Appearance: Hunter had long brown hair that he ties back in a bun, tanned, dirty skin. He has muscular build, one green eye, one cybernetic green eye, and cybernetic forearms. He wears leather bomber jacket with many pockets and black pants with chaps. In addition to that he wears goggles Personality: Hunter is an extrovert,optimistic, enthusiastic, curious, and energetic. He works well with people and is very charismatic.
History:Hunter grew up in the slums with his brothers, who practically raised him after the death of his parents. The three boys survived on the streets by selling scrap. Hunter started to fashion makeshift, old world weapons out of scrap at the age of 10 and sold them for meager profit. After he learned this skill his brothers brought him the scrap so he could fashion it into weapons to sell. He provided for them into their adulthood and up until his brother’s murders.When his brothers were murdered he lost his arms and eye, but he used the money he had earned to buy augmentations. After that he joined a sect of blackmarket weapons dealers.
Occupation: Blackmarket Weapons Creator and Dealer
Augmentations: Augmented scrap identifying eye he designed and both custom cybernetic forearms
Skills: Identifying scrap and weapon creation
Equipment: a plethora of handmade weapons
Other: Saggitarius
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Joined: Thu Jan 15, 2015 3:12 am Posts: 118
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The Merc
Name: Robert "Bob" Cochrain
Age: 43 Gender: Male
Appearance: Bob is a brick of a man, standing at full height a bit over five and a half feet tall and weighing in at two hundred and twenty five pounds of sinewy muscle. Not bulky, but certainly looking fit enough that most know better than to muck about with him, even without any obvious mechanical augmentation. His darker-on-roots brown hair is patched with grey, even though he would say he's in the prime of his life. His thick beard is never quite trimmed, though he keeps it short enough to not be annoying. Facial features calling to mind words like "craggy", "caveman", and "stone" mean that he was never going to win any beauty contests, and grim scars from past fights further accentuate that. In particular, one traverses between his eyes, down his cheek, and terminates in his right upper lip, which gives him a permanent snarl. His hands are likewise scarred, and in addition the knuckles are covered by plates buried just under the skin, lumpy and menacing looking.
Bob tends to wear utilitarian clothes, things that won't break apart after a few fist fights or one measly explosion, so he favours old-style denim and canvas, generally oil-stained and patched. "Biker" would be a fine old world term for his style, if anything was. He even has tattoos to match, though sharp-eyed observers will note that his are specifically from the Old Ironsides 1st Battalion of the US Army and the NYPD Brooklyn SWAT. When not paying attention to his face, it droops into a scowl.
Personality: Cochrain does not try to act as tough as he looks. In all reality, when at home, he is soft as a kitten. He likes laughing, and silly dances, and the occasional cold beer, though he never overdoes it. He owns a puppy he loves and is basically a tiny teddy-bear made of beef jerky. He prank calls his friends like a teenager, and falls into crushes on girls at the drop of the hat, a serious flirt even if he knows he doesn't stand a chance, because he likes making people laugh.
He does, however, have a business side, owing to what could be called an "on demand" disassociative disorder. When working, he makes no small talk, and in fact barely says a word, communicating mostly through hand signals, body language, and grunts, furthering his appearance as a Neanderthal throw-back. On the job, he is cold, calculating, and utterly without mercy, though he still holds to the Articles of War and will not attack or threaten civilians.
History: Bob joined up at sixteen, falsifying his age so he could serve early to get the hell out of an over-crowded and under-fed lower class family. He was quick-witted and intelligent, and showed an aptitude with mechanised armour, so he was assigned to a SHELL TRX5700 "T-Rex" suit in the 1st Battalion. He served with distinction in Mexico and Israel, various military actions, and even spent a few months backing up a Spec Ops unit in Thailand, where he got a feel for being on his own instead of with a unit. He wound up serving three tours, and probably would have gone career if the Army bureaucracy hadn't finally caught up with him and he was brought up on charges for falsifying his enlistment information. The court took into account his two Purple Hearts and exemplary service record, deciding to be lenient and give him a compulsory honourable discharge.
Not knowing what else to do with himself, he moved back to New York, but within a few weeks could not stand his mother's crowded house, crawling with his nieces and nephews and some out of work siblings, and decided to try out with the CCIB. Despite his qualifications, he was denied a spot with them, but they referred him to SWAT, who took him in readily. After training in urban tactics and martial arts, along with small arms and the usual law enforcement training, Robert found himself working on taking down the lawless of New York. For a few years, he was moderately happy, and even began seeing a therapist for his past battle trauma built up over his service years. All of that ended on night when his team was sent into a drug bust turned bad. As usual, he did well, taking out several suspects before they could kill the hostages. But he recognised one of his own brothers amongst the dead, one he himself had killed. Flashes of what his life could have been like filled his nightmares for another few months before he finally quit the force.
Unfortunately, Robert only really knew one thing, and he had burned the two occupations that really let him legally practise his craft, so, like lots of Americans before him, he went into business for himself. He bought a back-alley garage and storage unit, made a few contacts on the black market, and bought himself his very own T-Rex. For the past five years, he has done whatever jobs he can find, as most of his savings went into starting up. He fights for and against gangs, sometimes unofficially backs up the PD, and generally wreaks havoc in lower NYC. He does, however, carefully maintain that he is for hire, and not permanently affiliated with any group. Most gangs members now avoid his block, as well, as he has a habit of defending it against anyone who would try and harm his neighbours, who for their part are more than happy to keep his exact location a secret in exchange for the protection.
Occupation: Former Army Master Sergeant; Mech pilot for hire
Augmentations: Shogo Industries maintenance nanites, knuckle plates and bone reinforcement
Skills: Qualified top-of-class with most military mechs in service during time in the military, and with several PD models. Slightly above-average marksman with standard police issue small arms and well-versed in non-lethal hand-to-hand combat and disarming techniques. Expert in urban and rural tactics utilising both foot and vehicle troops. Capable of training others in basic combat.
Also good at darts, poker, and the "Sergeant Voice".
Equipment: SHELL TRX 5700 "T-Rex" Mechanised Armour, black market custom model, with: -Two linked 7.65 mm accelerated machineguns -One PHSR non-lethal microwave ray -One M-245 40mm 20 round grenade launcher --Stands at eight feet tall, weighs well over half a ton --Carbon-fibre, titanium alloy reinforced armour plating in multiple ablative layers. --Prone to leg joint lockup. --(Looks a lot like the thing from Robo-Cop, but piloted.) --External camera, search lights, IR and UV capabilites, tactical HUD, air filtration system.
SHELL RPTR-97 "Raptor" Light-Duty Mechanised Armour, black market custom model, with: -One 5.56 accelerated 5.56 mm assault gun -One high velocity Taser at 95,000 volts --Basically an armoured suit more than a mech.
Several combat vest for extra-vehicular combat.
Other: Allergic to peanuts and cats. The puppy is a mutt he found on the street and named Puddles, both because it's cute and because he has a habit of creating them.
The Cat
Name: Admiral Mittens
Age: 3 Gender: Female
Appearance: Mittens could've easily been a very pretty little grey tabby, long of limb and a Siamese face. However, fully three quarters of her head are taken up by augmentations, including one eye, leaving only one clear blue on the left side. Both ears are gone, as are all four limbs. In fact, a run of flesh down from the left eye to the same shoulder, then from the fourth rib on that side and along the flank, up over that hip, and the bottom half of the tail are all that's really left on the surface. Everything else is metal plate, electronics, a small maintenance panel on the belly, and a goofy little swivel dish where the right ear should be. On the plus side in Mittens' opinion, barely any fleas and the crazy bastard gave her thumbs.
Personality: Mittens despises humans. But more of a deep-seated disgust than active anger, though she would like to kill any teenage boys she runs across. Sadistic and intelligent, but with a control over her instincts, Mittens fights to find recognition in a world that regularly paints her as an amusing oddity rather than a sentient being. Her resentment and identity crisis resulting from her creation have fueled her to begin learning how to invent more parts for herself, and perhaps even free cats "from the bonds of servitude we have placed on ourselves." If one had to boil the "Admiral" down to one word, that word would be "mad-as-a-cat-in-a-bag."
History: Mittens was once a happy kitten in a one child home in Lower NYC. Tragically for the feline, the one child was both a genius with augmentation theory and an utter psychopath. After "losing" the cat and getting his hands on the materials necessary, he created the new Mittens almost from scratch, using knock-off parts and barely keeping the cat alive, which was more a thought exercise to him rather than care for the creature. Almost by accident, upon waking Mittens found that she had gained intelligence, self-awareness, and more importantly, recognition of situations. Thus, she made her bid for escape as soon as she was given the opportunity. Since then she has simply been looking for somewhere to belong, surviving off of everything she can find, especially given her new caloric needs.
Through this she has learned many skills, and been given to fits of madness where she gives thanks to her creator, whose name and location she curses herself for not learning. She has learned, for example, that concealed in her right front paw in a computer interfacing device that seems to be fairly universal. She has taught herself a few basic hacks at this point, enough to get her inside otherwise secure kitchen which she then raids for food.
Occupation: Queen of all Felines, Bane of Small Scurrying Things, Enemy of the State #837,564,276
Augmentations: -Mechanised limbs geared for strength more than agility, though she seems to be as agile as any biological feline, tipped with micro-edged retractable claws and, most importantly, opposable thumbs. -10,000 volt taser in her tail tip -Bio-sensing radar, and increased olfactory and auditory pickup -IR and up to 15x zoom in her right eye, with video/audio recording capabilities -Computer jack -Almost complete organ replacement, though the digestive tract remains for caloric intake, which the psycho couldn't figure out how to replace. -Lithium-ion battery capable of running all systems for up to 3 hours in case of emergencies. -Wi-Fi connectivity and Bluetooth, though she has no idea how to work this yet. Remote control is not enabled. -Low Profile Ligurdsson Stealth System. Capable of basic light-bending and full invisibility to recording systems and electronics. Runs for about two hours before needing an eight-hour recharge. -Sony Voice Modulator, making her fully capable of speech.
Skills: Very basic hacking. Expert hunter, and moderately talented at spy-work(if trained). Excels at stealth. Very broken English.
Equipment: Nothing except her augs.
Other: Finds canned tuna repulsive, but enjoys the real thing.
OK so at this point my character is pretty much nothing but augmentation might be better if I just say he's a cyborg of course this is a exaggerated statement
Alright, if nobody has any objections, I'll start up the IC thread sometime this weekend. No rush to anyone not quite done yet, of course, but it'll be there for us. Anyone who might need help with their characters, feel free to send me a PM.
If I don't get my post in by this coming Thursday I pretty much won't have a chance but for a slim possibility early August and then until the 14th I'll be gone again. So if I don't get something up by then, feel free to skip me and I'll jump in when I can c:
characters are up! mostly the same as last time, except for rewritten appearances on both and rewritten personality on Lance. Content is basically the same though, just less... bad. I think.
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