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[color=2E2C2C][sup]_______________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center][hider=Personal Data][indent][sub][b]D A T A[/b][/SUB]

[sup][COLOR=SILVER]
[b]Full Name[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Louis E. Turkadopoulos[/COLOR]
[b]Callsign[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Blue Flamingo[/COLOR]
[B]Age[/B][COLOR=#807B84] - 33 (b. 2645)[/COLOR]
[B]Birthplace[/B][COLOR=#807B84] - Spartacus, Mississippi Wastes[/COLOR]
[b]Pilot Type[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Vanguard[/COLOR]
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[color=#2e2c2c]-[/color][/indent][/hider]
[hider=Psyche Analysis][indent][SUB][b]P S Y C H E[/b][/sub]

[sup][COLOR=SILVER][b]Bold[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]If you need something done, why not have the guy most ready to crack some heads do it? This is Louis Turk in a nutshell and has been since… forever, really. He’s the first to act even if the plan doesn’t make a lot of sense. As far as Turk is concerned, plans are boring and surviving in the wastes in a NC is all about luck and timing.
[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Irreverent[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Turk doesn’t care who you are or what the “mood” of the room is. Reading the room? That’s not his style. He’ll say what’s on his mind whether it is a good idea or not. His inclination toward being entirely apathetic toward people’s personal space, privacy, and preferences doesn’t really matter to him. Life’s too short to bottle anything up.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Playful[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]An extension to Turk’s irreverence is his playfulness. He’s loud, jovial, and fun-loving pretty much 24/7. A good slap on the back, a maniacal laugh after a bad joke, the scruff of a shorter pilot’s hair–it’s all essentially there. Given Turk’s feelings about boundaries and acting out, it's no surprise that his “life of the party” mindset is rather chaotic. The border between uplifting and downright annoying is pretty much in the man’s DNA, after all.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
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[hider=Gear][indent][SUB][b]G E A R[/b][/sub]

[sup][COLOR=SILVER][b]Big Sister[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Big Sister is a [color=3D61FF]four cylinder revolver[/color] that relies on rotating four thermal batteries to produce a constant barrage of thermal energy blasts from its barrel. Once the heat overloads the mechanism it ventilates the batteries to cool them allowing the user to fire reliably at incoming threats. The thermal revolver was originally developed by a small arms distributor in the southwest to replicate the aesthetics of the ancient world while being more viable in the firefights of the new world.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Sarah’s Necklace[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]A necklace of personal significance. The name ‘Sarah’ sits across an old piece of metal.[/COLOR][/COLOR][/SUP][/indent][/hider]
[hider=Neural Combatant][indent][SUB][b]N E U R A L   C O M B A T A N T[/b][/sub]

[sup][COLOR=SILVER][b]Armor[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]The Blue Flamingo is equipped with [color=3D61FF]tungsten-steel alloy[/color] fabricated by industrial factories owned by the Blackstone Corporation allowing a decent degree of protection in close quarters combat while not sacrificing too much weight capacity. The hulking, junk-like combatants of independent mercenaries never really suited Turk. In his mind–if it doesn’t look good, you don’t [i]feel[/i] good, after all. This light-to-moderate armor is accompanied by streaks of blue in the pattern of a flock of birds, a symbol of a long forgotten team.

He’s never forgotten them.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Hands[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Within the hands of the Blue Flamingo sits a [color=3D61FF]heavy ballistic rifle[/color] that Turk has been running with for as long as he can remember. The Volkov logo is faded on the rifle, hinting at its Russian origins. Turk’s become fond of the rifle due to its low cost of maintenance. Where Blackstone and Lone Star-made ballistic rifles might be better in precision, velocity, or sheer ammo capacity, Volkov rifles last longer and with little needed maintenance. If a rainstorm hits Turk in the middle of NC combat the gun isn’t going to jam; and given how dirty Turk likes to play, it suits him perfectly.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Back[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]The most aggressive birds roam the skies.

Upon the back lies an older model of [color=3D61FF]anti-gravity propulsion device[/color] that allows Turk to fly into the skies, though unlike newer models the sustainability and power of these thrusters is short. This forces Turk to use such mobility he has at its disposal in bursts. With a perfect synchronization the thrusters rattle dangerously, but he can almost reach the skies and for a much longer duration–but its still an old model so such attempts at aerial combat is not advised.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Left Auxiliary[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Stationed on the Blue Flamingo’s left shoulder is a Paragon-made [color=3D61FF]shield generator[/color] that creates a light ion field to stop ballistic weapons from piercing the armor. For the past few years the generator has been at the end of its life cycle (on account of it being old), so it doesn’t work as efficiently as it used to. But it works sometimes.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Right Auxiliary[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Turk tends to run out of ammo often, to amend this he installed a Lone Star Technologies [color=3D61FF]ammunition cache[/color] that holds a few spare clips (or batteries) in a titanium bin.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
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[hider=Relations][indent][SUB][b]R E L A T I O N S[/b][/sub]

[sup][COLOR=SILVER][b]Kelsi Martinez[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Not friends, but Kelsi is a young job broker that helps roaming NC pilots find work. She pointed him in the direction of Last Hope.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Donovan Thatcher[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Formerly known as [i]the Demon of Fairbanks[/i], Donny is a NC Pilot who has sworn to find the man who killed his brother. The pilot of the Blue Flamingo. If it is his dying breath, he has sworn that Hades will bring down the Blue Flamingo for good.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Z.Z. Folkes[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]An arms dealer who specializes in NC weaponry and munitions. Works out of a settlement near the Las Vegas Megacity Zone. He owes Turk one favor.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
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[/cell][cell][b]Physical Details [color=WHITE]◢[/color][/b]
[color=#807B84][indent]Turk is muscular, but lean. He stands at approximately six feet tall geared up in whatever he slept in the previous night out. His attire is of the light synthweave variety with much of the fabric in disrepair, barely held together by scrap patchwork and stitching. Often fitted with a visor, he also carries various mementos, the one most obvious being that of a locket bearing his former lover’s name: Sarah. 
[/indent][/color]
[b]Background Information [color=WHITE]◢[/color][/b]
[color=#807B84][indent]Louis Turk was born around the remains of an old war industrial munitions and hardframe development factory named ‘Spartacus’. 

The waster settlement that developed from the bones of the factory was wild and dangerous; the Mississippi Delta had risen in the centuries since World War 3 and the fauna had evolved to suit the new environment. Being that the big centralized burrow-born megacity zones were miles-upon-miles away in Atlanta and Houston it left Spartacus to fend for themselves.

Turk was pretty good about standing on his own from a young age. His father taught him how to shoot a gun and make a living. His mother, Lucinda, was a woman he would only hear stories of as he grew up on the outskirts of the Spartacus community. His father was not shy about telling stories about the love of his life, often entertaining a young Turk with the exploits of his late mother. It would leave an impression: live while you can, because the reaper is always lurking in the shadows. His father, unsurprisingly, was not long for the world either. He died when Turk was eleven years old. 

Thrown into the wind, Turk took up a job working for one of the big scavenging clans. It would be a place he would stay for a handful of years until his violent, chaotic nature started causing problems. Big problems. The clan leaders couldn’t abide by his behavior. Turk didn’t think much of it; it wasn’t much of a family and he wasn’t exactly too interested in sprawling through old ruins for the rest of his life, either. He was restless. He liked fighting and racing. Alcohol only made his natural instincts worse. He was kicked out of every settlement from Spartacus to Dead Springs until he eventually found fate smiling down upon him.

After getting into a fight with fifteen men in a settlement in the north he ended up in their local clinic. The doctor-in-charge told him that his brainwaves were particularly unique, so unique they matched the synchronization profile of the neural net–the strange cyberspace that linked Neural Combatants together. Eventually he became a pilot, though he didn’t stick to piloting it for anybody in particular for very long. That is, until he was found by two brothers: [color=3D61FF]Anderson[/color] and [color=3D61FF]J.T. Keats[/color]. The two of them would bring him into their crew. And that is how Turk found the [color=3D61FF]Birds of Prey.[/color]

[hider=Log Date 02.03.2668][color=39FF14]...they’ve come through again.

Destroyed three NC patrols sent by Blackstone. Two by Fairbanks. Who are these guys? Footage can’t get a good read. Neuronet signals say there’s five of them.[/color][/hider]
The Birds of Prey were a gang. A roaming gang of maniacs from all over the midwestern and southern wastes of North America. 

They were not mercenaries or indebted contractors. They didn’t take on jobs for the credits or the NC parts or the free food. They took it on because they found the idea of piloting [i]fun[/i]. Not just the piloting, either; they enjoyed the pointless death and carnage. They didn’t care who stood in their way. If a settlement got an attitude with them overstaying their welcome after doing a job they’d remind them who exactly they were. They were not afraid of Denver or Fairbanks or Blackstone or Lone Star or anybody. The more people to shoot the better.

And they certainly had no shortage of options.

[hider=Log Date 02.26.2668][color=39FF14]Got a name. The Birds of Prey.

Bunch of goddamn mercs. Dunno if I can call them mercs, though. I don't think [u]anybody[/u] is paying them. Might be raider vagabond types... but raiders? This organized and skilled as combatants? What a nightmare.[/color][/hider]
[hider=Log Date 02.27.2668][color=39FF14]Three men. Two women. Was making a low profile... and yeah, they are a problem. One of them got into a fight with a local and the town couldn't even find a body to bury. They all laughed.[/color][/hider]
Turk liked it with the Birds. He didn’t exactly know it at the time, but he had found a place where everything made sense. 

Anderson and J.T. treated him like a younger brother. [color=3D61FF]Mandi[/color], like a best friend. And well, [color=3D61FF]Sarah[/color]… him and Sarah just fit. The five of them were a scourge unlike the midwest had experienced from lawless bands. Sure, there were similar groups like Dusty’s Devils and The Seven Skulls, but they were never in tune like the Birds of Prey were. However, being the most notorious and skilled band of maniacs on the east side of the Mississippi eventually had people looking to destroy them.

[hider=Log Date 12.25.2674][color=39FF14]Blackstone and Fairbanks have agreed to a ceasefire. Corporate says we'll be working together to take down the biggest pain in our ass in the last few years: the Birds of Prey.

They won't see it coming. Merry fucking Christmas to me.[/color][/hider]
The Birds of Prey were hard pressed to change their ways, but even the best have their last stand. On the eve of their tenth year as a five-man gang, the group had camped out in Seclusion, a settlement in the remains of what used to be a military base in Kentucky. The occupants, including Turk’s twin daughters, would be casualties of what would be regarded as the “one day war”. Even with support from three other independent NC pilots, Turk’s comrades-in-arms would all fall from the combined weight of the Blackstone-Fairbanks NC battalions. The settlement was wiped from the map. 

Turk survived. He grieved. He went on a warpath and hunted down as many NC pilots he could that were members of the joint task force that took everything from him. As Turk's Polaris Shift worsened and NCs were turned into burning heaps of scrap, he began to feel empty. As the years faded, recognizing his crusade wasn't bringing him any closure or peace he traveled west.

For some reason he refused to die. 

Eventually, a settlement on the other side of the continent sought help from any NC pilots who could help. And so he traveled into the Sea of Thieves and to Lost Hope.       
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[b]Polaris Shift [color=WHITE]◢[/color][/b]
[color=#807B84][indent]He hears voices. :)
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[b]Personal Mission [color=WHITE]◢[/color][/b]
[color=#807B84][indent]Turk never got over the loss he experienced in Seclusion, but he’s not [i]defined[/i] by it either. The inner being of Turk is screaming out for a new purpose, a new clan, a new band of brothers. Despite his history as a raider, he has certain moral hesitations and lessons to offer people. One of his goals is to stop anybody from suffering and to not make the same mistakes he made. Ultimately, his personal mission is peace. Perhaps his last ride is around the corner…
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