We The Fallen

Humor

Humor

The Fool
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Character sheet:
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[tab=Profile Notes]
Name:
Age: (18-24 if Fresh from boot. 19+ if other)
Gender:
Rank: (any branch commissioned officers older than 20)
Height:
Weight:
Personality Characteristics:
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[tab=Appearance Notes]
Appearance: (Would prefer cartoon and or anime pictures)
Blemishes:
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Hair color:
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Biography and History

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Mech Sheet


&


Flyer Sheet


Now you may be asking what kind of mechs and what is a flyer?


Mechs are at this point in ORBS life span ranging from the heavy mobile two legged mech warriors to Large fortress death dealers. They come in all shapes and sizes. As well as Mecha's (anime mechs) Are build for large building or high mobility and movement. Used for most everything in the new age of technology. Both mech warrior and humanoid bots exist. If animal robot... you gotta give me a good reason...


Flyers are airships that stay within earths atmosphere these are much like star ships but less stars and more sky. They are not hydrogen balloons, they are aircraft that have speed high maneuverability and high payloads.

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[tab=Operations User Manual]
Mech/Flyer Name: (Can be an acronym or anything; if acronym what it actually means is required)
Ensign Call Sign: (I will give you this based on your characters profile. This will usually be one word and used over radio chatter or in Person.)
Inner Cock pit Decor:
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[tab= Mech/Flyer]
Mech/Flyer Appearance:
Additional Paint job:
Size: (we use metric for this.)
Primary Weaponry: (feel free to get creative in all weapons)
Secondary Weaponry:
Alternative Inventory slot: (2x Extra fuel canisters, Explosives/Special Grenades, Scanning equipment, Jamming, or 1 extra weapon.)
Alternative Inventory slot:
[Mech] Melee Weapon: (If not primary or secondary weapon. most use standard combat knife.)
[Flyer] Stream Color: (color of the residue left behind engine... more so teammates can locate personal stream in air.
Mobility Method:

Custom: (If you want something I did not add on the sheet or feel you need something else. Feel free to add it in here I will read it and tell you if okay or not or help you.)

You get 100 points now. (And one +10 to put on sheet please put +10 next to number numbers can only max out at 50 points unless there is a 50 +10 then that's allowed.)
Durability:
Speed:
Maneuverability:
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Operational time: (You may power down or have to leave the battlefield due to this.)
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Copy and paste. Final sheet. Delete all my parentheses
 
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Name: Clemons D. Masterson


Sex: Male


Age: 37


Rank: Master Corporal


Height: Five foot ten.


Weight: 200 pounds


Personality Characteristics: Utterly emotionless (PTSD?),no regard for personal well-being.




  • Directorface.png






Background: Clemons Daniel Masterson was born to a military family,probably much like most of the ORB's populace. Clemons was raised under strict rules,harsh punishment,and little praise. In this environment,he was raised to follow orders,and get things done. As such,in school,while socially awkward,he excelled in his studies. He rose through the ranks of his peers,and was recognized to be,if not a genius,then a very driven man. Straight out of high school,he enlisted in the forces as a pilot.


Training was Hell. It broke his preconceptions on the life a soldier led. It forged new maxims in their place. Discipline. Comradeship. Duty. Self-sacrifice. The greater good. Obedience. Eventually,he marched out of boot a new man. A changed man. And then he was sent to the front,like cannon fodder. On the frontlines,he fought like a man possessed. With ruthless efficiency,he picked off enemies as soon as they stuck their heads out. He flushed them out when they refused to come out on their own accord. He marched alongside his comrades,and together,they stormed enemy positions,cleared them out,and dug in,only to fall back within hours.


In short,he was the picture of an ideal soldier.


Eventually,he was pulled back for his pilot training. Compared to everything he'd been through,it was cake. When the brass saw his proficiency in close-quarters engagements,which was leagues above his other soldiering talents,he was assigned a mech with the purpose of being the vanguard,the pointman,the battering tam of the ORB,wherever it went.


During his time as a pilot,he earned many accolades,mostly for persevering in seemingly impossible odds. It was this time where he learned of his assignment as the rearguard for the Ark. He was to be left behind,to keep the Eurasians from capturing the launch site and following them up into the infinite cosmos. It was a duty he accepted with pride,for if the Eurasians had followed them,then the exodus was for naught.


In truth,he had been given to Hell.


The Ark launched without a hitch; Rear Admiral Clover's gambit won out. And as everyone roared in triumph,they were certain that,within five years,they'd return for them,thank them,honor them as heroes,and take them home. Time wore on. Some came to the crushing truth before others did. They wept openly at their posts,drowning in despair. Others still,like Clemons,clung to hope. Hope that they will live,and go to the home they've yet to see.


But,it grows ever harder to see the light at the end,when you're choking on dust,blood,and ash.


It was half a year in when he was finally effected by the Hell to which he was so carelessly cast into. He was standing guard at one of the countless checkpoints,keeping watch for Eurasians and civilians alike,when he heard a shout. He peered over his shoulder,and one of his friends,Private Cardin Winchester,was running up to him,saying there was a situation that needed his attention. With a curt nod,Clemons marched off,and Winchester took his place at watch.


He arrived to a twisted caricature of humanity.


There was a man with a rifle,standing on a soapbox,his back to Masterson,thank goodness. He was preaching to a gawking crowd,gesticulating wildly,going on and on about how this was their punishment for all of humanity's sins,for this was the beginning of the End of Days. However,he proclaimed that he knew of a way out. An end to the suffering. Clemons knew where this was going. He approached swiftly. He came up behind the mad preacher just as he turned the rifle on himself.


Clemons shoved the madman's head aside,just as he pulled the trigger. A bullet fired,missing,and streaking into the twilight sky,like so many others since that fateful day. They wrestled for the gun,more shots firing off wildly,one managing to blow off a large portion of his left ear. Toughing through the pain,Clemons fought to do his duty. However,his hands slipped.


Clemons tumbled to the ground,and the preacher stated, "Clemons,my brother. Please do not deny me this peace. Not everyone can be as strong as you are." Clemons was horrified. He couldn't even recognize his own baby brother,Aiden. In a desperate attempt to keep him from taking his own life,Clemons scrambled up,and lunged.


But,too late. The hammer dropped.


A single,thunderous crack. A sickening pop. The bullet thundered through Aiden's nose,and out the back of his head,making a fist-sized hole as it did so,with the contents of his skull following afterward. The bullet,coated with his own brother's gore,grazed across Clemon's left cheekbone. It left a scar,but how deeply it cut would never be visible. Clemons' lunge carried him into his dead brother,and he couldn't find the capacity to do anything,other than stare.


He was taken away to the medical crews,but,the ORB needed as many people they could get to hold the line. PTSD was a fact of existence here. In short order,he was deemed sound enough to serve,and was sent on his duty once more. However,he had changed. From the idealistic ball of life and energy he once was,Clemons was now an all-consuming morass of nothingness. Where men would shout for joy,he would do nothing. Where men would weep in sorrow,he would do nothing. Where men would scream in agony,he would do nothing. When Aiden died,so did Clemons,but his body refused to surrender.


Clemons now held onto only a fraction of what training had taught him. Now,all he knew was Duty,Self-Sacrifice,and Obedience,but not as ideals to live by,rather as entities to commit himself to. Wherever he went,he was silent,and unfeeling,and those around him wondered if he was anymore a man than the machines they fought in.





  • Manufacturer ID: MS-783 "Raider" Close Assault Platform


    Ensign Call Sign:


    Cockpit Decor:     Remarkably sparse. The only non-regulation additions are a pair of blackboards,paying host to different hash mark scores.


 
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WIP





  • Name: Igoshkova Alkaev


    Age: 32


    Gender: Female


    Rank: Chief Warrant Officer 5 [CWO5]


    Height: 175 cm


    Weight: 67,4 kg - including muscle mass


    Personality Characteristics: Joker [innuendos included], loudmouthed, careless, intelligent, weird, impulsive - strategist [she is more impulsive when she is on her own, but within groups she leans on being a strategic person.]








  • (Stuff goes in here)








  • Mech Name: 7S1-F3 / 'Freddy-Buu' [The 'Buu' only used by Igoshkova]


    Ensign Call Sign:


    Pit Decor:     Igoshkova hadn't decorated much of the Pit, the few things she had added was a hidden liquor stash and a few good ol' posters of her warrior ancestors.


 
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Character sheet:





  • Name: Mark Sutter


    Age: 22


    Gender: Male


    Rank: Private


    Height: 5'9"


    Weight: 84 kg


    Personality Characteristics:


    Mark Sutter is your average young man, he exhibits no unusual tendencies except for an odd habit of drawing smiley faces on his equipment. Had we not threatened to have all of his gear replaced with stain-proof fabrics and polymers, he would have painted a giant smiley face on the mecha assigned to him. Generally a well-natured person, he shows no very few violent tendencies. Were it not for an incident with another trainee during boot camp we would have found him unsuitable for field deployment despite the great need for soldiers on the front line.


    Of all the cadets in his year Mark had shown remarkable potential, had he not opted for an extension of his time in boot-camp we would have been an officer by now. At first his decision to opt for further training appeared to be an attempt at prolonging his absence from the battlefield but after his past assessment he has proven that he is a dedicated soldier and expects the very best from himself.








  • Mark sat in the transport vehicle heading towards the frontlines, his heart was beating with his nervousness and his sweat trickled from his brow in visible droplets. He was on his way to the battlefield, all of his trainers and senior officers spoke of the war's atrocity. Mark didn't want to lose a limb to graviton beam in the engine. He didn't want to die on the first day, hell, he just didn't want to die but the odds were against him and he knew it.


    The young Private rubbed his hands nervously against his thighs and he began thinking of his home. The wire fence that surrounded their browning lawn, the smell of antibacterial chemicals that wafted out of the front door and Buddy barking at the squirrel that kept getting into his kibble. He remembered how he'd walk home from school, not a care in the world, it was his birthday and he was gonna get his first safety helmet. He was gonna be 16 and old enough to join his dad in the mines. Walking through the door he found his mother weeping on the table next to his father. Frowning Mark moved closer to see what was wrong and to his surprise, on the opposite side of the table sat an officer in his army uniform, his face was stern and unemotional.


    It took them all a moment to see that Mark returned. The first to move was the soldier, with quick efficient steps he made his way around the temple but Mark's mother shot from her seat to block the man's path. "For god's sake!!! He's still just a boy, you can't take him from us, he needs us!!!" Mark took a step back, worried something had happened he was just about to turn and walk out the door but he felt his father's hand firmly grip his shoulder. "Sutters never run boy, if it's the last thing you do, don't run." Mark's heart sank, he knew what was coming next, his friends Carlos and Anna were both taken last year but Mark had always believed that he would prove the exception, that he would go to the mines with his father because it was important to the war effort.


    Back in the transport vehicle Mark sighed away his nervousness, leaving his parents had been one of the hardest things for him to do. Not even the grueling regime of Boot Camp could ever beat that feeling. His years as a cadet were hard, no harder than any other sixteen year old's life but he didn't care about any other sixteen year old. The training wasn't the hardest part about Boot Camp, no. The hardest part was the nights, there wasn't anything to keep him from thinking. For the first couple of weeks he and a couple other cadets cried themselves to sleep, eventually though he couldn't spare any tears because his training got harder and he had very little energy left to make tears.


    Graduation day was coming up, all the other guys were amped to get into the fight but Mark didn't feel the same. No, he couldn't graduate yet, he had to as good as he could possibly be, being 'good enough' just didn't cut it for him anymore. Training was hard, so hard in fact that people died during battle exercises, he was there when Carlos was crushed by some dumbass in a training mech, he was there when Anna lost a leg to fallen pylons during a storm exercise. He wasn't gonna end up like Anna, Carlos and countless others, training might be dangerous but Mark knew that war was worse.


    There he was, three years later on his way to his newly assigned Mecha; The Orthos. He had several months to test it out before they shipped it off before him. The door slammed open and Mark took his first step on the battlefield.








  • Mech/Flyer Name: Orthos


    Ensign Call Sign: (I will give you this based on your characters profile. This will usually be one word and used over radio chatter or in Person.)


    Inner I love power puff girls pit Decor: Soft black synthetic fabric lining, an ergonomic design that molds itself to his body shape, the rest of the interior is a mix between dark blue and grey.


 
CHARACTER SHEET:





  • Name: Jonathan Arrows


    Age: 20


    Gender: Male


    Rank: Private -like fresh out of boot camp-


    Height: 177.8cm/ 5'10"


    Weight: 72.57kg/ 160lbs


    Personality Characteristics:


    Optimistic, stubborn, polite, soft spoken, clumsy, somewhat oblivious.





Biography and History





  • Jonathan Arrows was one of the unlucky ones to be left behind while the rest of the ORB escaped the planet. He was still in boot camp when the decision was made and thus graduated to a job of certain death. The war still raged on but it was clear no one left behind was ever getting out alive. The UCE had already majority of Earth in its grasp as well as access to an unimaginable pool of manpower to throw against the slowly decaying ORB military forces on the ground.


    It felt a little disconcerting really, he had known that this wouldn't end well yet he still signed on for the military instead of pursuing some non-military career and possibly get the hell off of Earth. He hadn't exactly thought that this would happen, that his choice in life would lead to this. Still, as his father once told him "It does a man no good to worry about things out of his control." words he had taken to heart at this point in time. There was no way out and he couldn't do anything to change that so might as well find the bright side of things and look at it, share it with the rest, whatever it may be.


    His performance at boot camp wasn't that bad to say the least, still it was a little close to be sent into a manual labor designation of the army. He had made the cut as a pilot and was tasked to pilot a Brute. A heavily armored, slow-moving mech that laughs at whatever the UCE does to it. Literally laughing and shooting is the only thing it is good at. The amount of armor plating on it made maneuverability a problem, the weight itself kept it from ever going fast.


    Still though, the thought that almost directly after graduating, Jonathan was already sent to the frontline aboard the Brute, ready to stand there and laugh at UCE while his allies would help him in mowing their enemy down. The prospect sent shivers down his spine, he could easily die in his first sortie. Despite his sunny outlook on life and the fact that he was piloting one of the tankier mechs, he still couldn't shake the feeling of dread churning in his stomach as he was shipped to the front line.





MECH SHEET:





  • Mech/Flyer Name: DLSB-21521 "Brute"


    Ensign Call Sign:


    Inner I love power puff girls pit Decor: Just the default factory interior design.


 
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CODIE "TANK" EVERETT

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  • Name: Codie "Tank" Everett


    Age: Twenty.


    Gender: Female.


    Rank: Warrant Officer.


    Height: 5'4".


    Weight: 109 lbs.


    Personality Characteristics: Codie is by all means the definition of a "wild card." Due to bouncing from household to adoption center with a multiple list of oddball interests, Codie established her own unique personality that consists of hyperactive, strange ways of speech and hobbies. She lives in the storage of the mechas, in her own little self-built shack, so she can be closer to her "children." She believes whole-heartly that all mechas are her children and often baby talks them, gives them names, and spends the entire day with them. Her off-the-wall personality is accompanied by her dramatic, child-like temper that seems to escalate when damage is to come to her mechas or if one is destroyed. She blames any damage or destruction on the pilots and tends to act very obnoxiously around them after a mecha has been returned to her in extreme situations than when it was released. Codie also has no mind for the war or any knowledge of it really from her utter hate for anything relatively military. She "does what she can for her children," so she says, and leads her short life in a cheerful manner in order to "make her children happy." Codie also hates being called any other nickname than "Tank," because of the horrible nicknames she's received over the years, and she also hates being looked down upon for being short, not military savvy, or a mechanic and she can often become very temperamental or even violent because of this.





Biography and History





  • Unlike with pitiful, little orphan Annie stories, Codie's own parent-lacking story took around the same path of a child without a happy family in the end. In a way, one could say Codie found her own family, but not one normal citizens of this world would deem appropriate to have at Christmas dinner. Little orphan Codie found herself homeless after her mother died and her father, whom she can't even remember the name of, dropped her of at Mrs. Tike's Cradle of Love. Her father was a military man and with the active rise in military hostility, there could be no real balance between serving the country and taking care of a three-year-old crybaby of a child. Codie never knew what her mother died of or what her father's name was, and she never really cared to ask. Growing up, Codie became very bitter towards the military in a country where the main idea was that the soldiers were heros, patriots, and the true wonders of the world. What kind of hero drops their own flesh and blood off at a home where the main goal is to find someone who wants to love you? They obviously weren't suitable for her delicate child needs so anything affiliated with her nameless "hero" of a father just made her gain a sour taste in her mouth.
 



  • Name: Lazarus Wolfridge.


    Age: Twenty-Seven.


    Gender: Male.


    Rank: Chief Warrant Officer 4.


    Height: 6'1"


    Weight: 185lbs.


    Personality Characteristics: Simply put, Lazarus is an incredibly laid-back guy who loves to enjoy himself despite the situation he's in and anyone who didn't know him better would probably say he was a lazy alcoholic.When not working he can be usually found sleeping, eating, working out, or drinking himself into a stupor. However when he's in a cockpit, Lazarus is a master of his craft who takes the utmost care of his ship and will perform his duties to the letter, refusing to take failure as an option.








  • Lazarus wasn't born a military man, in fact he was the farthest you could get. The Wolfridge family was known for money, political and business savvy, and above all else, being immensley wealthy. With the rumor that three generations of Wolfridge's never had to lift a finger in their life, the only connection Lazarus had to the military was his family's long standing support of it. So it was surprise to everyone but him when he decided to join the Marines with the goal of becoming a Flyer Pilot. As a child, Lazarus had a tendency to destroy almost any toy given to him. Cars, planes, hell he even tried to take apart his blocks. However, the planes specifically were always his favorite. Throughout his childhood he saw pictures of mechs and flyers in magazines and television, he read about them in books, and all he ever wanted was to play with one, he was determined to play with one. Of course as he grew older these feeling matured and he found himself attending less fancy parties and more studying his intense passion. He read book upon book, studied blueprint upon blueprint, and adorned his bedroom with accurate models of some of the military's most famous airships. Eventually he grew bored and decided that studying and building models wasn't near enough for him, no he needed to fly. Of course civilian airships were boring and even Wolfridge money couldn't buy him a military grade Flyer, so as soon he was old enough the first thing he did was enlist in the Marines. Boot Camp was a...different experience for him. He obviously didn't have any illusions about military life and he knew full well he wasn't going to be receiving special treatment because of his name but it was astonishing to see how his fellow cadets were so ready to hate and discredit him for something he had no control over. While a lot of them were farmers, miners, and other simple folk happy to work hard to serve ORB, here was this rich snob surely trying to prove himself a tough guy. Of course it made matters worse when it turned out their misconceptions proved to be false. Lazarus had not only trained his mind but his body as well and though training wasn't easy, he excelled over his fellow cadets. Whether it was physical exercise, hand-to-hand combat, or weapons training, Lazarus proved he was not only as good but better than the supposed real men that came from a hard life on a farm. Lazarus graduated at the top of his class and for the next few years he proved to be an excellent and loyal soldiers who didn't put caste or status above teamwork and chain-of-command. Lazarus' skill and determination proved helpful in his dreams and he put in to become an airship pilot as soon as he was able. Being the at the minimum age and rank requirement and with some of the stigma of his name still attached to him, he was almost laughed out of the room but his qualifications were superb and he accepted for training. Just as in boot camp, everyone was shocked to see that Lazarus knew his stuff, hell by that point the only thing he hadn't done with a Flyer was physically fly one. One again he graduated top of his class and was assigned a state of the art airship to provide air support of ORBs ground troops. For the next several years life was good. He was doing what he loved, he got to bomb some UCE idiots, and he was happy but then of course came the Arc. Naturally the Wolfridge were among those boarding the ship propelled by the Arc and despite his commitment and duty the military, his family had arranged for him to join them. He stayed behind. There was no way in hell he was going to go ahead and leave when things got easy for him when he knew full well the new family he'd made didn't have the same chance. In his Flyer he stayed, doing what he did best without complaint.








  • Flyer Name: Ares Mk. I


    Ensign Call Sign: (I will give you this based on your characters profile. This will usually be one word and used over radio chatter or in Person.)


    Pit Decor: A high-tech cockpit programmed to all of Lazarus' preferences and needs. It's adorned by a single, black, leather bucket seat with yellow lining.


 
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Character sheet:





  • Name: Stephen "Blitz" Wolfe


    Age: 36


    Gender: Male


    Rank: Major, (Former Intelligence Agent in the Covert Operations branch.)


    Height: 1.79m


    Weight: 85 Kg.


    Personality Characteristics: For the most part, Stephen is a jovial and somewhat easygoing man, when off duty anyways, even to the point of being considered annoying by his closest acquaintances. He never passes up the chance to butt into serious conversations with some nauseatingly cheesy wisecrack and his idolatrous infatuation with his wife and son is often a cause of great nuisance to those unfortunate enough to be in his way. He is a rather forcefully hospitable person as well, and will force gifts or other items onto people and will never take "no" for an answer to one of his invitation for a drink or a meal together with a comrade.


    Behind this cheerful behaviour however lies a markedly cold, intelligent and brutally efficient soldier, carrying out even the most morally questionable orders with zero hesitation. During his service for the Covert Operations branch, he has committed more atrocities than he cares to admit, and even after the sheer extremes that drove him to leave the position, he still displays the same frightening competence on the battlefield that earned him his reputation amongst the Covert Ops.


    Many have speculated his goofball attitude when off-duty to be a coping mechanism, for the sake of his own sanity and his family, and have also questioned the sincerity of his hospitality. However, Stephen has vehemently denied this on multiple occasions, claiming all of his affections for both comrade and family alike, are genuine.


    Behind





Biography and History








  • Mech/Flyer Name: DGG-525X "Guerriero" or simply "Double G"


    Ensign Call Sign:


    Inner Control Room Decor: The Guerriero's movements, in combat mode, mirror that of the pilot's, in order to maximise it's melee combat potential. When, out of combat, it uitilises standard c0ckpit controls. Stephen has placed several photos of his wife and son over the console and seating area, much to the annoyance of inspectors. A number of pills have been found stashed into hidden areas which, though untested, have been speculated to be anti-depressants. (They are in reality, simple pain killers and sugar pills planted by Stephen on purpose in order to troll inspectors.)


 
POSTED FOR INNEH.





  • Name: Luca Tivoli


    Age: 27


    Gender: Female


    Rank: Lieutenant Colonel


    Height: 177.8 cm/ 5’10”


    Weight: 165 lbs/ 75 kg


    Personality Characteristics: Always one to throw herself headfirst into the firefight and come out a victor, Luca is well known for her brazen attitude and her violent streaks in the battlefield. Woe betide those who think to stand in her way of an enemy. In battle, she is blind to almost everything but her enemies, and will bring down pain upon pain to them with no mercy.


    She is rather quirky outside of combat, choosing, sometimes (don’t get your hopes up, boys), to wander around in nothing but what seems to be a brassiere made of Kevlar and her military boots and trousers. Lord only knows where she got the former. She tends to enjoy making others feel uncomfortable by pointing out obvious sexual innuendos with cheery abandon as well as making fun of others at their expense.


    She has the highest count of “Collateral Damage Incidents” as well as one of the highest “Damage Costs” racked up. She seems to be very proud of it. It seems she only received her rank through honourable service.





Biography and History




  • Dossier: Luca Tivoli


    Full Name    : Luca Tivoli


    Blood Type: A +


    ███████████████████████████████████


    ██████████████████████████████████████████


    ████████████████████████████████


    ███████████████████████████████████████


    █████████████████████████████████████ [information Redacted]


    23rd August ████;1604 hours; Interrogation Room


    Lt. General Jamison    : What’s your name?


    ???: ……


    Major Kilgore: Damn it, we’re not getting anywhere. Jamison, are you sure you know what you’re doing?


    LGJ: With all due respect, Kilgore, I’d appreciate it if you’d just shut up and let me do my work. Let me start from the top again. You may call me Jamison. We know you were brought up to resist all methods of torture, to handle all kinds of pain, even die when it calls for it. You’ve mercilessly slaughtered hundreds of my men without help of your comrades, and displayed peerless close quarters combat. You are a soldier trained by means that are out of this world. We need people like you on this side. We don’t want you to die never living for a good cause.


    ???: ……


    LGJ: It would seem you are not ready to open up just yet. Very well, soldier. If that’s how you want it to be. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.


    -End-


    29th August ████; 1500 hours; Interrogation Room


    LGJ enters room. MK not present.


    LGJ: Hello again, young mysterious lady.


    ???: ……


    LGJ: Look, your suicide attempt last week was uncalled for. Had we not extracted the poison in time, you’d have died. And so young, no less. Ma’am, you simply mustn’t live a life like this. Death awaits all of us, and some of us die in the field, with no one to hear our last goodbyes. Do you have anyone to hear yours?


    ??? gives a pained look and averts her eyes from LGJ


    LGJ: I see you do. It seems like they’re still alive, too. Are they?


    ??? nods


    LGJ: Do you have a sibling? A younger sister, perhaps? A brother?


    ??? hesitates, then nods slightly. LGJ leans back on his chair, folds arms


    LGJ: Let me put this simple and sweet for you, dear. If you cooperate, work with us and deal the cards we give you, we can give you a better life than the squatters. Airconditioning, food, drinks. Money.


    ??? says something too soft to be picked up by microphone


    LGJ: Yes. We will provide for your family as well.


    ??? sighs in relief. Nods to LGJ.


    LGJ: Very well. We’ll get you combat ready tomorrow. You may be younger than almost everyone, bar some, but you are as ready as anyone in this facility. However, for administration purposes, I require a name. I repeat my question from the second time we met. What is your name?


    ???: ….Luca. Luca Tivoli.


    LGJ: Welcome aboard, Ms. Tivoli.


    Biography


    Luca Tivoli was born to █████ Tivoli and his wife ████████. She is the second born, the younger sister to █████ Tivoli, just two years younger than he. The Tivoli family were from the country of ██████████, which was then suffering from a lack of military strength and funding due to the recent wars [see The ██████████ War and Battle of ████████]. The impoverished stature of the country led to paramilitary organisations taking control of the country, and started building up their military strength. Luca was recruited into the ███████ █████, one of the paramilitaries at a young age, and was put into one of the children soldier regiment, where she learned close-quarters combat, long-ranged arms combat, as well as to be desensitized to death and killing. While most of the children bore no favour towards their leaders, the tweaking of the mind worked for Luca Tivoli. It worked almost too well, to be exact.


    When UN forces moved in to repress the threat ██████████ was becoming, they were met with surprising ability and power. The biggest threat identified, however, was a young dark-haired girl that wove around the urban build of the cities, utilising the maze of cement and iron, who singlehandedly sent an entire cohort with an 85% loss in troops [see The ████████ Massacre]. She was credited by the UN as a high level threat at an age of 13, and had the highest confirmed kills among her peers. The UN Forces slowly but gradually retook ██████████ with their might, stamping out the resistance after two years. Amongst the POWs was Luca Tivoli, who was taken into custody and interrogated.


    The Army took her in after a year of imprisonment, and provided her with much more formal training with official military. Not much is known about her military life, except for her being under constant surveillance until the age of 19, where she was scouted out for the Mecha Program. She was one of the test pilots of the Verner F-16. The plane she was in malfunctioned and crashed, causing her to lose blood. She survived the crash and was sent back to military service, whereupon, she was promoted after a successful skirmish against ████████ ████, wiping out the last remnants of resistance in her homeland. She was later brought back again to pilot the Viviandiere-078L, a sub-version of the Viviandiere-077, which was made for long-range combat. The Viviandiere-078L, however, specialized in melee combat. Along with the much flexible controls, the Viviandiere seemed to be ‘where she belonged’, as quoted by the late Lieutenant General Jamison.
    -Note: There’s no expansion or flowery expressions with regards to Luca’s background, because it’s supposed to be concise and not a purple prose. Sorry if it seemed like bad quality.-








  • Mech/Flyer Name: Viviandiere-078L


    Ensign Call Sign: (I will give you this based on your characters profile. This will usually be one word and used over radio chatter or in Person.)


    Inner I love power puff girls pit Decor: A slightly charred pair of lucky dice hangs from the Eject switch. It is said to have been with Luca since her incident with her Verner-F16, and counts as her, and by extension, her mech, lucky charm.


 
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