Donk — Roleplayer Guild

Aurellius Bellum - PE

Aurellius was very saddened at the fact that the Standing Bull's horn had evaporated, leaving him with burning muscles and a ruined pride. Well, his pride wasn't ruined in the slightest, but it was still kind of depressing how his trophy was gone. He had gone so far as to harm his system to get something out of it, but to have said prize just dissipate wasn't what he had aimed for. The muscles in his armed ached a fair bit, he suspected a bit of ripping, but it really didn't matter. The pain always went away. After finishing watching Diamond beat the shit out of a velociraptor, Aurellius stood up from his cross legged seat on the grass like most of the people when the bell rung loudly. With a thumbs up to Diamond as he left, he sighed as he rounded a corner. Aurellius had noticed the few looks given to him when he surprised them with his semblance. He could've easily killed the bull with a stream of lead, but of course, he had to take it the theatrical way. Not that he didn't like that way, it was certainly a better way than nothing, but man did his arms hurt. It took Aurellius around five minutes to get changed in preparation for Physical Education. He settled for a light blue on grey jogging suit, stowing away Ascalon on his way there. The clothing of course was made of very fine material. On arrival to PE, he noticed Diamond had gotten there first, along with a few he only slightly recognized. Not hiding his lucrative stares at the womanfolk, he spoke up. "Top of the morning to you ladies and gents. I hadn't thought PE would be Co-Ed, but who am I to complain about the show?"

Wes Shanks is your average marine and more. Chewed up by the gears of Basic and shat out into Grade A Soldier. Like a lot of soldiers, most of his time is spent either pumping iron or taking up a rifle in the shooting range. Guess which one he prefers. Bald head, you can blame the injections received in basic for that, some kind of side effect. He's of European decent, but has traces of Mexican in him. Also a tall bastard, standing at 6'3" and weighing around 240 lbs of muscle. That's not to say he's a stupid brute, he passed the exams, didn't he? Name: Shanks, Wes. Age: Thirty-two. Gender: XY Chromosomes. Callsign/Codename:Nickname/Alias: Brick. Kills: Twenty-three and a half. Don't ask about the half. It was pretty damn messy. Psychological Analysis: Borderline insane, but then again, you have to be a little insane to decide to pilot giant death mechas that fire bullets larger than your entire body. Years of infantry combat has led to him being very desensitized to combat in all its forms. Infantry is lying in the muck getting shot at, MAS combat is just hoping the bucket of rust you're sitting in doesn't explode, and space combat is sitting on your ass while the only hint of fighting is the reverberations of explosions throughout the ship. So he's a little insensitive when it comes to things. Curses like a sailor, farts like one too. Despises the brass and their suicide missions, despises the LT's and their prissy attitude, and despises a lot of other soldiers for being pussies. Still, he's not a complete asshole. He's got a fair bit of friendliness in him. Join him for a few rounds of drinks and you'll get to know him better. Oh, and don't let him drink too much or he'll have to get a new liver. Flash cloning is damn expensive and the UEE barely pays for that. Military Record: Wes Shanks came into this world, oh, around thirty two years ago on the planet of Mars. Born and raised by an equally assholish dad, the two got along fairly well surprisingly. Mother ran out, likely because she was a whore, but at least dear old Dad didn't toss Wes out into the dumpster. Father happened to have a decent job as an amateur Boxer. The man never got past amateur status, but that didn't stop him from raising Wes as best he could. At around eighteen, Wes decided to take up the same job as his papa, going into amateur boxing like a lightning bolt. Probably one of the best amateur sluggers on the Eden continent. Making up for his lack of dexterity and finesse by just punching the shit out of stuff, and in return, taking hits like a champ, he made it pretty well, almost making it past his dad and getting into a professional stint Earth side. Until someone died. Oddly enough, Wes didn't feel much about it. The kid he fought was an skinny out-fighter, and an annoying one at that. Wes had feigned a hit and the kid went for it, not noticing the full powered slug heading straight for his skull. Wes broke his hand. The kid broke his brain. The kid went into a coma and died five minutes later, all of his pink brain juice leaking out of a fracture in his skull. Just like that, Wes' career was basically over. The UEE gave him a choice. Either go into a trial for manslaughter or join the military. Let's just say things went well for Wes. He fought in multiple engagements, most noticeably the invasion of Terra-Firma when Wes mounted an abandoned tank by himself and fended off a swarm of rebel fighters while his squad retreated. Wes had barely passed the tests for driving a tank (couldn't get over the face that there was eight pedals, but only four directions) but somehow managed to get the thing to act as a shield for a wave of arms fire and blowing a bunch of them sky high with the gun. They decided to give him a fancy dancy metal which he never shows off, and a chance to mount up for some MAS combat. He passed the tests (some might think he cheated but he'll punch them in the face) and got to work in more fighting. His current MAS is somewhat of a custom job he's been working on. As for his experience in the 7th Team, Wes has only recently joined. Maybe about half a year has he been on board, if not a little less. Equipment: A gun. A semi-automatic handgun kept loaded at all times. Oh, and a stash of junk food kept hidden behind a panel. You wouldn't believe how quick rations get old. A tool kit in the back, with plasma welders and pneumatic wrenches to repair bits and bobbles of his MAS when topside.

Nicknamed 'Disposal' from the old bulky 20th century bomb disposal suits, Wes enjoys his machine very well. Standing at /51/ feet, the machine is classified as a heavy MAS. It features a bipedal design with a focus on core protection, with the majory of its heavy plating on its center of mass. Doesn't have a head, which has proved slightly more effective against assholes who only go for headshots. The MAS has only recently been claimed by Wes, but it still sports battle scars and explosive residue from the few battles Wes has used it in. Designation: B15-7 Mk.II - P - 'Disposal' Role: General head to head combat, with a focus on tanking enemy fire and posing a distraction. Chassis: Heavy. Weapons Guy. Engine: Hexa-Core Power Systems. That's six cores. Operating Time: Ten hours of energy. Description: Disposal focuses less on sheer firepower and more on being able to jump into combat and fight. With less bulkiness and more overall flexibility, the MAS can manage to keep up with medium level mechs and stay on their playing field of maneuverability. This all comes at a cost of less armor overall and less guns. Think of it as sort of a mix between a heavy and a medium MAS. The problem with said prototype is its sheer lack of offensive capabilities when compared to a Heavy. Disposal only sports a main gun and a set of missiles to launch. It makes up for this in the fact that it can punch shit really well, sporting a pneumatic punching system of sorts on the left arm. Equipped with a Tesla Drive, the MAS can even fly. Systems: Heavy Alloy Plating - 7 WT 0 PWR. Shield Class Four - 5 WT 10 PWR. -~- Heavy P43e GAW - Ballistic 5 WT 2 PWR. An enhanced ballistic weapon, sticking to the design of 'more bullets = awesome'. Capable of up to 1500 rounds per minute, the gatling gun fires a massive caliber of bullets that fill the air with lead. Literally. Fires 30mm ammunition with a four hundred round clip and holds around 1500 rounds in total. ERB Shoulder Mounted Surface to Surface Missile Launcher - 3 WT 2 PWR. A shoulder mounted dumbfire rocket system capable of holding a set of twelve rockets, reloading after three shots. The payload on those babies is pretty high, too. Reloaded through mechanisms in the shoulder, the rockets are typically fired at enemy MAS ERB Top Mounted Surface to Air Missile Launcher - 1 WT 1 PWER. While less powerful than the shoulder mounted missile launcher, the surface to air missiles have locking targeting procedures so you can take out those pesky fliers. Usually one or two can take out a Light MAS if you get a lucky shot in, and it only holds four rockets in total. MAS High Power Pneumatic Driven Fist - 5 WT. Powered by literal tons of pressure, the fists are made up of a reinforced system that uses intense amounts of pressure that can smash other MAS To bits. While his left hand is free and open to punch shit, his right is encased by the GAW. It comes at the disadvantage of tossing away the GAW to be able to punch twice the shit, and also requires that Wes or a squadmate grab the weapon if they wish to reattach it back on board the ship. -~- Tesla Drive - 7 PWR. Improved Dexterity System - 4 WT 3 PWR. Being a prototype, Disposal has its hands on a rather intricate system designed for the next level of MAS. Cutting back on the firepower and using more power has allowed the Heavy chassis to be feasible in melee combat. While certainly not as fast as a light MAS, it can hold its ground while other heavy mechs simply lumber around and soak up the damage.

Well, there's my sheets. Hope you like them, and tell me if I badgered anything up. I've sort of added a bit of custom to the mech, but I hope I haven't gone too far with it.

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What a load of Donk.

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