."Sigma said, as she said the half truth to the girl."We'll be in the girls bath. Sorry for the disturbance." The clone soldier droned, without waiting for an answer, and then darted off hurriedly after Serah and Elora, creating a false sense of urgence to sell the act. | Name: Sigma
Appearance: Frowning upon you
Age: 15
Personality: Sigma is polite, proper and composed. She however, does not talk much outside formalities and she has a rather icy and cold perspective. She isn't actively avoiding people but for some reason, her interactions with others are merely secondary. Sigma is often fond of quiet places and meditating, and her hobbies save one are all tailored to the perfectioning of her combat skills and tactical thinking. She is often sparring or playing chess. Her only exception seems to be cooking. She has a huge sweet tooth and good cooking skills, surprisingly.
Motive to live: Soldiers do not question their existence. They will live as much as they're told to.
Background: Sigma is... a clone of another person. The only success of Project Homunculus, Sigma was a test of mass production of clone soldiers from already adult stock to replace the losses from the war, but the project's goal shifted to create teenager replicas of actual combat soldiers to pilot Framewerks. So, with that in mind Sigma was trained and implanted with the memories of the original soldier who donned her genetic material: Irina Spanova. The training was brutal and Irina didn't care whether the "dolls" (as she would call it) died or not, since they could be replaced. Only Sigma managed to survive the training and be fielded in a mecha.
Notable Deaths: Sigma wasn't the only viable clone produced in Project Homunculus, but she is the only survivor. Dozens were stillborn, and six of them perished during the initial training and testing. Sigma still regards her fellow clones as sisters and secretly mourns them.
Other things: Cooking is unique to Sigma. Her original can't cook anything.
________________________________________
Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: Comet Sigma
Appearance:Couldn't find a better pic, okay?
Signature Weapon System: A high powered Rail weapon. It does not give a big energy signature (being a material projectile) and it can pierce even very thick armors. The downside is that the recharge time is rather awful and it is not suited for close combat.
Secondary Weapon System: A very short range plasma cutter. Useful for fighting in CQC as a last resort and also to extract valuables and people from wrecks.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: It has basic maneuverability by means of thrusters in the main limbs and torso. It also has a special jetpack on the back designed for space travel, which gives a significant range of movement but it is unwieldy and thus unuseable in combat (but not in retreat).
Synchro Rate : 78% > 82%
Special Ability: |
49,593 | 1,337 | 24 | 1,918 | 8,272 | Ian's smile dropped the instant he heard the name, taking an step back instinctively from Utau as he tried to hold back the flood of memories that the name brought with it. Sadly, it was for not, and one memory in particular pained him more than any other.
- Militant Cruiser, Turok sector, Outer Rim, 1 month ago-
Ian was sitting in a chair overlooking the empty void, trying his best to tune out his sister and her incessant need to sing along to every song by her favorite Idol, Utatu or whatever she was called. It wasn't that he disliked the music, it was decent enough, he just hated having to hear it a million times on a daily basis. If he heard that goddamn chorus from Kibou to Negai one more time, he'd through her music player out the air lock.
"Couldn't you at least use your headphones? Not everypne wants to listen to that stuff 24/7, you know."
Angela Blackwood, his foster sister and best friend, responded in the only way befitting the daughter of a highly decorated, high ranking officer, by sticking her tongue out at him. She had her hair cut and stlyed so that it resembled that of her Idol, even going so far as to dye her naturally black hair purple as well, though she'd had enough restrain to limit it to only the tips of her hair. So far gone was her obssession, she'd even went through a procedure to change the color of one eye to be the same as UTAU, making it a bright-ish purple instead of her normal light grey. "If you don't like it, you can go somewhere else, Ian, this is the closest thing we've ever had to a vacation, so I'm going to enjoy it as much as I want to, as loud as I want to." With that said, she turned her music up and gave Ian a familiarly mischievous smile that he couldn't help but return, having some fun despite his sister being her usual annoying self.
"I'll do just that, so later Lil' Sis, and have fun listening to your music . . . with out your phone!" Quick as a flash, Ian was down the halls of the ship with his sister's phone before she could comprehend what had happened. Ian couldn't help chuckling when he heard her cry of outrage, happy with the knowledge that she was too much of a lazy lump to get it back, plus she had another one anyway, so it really wasn't that much of a problem.
A couple hours later, Ian was near the lower decks of the ship, listening to some of his guilty pleasure UTAU favorites, like Kono Haato Tomaranai when he heard an alarm rung throughout the ship, the one for Cruxi attacks. His last thought before hearing those alarms, however, had been simple. I wonder how this UTAU chick is in real life.
Flashback End
That was the last time he had ever spoken to his sister, and the thought of it had been more than enough to cause tears to flow unbidden to his eyes. He came out of his mind when Sugma had left, coming to with a shock before he reached up to feel the wetness on his face, surprised to find tears before he went to wipe his eyes dry, an hollow chuckle escaping hus lips as he did so. "I'm sorry, it's just . . . my sister is, or was, a really big fan of yours. She played Kibou to Negai so many times I could probably recite it you by heart." That was a lie, he could recite it perfectly forwards, backwards, even sideways. He still had his sisters purple music player, had it in his pocket at this very moment. The day after the incident he's locked himself in his room for hours, staring at a spot on the wall while listening to his sister's playlist over and over again. He'd listen to them so much he could recite them all, though if he ever triednhe'd breakdown into an unintelligible mess of sorrow before he got through the second chorus. This is why you never look back. A voice he remembered and despised whispered to him, The only thing that comes from remembering tragedy is more pain.
"I'm sorry, but I think I'll . . . I'll just leave you to yoyr business." Ian walked away from the violet haired Idol so fast he was almost running, heading into the boy's bathroom, locking himself in a stall and just taking a second to compose himself. In a few minutes he'd walk out feeling as chipper as ever, but right now, he just needed to center himself in the present, lest he lose himself in his past. | Name: Ian Blackwood
Age: 16
Current Synch-ratio: 76%
Personality: Ian is a thrill-seeking, happy go lucky kind of guy, never stopping to think about what he does as long as he has fun doing it. He may also have a bit of a perverted side to him, and definitely is one to chase after girls, whether he believe he has a chance or not. He's a friendly guy, but has a mischievous streak a mile wide, always on the look out to pull one. Adrenaline junky, skirt-chaser, prankster, these facets of his personality tend to make it hard for him to make friends, and while that does depress him, he never lets it get to him too much. If something bothers or hurts him, he leaves it behind and never looks back.
Another side to Ian is one he'd like to forget. Having grown up in the slums, he's no stranger to violence, death, and crime, he himself having participated in that kind of life in order to get by in his early life. Back then he was a cold, manipulative person, with little care for anyone other than himself. And while he's strived to change himself, he can't get rid of that part of him, so he wields it like a weapon, ready to pull it out whenever the situation calls for it.
Background: Ian used to be an orphan living in the slums, eeking out a living by doing as everyone else did, through crime, violence, and even murder at times. ONe day, however, he crossed the head of a crime organization, and was quickly caught and brought before them with a choice, to steal from them from now on, or to pay for his crime with his life. However, the organization soon found itself under raid by government officials. WIP
Motive to live:Ian believes that he has been given a new start in this life free from the filth of his childhood, so he works his hardest to make it worth something, and even more so to make sure he never wastes it. He lives or himself, for his father, for everyone that helped him reach the point he has today. Not only that, but he feels a sense of duty to protect those of the world from feeling the same pain as he did, the pain of losing a love one to war. He knows he can't stop them all, but he'll be dammed if he lets it happen on his watch.
Notable Deaths: His family was killed by the Cruxi while his father was touring one of the local planets in the system. The Cruxi ravaged the city they were in until it was nothing but ashes, then left to attack the next, only to soon be driven off by the military. Ian had stayed at home, for a reason he can no longer remember. The loss is still very fresh in his mind and heart, but Ian never dwells on it when he can help it, sticking to his motto of never looking back on things that caused him pain, and to look forward into the brilliant light of the future.
Other:
Framewerk Code Name: Anubis 14
The Rod of Anubis: Ian's motto in a fight has always been to strike fast and strike hard, and Anubis 14 symbolizes that. Wielding a specialized energy rod, he can form it into either a powerful Naginata-like weapon that bears a blade made completely of a special energy that holds considerable slashing and piercing power, a pair of dual short-swords that have a higher attack speed at the cost of some attack power and becoming completely for slashing attacks only, or a powerful energy spear that has lower attack speed in exchange for an increase of offensive capabilities and nearly unstoppable piercing power.
Another interesting facet of this weapon is that the energy has two emissions variants:The normal one, which takes on a color of sterling silver, and Disruption energy, which is red in color. It has the capability to mess with Cruxi systems, allowing it to be a viable option for disabling stationary weapon systems or weakening and disorienting the tougher forces the Cruxi have in store for Anubis and his pilot.
Switching between energies takes some time however, and after used, it takes even longer for disruption energy to be used again. Silver energy can be used whenever.
Last Rites: Attached to Anubis 14's Arm, these spikes are able to create energy constructs similar to that of the Rod, but on a smaller scale. They can create small shields of energy and bolts that can be charged before firing, making it an effective mid-range weapon for a mostly close-range combatant
Shroud: The blades hovering behind Anubis 14 are top of the line Kinetic thrusters, built to stand the test of battle and giving Anubis a very high amount of maneuverability and speed on the battle field both on the ground, in the air, and in the void of space. A trade off for this agility, however, is that the defenses for Anubis 14 are average at best, which makes it a risky mech to pilot since it does best in the thick of engagement with the enemy.
Special Ability: |
49,594 | 1,337 | 25 | 908 | 430 | After hearing what both Antwon and Ian had to say, and finishing their meal, Korie sighed a bit to themselves and thinking a bit over what they had said. Before smiling towards Takeo and giving him a small wave. Unlike their normal smile, this one seemed genuine as they stood up and approached the vending machine once again, this time getting two more coffees with their card.
Approaching Antwon normally, they place one can in front of them and smiled softly. “I apologize for that, I was out of line… and you’re right, I don’t have any real answers,” looking up, they smiled a bit more, trying to give off warmer feeling.
“If you feel like hitting me for what I said, then I understand. My advice was crude, and I know when I’m in the wrong, just know that we will have to get along since we will be on the same team.”
Exiting the room with the extra can of coffee, but not before waving goodbye to Takeo and Antwon, Korie made their way to the restroom specially made for them due to their specific request. On the way there, they paused and watched as Ian went into the bathroom with a wet face. Sighing, Korie just waited until finally they came back out with their usual chipper attitude.
“Oh, Ian, I almost forgot, this one is for you. You will need something to wash down the taste of kissing a boy out of your mouth,” spoke Korie as they shoved another can of coffee into their hand. Giving Ian a small smile, Korie punched Ian on the arm softly before heading towards their own special bathroom. “Sorry for earlier. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must use the little girl’s room,” they said as they entered the strange room that was undoubtedly a bathroom made specifically for them… which also had a sign that was equally confusing with a pear being strangled by a tentacle. | Name: Korie Ridley
Age: 16
Personality: Korie is an interesting individual, coming off as a kind person and putting everyone before them. They’re someone who follows orders without question but at the same time only if it is what they believe to be best for humanity. Telling lies is something that they would do if it means to protect and keep people safe, and if Korie would have to kill the few to save the many then they would do so. In the field of battle, Korie is calm and collected, keeping a level head even through the toughest of situations… but sometimes, sometimes they question if they truly are fighting for all these other people, or if deep down they are just wanting to fight for themselves.
Motive to live: To be honest, Korie doesn’t have much of a reason except for the orders given to them. They just want to live and survive and see the next day… to see the sun and breathe the air again. To have a chance to continue dreaming.
Background: Korie comes from mother Earth, and raised from birth to be a soldier by parents who aimed to create a child who would be ‘perfect’. Korie was their prize, something to be cherished and taken care of. Homeschooled and given regularly tests on a daily basis, this was their child’s life for years. To Korie, however, life was incomplete; everyday was another unhappy lecture or rudimentary test… the same old, same old… everything was the same. Until Korie’s mother was killed in a lab explosion. After the incident, Korie’s father began to perform even more tests on his own as he abandoned his child to the military. Years passed and Korie was taken into the Framewerk units.
Notable Deaths: Korie’s Mother… Not much is known about their father or even if they are still alive or not.
Other things: Prefers to keep gender hidden. Good luck getting to know them.
Framewerk Code Name: Aester
Signature Weapon System: Aester’s weapon is its ability to cause enormous vibrations throughout its body and focus it towards a single focus point to cause severe damage by using the pendulums that are hidden in its arms, shoulders, chest, and legs. While the limbs are well armored as a result, the joints are not, allowing flexible maneuverability for Aesther; a Jack-of-trades of sort.
Secondary Weapon System: Aesther has retractable stakes underneath its arms and legs that allow it to pierce and stick to large foes, or to hold its ground if it needs to unleash a large shockwave to collapse the nearby surroundings (for example a canyon pass) , or if it just needs an immediate weapon.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Korie’s Framewerk has built-in thrusters that are fairly normal and capable of decent flight and space travel if necessary, but for the most part it maneuvers like a normal Framewerk.
Special Ability: Blank. |
49,595 | 1,337 | 26 | 589 | 2,821 | Iskander was introspective throughout most of the meet and greet. Seeing the others in the project he was a part of was almost surreal to him. This felt like deja vu. More child soldiers, another unwinnable war. He could have sworn that he was back in the Lemurian compound on Hyperborea , for how familiar this felt. He was a warrior, once again. Had he ever stopped being a warrior? The Hyperborean government had tried to force him to unlearn his training, but they couldn't undo what he had done. They couldn't take away the years spent training with sword and rifle. They couldn't take away the lives he took to dull him to killing. So, he supposed he was always a warrior. It was just now that he once again had a war.
He looked at his peers curiously. Offworlders, how strange they were, doing such odd things like kissing each other. Iskander had never kissed anyone; the path of a warrior left no time for that sort of thing. Iskander had only ever seen an Offworlder for the first time as a part of the Framewerk project, and now he was rubbing elbows with them constantly. Though he would be going to other worlds very often from here on out, he supposed. It excited him sometimes, traveling through the ether, sailing among the stars like Zurra, the Destroyer of Mu.
The others seemed to have some degree of training to a few of them, as far as Iskander could tell. Were they trained to fight the hordes of the Chaos Lord, as Iskander had done in recent months, or were they trained to kill men, like Iskander was at first? Iskander reminded himself to call the enemy "Cruxi," as the Hyperboreans had told him, even though his elders had identified them as the forces of Angsaar. Though the more Iskander learned about life outside of Hyperborea, the more he felt like his elders had been right. They had divined his fate to be that of a warrior. The Hyperborean therapists had told him he could be whatever he wanted. And here he was, still a warrior.
Iskander stayed to the side, still deep in thought, as he stared at the others complacently. An idle habit, his fingers wound their way through his long, silver braid, and his emerald eyes glimmered like distant nebulae. | Name: Iskander Paradise
Appearance: "All you see before you, and still so much more."
Age: 16
Personality: Iskander has been forcibly warped into a warrior by the environment he grew up in, and as such he is unnaturally cold and pragmatic. While intelligent, he grapples with the delusions left behind by years of dogma and brainwashing. While he makes deliberate, pained efforts to be sociable, he doesn't find much value in other people (after all, what good is a warrior that cares too much to kill).
Motive to live: Iskander cares about the Cruxi about as much as he cares about the rest of humanity; not especially much. Hyperborea was on the opposite side of the galaxy from the Cruxi incursion, and Iskander was only vaguely aware of them when he was inducted into the program. But they're another enemy for him to fight, relieving Iskander of the need to be anything other than the warrior he was raised to be.
Background: Born and raised on Hyperborea, a colony world far from Earth, Iskander was brought up as a member of the Sons of Lemuria, a strange militant cult that developed on Hyperborea over the last century. As a warrior of the Lemurians, Iskander was raised as a child soldier, destined to fight the heretics that populated the rest of Hyperborea and bring them under the law of Lemuria. Iskander trained his body and mind, and by the age of fourteen was both a capable warrior and scholar; a Lemurian paragon.
The Sons of Lemuria were wiped out by the Hyperborean military well before Iskander ever went to war, and he was well as the other Lemurian children were taken in as wards of the state. There have been some rehabilitation efforts for Iskander and his peers, unlearning the seditious ideology ingrained in them by the Lemurian cult. Iskander's perception of the world was a very skewed one; even though the Lemurians had access to state-of-the-art technology, which he was perfectly proficient in using, he saw this as magic and sorcery rather than technology. Iskander has had more difficulty readjusting to society than most, and his rehabilitation has been cut short by his recruitment as a Framewerk pilot.
Notable Deaths: Iskander's parents, teachers, mentors and spiritual leaders have all been killed by the Hyperborean state for sedition against the government, as well as acts of terrorism.
Other things: Iskander is highly versed in a distorted version of Hyperborean history, Lemurian mythology, plasmic engineering ("pyromancy," as he knows it), and fighting in the twin-sword "Czar" style.
________________________________________
Framewerk Code Name: Atlantis Mk. III Omnidynamic Neutralizer, or A3ON
Appearance: Thou art the innocent blade.
Signature Weapon System: The A3ON is powered by a unique joint-fusion core, utilizing hot and cold fusion simultaneously to power its systems, weapons in particular. A3ON generates plasma that can either approach a theoretical point of infinite heat or infinite cold, which is then magnetized and fired at the enemy through its twin plasma cannons, code-named CTHUGHA and ITHAQUA, respectively. Though the plasma cools/heats greatly away from the extremes reached in A3ON's core by the time it is fired, it is still extremely damaging to enemy units, and when the two substances meet, they produce explosions with enough force to sublimate foes. As A3ON's battlefield role is that of an adaptable and unpredictable skirmisher, CTHUGHA and ITHAQUA possess a variety of firing modes and are extremely flexible, multifunctional armaments.
Secondary Weapon System: A3ON's backup weapons are a pair of swords, codenamed BARZAI, the filaments of which can be vibrated intensely to superheat them and give them extreme cutting power.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Folded within A3ON's leg-shields are its SHANTAK flight system, a pair of bladelike wings that use the A3ON's exhaust runoff as a propulsion system. Clumsy and only truly efficient in short bursts, A3ON has very little maneuverability in flight, and cannot hover in-atmosphere.
Special Ability: ??? |
49,596 | 1,337 | 27 | 665 | 141 | Approaching Antwon normally, they place one can in front of them and smiled softly. “I apologize for that, I was out of line… and you’re right, I don’t have any real answers,” looking up, they smiled a bit more, trying to give off warmer feeling.
“If you feel like hitting me for what I said, then I understand. My advice was crude, and I know when I’m in the wrong, just know that we will have to get along since we will be on the same team.”
Antwon, still hanging upside down like a koala, still peeved, didn't bother to look in Korie's direction; but he did snatch the coffee from her hand. He waited for her... him... he didn't know what to make of the situation, to leave. No, actually. We certainly don't have to get along, Antwon thought, his emotions having gotten the better of him. There was no team, yet, as far as he was concerned. The lot of them would have to at least make it through one battle (an actual battle, mind you, not a simulation) and actually survive to be considered such, as far as Ant was concerned. And even then, they were not a team by choice. In any case, Korie certainly didn't leave a good first impression on Antwon, and it would take more than a lukewarm cup of coffee to convince him that they were of any value in character; most certainly after such a brazen, personal, below-the-belt assault.
Antwon, upside down, noticed Zan in particular, who was off in his own far corner, doing some physical training of sorts. Ant couldn't help but admire someone who was as visibly dedicated, seemingly far more aware of how best to use his time compared with the rest of his peers, who were either skulking about just like Ant, or playing games. Zan's behavior made a particular impression on him. From Ant's ledge, he started doing some curls of his own, attempting to emulate Zan's training regimen. | Name: Matsuda Takeo
Age: 16
Personality: Takeo is known to be quite passive, though cheerful and optimistic. He floats through life with a smile on his face, and is quick to help those whom ask. Though despite his friendliness, he is very hard to know, and has an unwillingness to form bonds. He is quiet beyond idle banter, only truly opening up when asked about his work. He is somewhat lazy and often reluctant to go above the minimum of what he is asked, though he will do nearly anything if pressed. He is quick to laugh and soft of voice, and enjoys food more than most.
Motive to live: Takeo was selected for the project, and found he could not turn down the offer of working directly with the engineers on his own Framewerk. Part of the bargain demanded he also pilot it to eliminate alien threats to the Earth, but he is ignorant to the true implications of this. In light of this, he fights only because he was asked to.
Background: Takeo grew up in an outer-rim planet locked in war with the Cruxi. His parents were killed early into his childhood, and he remembers little of them. He was quickly drafted into helping maintain and repair armed vehicles as a combat engineer, and honed his skills over the years. Though his creations lack polish, they are usually strong and functional, and he is capable of delicate operations in the thick of battle. Just after his sixteenth birthday, Takeo was extracted from his home world and brought to Earth to serve in the Framewerks project.
Notable Deaths: Ivan Sparrow - Six months before Takeo was drafted into the Framewerk project, his best friend Ivan was killed in an explosion during a skirmish with the Cruxi. Takeo still blames himself for the event, and it has led to his emotional vacancy and inability to form new friendships.
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Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: Iron Sparrow
Appearance:
Iron Sparrow is a crude Frame made of thick, heavy, unpolished gray steel. Dexterity is lost upon it - its legs have little mobility, instead requiring powerful thrusters in the feet to aid in locomotion. Its only marking is a white-blue star on the center of the mask, a symbol Takeo also wears on a cord around his neck.
Signature Weapon System: Paladin - Iron Sparrow is equipped with a massive steel blade, connected at the wrist, and a giant kite-shaped shield plate embedded in its back. The blade can retract along the arm, but the shield is stationary. The blade is not very sharp - rather, it crushes foes through sheer force with the aid of the thrusters on the forearms of the Frame. The shield is rudimentary, but its sheer size and thickness allows it to withstand almost anything while Iron Sparrow protects its comrades.
Secondary Weapon System: Iron Sparrow contains hundreds of repair drones within itself, allowing minor repairs to other Framewerks. Its own plating is too thick, however, for repair drones to be of any use on itself.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Iron Sparrow uses thrusters mounted on the wrists and feet for movement. It is quite slow, and to make up for this, Iron Sparrow has the unique capability to equip a device known as an Overbooster thanks to the shield on its back. The Overbooster is planted directly on the shield, and is a massive engine capable of propelling Iron Sparrow linearly at extreme speeds. Once its fuel is depleted, it detaches. This allows Iron Sparrow to punch immediately into enemy ranks, where it can do the most good, but does nothing to help with the Framewerk's otherwise poor mobility.
Sync Ratio: 85%
Special Ability: N/A |
49,597 | 1,337 | 28 | 935 | 1,934 | Her smile faded as the boy seemed to stare past her, his eyes clouding.
"..ah." Utano was genuinely flustered when tears started streaming down his face. What was happening? Of all the people, this delinquent fellow was the one to start crying. Did her name had some sort of traumatic meaning in his past?
One of the other girls came up to and started speaking."May I have a second with you? We've got a bad case of scenery panic... and you seem the type to be acknowledged with it. We'll be in the girls bath. Sorry for the disturbance." And just like that, she ran off.
"Scenery... panic?" She had no idea what that was, nor was she really equipped to deal with anything regarding panic. In fact, she herself was close to simple ordinary panicking. This boy looked utterly utterly lost all of a sudden and she doesn't know how to deal with this. All of a sudden, Ian started moving, looking to be just as surprised as she was to see tears on his face.
"I'm sorry, it's just . . . my sister is, or was, a really big fan of yours. She played Kibou to Negai so many times I could probably recite it you by heart. I'm sorry, but I think I'll . . . I'll just leave you to your business."
"Eh?...ah wa.."
And just like that, he left as well, leaving her alone looking rather bewildered. It was hardly surprising her stage persona was gone by then; she never had to deal with this sort of situation before after all. By now she's go straight back to her dressing room, and sit wide eyed at in front of her mirror and try to process everything, but she doesn't have a dressing room, and they are having a scenery panic in the toilet now, leaving her little choice but to stay where she was.
"Kibou to negai..."
With a thoughtful look upon her face, Utano reached up to her headphones, pressing the large button on the side. A small holographic menu appeared in front of her, listing all of her current released and a few unreleased songs. As she picked a song from the list, the holograms disappeared, as her suit started shimmering. It wasn't set to stage mode however, so it just played the music just loud enough to be heard if people stood near her. Kibou to Negai, like its name, was about her hopes and wishes, where in the song, she started off low, but kept on reaching for her goal when encouraged and ultimately reaching her dreams. It's one of her slower songs she liked because it didn't require a huge amount of energy to perform all the dancing and the moving.
"Why was it, that only you notices me?
Could it be that this is fate?"
She started singing softly to herself. It was oddly calming, perhaps due to its familiar nature in this strange environment. | Name: Kiyokawa Utano
Age: 15
Personality: Concise, honest, and very direct, she is very level headed, preferring to logical, rational thoughts before acting on anything. Precisely because of this, she fears doing anything too risky, preferring to err on the side of caution. This does leave her without many friends however, as her bluntness and concise nature are often seen as abrasive to others. Her idol persona however, belies this, as she dons the mask of an extremely cheerful joyous person who lives in the present and acts on instinct.
Motive to live: To live another day
Background: Utano lives in one of the older planets, where things are more developed than the outer rim planets and still less than the oldest planets. She started her career there as an Idol relatively young, singing first for someone's birthday party, and then was scouted out by an agency. From then on, she lived a dual life as a simple schoolgirl barely anyone noticed, and as the up and rising Idol UTAU. Barely anyone else but her family and her producer knew about her dual life, and the income she was receiving. Seeing a way to amass a lot of fortune, she concentrated on being the best Idol she could, following in a lot of different classes; fitness, flexibility, singing, and the like.
Her brother, one day, left for a better job, leaving her with a promise to come back in time for her birthday. He never returned.
She didn't have to guess why. The news of the Cruxi was enough to tell her what happened. But still, Utano had to continue on living. Regardless of whether he was there, regardless of
Notable Deaths: Older brother.
Other things: If there is anything else you believe that needs telling, say so here.
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Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: AGAS-P01 "Shrike"
Appearance:
Signature Weapon System: HAR-P01 - A heavy assault rifle firing powerful rounds with a lower rate of fire. The rifle itself is extremely hardy. No real distinguishing features or marks, save that it is a belt fed assault rifle.
Secondary Weapon System: A large flat vibroblade sheathed on the side of the ammopack on the back, a side pulse pistol which uses energy instead of bullets, and two plasma grenades.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Shrike is heavily armored, and optimized for movements on land, but it has a booster attachment for space deployments.
Special Ability:
Synchronization rate:74% |
49,598 | 1,337 | 29 | 125 | 3,106 | On Sigma's Que Serah 'Helped' Elora up, guiding her to the girls' bathroom. Once they arrive Serah sees Sigma nowhere, figuring she went off to talk to someone. "Heeeey, where'd she go? Weren't we going to play a game? Awww..." The girl sulked a little, dropping down to sit cross-legged and then stares up at the other person in the room. "Oh uh, Elora, right? Hi! ...I think I've already said my name, Serah, but I'll say it again!" She managed to stumble out, giggling at her own incompetence. "Sorry, Sorry. So, are you feeling a bit better than previous? 'Cause you' don't need to be worried with me around! And uh, those other people too." The blue-haired pilot gets an ear-to-ear grin, just as Sigma walks in. "Oh! Welcome back!" And then she gets up and dusts off her skirt a little. | Name: Serah Gene
Appearance: LOOK AT THIS CUTIE
Age: 14
Personality: Very open and eager to meet new people, always puts on a bright face. Just a little bundle of joy on the outside shell.
Motive to live: The orphanage where she lived in wasn't the... Best... Of places. They really wanted kids to get shoved out of the door quickly and thus when the Framewerk opportunity came Serah got the boot on it. She doesn't mind it, though. At least she can make sure others smile, right?
Background: When she was about 9, she got in an... Accident. The cruxi were on hunt again, attacking spaceships to get closer to the homeworld... One of them was a cruiser. Serah was taken out to see space from up close, enjoying every minute of the wonderful sights and with her entire family to boot... Until an explosion hit the front. Suddenly everything got out of control, she doesn't really... Remember much at all of the accident. Just that she and several others were launched in escape pods, shooting back down to the base in hopes of survival while the rest... ...Yeah. For the next 5 years the survivor was forced to be orphaned, although even in the bad circumstances she took it well. Not because she really felt it, but more like Serah had to. Everyone else seemed so sad... Someone needed to cheer them up, right? Nothing wrong with that.
...Nothing at all.
Notable Deaths: All of her relatives, none of them got to escape pods.
Framewerk Code Name: AA-TROXX. Serah calls it Atty.
Appearance: Just imagine it bigger.
Signature Weapon System: The blade you see can be retracted at any time and is also able to shoot out sickle-like projectiles when swung. It takes away a part of the blade's energy which is used to generate the edge, although by taking some energy from the core it can be immediately reversed. Using this too much would quickly have it run out of energy, though.
Secondary Weapon System: The wings on it's back aren't for show, they're reflector barriers meant to repel/block attacks. They can detach and move on their own via some technology, as long as it stays withing close range of AA-TROXX.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Since it isn't a very combat-oriented focused Framewerk and only has basic weapon systems. It's got thrusters on their feet, elbows, hands, back etc. Not all of them have to be activated at once, but if they do it can be one hell of a bullet soaring through space.
Special Ability: Blank, as requested!
Synchronization rate: Recieved + 3 - I mean 76% |
49,599 | 1,337 | 30 | 181 | 1,997 | Elora followed Serah, and once they were in the bathroom she washed her face. She was refreshed by the lukewarm water, and it helped her relax. However, it was more relaxing for her to have a break from the noisy crowd. Elora wasn't that good with noisy crowds, and preferred tinkering with machines, away from judging eyes. Her dream was to grow up to be an engineer, which she hasn't had much of a chance of pursuing, due to everything that's happened in her life. She sighed, and looked at the mirror. Her eyes still had a bit of a red tint to them from the crying, but she knew it wouldn't last long. She was experienced with crying.
She wiped her face with a paper towel, and looked over at Serah. She was really glad there was someone here who could smile and be optimistic despite the ridiculous things that have happened recently. But there was something to that personality that she couldn't help but smile along, letting her also have a bit of joy in her heart.
"Yeah, I'm feeling a lot better now, thank you. I promise I won't, Serah." She then turned around to look at Sigma. "So, uhh...How did it go?" | Name: Elora Liu'un
Appearance: Elora Liu'un
Age: 14
Personality: Elora is really shy and timid around others, and has a fear of offending anyone. If a boy starts talking to her she may spontaneously start crying, followed by her apologizing profusely. She is submissive and obedient due to being an emotional doormat, but has a bad habit of panicking when the situation turns bad. She blames herself for her colony world being destroyed, and thus apologizes for even the smallest of things in a pitiful attempt to forgive herself.
Motive to live: Elora wants to protect the human worlds from Cruxi invasion, and if possible, find out what happened to her parents.
Background: Elora never knew her parents, and lived in an orphanage for as long as she could remember. She was bullied there for being timid and shy around others. She wished for the bullying to stop at any cost, and she got her wish granted: her entire colony world was destryoed in a Cruxi attack, and as one of the few survivors she was sent to train in the piloting of a Framewerk. She doesn't remember it, but she has suspicions that she has been experimented on in some way.
Notable Deaths: Her orphanage, and by extension the colony world she lived on. Possibly her parents.
Other things: She likes computers and technical stuff, and has a dream of growing up to be an engineer.
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Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: XJ9-RSU. Elora calls it Rilus.
Appearance: XJ9-RSU.
Signature Weapon System: Rilus' main mode of operation is collecting battlefield data which is achieved with the combined efforts of a built-in Combat Analyzer and Data Drones that shoot out from slots in Rilus' back. The Data Drones have laser turrets crafted into them for support fire, but their main use is in scanning enemy data for possible weak points or other noteworthy intelligence for the pilot to analyze and then relay to other pilots during a mission using the specialized antenna Rilus is also built with. The intelligence collecting speed is inversely proportional to Rilus' distance to enemy units, forcing Elora to keep close during combat despite having poor offensive capability. However, given the support of other Framewerks, the tactical advantage given by the collected data is sure to aid the entire squad.
Secondary Weapon System: Rilus is equipped with an Alloy Battle Rifle, or ABR, that has a high rate of fire and low recoil. It is most useful against swarmers or other low-armor enemies, but has minimal performance against above-average defenses, and completely useless against energy-based shields.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Rilus is equipped with a high-performance jet booster assisted by anti-grav projectors, allowing for high speed maneuvers and swift acceleration. This is unusual for a Framewerk with a quality of armor as high as Rilus has, but is possible due to the lack of effective weaponry the Framewerk has.
Synchro Rate: 87%
Special Ability: Blank |
49,600 | 1,337 | 31 | 220 | 2,530 | Sigma shook her head slightly. "It was no good. Ian apparently beat me to it, and asked her a song. The girl wasn't really receptive to cues." The stoic soldier clenched her fist somewhat, looking at the two younger pilots. Three people, huh. I need to work with that. Would they really be up to the task? She decided not to give much more thought anymore, before leaning against one of the stalls, with her usual arm folding pose. At that moment, the stall's door seemed to open and Sigma tripped, falling on her butt, letting quite an unbecoming yelp. Coughing, she recovered, and she decided to lean on something else other than a stall door.
"Well...this means more cake for you, I guess?" Sigma said, trying to keep composed after her sudden attack of clumsiness. "Now here's the thing, my Comet is actually a long range attack mecha. It can move fast out of other's ranges, but it can't attack fast. I'll need someone who... tells me where should I shoot." The long haired girl pointed to Elora. "So you'll be my eyes, with that scanning ability of yours, how does that sound?" She paused. "Nevertheless, you Serah, you're going to be Elora's sister in battle. Think of her as your princess and you the heroic knight. You have to help her fend off the meanies while she scans them."
She then paused. "As for me, I'll be shooting whoever you tell me and where. But ... I'll be ready to dive in and help off fend them in a pinch, so don't worry." She then allowed her usual scowl to drop into a more neutral stance.
"The plan is to take the big ones, and the ones with self repair first. Then we pick out Ian. And then the rest. It's not foolproof but..."
The pilot added."...better than going on lone wolves, we should lean on eachother." She then put her hand forward, in order for the other to join her.
"Let's do this... my cake sisters." She finally added. | Name: Sigma
Appearance: Frowning upon you
Age: 15
Personality: Sigma is polite, proper and composed. She however, does not talk much outside formalities and she has a rather icy and cold perspective. She isn't actively avoiding people but for some reason, her interactions with others are merely secondary. Sigma is often fond of quiet places and meditating, and her hobbies save one are all tailored to the perfectioning of her combat skills and tactical thinking. She is often sparring or playing chess. Her only exception seems to be cooking. She has a huge sweet tooth and good cooking skills, surprisingly.
Motive to live: Soldiers do not question their existence. They will live as much as they're told to.
Background: Sigma is... a clone of another person. The only success of Project Homunculus, Sigma was a test of mass production of clone soldiers from already adult stock to replace the losses from the war, but the project's goal shifted to create teenager replicas of actual combat soldiers to pilot Framewerks. So, with that in mind Sigma was trained and implanted with the memories of the original soldier who donned her genetic material: Irina Spanova. The training was brutal and Irina didn't care whether the "dolls" (as she would call it) died or not, since they could be replaced. Only Sigma managed to survive the training and be fielded in a mecha.
Notable Deaths: Sigma wasn't the only viable clone produced in Project Homunculus, but she is the only survivor. Dozens were stillborn, and six of them perished during the initial training and testing. Sigma still regards her fellow clones as sisters and secretly mourns them.
Other things: Cooking is unique to Sigma. Her original can't cook anything.
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Framewerk Sheet
Framewerk Code Name: Comet Sigma
Appearance:Couldn't find a better pic, okay?
Signature Weapon System: A high powered Rail weapon. It does not give a big energy signature (being a material projectile) and it can pierce even very thick armors. The downside is that the recharge time is rather awful and it is not suited for close combat.
Secondary Weapon System: A very short range plasma cutter. Useful for fighting in CQC as a last resort and also to extract valuables and people from wrecks.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: It has basic maneuverability by means of thrusters in the main limbs and torso. It also has a special jetpack on the back designed for space travel, which gives a significant range of movement but it is unwieldy and thus unuseable in combat (but not in retreat).
Synchro Rate : 78% > 82%
Special Ability: |
49,601 | 1,337 | 32 | 125 | 3,106 | Sigma looked dissapointed, making Serah's smile drop a little. But then Sigma fell through the stall door which instantly made her burst out with laughter, sayong "Sorry!" in between breaths. After composing herself a bit, she listened to Sigma's speech. When it's over she felt the need to apologize again, so "Uhm... again, Ehe, sorry about laughing, ahaha, right there..." she sheepishly stumbled out. So her plan was to form a team in the mock battle and support eachother, Huh? "I'm in! This sounds like fun! It's also a lot better than just roaming around on my own.. I man, We're going to be a team so why not act like a team right?" Serah gave the older girl a quick hug and started jumping in joy. "Yay for cake sisters~!" | Name: Serah Gene
Appearance: LOOK AT THIS CUTIE
Age: 14
Personality: Very open and eager to meet new people, always puts on a bright face. Just a little bundle of joy on the outside shell.
Motive to live: The orphanage where she lived in wasn't the... Best... Of places. They really wanted kids to get shoved out of the door quickly and thus when the Framewerk opportunity came Serah got the boot on it. She doesn't mind it, though. At least she can make sure others smile, right?
Background: When she was about 9, she got in an... Accident. The cruxi were on hunt again, attacking spaceships to get closer to the homeworld... One of them was a cruiser. Serah was taken out to see space from up close, enjoying every minute of the wonderful sights and with her entire family to boot... Until an explosion hit the front. Suddenly everything got out of control, she doesn't really... Remember much at all of the accident. Just that she and several others were launched in escape pods, shooting back down to the base in hopes of survival while the rest... ...Yeah. For the next 5 years the survivor was forced to be orphaned, although even in the bad circumstances she took it well. Not because she really felt it, but more like Serah had to. Everyone else seemed so sad... Someone needed to cheer them up, right? Nothing wrong with that.
...Nothing at all.
Notable Deaths: All of her relatives, none of them got to escape pods.
Framewerk Code Name: AA-TROXX. Serah calls it Atty.
Appearance: Just imagine it bigger.
Signature Weapon System: The blade you see can be retracted at any time and is also able to shoot out sickle-like projectiles when swung. It takes away a part of the blade's energy which is used to generate the edge, although by taking some energy from the core it can be immediately reversed. Using this too much would quickly have it run out of energy, though.
Secondary Weapon System: The wings on it's back aren't for show, they're reflector barriers meant to repel/block attacks. They can detach and move on their own via some technology, as long as it stays withing close range of AA-TROXX.
Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Since it isn't a very combat-oriented focused Framewerk and only has basic weapon systems. It's got thrusters on their feet, elbows, hands, back etc. Not all of them have to be activated at once, but if they do it can be one hell of a bullet soaring through space.
Special Ability: Blank, as requested!
Synchronization rate: Recieved + 3 - I mean 76% |
Subsets and Splits
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