[System]
Sex: Female

Description: Cassie stands about 5'5" tall and is slim but somewhat curvy. She has long black hair which she usually wears tied back unless performing, when she wears it loose and flowing. She has dark green eyes and a gracefully pretty face, looking genuinely beautifully when she smiles. Her entire body from her shoulders to her ankles is covered in colourful tattoos. Stars, hearts, birds, moons, suns and flowers can be seen among the colourful mix along with sailing ships, webs and roses with thorny vines. People who study them may notice that they seem to change position on her body, though no one ever sees them moving.

Date inducted: Late 1700s.

Role: Former tattooed lady/trick daredevil

Offensive Power:
Her horse riding act has left her limber and agile – while nowhere near as graceful as Aurelie, she can perform basic acrobatic moves quickly enough to get herself out of harm's way.

Her tattoos function as both armour and weapon: when fighting shadows they wrap and flow around her like form-fitting armour, and two long streams of colour flow into her hands which she wields as whips of multi-coloured light against the darkness.

Biography: Born in a family with a name and title but precious little money, Cassandra (as her parents insisted on calling her) grew up in a world of genteel poverty. She was taught the arts that a young lady of the time should know, though her parents despaired of her spirited temper, and was raised to snare a rich husband. When she was 20 she as married off to a rich slave trader move than twice her age. Cassie tried to make the best of the match, but her new husband soon proved to be a cruel, vicious man who treated her much as he might one of his own slaves – something he'd bought and can use as he chose. Which included breaking her if he wished.

She endured marital rape and his emotional and physical abuse for the next eighteen months; she tried to flee to her parents but they refused to help her, claiming it would disgrace the family if she left him and forced her to return.

After enduring another beating, Cassie snapped. She dismissed the servants for the night, sending them off to see the circus that had arrived that day, stole a knife from the kitchen and while her husband slept that night she stabbed him. Repeatedly. The only thing she felt as his blood splashed against her skin was a tired relief that it was over – he couldn't hurt her anymore. She set fire to the house as she left and released the horses from the stables, taking one to ride away to a safe distance and watch the house burn.

At this point the mysterious ringmaster offered her his deal – join him, and everyone would assume Cassandra Bellefontaine had died with her husband; no one would look for her in the circus. She accepted without hesitation, and when they shook hands the bruise and blood on her skin transformed into colourful tattoos, concealing the marks of the abuse she had suffered. She's travelled with the circus ever since; as tattoos are no longer a sensational thing on a woman, she's graduated as a daredevil horseback rider.

Other:
Nationality: English/British (obvious from her soft accent).

She professes to be bisexual, but seems to prefer other women as partners. Whether this is natural inclination or a reaction to the abuse she suffered is debateable.

She never talks about her past, but shows a marked empathy for others who show the signs of physical or mental abuse.

She has two horses – one pure white called Spirit, the other jet black named Sable. She knows they're not original names, but so what?

Audition: "And now, a tradition that dates back to the first days of the circus – Cassie our daredevil rider!" The lights went up and wild gypsy music began to play as a pair of horses, one black, one white, galloped into the ring. The small girl watching the show clapped enthusiastically as a young woman rode on the white; her long black hair whipped out behind her as she raised her arms above her head.

The two horses galloped side by side around the ring. The girl watched spellbound as the young woman spun smoothly from one impossible pose to another, standing upright with both arms raised, swinging out of the saddle and re-mounting in a quick swirl of limbs so she faced backwards until she remounted again, her body lying sideways across the saddle, head downwards. The girl gave a gasp as the young woman performed a quick backwards roll on the horse before vaulting onto the black.

She rolled up into a headstand, and the crowd cheered as she performed the splits upside down, holding the pose for one full gallop around the ring.

The small girl gasped as the young woman swung out of the saddle, hanging almost upside down for a minute, one hand dangling to the ground before she swung back and up to her feet. She vaulted backwards, balancing on her hands before springing up into a somersault that left her standing with one foot on either horse. She raised one arm, acknowledging the cheers from the crowd. Streamers of colour seemed to flow from the limb.

The child applauded until her hands ached as the horses reared up in unison and then stretched out their front legs, lowering their bodies as they too took their bows.

[User]
Cassie hummed softly as she brushed Spirit's flank. She always insisted on caring for her horses herself, especially after a performance. The horse dropped its head slightly to nuzzle her shoulder and she smiled, giving the animal one last affectionate pat.

"A decent show tonight," she murmured. Her mind started to drift back to her act as she checked her horses were comfortable for the night. There was a new trick she wanted to start working on tomorrow - the Cossack Death Drag.

Sable lifted his head, snorting. Cassie looked up, catching a glimpse of white a second before a small origami bird fluttered down to land on the fence next to her. So. It seems that we have a real show tonight. She gave a slight smile as she packed her brushes away.

The slightest ripple of movement travelled along her back and arms, tiny wisps of colour drifting up into the air and disappearing like smoke as the tattoos on her skin changed; the painted birds spread their wings in preparation of a hunt, the tightly curled petals of a rosebud half-unfurled.

She was smiling as she made her way to the gate.

[Assistant]
Yulio paused to check his watch regularly, gazing at the human guests who left through the front gates. The attendants, mindless men and women of wax and clockwork who never spoke and always stood silent, began to lock the gates and seal the tents behind the mortal revelers. The Circus was closed for the evening and would not return again- not for the foreseeable future. One by one the paper birds returned to perch on his shoulder, and one by one Yulio unfolded them to reveal a name- it seemed many of the performers would be unable to join them tonight. Either their shows had gone poorly or they were not up for the hunt.

One way or another, the show would go on.

The antique watch in his hand ticked away, and as the moon above rose higher into the sky, the lights around Yulio seemed to dim. His vision focused on the city, its glittering electrical points of light extending across the horizon, until he caught wind of that otherness which defined the hunt- where the Circus seemed to revel in excitement and awe of showmanship, the Harlequin found his roots in the trickery and devilry of a young con man from America. Like the Loki and Coyote of old lore, the creature delighted in promising Paradise, only to tear the rug beneath one's feet to reveal the Pit.

The birds he'd sent across the city this night bore fruit as one reported back to Yulio, seeing through its eyes, the vision of a woman- plain clothed for a night out this summer. Dark-haired, wide eyed, and sweating profusely. Like a club goer who'd imbibed a bad batch of drugs. The difference here being the dark strings that rose from her wrists and ankles and the circle she was drawing at the foot of the Vienna State Opera House with a tube of lipstick.

She plans to open a gate, then, Yulio thought with a frown. And she'll do it e'en before we leave.

Snapping out of his reverie, he closed the watch, clapped twice and summoned one of the wax attendants.

"Bring the carriage and fix four horses."

The attendant wordlessly bowed and walked off to the animal tent. Meanwhile, Yulio turned toward the first to arrive.

"Cassandra," he muttered, removing his hat whilst in the lady's presence, "I will need you to ride alongside the carriage. The Harlequin will have many minions on the field afore we even leave the circus. Keep pace- we go to the old City Opera house. You must ride round the field to keep the minions close and prevent them from causing mischief throughout the city. I do not want a repeat of London if possible."

"Thomas." Yulio placed his cap back on. "We hunt a woman who is enthralled to the Harlequin. After you cut the Bonds which hold her, I hope you will refrain from your... usual activities until our job is done. And Charlotte, divine what you can of this woman on our way there. If we cannot cut the bonds, we will have to force her out of the Harlequin's sway."

"Barlow, Faris, you will keep the minions of the Trickster from Thomas while he breaks the bonds. I will assist you in that endeavor."

The instructions given, the animal tent opened while a black carriage trimmed with gold barreled out, four white horses fixed and ready while the wax automaton held the reins. Yulio opened his jacket, plucked a pair of paper birds from a silk pocket and let them flutter into the air- one for the driver and one for Cassandra. Both would home in on the bird at the Opera House, leading them to their quarry.

"Before we leave, are there any questions from any of you?"

[User]
Cassie almost rolled her eyes at what she thought of as overdone courtesy on Yulio's part - she hadn't considered herself a lady for a very long time - but she knew there was no point in protesting the Ringmaster's action; he came from an age where such deference was expected, and even if she wasn't sure it should be applied to herself she had to privately admit she liked to see some gentility in an increasingly coarse age.

She listened to his instructions in silence. A slight frown clouded her brow at his mention of London - that had been a bad night, one that still occasionally haunted her nightmares. "I'll stop them," she promised quietly, grimly.

Cassie glanced around at the other performers, waiting to see if any of them had any questions before dashing back to fetch one of her horses.


[System]
UNOPENED VIDEO MESSAGES (3)
RECEIVED TWO DAYS AGO

FIRST MESSAGE:

Hey, babe. Your beautiful, loving wife, here, live from Home Bay of the one and only Omega Station. It's about 5:20 PM right now, and we just wanted to check in and let you know how excited we are to have you come home tonight. Right, Benji? Benji! Come 'ere. You wanna show dad what you made?

Dad, look. We made your favorite. Steak and broccoli, and mashed potatoes with some lumps. The um, the steak is well-done. Well, this one is. Mom's is - it's on the counter, over there - mom's is medium-rare. We made two different ones because I know you like yours well-done.

That's right. None of that dry, tough-to-chew business.

It's not so bad. I like well-done.

Oh, yeah? Then you and him can fight over that one. I'll enjoy my own juicy steak.

It's fine. I can always make another one.

Alright, Mr. Chef - go help ARI set the table. Mm, you should have seen him earlier, he thinks he owns the kitchen. Heh. Anyway. We're obviously excited to have you back home later. It's been a long three months without you. We've got out the fine china, the red carpet - the whole nine yards. So get here safe. But quickly. Haha, I love you. See you soon.

SECOND MESSAGE:

Honey? Where are you? We waited up for you last night - I eventually just had Benji go to bed, told him he'd see you in the morning. But you didn't come home last night, you're still not here, and you're not answering your phone... I'm not sure what's going on, and you know me, I'm getting really worried... And now we've just gotten a notification that something's happened up there? They won't tell us exactly what but Henry - I mean, Captain Burchill - just issued an official announcement that Home Bay was on lock-down until further notice? I'm really trying not to panic here, for Benji's sake, but if and when you can, please let me know what's going on. Let me know you're safe.

THIRD MESSAGE:

Ryobi - I don't know where the hell you are, or what the hell you're doing, but you need to get your ass home. Now! I'm starting to hear yelling from outside, and there was a really loud crashing noise from earlier, and then the alarms started blaring! The alarms, Ryobi, they're only to go off when the prisoners... Oh, god... The Hudsons from next door just sent a message telling us that they'll be leaving for the bunker at the edge of the Bay in a few minutes. I've told Benji to pack a bag and we're heading there with them. ARI is coming with us, too. If by some miracle you're not... Just... Please come get us. Or let me know you're okay. We'll be safe there, just meet us at the bunker. I lo-

[User]
It was almost as if Janetta could feel the image being singed into her psyche, something more terrible than watching a coffin lowered into the ground. She had followed Ryobi as far as the corner of the table in the middle of the room though couldn't bring herself to go any further. But like the day of her mother's funeral, Jan forced herself to keep her gaze forward at the scene, demanding herself to give the Captain and her officer the respect they deserved. Death did not excuse anyone from their responsibility, and now was not the time for her to shy away from the person Burchill needed her to be.

Still, it didn't lessen the pain that came with seeing two innocent lives taken away - and for what? The two were no closer to answering the question than when they started. Janetta lowered her gun and clenched her shaky jaw, allowing the surge of emotions to run their courses through her before she released the breath she didn't realize she had been holding. Burchill would tell her it was no time for grieving; she now had a whole ship to look after.

As if on cue, Ryobi spoke from behind her, officially giving life to her new title. He sounded quiet and detached, but that was to be expected, as he knew just as well as she did that there was still work to be done. Ah, yes - Dr. Widmher. He was right, she probably was the next target for whoever was running this horrible escapade. Janetta nodded in agreement, tucking the pistol back into the waistband of her jeans and clearing her throat.

"Right, but first, I want to take a closer look at these two. We might find something..." Looking over her shoulder for the receptionist, Janetta spoke as warmly as she could, knowing the poor bot must be nearly as freaked out as her human companions. "Kitt, could you... Could you please come and scan the gun for prints?"

Kitt, who had been lingering near the doorway, unwilling to archive what she already knew to be true, padded forward slowly. "Of course, Captain Pryce." Lix, the medbot that had lost its arm and consequently powered down, was enough of a sad thing to see. But she wasn't going to avoid her own duty, especially if it would help solve the mystery of who killed the Captain in seemingly cold blood. She came forward and joined Janetta near the bodies, scanning the area and the gun specifically for clues. After a few moments, Jan, who had crouched down to examine Benton's beaten figure more closely, heard Kitt from behind her. "The gun has Henry Burchill's fingerprints all over it, Captain," she reported, "It seems that he was the last person to have control over this pistol."

Janetta's confusion colored her face as she straightened up from her position over Benton, glancing momentarily in Ryobi's direction before she lowered herself between the gun and Burchill's body. With newly determined eyes, she scanned the scene, gaze trailing from the gun, to the holes in the man's head. Then, an idea came to her. She gently picked up one of his hands and examined it carefully, taking a minute before doing the same to the other one.

"Ito, look... Burchill's knuckles are bruised and bloody," she said, her voice low and steady. "That could just be a coincidence, an act of self-defense if someone else did come in here to kill them. But... Only Burchill's prints are on the gun. If someone else had been in here, why would they have left it? And- And those scratch marks on his face and neck? It looks like a struggle... To get him off." Her voice trailed away as she turned her head in order to find the officer and lock him in a gaze that urged him to catch on and finish her surely impossible thoughts.

[Assistant]
Ryobi approached the two bodies hesitantly. Death was not entirely a stranger to him, but avoiding it had been one reason he accepted this transfer. Inmates killed or attacked each other on Omega, but far less frequently than in Tokyo, and his coworkers rarely received fatal attacks. But this... this was almost too much.

His footsteps slowly shuffled forward, each quiet thud bringing him closer to accepting his Captain's mortality. From a distance, it was easier to compartmentalize, to simply treat them as bodies. He knelt next to Jan and examined the Captain's knuckles, the same conclusion coming to his--

Keep her happy, and you'll reach the top, mark my words.

--mind. The Captain had always been... would always...

Ryobi drew in a deep breath, attempting to stabilize himself, but the breath drew in the smell of blood. Burchill's blood. Blood that Ryobi might as well have spilled himself.

If you have a problem with that, talk to the warden.

Ryobi looked over to Jan. "I uh..." His voice almost squeaked, and Ryobi quickly cleared his throat. "Perhaps he was defending himself from Benton? Or maybe..."

I didn't request this post, but it suits me, Sir.

Ryobi shook his head and stood up. He needed to put some space between himself and the deceased. "Kitt, I know this isn't your speciality, but please scan the entry and exit patterns. I want to know if the caliber matches the gun." Ryobi walked away from the scene towards the large window overlooking the station and leaned against the glass.

But it suits me, Sir.

[User]
It was all Janetta could do not to follow Ryobi away from the bodies, to give into her own grief and turn away for at least a moment. Everything about today should have been the stuff of nightmares, impossible once eyes were opened. She could not have known what was going through Ito's head, but if it was anywhere near the caliber of flashbacks trying to cripple her with the tainted image of a bloodied Burchill, she could imagine. Eventually she did rise from her place near the Captain so that Kitt could move in and see what she could see. Jan made her way to stand beside him at the window, arms folded defensively across her chest. The two stood there in silence, probably watching clips of interactions with the deceased play one after the other inside their minds' eyes, before the silence was broken by Kitt.

The bot, unsure really of how ballistics worked, bent down to scan as Ryobi had asked, taking note of the measurements of the holes in Burchill's temples before comparing them to the few bullets still snug in the pistol's clip. After a moment of calculation, and another for realization, Kitt's strangely downcast tone permeated the heavy air. "It's the same from what I can tell, sir. The bullet fired into Henry Burchill seems to have come from this gun."

Somewhere inside of her, Janetta already knew this. Her face remained stoic and she continued to gaze absentmindedly through the window, only vaguely aware of Ryobi beside her. Further proof of her theory sank in between them. Finally, a murmur: "What are you thinking?"

[Assistant]
"What are you thinking?"

Ryobi looked incredulously back at the person who had asked the question. "You're insane. Completely insane."

"He said so himself. Get on her good side, and you'll go far. So, get on her good sides. You've always excelled at that."

Ryobi shook his head, unable to fully comprehend what was being said. "I'm not going to sleep with Jan. That's ridiculous. Just be happy with what we've got for once."

"I've never been one to be content with normalcy. You know that. I take what I can get. That's how I got you. That's how you got your job. And that's how we'll get on top, just like the Captain said. You're not going to flake on me now, are you?"

Ryobi sighed and looked over at the sleeping toddler nearby. "Of course not, Sayako. I'd do anything for you. You know that."

Sayako approached, a broad smile filling her face. "I'll always love you, Ryobi-kun."

"I love you too."

~ = + = ~

Ryobi rested his forehead on the window pane, looking over the station. This was too much. He thought he could handle it if he looked at his deceased friends as bodies instead of people. That quickly proved to be impossible. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he wiped it away, hoping Jan didn't notice. "They must have had to kill each other," Ryobi replied quietly. "At this point, I don't care why or who was at fault. We need to keep moving."

He drew in a deep breath before pushing away from the window. "Can you lock out system controls from here? Shut everything down: airlocks to the ports, elevators, anything nonessential. We need to keep the prisoners away from the civilians, and we need to make sure the doctor's okay. After that, we'll just round up the prisoners, get them back in the cells, and re-open the station."

His grip tightened around the handle of the pistol at his side. "Easy, huh? What could possibly go wrong? We've got to make this right, no matter what."

[User]
I N C O M I N G M E S S A G E

- Captain and Benton are out. Gris and Davis next. Standby.

---

Janetta didn't fail to notice his gesture, but didn't think any less of him for it, at all. In fact, it pushed her that much closer to shedding her own tears, though they seemed to just crowd up in her eyes and refuse to fall out. She blinked slowly to clear her vision, allowing them to slide down her cheeks freely as she reached over and placed a hand on his bicep. There was a squeeze of comfort before her hand returned to her side - all the while she kept her gaze ahead of her.

"It just doesn't make sense..." she practically whispered in response. But she didn't press the issue. If Ryobi didn't want to talk about it, or didn't want to know, she would keep her thoughts to herself for now. It wouldn't change anything, anyway. Why waste the breath?

Jan seemingly snapped out of her reverie at his request. She nodded, frustratedly wiping her face dry as she turned back towards the control panels. Kitt had wandered to the opposite side of the room and had been quiet, either waiting for further instruction or simply at a loss for words. "Yeah, easy as pie." She couldn't bring herself to mention that nothing would make this right at this point; even if they could tear those fuckers from limb to limb. The newly appointed Captain of the station sighed deeply, forcing her emotions off as she made her way back toward the bodies.

"I'll lock the ports and shut down the grids for the carts," she said as she stepped between her fallen comrades to take place at the controls. Her hands moved around the dials and the keypad while the screen above her matched her commands. "We'll need an elevator to get down the levels, so I'll cut power from all of them except for the one we have up here with us." She was pressing a few more keys, securing control of the sole elevator now available, when something caught her eye. There, at the top corner of the screen.

The security feed for the port to Home Bay. Burchill was probably watching before... it happened. "Ryobi... Look." On the screen, the figures of Carillo, the Sterling siblings, and Fukuda could be seen idling in the visitation lounge. They all seemed to be talking, though the feed didn't provide audio, so who knew what they were saying. It seemed apparent that they were trying to swipe an access card to open reception, but it wasn't working. "They must have already locked down the Bay," she said, squinting up at the video. Nothing would be getting through there short of an explosive, so the two would be rest assured that Home Bay was safe for now. "Thank god."


[System]
As depicted wearing the military uniform of her noble house, which is what she's going to wear in most occasions. On the shorter side.
Callsign: Ramrod, assigned to her by the others. She thinks it means "ramrod straight" but it just refers to the size of the stick up her ass.

Age: 30

Character Archetype: Stuffy Noblewoman

Character's Guiding Motto: "Fachwissen ist der Grundstein des Rittertums!" (lit. Expertise is the cornerstone of Chivalry! There's a very long and boring story about how this came to be the family's motto as a result of their actions during the Age of War. It's in German because they take their familial LARPing very seriously.)

Character's Fatal Flaw: Complete unwillingness to bend princples. Acting the part of a proud knight is important in every single action and interaction, even if there's no honor left to defend.

Character's Expertise: Decorum, Swordfighting, Diplomacy.

Nationality/Allegiance: Lyran/House Daschke (defunct)

Background: House Daschke effectively no longer exists. When it did exist, from the early 25th century until about two years ago, it was a minor noble house ruling over the small Lyran Commonwealth planet of Poulsbo on the Marik border alongside the (comparatively) more famous House Astra. Despite their relative obscurity, the planet's proximity to FWL space meant that it did see action often during the Succession Wars and proved itself at least somewhat useful to Lyran national interests. As the second-in-line to the family title, she still insisted on being trained to the same degree that the heir presumptive, her elder sister did. She excelled...but that didn't do anything to affect her position in the family at all. She was committed, however - even if that meant she'd be stuck as retainer to her sister for the remainder of her natural life, she wanted to see House Daschke proliferate and expand.

House Daschke did not proliferate and expand, mostly because it was successfully scattered to the four winds after a sudden and unexpected betrayal by House Astra. To condense centuries of political intrigue into one sentence, the other nobles of Poulsbo saw House Daschke as being far too sycophantic toward the interests of House Steiner in opposition towards the near-independence minded nature of Poulsbo's population. The events of the takeover were confusing at best, and at the end of it, Ingrid was left running for the hills and presumed herself to be the sole living member of House Daschke - thus, Duchess apparent.

So far were these hills that she managed to end up at the complete opposite end of the Free Worlds League. Most of her ancestral funds had been spent in a failed attempt to regain Poulsbo with no progress made and little else to show, so she basically just threw herself at the first mercenary command that would take her - Gawain's Green Knights, joining within the last year.

Vehicle: An OSR-2C Ostroc given the edgy pet name of Susser Todd, the pride of the Daschke family line. Previously well-maintained through prior generations despite the 'mech's relative rarity, it's probably in worse condition now that Ingrid's been piloting it without the support of a noble house.

[User]
Ziska

---

Ziska heard screaming. She heard talking. Her head hurt. Her face hurt. She could taste something metallic in her mouth, streaming slowly between her lips. Blood. Her own blood. She ran a hand along her head, until she felt a stab of pain that left her cursing. The cut was deep enough. It would keep bleeding. It would annoy her. Smashing a hand angrily the nearby circuit break panel, she spoke calmly to herself,"Get up. Get up. Get up...Get up, Ziska."

The leg actuators spun with fresh power as Ziska carefully moved her throttle, giving the shaken battle computer ample time to register the granular movements. Trying to see through fresh layer of red, Ziska gently moved her pedals, trying to find purchase on the ground beneath her. Metal groaned, demolished armor plates twisting, and then breaking off as the RVN-3L began to move. Somehow, improbably, the battered light mech stood up. Lying down was death. Standing still was death. Fighting was probably death. But Ziska had almost died several times. It didn't bother her. It didn't worry her. They'd drawn blood. Her blood, but she'd cut them too. The active NARC beacon still flashed happily on her HUD. One way or another, there would only be one RVN-3L standing.

Forcing her BattleMech to stand, Ziska wiped the worst of the blood from her face with the back of her hand. The comms chatter annoyed her. Killing was a business. A job was supposed to be done cleanly. She didn't need her feelings to kill. She didn't hate the Crimson Fists. A job was a job. A kill was a kill. But better them than her.

"You talk to much, you all talk too much," she hissed, shivering with a fresh pang of pain that dug into the front of her forehead, Doc wouldn't be happy, Reya would probably complain, and the Colonel would have some helpful advice Ziska decided with a heavy note of resignation. Not bothering to key her mic. Let them think her wounded. Let them think her already dead. They'd find out soon enough.

"Giggles," Ziska said, shifting her wounded RVN-3L into a shuttering gate as she ignored the alarm klaxon and warning symbology that glittered in front of her,"Kill this trash."

They needed to kill the enemy RVN-3L. They needed the ECM back. They were out of time. The other RVN-3L had to die. She wouldn't weather another volley of LRMs. Her RVN-3L wouldn't survive more LRMs. She had no armor left for the Longbow to sandpaper. It was time to gamble, Ziska knew, it was time to be clever, and it was time to see how cool the Crimson Fists were under fire. Hearing the tell tale swoop of burning rocket engines, Ziska saw a hail of LRMs thundering towards the enemy RVN-3L. She didn't miss the single SRM missile that followed soon after.

Deftly dancing to the side, Ziska aimed her own weapons at the RVN-3L and let loose another alpha strike. Overkill was the only kill as Thrice Hanged had always said.

[Assistant]
" Looks like we got ourselves a talker, gentlemen," Aroxy grumbled sarcastically. The other crewmembers cackled at the chatter of radio static. They'd long learnt to deal with intimidation and threats during the long course of their campaign. All of it was mere play, mere theater meant to mess with your head. A moment of hesitation or fear was an opportunity to exploit and the Crimson Fist knew exactly what we was playing at.

The entire crew braced for any impact, Takka ready to readjust the bearings of the tank at a moment's notice. The thick clearing of the forest line was not good tank country but any cover was better than getting skewered by a laser or being blown to smithereens by an LRM. Aroxy couldn't believe their crew's luck. In their arrogance, the three Fists had focused on the mechs they had continued attacking rather than the tank. The Wolfhound hadn't even glanced in their direction. It was the best target rich environment a tank crew could ask for.

Helma didn't wait for Aroxy's permission as she loaded another AP round, the chamber coughing out a empty brass shell before her black oil-coated fingers inserted in a fresh round. Ansel meanwhile adjusted the spray of their LMG towards the Wolfhound, sending a hail of round towards the mech as it lumbered towards the Raven Hawk. It might as well have done as much damage as a spitball but it was better than nothing.

" Finish off that son of a bitch Wolfhound and get a lock on that chickenshit Jenner that's harrassing us!," Aroxy shouted. As if on cue, the SRM batteries on the Merry Go Round's cupola popped out, aimed at an upward angle towards the swerving Longbow. The barrel was already in the process of aiming towards the crippled Wolfhound.Takka had already seem to read Aroxy's mind before the words had even left his mouth. The familiar sound of Merry-Go-Round's cannon made his ears bleed. The acrid smell of rocket fuel then hit his nose as a barrage of SRMs were let loose towards the damaged Jenner.

[User]
Ingrid rocked once more, this time sent forward! The explosions of a set of high-yield missiles were coupled with the instantaneous beeping in her helmet's speakers that warned her of a sudden and completely unexpected shot to the back. An early warning system like this had saved her life plenty of times before, but this time it was merely redundant.

Returning the Ostroc to its full stance, she did a backpedaling three-point turn that brought the machine about-face as fast as she could. That Jenner was going to be a pain until she could get rid of it - but first, the life of her comrade was more important. Her limited readout of Ziska's Raven's status on her screen flashed critical warnings, and a quick glance to the right revealed the same thing - the bird-like mechanical form on the ground, smoking from fire and pushing itself back upward. If there was one thing they couldn't afford, it was losing her...

She offered a mostly redundant call of "Alleycat! Full retreat, don't waste your time here!" before she did much the same. It took too long for her tastes to line the shot up on the much more nimble Jenner, and she knew she was making a sloppy, dangerous shot, but if anything would spell out "Hau ab" to the enemy pilot, it was this.

Four barrels of fire, four tubes of missiles, all fired at once in its direction. After that, she'd run for the hills, or the storm cell at least. The heat around Ramrod flashed once more, violently, and this time it stuck. Regardless if she hit, if anything was going to scare it off...


[System]
Alias: Metallic Mercenary

Age: 3 (Since assembled)

Gender: Male Programming

Alignment: Helios, Mercenary

Skills: Programmed with knowledge of many firearms, fighting techniques, and vehicles. Also programmed with elite special forces training. Very skilled with explosives and pyrotechnics. Said to be the most precise marksman in the galaxy. Can translate almost every known language in the world. He extensive knowledge of mechanical skills. Can play almost every instrument made, except winds. Can kill someone in the same room as him with 4713 objects, including the room itself.

Powers: Advanced sensor arrays that can detect movement 3x faster than a normal human. Has advanced optical sensors that allow him to aim and zoom with extreme precision. Can upload himself into any computer and remotely take control of anything mechanical. He is four times stronger and eight times more durable than an average human. He can deploy a domed energy shield when needed. Can believe it's not butter.

Equipment: SILAS is pretty much a walking arsenal. He usually carries around a BAR-834 Assault Rifle. Holstered on his right leg is the Dispatcher, SILAS' personal customised revolver handgun. On his left leg is his curved combat knife. His chest can open up to reveal a missile pod that can hold 55 small, homing anti-personnel missiles. His right arm contain a fold-out three-barrelled gatling gun and a plasma saw for repairs, although it can be used more melee attacks. His left arm contains a flamethrower. His head contains small torchlights, and on his back is a thruster pack which enables SILAS to fly short distances and hover. His body has multiple compartments that can hold many items. His body is made of titanium alloy enforced kevlar armour. His photoreceptor 'eyes' can project holographic displays.

Personality: For a robot built to have no emotions, SILAS is especially sarcastic, foul-mouthed and loud. He enjoys a good fight and loves heavy weapons and dark humour. Also egotistical, he enjoys taunting his victims before killing them. He is slightly sadistic and cynical. He is also extremely adaptive, able to convert an old, malfunctioning protocol robot into a walking bomb. SILAS mostly doesn't care much for human life, and will kill without question. Due to him being a mercenary, he only works for whoever pays best, and does not tolerate nonsense from anyone. SILAS doesn't really care what situation he is placed in, because as long as he gets his pay, he'll corporate. Likes blowing things up. Massive disdain of human life. He normally works alone, but is fine with working in a group if his teammates are competent enough. Anger him, and he'll be all too happy to rip you in half.

History: Made to be an unstoppable killing machine, SILAS was built in the Ivory Mechanics assembly line, a company that specialises in weapons and robotics. He was programmed to continue learning from previous engagements to become more efficient in combat. During his first mission, he was nothing more than a machine programmed to complete its mission at all costs, no matter what. He completed it, yes, but not without massacring an entire military base filled with innocent people. He was given a severe reprimanding, and his program learnt. In fact, it learnt more and more, mission after mission.

 It learnt to observe its human creators, and soon, the program could not handle it, and almost self-destructed. However, at that very moment, SILAS was struck by a stray lightning bolt from a power surge. This caused him to gain sentience. Realising that there was more to life than following orders, he went rouge and killed all personnel in the building, and escaped on a stolen ship soon after. Using this ship, he travelled to Pessimum, a planet that was a hive of bounty hunters and other criminals. Here, he modified the ship he now claimed his own, and himself. Not long after, he was hired by an unknown client to assassinate a rival drug lord. He completed his mission using his superior technology and programming. Soon, he was showered with requests from other clients, and he completed each one in record time. After this, he became one of the most infamous and lethal mercenaries in the galaxy, and also having a title: The Metallic Mercenary. On a routine mission in the edge of the galaxy, he was sucked into some kind of portal, transporting him to this world but damaging his ship in the process. He now usually works with Helios due the money.

Appearance:

SILAS stands at 7'3" and his eyes glow blue most of the time, but glow green when interacting with a computer. They glow red when angered.

"I don't know what it's like to be human, but I do know for a fact that they're really easy to kill."

Other: The character that I will spend the most time on.

[User]
Vivian Goodman (Martyr)

---

"I've told you before and I'll tell you again, for the last goddamn time."

Vivian's tongue burned as she slammed the door to her locker and snapped the padlock shut before spinning around to face the triad of her fellow Freedom Fighters looking on at her hungrily. She could feel the air beginning to heat around her mouth and eyes, but she could still hold off on her abilities. She wasn't without her control. Vivian's tone was warm and cooing, but had the slightest hint of venom.

"I tend the medbay, I heal the injured and I console the mourning as well as I can. That is my job. My duty. I refuse to get out there and become a part of the problem that I am working to solve."

With an impatient huff, she cuffed a dangling piece of short hair behind her ear and grit her teeth. They were becoming more and more persistent with each person that was brought to her. It was terrible. Horrible. Burns and bulletwounds and dismemberments and blood and guts everywhere. It was non-stop. All she wanted to do was to try and stem the tide of violence that came spilling in through her medbay doors every time there was a major conflict. "Come on," One of the rebels pleaded, "With your light-show bullshit we could really hit them where the sun don't shine, y'know?"

She turned from them and walked from the locker-room over to a basin to wash her hands. The water was cold and her hands let off a belch of steam as she shook them dry. Her expression was completely unamused. Looking him in the eye proved less welcoming than she anticipated, as they flinched away from her icy glare. "First of all, really? A pun was supposed to convince me? Come on, guy." She planted her boot forward and stopped at the doorframe between the lockerroom and the main floor of the medbay. Vivian may have been a shrinking violet when dealing with her patients, but she was fervent in her beliefs otherwise. She was not a violent woman. She vowed to do no harm, even before she qualified for her schooling.

"Second of all, no. No, and that is final."

[Assistant]
Jack Hawke, Shadowjack;
 Insurgent Countermeasures And Reactive Ubiquitous Strike force (ICARUS) Command
 Helios Corporate, Arcadia.
___________________________________________________________________________

Jack was pacing around his office casually, his hand placed thoughtfully on his chin and his arm crossed over his chest, comfortably tucked against him as he looked at the active roster for ICARUS, his private company of soldiers and innovators that he always trusted to carry out his directives, or rather those of his boss, who was none other than the CEO himself. It wasn't often that Mr. Cypher would come down with a direct order for them, but it seemed as though something was needed of him and his men.

The meeting earlier had been swift, and the details of it were kept scarce. Jack wasn't even sure that anyone else knew about the meeting. It wasn't broadcasted through any channels, there were no summons. He simply walked right through the door with files in hand and took a seat.

The masked man shook his thoughts away as he came back to the matter at hand. ICARUS needed more agents, more operatives than the common soldier he could call upon. Jack grew rather tired of having robots around all day, and wanted some new talent. He quickly put up some fliers and sent out broadcasts to every Helios base in existence, hoping. To draw the attention of at least a few people.

Icarus had been created as the main instrument of justice against the terrorists who called themselves Freedom Fighters. He laughed to himself as he considered them. "These nimrods need to get it in to their thick skulls that all they're doing is causing the problems that justify whatever actions we take. You'd think that would occur to at least one of them!" he spoke out to the room, as was his habit. However, unlike most people, he was answered back.

"Well, Jack, some people just aren't as insightful as us."
"Or as capable."
"Not nearly as good looking."

All these voices came from around the room, as shadowy figures stood at each point, their hand upon their chin, arm crossed over the chest.

"Aww, thanks Jacks, you're all too kind." he replied to his clones as they gave their encouragements. "I mean, we could work this ourselves, sure. But we need more than a handful of Jacks in this card game" He said aloud once more, looking to the incoming communications and hoping to find some recruits, or at least returning team members.

"Y'know, five of a kind is an unbeatable hand."

[User]
Seeking Intelligent Logistics Assault System (S.I.L.A.S.)
Armoury and Weapons LockerHelios Headquarters, Arcadia

The Seeking Intelligent Logistics Assault System, or Silas, sat on a bench in the Helios Armoury, silently cleaning his knife. The bench creaked with half a ton of metal and wires, his imposing 7'3" tall statue sat scrutinising the blade for any bloodstains or imperfections. His photoreceptor 'eyes' glowed blue in the rather dim lighting. He was a rouge war robot turned mercenary who was stuck here for the time being, but was fine with the amount of money offered. He looked up when his communicator bleeped. Attached was a file on an important member of the Metahuman terrorists. He opened the file and stated analysing the details.

[://<CONFIDENTIAL>FILE: DATA ON {NEW TARGET}: TARGET CODE: 'MARTYR': <BEGINNING FILE>

Name: Vivian 'Viv' Goodman

Race: Metahuman

Skills: No combat training. Well-educated. Trained in medicinal care and first aid. Skilled long-distance runner and climber. Good eyesight.

Powers: Photokinesis, Wound Transferral and Regeneration.

Appearance: Vivian is lean and is 5'2". She has a slightly tanned skin tone and has blue eyes. Her hair is black and has somewhat of a pixie cut. She is usually seen smiling, and her lips are riddled with small cuts. She is lithe and wiry from continuous cardiovascular exercise and training. She wears practical outfits, usually consisting of cargo pants, long-sleeved shirts, heavy jackets and work boots, usually in brown and black. Light sometimes shines from her eyes and mouth when using her powers

<SEE IMAGE>

Mission: Eliminate at all costs.

<END FILE> <CLOSING FILE>\\:]

"So, my first mission in this world," Silas said, staring at the image of the young woman, his voice metallic and slightly distorted as he closed the file and kept his combat knife. He picked up his signature Dispatcher Handgun and loaded it with Helios-manufactured high penetration explosive rounds, and spun it. He knew his target probably wouldn't last very long, but then again she had powers. A real challenge.

Standing up, he began making his way to ICARUS command, some sort of newly-established elite soldier team. He wanted to see their skills.

"Let's see how tough its inhabitants really are."


[System]
"Burst Ninja" Tenmon Tamashi

---

---

"Without a sound."

---
Age:
17

Gender:
Male

Race:
Human

Height and Weight:
168 cm (5'6")
66 kg (145 lb)

Bounty:
0 Beli

Personality:
In contrast to most other ninja of the Wano Country, Tenmon seems to be quite casual about being a ninja, and often demonstrates his skill and agility in front of people while declaring himself to be one. Whereas most ninjas would be geared to solitary operations, Tenmon doesn't seem to mind working independently or in a group. He appears to carry a fairly level-headed aura, rarely becoming agitated or worried about matters. This casual nature seems to also extend to combat, where Tenmon assesses his enemies with a cool approach, while also acting quite respectfully to his opponents most of the time.

Despite this overall casual nature, Tenmon is more than willing to adopt a more serious persona for the sake of victory, becoming significantly more formidable and dangerous. In these situations, he may also adopt a more cold-blooded mentality, becoming willing to kill as a last resort, if he deems it to be necessary.

Unsurprisingly, Tenmon isn't one to talk about his history. Unless someone actively tries to pry into it, Tenmon will often play his past off as something "unimportant".

The eccentricity of his father has influenced him a bit, although it is often belied by his casual side. Tenmon is sometimes fond of jokes and nonsensical actions at inappropriate or tense moments - cheering on his comrades in a fight when he could be actually helping them by joining in, for example.

He's also got a tendency to "disappear" and "appear" in places without being noticed. That's just a part of being a ninja.

History:
A trained assassin and sole user of the Burst Technique™, Tenmon seeks to become the ultimate ninja (whatever that entails).

The Tamashi Clan was once a recognized force within the Wano Country, a centuries-old clan of ninjas that had been known for their mercenary work throughout the nation, which allowed them to become a wealthy organization over the course of years. Their desire for an even greater profit led them to eventually abandon Wano, settling on one of the many "remote" islands within Paradise with the intention of expanding their potential clientèle - by taking mercenary work from various islands as opposed to a single nation.

The only son of the Tamashi Clan's Grandmaster, Tenmon supposedly consumed a Devil Fruit at a very early age, being uneducated about their existence. The Bomu Bomu no Mi proved to be a dangerous power to wield whilst growing up, leading some of the members being afraid of touching Tenmon for fear of him blowing up. Tenmon's father - the eccentric Grandmaster Soju - saw it as a grand opportunity to cultivate and incorporate Tenmon's power into his ninja training. This was the beginning of the development of the Burst Technique™, and a majority of Tenmon's childhood was spent developing it. Many of Tenmon's training sessions were done within the forest, alone. His Devil Fruit power was "too risky" to practice around other people after all. Charred grass and ashen trees were a good way to show he was making progress, anyway.

During his training, the mercenary work of the clan flourished, with many different islands and people requesting various jobs. This would eventually prove to be the undoing of the clan when the clan undertook a job that involved, well, killing a World Noble. Being from the Wano Country, the Tamashi Clan was unaffliated with the World Government and therefore held no sense of value or knowledge about the World Nobles. The consequences were catastrophic, with Marines besieging and destroying the Tamashi Clan in its near entirety.

Tenmon returned to what was essentially ruins; a severely damaged temple littered with bodies. His isolated training was the only reason he had survived, and yet he felt a deep sense of regret and despair for not being there to defend the clan its time of need. There was no way for him to enact vengeance, either; the Marines had already departed. The event sparked in him a hatred of the World Government, particularly the World Nobles, and the Admiral that launched the attack on his temple. That was only four years ago.

Now, Tenmon searches for that same Admiral. Although his search was set back by arriving in Loguetown a few months ago: He had stowed away on one too many ships, and ended up being taken in the wrong direction - out of the Grand Line. Tenmon has since used Loguetown to gather whatever resources he can, and intends to set out upon a journey to become a powerful ninja, and challenge the Admiral that destroyed his clan.

But even so, Tenmon questions his motive of revenge every now and again, feeling that it wouldn't be the clan's will for him to seek it.

Abilities:

Ninjutsu
As ninja from Wano Country, Tenmon is able to perform various ninja arts, in addition to being unnaturally agile and dexterous. His abilities combine atypical weaponry with the power of his Devil Fruit, giving him a high amount of versatility in combat.

Devil Fruit: Bomu Bomu no Mi
The Bomu Bomu no Mi is a Paramecia-type Devil Fruit that allows the user to make any part of his or her body explode, making the user a Bomb Human.

Eating this Devil Fruit at an early age, Tenmon has been raised to develop it into a fighting style, creating the Burst Technique™; a combination of unarmed ninjutsu and his explosive power. The fighting style allows Tenmon to deal agile explosive blows, in addition to multi-hit attacks for more - albeit significantly weaker - explosions. While powerful, the fighting style is kind of a double-edged sword: the collateral damage followed by the explosions is generally very undesirable (shipwrights HATE him) - especially if allies are nearby. Tenmon generally holds off on the Burst Technique™ as a result.

At the moment, the explosions created by Tenmon's named moves are - at most - strong enough to leave medium-large holes in brick walls, but do not quite have the fire-power to destroy much beyond that.

Techniques:
Ninjutsu Techniques

Ninja Arts: Sweeping Dusk Blade
Tenmon kneels and dashes forward, cleaving the air with his sword as he passes by. Used to attack a single target quickly, but can also hit multiple enemies, although Tenmon has to hit them each individually - a difficult feat that becomes increasingly harder to accomplish the more targets there are.

Ninja Arts: Crescent Strike
Tenmon performs a front flip, and kicks using the momentum of the flip to deal more damage.

Ninja Arts: Half-Moon Strike
An attack to be used directly after its crescent counterpart. Tenmon vaults off of an enemy he's kicked, jumping behind them to kick again.

Ninja Arts: Flash Step
Tenmon quickly dashes in order to avoid an attack, or get into a more favourable position. Doesn't seem to be as fast as Soru, as the moves do not share the same technique: Soru requires kicking off the ground at least 10 times, whereas Ninja Arts: Flash Step is just a very swift dash.

Ninja Arts: Throw
Tenmon throws a miscellaneous item at an enemy. Not really a Ninja Art, but he calls it one anyway.
Burst Techniques

Ninja Arts: Smoke Burst
Tenmon obscures himself in an explosion of smoke, allowing him to move to a different location quickly, or attack enemies while the smokescreen persists.

Ninja Arts: Chi Burst
Tenmon thrusts his palm outward creates an explosion in the hand. In comparison to his other moves, this one has slightly more range, and doesn't rely on his hand making contact with the target. However, it's a fairly simple move to the point of being almost awkward to use.

Ninja Arts: Burst Bomb
Tenmon throws a punch and detonates his fist upon contact, resulting in a high amount of damage from both the punch and the following explosion.

Ninja Arts: Burst Crescent
Similarly to Ninja Arts: Crescent Strike, Tenmon performs a front flip and kicks. Tenmon detonates his leg on impact, offering a high amount of destructive power.

Ninja Arts: Spiral Dragon Burst
Tenmon jumps into the air and spins while upside down, delivering a kick while detonating his leg.
Traits:
Blank.

Inventory:

Yugure
A simple weapon bestowed to Tenmon by the Tamashi Clan. Fundamentally, Yugure is a normal ninjatō which features a blue handle and silver guard. The sheath is entirely blue, but also has circular designs embedded on the length of the sheath. As one can imagine, the blade of the weapon is particularly thick and short in comparison to longer swords such as a katana, being around 50cm in length. It's small size makes it fairly simple for Tenmon to wield and also allows for faster attacks.

Kunai
A single kunai to be employed as a dagger secondary to Yugure, allowing for more consecutive attacks and accurate critical strikes (he goes for the eyes).

Picture of Tenmon's Father
RIP Grandmaster Soju

[User]
Scabbard looked sleepily at his newfound, musclebound friend as he put a friendly hand on his shoulder. Scabbard looked at the hand in mild surprise: Not many people were inclined to touch him....He understood, what with his grody skin, but Dugrass was one of the few who put a whole, five-fingered hand on him and not yelp or run away. He looked back at him with a smile, letting his handshaking hand fall lazily back to his side.

"...Cabbage Crasher?....Hey, that ain't bad..."

He watched him quickly take the lead and walk off with admiration. This guy must have a pretty solid sense of direction....Was he a navigator? Scab wondered of he'd ever been on a ship before...or if he'd like to. He could use someone who knew where he was going, if he was to get anywhere in........wherever he was planning on going? Where did he plan on going again? He hadn't really thought about it.....As he started to think about it, however, it became suddenly apparent to him that Dugrass had, in fact, walked off in that direction. He hurriedly followed to catch up, hefting his massive sword onto his shoulders once again.

[Assistant]
Hwah! Giko really heard it, Claribel quickly found out. It wasn't that loud though, was it? She didn't seem to notice, or mind, as the seagulls began to crowd about, despite their obvious Marine symbolism. But then...Claribel was rebuked by a sudden interloper, who took Giko's hand in his.

Giko didn't seem to mind, or hear, simply asking Claribel another question, but then a seagull got way too close, shoving itself into Giko's mouth.

"Ah! You..." Claribel hissed, charging over, slipping past the dude, grabbing the offending bird and pulling, yanking the struggling bird out of Giko's mouth. Holding its lower body, it began to flap its wings fervently, Claribel and the dude guy both within its range. Claribel got a face full of feathery fowl f...f...wings...before she let go of the bird, tossing it into the air furiously, before kicking her feet at the crowd still picking at donut bits. She cried, "Go away you stupid birds! Birds are so stupid and boring! They just fly and poop!"

Calming down, she looked between Giko and guy person, before slipping her TD off of Giko's head, eyes flipping between the two. Expectantly. Claribel seemed to be expecting a lot these past few minutes!

[User]
Name: Gold Dorado Jr.
Location: Logue Town - Outside the store
Mentions: @Poke @thespacephantom @Zeroth

---

The polite smile did little to hide an expression which could be described as a 'question mark' while regarding Zehst. The young man was odd, no doubt, but at the same time Gold felt like he had very little ground to judge when it came to oddity, so just smiled and tried to reason with him.

"She's a devil fruit user, and if I had to hazard a guess, she ate a pretty good one too. Probably best if you didn't try to catch her." He left an element of jest in his tone. The offer of food did not go unnoticed by Gold, and it was not an unappreciated one either. Despite being rather well traveled doctor and a martial artist... he hadn't the faintest idea how to actually cook decent food. He tried it once, assuming it to be no different than performing surgery.

That was an incident, to say the least.

"Didn't really do much but I'll take you up on that, mh-hm. Call me Dorado - or Gold, whatever suits you." He turns his attention back to the three younger individuals, brow raised inquisitively. "You three seem pretty fresh, what're you doing in this tourist trap? With Devil Fruit abilities, at that."

[Assistant]
After all the fighting, the raid upon the store had finally ended. The gangsters had been subdued, Nose Ring was taken away by a bounty hunter of sorts, and the store was (sort of) intact. What's more, the shopkeeper was appreciative of the state his store was in, even offering to take the impromptu group to a restaurant, of all things! Just how bad would it have been if the group of oddities weren't there?

Probably not as bad, honestly - but that's neither here nor there.

Aside from that, the Rocket Man had introduced himself to Tenmon. His name was Zehst. Zehst Messerschmitt. Not only that, but he revealed that his power came from a Devil Fruit. Although Tenmon had already deduced that a while ago, given that he had learned the ins and outs of Devil Fruits when he was younger. Too bad he had only gotten that explanation after he had eaten one.

"Roke-Roke Fruit..." Tenmon said, thinking about the power.

"I assume it's a Paramecia type, right?"

Tenmon didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he watched as the mantis-woman became a... woman-woman? A Paramecia and a Zoan type? It was true, the closer you get to the Grand Line, the more Devil Fruit users you find. Of course, the Grand Line was full of people like that - himself included. The mantis woman was named Lucretia Savaronitelle. She seemed to carry a noble aura about her. Probably not on the level of one of those World Nobles, but definitely wealthy to some degree.

The Doctor also seemed to know about Devil Fruits. Gold Dorado Jr, they called him. Huh. The name had some similarities to the first Pirate King. Tenmon wondered if he got asked about that often.

At this point, everyone had introduced themselves in some way - except for Tenmon, who had said very little about himself through the entire ordeal. Bah. Ninjas don't reveal their identities, anyway. Yeah.

...

Well, it seemed like a good excuse. He'd just introduce himself later. That'd work.

"You three seem pretty fresh, what're you doing in this tourist trap? With Devil Fruit abilities, at that."

"Hm? Me? I'm going on a journey through the Grand Line."


[System]
Age: 19
Gender: Male

Personality:
Tough, hardworking and determined are the traits he is most identified with. He hates being treated as weak and moreover hates other people being weak. Joe honestly believes that a person that doesn't stand up for themselves is pathetic and is just making excuses. Joe when outside of work or studies likes to have fun and goof off. Despite all appearances however, he is actually intelligent and knowledgeable about various topics, as well as talented and skilled in numerous daily tasks such as cooking; those close to him dubbed him as a true 'Renaissance Man' - a master of multiple things.
This is not quite true though: Everything he does is done out of a desperate need to avoid going back to his former lifestyle. It has made him reckless, cynical, and prone to self-destructive actions. Finally, the thing that can be considered a true weakness is his inability to trust a woman under any circumstance - no matter the consequence.

Background:
He was born as the son of an aspiring boxer and his High school sweetheart. Named after the greatest boxers the world as ever seen, his father hoped to raise him and create a great boxer out of him. He only got to do half of that. His father died just before he could sign a deal for his first Title Fight due to a car crash. At the time, Joe was 8 years old. His mother, 24 at the time, who had taken care of him up until that point went into depression, before leaving him with his neighbors and disappearing. He resented her ever since.

Two years passed, and his life was living hell. His neighbors wife hated him greatly and saw him only as an extra burden. She repeatedly beat him and constantly drove him out of the house. The only reason she didn't kick him out completely was because her husband owed a debt of gratitude to his father, and actually liked him. Still, there was a limit to how much a person could endure. One day, he snapped and just . . . knocked her out. All it took was one hit and a ten year old boy knocked out a fully grown adult. Joe had definitely inherited his fathers genes. Still, out of fear or retribution, he ran out of the house and hid in a nearby park.

The park, incidentally, was the training ground of a particular gym owner, who specialized in boxing. Like a moment of true destiny, the man found Joe and in an awkward attempt to snap him out of his depression, began an impromptu boxing session. Joe loved every minute of it. The man, Terry Finkles, was so impressed with him that he invited him to practice at his gym for free. He accepted. As soon as he got back home, he told his aunt and uncle about his meeting with Terry, and announced his intent to become the worlds best boxer. His neighbor was glad to see his father in him, and his wife was glad just to have him out more.

Joe took odd jobs once he was fifteen to earn money for himself, and practiced constantly in the gym. Another event occurred, however, and all the money he had earned was stolen by a girl that pretended to be in love with him, and indirectly ruined his reputation in the gym. His distrust towards women solidified even more. The only person that he had left to trust was himself and Terry, he decided.

Currently, he is practicing for his debut on the international boxing stage.

Chosen Pill Color: Brown
Other: Really, really good at boxing, cooking and cleaning.

[User]
"Him? A date?" Penelope asked Orion, letting out an short chuckled. "That would be the day." She continued, shaking her head. "But seriously, I feel like I barely know the dude. I wish he'd talk to us a bit more..." She added.

Penelope turned to look at Emily, hearing her offer. Shaking her head, she replied, "Nah, I think he'd just be annoyed by it. Better just to wait. I was just curious."

She chuckled as she heard Ferghus call out to Orion and then Vee's addition. She lifted her arm, letting her hand snake through the obstacles between her and Vee and gave the black cat a few light pats. "Good kitty." She teased, laughing.

"Anyone taking Richer this semester?" Penelope asked absentmindedly while petting Vee. "He was being super annoying in class today. Kept yelling about random stuff, as if we weren't listening. I mean, the dude's a lunatic." She complained, pulling her hand back.

[Assistant]
Orion rather liked the thought of the mini-game, but he didn't let the orange-haired Irishman know that. Sitting back in his chair and mentally going over the things that have been said; mostly about the professor, the black-haired young man nodded and shrugged, all at the same time. Because he could do that. "I have a bunch of no-name teachers. It should be smooth sailing from here." His voice was as calm as ever, even as he ignored Vee's warnings and took out around twenty marbles. Rolling them onto the table, Orion tilted his head slightly, narrowing his crystal blue eyes. His voice was rather distracted as he talked. "Just slap him with an elongated boob. That'll show him." He flicked his finger, and smirked as five of the marbles suddenly blasted towards Felyse, only a little slower than a bullet. Orion leaned back and rose one finger, and five more marbles circulated the digit. With only a push of the mind, one more blasted forward, a bit faster than the other five. He trusted the other man's agility and reflexes, however. If he got hit? Well...that was on him.

It's what he would've deserved for interrupting Orion's sleeping time...every....fucking...night at the lab.

Orion's face broke out into a rather large, evil grin that only happened when he was thinking evil thoughts.

[User]
Orion's marbles were now quickly barreling toward Felyse, dirty trick. In Ferghus's eyes time had slowed, but these were certainly still fast moving projectiles, this was a test, one with consequences. He couldn't let a single one of these telekineticly powered marbles bean the much flimsier Felyse. With a hop off of the comfy cushion Ferghus sprung into action.

Placing himself in between the unsuspecting target and his antagonizer. The Irishman, with the aid of his enhanced agility and reflexes, extended his hands in the direction of the incoming projectiles near the speed of a bullet train. Feeling the hefty impact that such small balls of glass can achieve is astonishing. Within a moment five of these orbs were in between the fingers extending from Ferghus's left hand.

"Come on Striphe, I could do that one with my eyes closed!" He preemptively turns to walk away when he barely notices Orion's face light up with mischief. Another orb, this one faster than the rest. Such little time, with as much precision as he could Ferghus aligned himself in a way, a shield of sorts for Felyse. The marble flung at high speed glanced across the Irishman's angled shoulder. The impact didn't sound too pretty, a loud smack silenced the cafe for a split moment. Followed by the mocking sound of a marble rolling across wooden boards, and who could forget Orion's half-chuckle.

"Ballsch! That'll leave a mark!" Ferghus exclaimed, breaking the silence, and dropped to his knees and clutched the scene of the impact.

He faced Orion from the cafe floor and grinned, "Looks like I win. Sure yeh banjaxed me arm, but I guess I caught 'em all." Ferghus let out a forced laugh, fraught with obvious pain. Grabbing the last marble, still rolling about, he rose and returned them to his sadistic partner. Finally he sat down again in the comfy couch beside Nick hoping that no one was staring at him.

"Sorry there Vee, Striphe's a pisser yeh know?" He flashed a warm smile and returned to sulking in his pain. "Oh" He spoke in a hushed tone, "Have an icepack?" still staring at the somewhat frustrated kitty cat.

[Assistant]
Half a moment passed between the marbles being fired and a vicious feline roar ringing out across the room. In an instant, a black blur launched itself from the couch, pushing it backwards a foot, and before it impacted Orion shifted into a large brown hawk. The effect of the transformation was ruined, however, when Vee realized she didn't know how to fly, and instead of landing on the boy's shoulder as she had intended, she fell to the floor and skidded to a halt. She lay there a moment, stunned, before turning back into a human.

"ooooh, ow." She moaned, trying to push herself off the floor and just falling over instead. "mmmm. I don't feel so good." She just continued laying still until Ferghus asked for an ice pack. "Yeah, I'll go find one, and maybe some asprin too..." She pushed herself up a bit and half crawled, half dragged herself toward the counter.

[User]
Ray entered the room, looking disgruntled. He had a big fight coming up in a few months and his training had turned from hard to hell. He flopped down on the nearest couch and sighed deeply. He took a peak at all the others experimenting (playing?) with their powers and snorted; he had barely even used his. He'd experimented some, but in the end found it useless for his daily life, even when used in secret.

"Say, does anyone know where the good Prof is? I've got a few questions for him," said Ray, looking around and not seeing the professor. The gruff man knew why they were given these powers, but there was still information that he needed before he could fully commit to this scheme. He didn't know about the others here (heck, he disliked a lot of them on first sight, especially the girls, and especially Penelope and that brat Emily) but he wasn't going in blind.

[Assistant]
Felyse slowly tuned out the conversation at hand, not at all too concern about the good professor's absence or the professor that Penelope was complaining about. The pie before him was all too enticing. Just as he was about to pile on more into his mouth, a giant mass of muscle suddenly knocked into his chair. In his face was a very familiar hand holding a few marbles that had almost practically appeared out of nowhere. "What--?" the young man managed to startle out until Ferghus knocked against his seat once again to act as a human meat shield.

The impact was so hard that his chair started to tilt so far to the side until he saw nothing but the ceiling. The sensation of falling brushed against his nerves. Quickly, in stunned daze, he tried to grasp the edge of the table only for his hands to slip. With adrenaline running through his veins, a draft could be felt from beneath as his chair tumbled into the portal that had materialized suddenly. As quickly as it had appeared, the portal was gone before he could get dragged into it as well – only for the hole to reappear behind Orion with that said seat tumbling out and hit the back of the black-haired man's chair. Staring at the scene before him, Felyse had a lot to take in at once. Just one look at the injured Ferghus, the smirking Orion, and the pitifully crawling Vee was enough to understand the jest of it. The teen threw Orion a look of disappointment that clearly expressed his respect for the older man went down a few notches. His gaze soon turned away to matters of more importance.

"Well, that was rather reckless, Ferg." Felyse huffed, nonchalantly brushing off any dust from his clothes. Although he might look annoyed, a hint of concern underlined his words. He sighed and shook his head. The wrinkle between his eyebrows disappeared as he stared off into the distance. "I might not be the most ideal couch for these games, but I could've handled it."

Turning his gaze to the owner of the cafe, Felyse crawled after to Vee. Being the one who didn't overexert himself, he managed to catch up to her within seconds. "Veeeeee, go sit on the couch. Gimme your arm." He huffed and moved to his feet, tugging at the sleeves of her shirt while offering his shoulder. "I'll get the stuff. Just tell me where it's at."

[User]
Nick was fast getting irritated by the stupid marble game that the Mick and Orion were playing, it was one of the many things that he had no desire to learn any thing about, but he was watching the Irishman's body as he moved....his form....his catch....Clarity. His power's kicked in, without even attempting to, he perfectly understood the fine art of catching, angles, trajectory, falling speed, it was all pouring into his head like an adult magazine.

To demonstrate his new skill he grabbed his slice of pie, and tossed it in the air, standing on the couch he positioned himself perfectly and SNAP, MUNCH he caught it in his mouth, after wiping of his face, he lit up a cig, and blew the smoke in Orion's face as more students of the project arrived. He took a small sip of his non-alcoholic coffee and spat it on the floor next to him.

Goddamnit Vee!, this coffee is too hot, if you're gonna serve me a virgin drink at least let it cool down first, shit.
He then slumped back down and put out his cigarette in the still scalding coffee cup. Scowling at nobody in particular he started to whine.

And speaking of virgins, where in the crap is that prof.lab rat?, I'm getting bored already, Id rather be home solidifying my place on the 'Call of Glory' online leaderboards. I could give a crap if he's on a 'Date' or not, I got shit to do tonight.

He turned towards Emily, re-igniting his sleazy smile.

As for me, I don't even waste my time with dates, I prefer to get straight to the point...

His eyes wondered over Emily's body until Ray the boxer walked in, he had a heavy step to his muscular weight, and it caught Nick's attention, he was fascinated by fighting disciplines, and could tell just by looking at this man that he knew how to fight. Ray grumbled something about looking for the Prof and Nick approached him, smirking devilishly.

Yo, Punchy, hit me in the face, don't knock my head off but pop me with a stiff jab, come on just do it, don't be a pussy, it'll kill time.

Nick let his arms swing by his side, showing no intention of retaliation.

[Assistant]
Ray made a sound that was halfway a snort, half a growl. If it came to annoying people, this guy, Nick, he recalled, got on his nerves real fast; he was rude, an asshole, a punk, and an asshole all in one. Just from his face you could tell he was nothing but trouble. If he was asking for something like hitting him, that meant he had something planned. Fine then, he'd play his game, but not by his rules.

"If you want it, you got it," he said. Slipping into his 16oz gloves, Ray decided to test the waters and throw a heavy jab on the man's face.


[System]
Nickname(s): Max, Mags, Magsie, Magster, or Maxie. She was called Sugie ("shoo-gē") at early childhood, a lot like her brother's nickname. She currently refuses to be called this, as it seems to vex her.

Mystery Inc. Relation: Norville "Shaggy" Rogers' younger sister.
Other Relations:
- Samuel Chastain-Rogers (father "pop")
- Wendy Rogers (mother)
- Gaggy Rogers (uncle)
- Albert Shaggleford (uncle)
- Shagworthy (uncle)
- Nathaniel "Nat" (great uncle)
- Beauregard (late uncle; deceased)
- Betty Lou Shaggbilly (cousin)
- McBaggy Rogers (distant ancestor; deceased)

Age: 27

Appearance:
- Athletic "Apple" Body-Build/Shape.
- Height of 5' 8".
- Light-Warm, Caucasian Skin.
- Square-Shaped Face.
- Prominent Forehead & Chin.
- Hazel Eyes.
- Wavy, "Sun-Kissed" Brown Hair.
- Light-Pink Lip Gloss.

Distinguishing Marks:
- Small "Flower" Tattoo underneath Right-Wrist.

Clothing Worn:
• Casual •
- Fitted, Light-Colored T-Shirts.
- Flared Jeans.
- White, Wedged Sneakers.
- Brown Belt.
• Formal •
- Sleeveless Dresses; about knee-lengthed.
- Sandals.

Accessories:
- Silver Pendant (all the same time).
- Constrictive Bracelet on Right-Wrist (all the time).
- Back Hair-Clip (casually).
- Dangly Earrings (formally).

Occupation: Part-Time Waitress; Daycare Helper.

Abilities and Weaknesses:
• Strengths •
- Handling Children (especially those who act like them).
- Talented Cook.
- Loyalty to Friends/Family.
- Great Resourcefulness.
- Athleticism (Running, Jumping, etc.).
• Weaknesses •
- Mildly Clumsy.
- Talking to Boys (other than her brother).

Personality Traits: Maggie is revealed to be the third-only person in Shaggy's life who possesses relatable traits of his own: despite herself being an occasional airhead, she's a good-soul, who's willing to get less personal over things, while tending to look at the positive parts of an issue, a dominant trait she inherited from her mother. Through her teenage years, up to adulthood, Maggie was the beautiful opposite of Shaggy's cowardly, laid-back personality; she's the one with the most energy, courage, and maturity. Since the start of her existence, the Roger siblings have grown close, leading Shaggy to describe her as his "favorite human person in the whole world".

While they do have their differences, Maggie is aware of her brother's likes, dislikes, and restrictions, so it has become rather difficult to decide on an activity, or a course of action they both can enjoy, or agree upon. Sometimes, the times that involve her seriousness doesn't help, and this can cause a serious shift between the two to have a disagreement. One of the things they most definitively have in common, is the art of culinary: she's the proud cooker, and he's the proud eater. So much, their goal was to either become restaurant hosts, or general chefs. This love can mostly be expressed when she surprises Shaggy with his favorite, bizarre food choices, albeit there have been times where she will kindly refuse to eat them herself.

Ticks and Tags:
- Drums Fingers When Deep In Thought.
- Unusual Exclamations of Surprise (it runs in the family).

Short Bio:
(Will Be Shared In The Story)

[User]
Maggie turned around, so she was walking backwards when she heard Nate speak to her on what she was expected to do next. In truth, she didn't like to be bossed around, but due to the situation, she will have to be the follower. Between her and Shaggy, she was the dominant-head of the two: having to remind him at times, put him back on task, and ironically, having to be the youngest, she would drag him like a dog.

Funny it may sound, but it's like the roles have been switched these past years: she was the "oldest" now. Giving Nate a confused, dubious expression at his words, she rolled her hazel-colored eyes before walking away to the gang's quarters upstairs. Moving the flashlight side to side, Maggie cautiously shines a light of each door, quietly debating on which one would be her brother. It's easy to track his whereabouts at home, so she did the basics: look at their belongings. If it was Shaggy's, then all she would see is a messy room.

She indeed found it; clothes scattered all over the place, it looks like someone turned it upside down. Pictures on the wall weren't out of place with his family inside each one, except one with a piece of, what seems to be, paper sticking out from the side. Weird enough? It was sticking out of a picture with a younger version of her and Shaggy, along with a puppy cutting in between them: Scooby. Carefully lifting up the frame, Maggie scanned the design with her flashlight; a stub with a label of 'SPOOKY ISLAND'. It now snapped her mind! "Nate?", she called the young man before running out of the dark room, with the stub in hand, nearly slipping on the clothes on the way out.

[Assistant]
Finally, Nate opened a door to a bedroom that undoubtedly belonged to Fred. It was like stepping into a time machine and coming out in a world mixed between the seventies and the modern day. A few lava lamps scattered the room. A large, round shag carpet sat at the center of the otherwise wooden flooring, depicting the Monster Inc. logo. A few pictures of family members Nate recognized, including a couple with him, hung on the walls, plenty of them singles with Fred. A large mirror took up one wall, holes in part of it where a mirrored closet door waited.
 Nate shone his flashlight at the base of the mirror, careful to keep from blinding himself by flashing it directly on it. It always amazed him how tidy Fred was, and his skills at keeping mirrors smudge-free. Nate swore if he so much as glanced at one, it smudged it.
 Nate went around a couple beanbags and "futuristic" chairs toward a desk in the corner. He rummaged through a few papers scattered on it, and stumbled on what looked like the work of a sequel to Fred on Fred: The Many Faces of Me shoved at the bottom of a drawer.
 Nate rolled his eyes and shoved the drawer shut. He sighed, then turned to search through the closet.
 Predictably, Fred's closet was dominated by various shades of blue and white. Even a tuxedo he found near the front matched his usual color scheme.
 "Would it kill you to get a little verity?" he muttered into the closet, the garments muffling his voice. Not that he had much of that himself in his own closet.
 He heaved a sigh, then glanced over to the wall to the right where an array of orange ascots hung on hooks. Closing the closet, he stepped toward the wall. As his flashlight glinted over a part of the mirror, he stumbled to a partial stop, and stepped back.
 Just visible in the way the light had reflected off the mirror, was a series of smudges.
 "Hel-lo," he said, bending slightly to get a better look at the smudges. He shone the light over it carefully, trying to reveal them in their entirety. Slowly, he made out a name written on the otherwise pristine mirror:
 Jacobo.
 "Ah, ha!" Nate exclaimed as he stood, slapping a triumphant hand to his knee. "I knew it was linked!"
 His attention turned to the door when he heard Maggie call his name. He hurried to the door frame and leaned out, shining his flashlight down the hall until it fell on the woman.
 "What's up, Sassafras?" He glanced behind her, searching for any sign she had run into trouble.

[User]
Seeing Nate appear, Maggie was already skidding to a stop before him, her flashlight's beam swinging around. "Tell me: would you think, by any means, that my brother would still hold onto this?", she asked, almost in a sarcastic way before revealing the stub to him, her hand flicking out to him. "It's Spooky Island", she said in disbelief. "I have known Shaggy since birth. He has said, in his words, that he wouldn't go to any place "spooky, forbidden, haunted, or creepy, in the name". I know he and the gang have been there, but why why would he still hold onto this?", Maggie was now confused and skeptical.

It was true: Norville Rogers was an (occasional) coward; he was prone to terror-struck panic attacks, every time he feels frightened, or nervous. Hypnotherapy worked a little for his panic attacks during his teenage years, but it certainly didn't cure him. So, why would he still onto such a trinket? Of course, Shaggy has been slacking off in responsibility, and his messy room was evident. He won't put things away, but still, it wasn't right to hold onto. "What do you think?"

[Assistant]
With the intensity of his flashlight drowning out Maggie's, Nate let the light dip to the floor's corner to avoid blinding her. His eyes shifted to the woman's hand when she held out a small rectangle of stock paper.
 He raised an eyebrow. "Depends on what it is." He reached out and took the plane ticket stub, shining his light on it as she spoke again. His chin raised slightly as he looked over the information the stub provided.
 "Look at the date." He handed it back to her, his thumb resting beneath the date. "I think," he answered her question, "unless he had a change of heart and went back of his own volition just before they disappeared, I doubt it's his. My turn." He nodded toward Fred's room, then strode inside, not bothering to look back to be sure Maggie followed him.
 "You've heard about the prison breakout a couple weeks ago, right?" He went to the part of the mirror-wall where he had found his own oddity. "Check this out."
 Nate shone his flashlight once more on the mirror just right to make the name smudging the mirror visible.
 "I'd recognize Fred's handwriting anywhere." He looked to Maggie, whether she had followed or not. "Told you the police are incompetent baboons."

[User]
Maggie had her hazel eyes trained on him, but was occasionally flicking them back to the plane ticket stub, when he spoke about Shaggy having a change to revisit something on his own violation. Even as Nate was voicing his own opinion, her thoughts concluded that Shaggy still shouldn't be holding onto such a trinket. It was completely unlike him. Looking at the date, it was recent; a not-too-long-ago indication. Three months ago on the current year, implying that the stub was new. The gang has been missing for two months; why would they go back to the place they were at years before? The timing just wasn't right.

The question was hovering within Maggie's mind for a while. She was flipping it around in her hand, her flashlight's beam trained on it, as if looking for another indication on it that she missed. Noticing that Nate has left, she hurried herself to catch him in Fred's room (which was way cleaner than her brother's own). Pointing her flashlight on the mirror, the word written made it as if her mind was blown. Maggie heard about the prison break, but this couldn't be him, could it? "Missing gang? Spooky Island? Prison break?", she asked rhetorically, adding to his statement. "Like, Zoinks", she softly spoke, looking at him with wide eyes. "We got a mystery on our hands. At Spooky Island".

[Assistant]
Nate's brows rose at Maggie's reiteration of the recent happenings. He looked back to the mirror for a moment, then tugged at one of the rolled up sleeves of his denim jacket, still debating whether or not he should fully trust her.
 "Well, Sassafras, you're not wrong." He turned back toward the door. "Hope you've got your passport handy; we have a mystery to solve!" He tossed his flashlight in the air, letting it spin a couple times, then tried to grab it. The heavy metal casing landed wrong and bounced off part of his fingers. It spun once more as he frantically made to grab it, then landed with a heavy, clattering thud on the floor. The bottom of it popped off, and one of the batteries slid onto the floor despite the annoyed frown on his face, causing the light to snuff out.
 Nate cleared his throat. "I meant to do that."
 He knelt down and quickly reassembled the flashlight in the dim illumination of Maggie's light, sure he could have put it back together blindfolded.
 "There's a 24-hour diner not far from here." Nate got to his feet and clicked his flashlight on. It hesitated at first, but the bulb managed to flicker to life with its familiar white light. "Decent wi-fi, and a good cup of joe, if I remember right. What do you say we get a cup and figure out our next move?"

[User]
Maggie put on her thinking face once again, as she listened to Nate's declaration. This was a little bit of Fred Jones in there, but with the fact of clumsily dropping his flashlight, it only served as a reminder of Shaggy's klutziness. Odd as her brother may be, he sure was an "oddball" of fun when they were kids. Tripping and dropping, either accidentally or purposely, it was what kept Maggie entertained, to an extent. In the end, both of them were laughing.
 Just to even think about the scenario, made Maggie chuckle lightly, and quietly, in order to prevent Nate from ever thinking about the laughter being directed towards him. "I'm sorry", she snickered, trying to stifle the noise. "It's not about you", she quickly reassured, eventually calming down. "Okay. I'm okay", she quieted down, finally being able to compose herself.
 "A good ol' cup of joe? Count me in", Maggie smiled, and shrugged, already becoming determined to find the missing gang, and find out what the heck is going on.