| NAME: |Simone Alcarez
| ALIAS: |Pistolera
| SKILLS: |
- Expert Markswoman; Pistolera claims to be able to castrate a gnat from fifty yards with a handgun. No one has challenged her on that yet. Even without a gun she's lethal, being able to throw projectiles with deadly accuracy.
- Military-like training; While too young to have been in any armed forces herself, it's very evident that Pistolera has had similar training. She displays expert hand-to-hand combat skills, a superlative understanding of small unit tactics, and a grudging respect for the chain of command.
- Peak Human Conditioning; Pistolera is in excellent physical condition, particularly her agility, stamina and reflexes. She shows an amazing level of flexibility.
| EQUIPMENT: |
- Tactical Body Armour; It isn't formfitting and it doesn't show off her tits. It's body armour, it's supposed to stop bullets, and that it does. Very well.
- Visor; A device used to ensure she never misses her target. This visor has night vision, infrared binoculars, and thermal anemometer, and provides real-time telemetry on environmental conditions. This data helps guarantee that its wearer's attacks hit their mark.
- Guns, Explosives and Knives; Simple, really. She usually outfits herself before a mission, depending on what she thinks she'll need. Typically carries twin pistols.
| LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES: |
- Human; No sturdier than an average human, Pistolera must trust to her armour to weather her blows. Or better yet, just not get hit. Regardless, a bullet, knife, or just a bad fall could spell an end for her.
- Proud; Doesn't like asking for help.
- Ranged Fighter; While no slouch in close combat, Pistolera prefers to fight from range. Don't expect to see her rushing into the middle of fights.
- Smoker; Pistolera is a smoker. While she hasn't been at it for long, she's under no allusions as to the damage she's doing to her body internally. She just doesn't care all that much.
- Lactose Intolerant; Exactly what it says on the tin. She loves ice cream, just can't eat the dairy kind. This causes no end of pain for her.
| SAMPLE POST: |Drug dealers are a real mixed bag. They run a real gamut between socially balanced, happy go lucky, small business like guys, just wanting to make a (dis)honest buck while bringing smiles to their customers faces, all the way to crazed nut cases, shilling out poisons and uncaring as to who gets hurt in the process, as long as they get their money. Personally I've had some good times with the former, and some good times at the expense of the latter.
The one I'm approaching now, a toned, lightly bearded young-ish guy wearing a leather jacket over a dark hoody, falls somewhere in the center between those two extremes. Not exactly well-meaning, but not intentionally malicious. At the end of the day he's just a guy, like any other, a man of grey morals in a grayer world, doing what he can. Usually I'd ignore him, let him live his life and go on with his business while I go on with mine. Unfortunately he's recently started selling his drugs to kids, and that I will not allow.
It's not that I have a crusade out against those that sell to kids, far from it. This isn't personal, I never had a little brother or sister who overdosed, and now I take it out on the dealers, nothing like that. I just think kids are too young and stupid to make their own informed decisions. Adults should respect that. The dealer that get's propositioned by them should tell them to fuck off and come back when they're sixteen. Simple.
"Johnny Crystal?" I say to the dealer. Called Crystal cause that's what he sells. Not the most imaginative, but then I shoot people and call myself Pistolera, so I'm hardly in a position to criticize.
"Yeah." He responds, cagey. He doesn't know me, and he's suspicious. I don't look like a cop though, not in skinny jeans and a loose white vest top. I look like a potential customer.
"You sell your product to a couple kids recently?" I ask. My tone's still conversational, like I could be talking about the inclement weather we've been having lately. Johnny's confused by that, but I can tell he doesn't like the turn our conversation has taken. His hand slips into his jacket. I already identified the knife. He'd never get a chance to use it, even if I didn't know it was there.
"What're you, a cop or something?" Suspicious, eyes darting across my figure, the street behind me, his free hand going twitchy.
"Do I look like a cop?" I joke, standing at ease. His eyes dart across me again, and he begins to relax. Like I said, I look like a customer. Then his eyes track me again, slower this time, lingering on my breasts. His tongue darts between his lips. Hell, maybe I don't look like a customer. Maybe I look like I'm trying to make him a customer! This isn't the nicest alley in town, after all. Urgh, gross.
This conversation is over.
"After all, cops have procedures and rules. I just have bullets." Before he has time to work that one out I palm my pistol, hidden in the waist band of my jeans, and shoot Johnny in the knee cap. He falls to the ground, the pain too intense for him to even scream right now. That will come soon enough though.
Shooting him might be a bit drastic, you might think. Is it though? If I had my way I would have shot him in the head, problem solved. Can't have things my way though, not right now. I'm trying to get the attention of a group of people that frown down upon that sort of thing.
So I just have to make do with hurting the scumbags, a lot, and hoping that a jail sentence and never being able to walk again will turn them off from a life of crime.
At the end of the day I'm just a girl of grey morals in a grey world, doing what I can.
| NOTES: |-Very reserved socially around her teammates, as if she is hesitant to make connections to them.
-Has several tattoos.
-Has a Starling City accent.
-Dry, almost black sense of humor.
-Usually has a pack of Marlboro red cigarettes and a lighter on her.
Member
Roman
