Glad to have you around Henry, one of the better Iron Fist’s I’ve read. Shame we cannot have both you and Dblade writing the same character. Haha.
Gowi
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STEIN
HANGARS, NEW ANCHORAGEAFTERNOON
While the conversation with Agatha was a pleasant surprise, Stein’s attention had shot back to Graham’s ultimatum— the tests and standards for which the NC pilots would be expected to live up to; expectations that felt more than familiar to the blonde-haired pilot. Unlike some of her peers who may have been panicking at the moment, Stein lacked the same internal emotions. Stein felt that at the very least that Graham was correct in that pilots would be expected to have their physique and mentality reviewed before going out in the field— there were mental and physical dangers elsewise.
As for the generic piece of junk that was called a NC that laid in front of her that Graham described as the final test for his new rules applicable to the pilots?
Thirty days? Tch. That’s not even a challenge.
Her hands rose to the collar of her jacket as she looked over the NC. By her estimates it was around seven meters tall1, which was under-sized for a medium class NC when it came to the development of the technology considering the average medium class NC of the modern age was around ten to fifteen meters. The NC was probably around two centuries old if she had to make an estimated guess based on its condition, design, and the faded patchwork logo that read what Stein could make out as the DSS Corporation2.
Another dead and gone independent corporation. I've never even heard of it.
Stein’s synthweave jacket fell to the floor with a ‘thump’ as she took a step back before going into a half-sprint into the NC— jumping at the right moment as her gloved hands caught one of the metal panels on the right leg of the NC. Pulling herself upward she pushed her feet against another panel as she began to climb. Graham’s test wasn’t today and he had given the pilots some rest to prepare— but Stein considered this solid practice.
She continued to climb.
My last record for climbing a ten meter NC was eight minutes and seven seconds. Let’s go for seven minutes and six seconds.
She pulled upward as she moved into a swing that brought her momentum around the leg until she flipped herself onto the top of it. She was already halfway there and it had been less than four minutes. The exercise was not there to impress, but simply only to do— how it affected her comrades, if they were even watching, was not really her concern. Stein was ready, she had been born that way. When she had been discovered to have the little talent that let people pilot NC’s her father had told her with hand on her shoulder that it was a sign of her talents and of her destiny. She had been chipper, excited, and optimistic going forward even after they drilled implants into her spine. She felt this was her purpose, and if her comrades saw it as showboating or inspirational didn’t matter. She wasn’t doing it for them. She was doing it for herself.
The opinions of others were not important— the fulfillment of yourself and your purpose was.
Stein took a light breath as she reached upwards as she grabbed a latch that stood on the top of the currently locked hub that held the smaller machine gun armament— her fingers gripping tightly as she pulled herself up while her other hand laid flat on the metal paneling next to it. To others below the next few moments seemed to go by with a flash as Stein turned the manual release hatch on the top of the machine thus forcing the mechanics of the mech to open the cockpit’s entrance right next to the sensor “hat”. It was then that Stein sat down on the top of the NC looking down at the people below.
She looked at her watch.
Six minutes and fifty seconds. Faster than I anticipated. Let’s try to beat it again before night call tonight.
She smirked, happy at the result— it was as if, incidentally, the training session before lunch prepared her to not be sloppy.
“Heh.” She muttered.
1: 24 feet.
2: Detroit Security Solutions was a minor corporation up until Fairbanks acquisition of it in the early 26th Century.
GRAHAM
HANGARS, NEW ANCHORAGEAFTERNOON
Graham wasn’t deaf and he wasn’t blind— he knew very well that the incident in the Mess Hall had caused a bit of a stir and turned some heads. But Graham wasn’t in this to make quick friends or to handhold sensitive snowflakes— he was here to forge soldiers and pilots. Even if they didn’t like it. That did not matter.
The situation with Percy Moore was one he could’ve handled better though, but he needed to get a glimpse to see if there was any sort of man inside of his body. When he first met the red-haired pilot he thought he saw something in him, a fire that had been fading since his wife’s death, and he was hoping he could stir something in him— to see if he had any bite. If you could not stand up for what you believed in then you didn’t deserved to believe in anything— that was Graham’s belief on the matter. Whatever the lagging pilots thought on the matter, positive or negative, didn’t affect him in the slightest because he knew he was justified in what he did and how he did it. If they did not like it they could forfeit their pay advance and quit.
He inhaled the chemical in the synth as he thought hard on what kind of group he was going to need to break down and rebuild.
He had not been blind to Alexander Sky’s near-insubordination and Stein’s comment regarding the matter that in a corporation he would’ve gotten shot for similar behavior was correct. Graham had seen it in Denver-Vegas when one of the more ornery pilots decided to attack a superior when his sister was being lectured in a similar fashion to what had happened in the mess hall. Thunk! Bang. It was pretty intense when he witnessed it and even though at the time he knew he was a soldier… he didn’t know what the consequences were if you crossed the line that Denver-Vegas drew in the sand. But it made him stronger and he was better for it. He just hoped that these kids would not be so blind to the point of the lesson; but then again they were too emotional and unfocused to even see; though his stone-like expressions probably worked against him. But ever since Elysian he stopped telegraphing his emotions... he stopped wanting to feel them.
As Graham moved through the hangars they got to a large empty— and dimly lit hangar that had been undesignated (as well as closed) during the former commander’s time in New Anchorage. But Graham had repurposed it.
”Hit the lights.”
A solitary generic NC stood in front of Graham and the pilots who were now catching up to his lead. Swiping his synth out of his mouth he turned to face them as smoke exited his lips.
Graham cleared his throat and spoke loudly so all could hear. “Starting tomorrow what you know New Anchorage was is dead. There is work to be done. After tonight every single pilot will be expected to pass a physical evaluation that tests their perception, dexterity, strength, and endurance— this includes an obstacle course, firearms examination, psych analysis, simulator runs, and a review that involves this NC right here. This final test will require you as a NC pilot to demonstrate to me that you can get inside a mech without assistance. No ladders, no lifts, no stairs, nothing; just you and your hands and feet. If you do not pass all of these tests in thirty days you will be deemed unfit for duty and discharged from your contract.”
He flicked the synth off as he put it back in his belt— his hands behind his back.
“Alvarez will forward the schedule to all of you with the updated dossiers of your comrades. You have less than 24 hours to prepare, dread, or quit for the first day of real work. Impress me.”
He looked at each of his pilots—trying to gauge their reactions as well as estimate which ones could achieve the task and which could not. Physicality was important; it played into NC efficiency.
“Welcome to New Anchorage.” Ending the comment Graham decided to stay for a minute before leaving the pilots as is and returning to his office.
“Good luck.”
But a game should be cohesive and consistent instead of flippant, don't you agree? If we keep retconning, ignoring, compromising-- what will happen is it will hurt the stability of the game.
@Dynamo Frokane@Lonewolf685 - I want to apologize for the huge momentum that kind of speeded past your characters, if you need me to edit any of the posts I personally posted (sans the Percy Collab for obvious reasons) I will try to make amendments. If you can adjust then I will be thankful and try not to do this bad habit as a GM in the future.
STEIN
CORRIDORS, NEW ANCHORAGEAFTERNOON
The incident with Percy and the new pilot, Alexander, didn’t bother Stein in the slightest. It reminded her back when she was ten— get in line or be put in line. There was no way Percy could’ve expected to keep Ana away from a simple neurological exam to see if she had the latent talent to fly a NC. She didn’t understand his emotions, but she had gotten the same analysis when she was a little younger than his daughter. Sure, the operation that followed was intense and painful, but that would come later. It wasn’t like Graham had spare NC’s even if he did intend to prepare Ana or Vera for the occupation. It felt… paranoid.
As far as the situation with two of the newer pilots and one of the soldiers Stein had not really paid much attention to it because her eyes were on Graham and Percy the whole time. She did get an impression of what she could hear from the spat though.
“Volkov would’ve shot him. Both of them, probably.” Stein remarked with an observation as the visage of Jan Van Gent carried himself with a pace next to the blonde-haired pilot as he seemed to be just as unaffected as she was by the incidents that had happened before them.
"Eh, boss'll probably forget about me being slightly late in all this fracas, so hurray to me, eh?" Jan had regarded the entire chain of events with what looked like mild amusement. "Always funny to see people trying to argue with the CO. The way they rise up and are immediately beaten down... At least with a halfway decent commander."
He glanced at Percy. "Unfortunately for Moore, it would seem Graham most definitely is a decent commander."
If there was anything Stein could agree on was that Graham was a decent commander, at least in terms of efficiency. Whilst she didn’t understand why he physically antagonized Percy Moore, Graham seemed like a soldier that had a method to his madness at the very least. She had only spoken with the former Denver-Vegas ace a few times since he signed on but every time they had an exchange or she saw him giving orders it felt appropriate and logical. It was like a mirror of what Stein thought Sophia represented and she still felt some discontent for what she experienced under the woman despite her helping her when she had nothing.
“A unflinching one. He gives a different presence than our previous commander, I think.”
"I wouldn't know, I only knew that lady for maybe a few days before she walked out," Jan reminisced
“She lied about statistics for our mission against Red Oni and Fubuki.” Stein replied, almost as if it was meant as an interjection or counterpoint.
"Eh, math is overrated anyway, the better you plan something, the more it'll just fall apart once something inevitably goes wrong," Jan replied, reflecting his overrall demeanour quite well.
“Math can help planning, Van Gent, or did they not teach you that in mercenary school?” The comment was nearly a quip at her comrades expense— evidence that Stein was feeling more comfortable with Jan since their initial meeting in the hangar when she jarred her knee into his stomach. An odd meeting, but one she believed he had more than earned given she had warned him that she was in a bad mood at the time. Perhaps a thing the former mercenary would notice himself if he was paying attention.
"Well I didn't exactly study to be an NC pilot... That just sort of happened... interesting story actually, maybe I'll tell you when we have some R&R," Jan hadn't missed the slight change in Stein's demeanour. Gears were already turning in his head to formulate a proper verbal riposte. "Of course most of the math I do practice concerns the minimuim distance to safely fire a plasma lance... quite an important bit of rough arithmethic that, unless you want to see what it looks like when that plasma lance overheats."
“Heh.” Stein chuckled— albeit in her own monotonous fashion.
"So what do you think about the kid? As far as I can see the only thing he's proven so far is that he's got a tough skull." Jan had done nothing but silently laugh when Alexander had tried his 'heroic' attempt to intervene
Stein looked over to Alexander Sky, not caring he was in earshot. “Lascivious, Impulsive, and fatuous. I hope his skill in the NC is the opposite of what he has shown today. But I will elaborate after the commander is done with whatever it is he intends to show us.”
“I hope the same, I only fly the way I do under the assumption the rest of the squad can cover my ass. So a moron dragging us down is a good way for me to get fried." Jan put particular emphasis on the last part of his sentence, loud enough that everyone could hear it.
I'm just curious, is all. I want a Dynamo or Voltus post first...
I can only imagine Agatha's inner monologue.
There might be a few things I disagree— I think ABSOLUTE freedom in a game that needs the rules of magic defined might work against it more often than the opposite for example. But I like the doc idea, it can help my ideas not be run over this time around and make me invested for years.
GRAHAM
MESS HALL, NEW ANCHORAGEAROUND NOON
How the hell did Red-Star allow this kind of soldier to even exist?
Michael Graham couldn’t understand how Alexander Sky was even real— at least in their shared profession and similar backgrounds. Even in the years where Graham drove the battlefield with youthful abandon and had a love with flirting with everything he saw… especially after what happened following the Elysian War he was always mindful of his behavior when in the shadow of his betters. It did not surprise him that Red-Star possibly was going to dispose the young pilot when he outlived his usefulness. In the corner of his mind he wondered how he was going to tolerate his antics on-base. This was why he preferred certain personality types to others; give him an assortment of clones of Stein, Eli, Agatha, and Tahlia any day of the week.
Not a bad idea. Note to self— hire a geneticist in the future if I can afford one.
Graham’s thoughts seemed to go on as he looked at some of the other new pilots— Penny looked like she was thinking intently on something and Yeshua was… doing some obsessive compulsive motion with his hands as he seemed to be fully distracted to pay attention to the “older” pilots or even Graham. This was the son of Otto Horowitz? The ace of Paragon? This is his gene pool? He had never met Otto, but this was quite the surprise. The boy looked the part of a librarian, not a pilot. But then again Graham knew full well manners out of machine never exactly were ensured to be the same in the machine. At the very least he was sufficiently curious to how the eccentric and silent youth was going to turn out here at New Anchorage.
Before he could consider any sort of introspection a voice spoke up— Tahlia’s.
"Graham? I do have a question— why do we have children, here, on a military base?"
To some it was the million dollar question and to others it was a fact of military life. It really depended on how you viewed children at the end of the day— and for Graham there was a multitude of reasons. He turned to look at Tahlia as he held the synth in-between his index and pointer finger on his right hand— smoke still fuming from the metal cylinder.
“So I can test them for neural plug compatibility and see their value.” He commented nonchalantly before adding on to the statement. “They are civilian residents due to the fact that they have little alternatives to go to. Both wards have been deemed to be safer behind the walls of this base then in some sad excuse for an orphanage or alternative guardian— hell, Moore is the only guardian that little girl has. I’m not damning her to an orphanage when she has a father right there to lead by example; and Jackspar’s ward is applying for civilian employ.”
“It’s also in both Moore and Jackspar’s contracts as incentive to stay on. So I guess there is a few reasons.” He said as he placed the synth back in his mouth.
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