<b>Private Cindy Marilisot </b><br/><br/>The redhead had been dispatched by Command to join Squad 8 and it was a field test.<i>Great. I've gotta babysit a bunch of rookies. </i>She had seen combat before and it showed in her eyes. The lancer was resting over her right shoulder as she made her way towards the drill sergeant. "Private Marilisot, reporting for duty, Sir!" She stood to attention and resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the mispronouncation of her name. The lancer was a deadly weapon and one of the heaviest available to infantry. The explosive warheads had been replaced with training ones. They were usually incapable of injuring people and would give them one hell of a headache. Against vehicles, it would merely disrupt the internal mechanics whilst producing a little bit of explosive power to simulate being hit. "Yes sir." She was used to dealing with officers. 'yes sir, no sir' was her way of keeping out of trouble. It wasn't her fault that the higher ups overlooked her for promotion. No, it was usually some little shit with the connections to do it. So what if she took out a machine gun nest? Or prevented a slaughter? That little shit would claim credit for it. Not to mention her skills as an engineer. She had no time to make friends and most of the time, she tended to keep to herself.<br/><br/><br/>Several warheads were securely kept in a strong leather quiver. Lancers had a rather high death rate due to the enemy having a tendecy to target the spare warheads or combining an entire squad's firepower onto them. The pauldron could shrug off low calibre fire and had saved her life on more then one occassion. She wasn't a stranger to using it as a weapon. Her lancer wasn't in pristine condition. It bore signs of war. Scratches from sharpnel were along the launcher. Dents were present from various hits and bullets that had ricocheted of it. She was wearing her brown googles above her head and always kept a pair of revolvers in her back pocket in their own leather holsters.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>"Asshole." She uttered as soon as she was out of earshot and broke into a small jog until she reached the APC whilst using the backstreets to keep out of sight.  "Private Marilisot reporting for duty, ma'am!" A large red wrench was dangling from her left hip and the paint was faded. The lancer always had it's safety on outside of active combat. She had toyed with the idea of making her own bayonet for the weapon but the issue with having a large lance that fired rockets was that it didn't allow for easy modification.<i>Probably wants me to escort and repair. Easy task but will stir the hornet's nest. Should think of a name for the weapon. </i>She was standing to attention with the weapon over her right shoulder.