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    1. Magister 7 yrs ago

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10/10 idea, I'm in.
I haven't read those books in some years. I'm interested.
I'm interested.
Hello, I'd like to jump into this, but I'll need to read up on lore and such to give my character some reference and background.
I'm also interested in joining. I'm a huge One Piece fan.


Full Name: Amos, plus a whole bunch he never uses.

Nicknames/Aliases: Amy

Age: 34

Gender: Male

Description: Amos looks at people like he doesn't care if they were to stay, leave, or drop down dead in front of him, save for the handful of folk he respects. Brown hair, and familial dark eyes make his face fairly unremarkable, save for the tech embedded in a few places around his face. His face grows a bit more remarkable when his energy activates and his left eye begins to glow with an unsettling read hue. Beyond this he's long, dark, and mean, with a slight snarl that tends to form on its own.

Personality: Gruff, standoffish, mean, with a humor that exists solely for jabs and sarcasm, Amos isn't, and doesn't want to be your friend. If he likes you though, he'll treat you well. He's not the type to start an issue, and prefers to keep fairly quiet.

Skills: Amos is a skilled hand to hand combatant, and close range marksman. His weapon of choice is two 50.Cal revolvers, slung low on either side of his hips. If these aren't available, he's more than happy to beat something to death with any available instrument, or his bare, mechanical hands.

Weaknesses: Amos's strength comes from his cybernetic enhancements, and in theory, someone of significant scientific intellect could figure out how to disable him.

Brief History: Amos is a former member of a fairly famous mercenary group one that became quiet famous, due to the feats of his ancestor, a human male who single-handedly slew a transformed Jotun, at the cost of his own life. The modern incarnation built around this legend had slowly transformed into a public service group, one that focus on conserving life during times of disaster, and providing intelligence for institutions liked the blessed.

Amos, preferring the blood and grit of real combat, broke off from this institution, and struck out on his own, trading his talents for coin until fate put him in the path of the Blessed.

There was an incident, and he was recruited.

Later, he signed up for an experimental program, which left Amos with a body enhanced by the very best Blessed technology. Human technology, to combat the worst of what the inhuman world could throw at them.

Other: Enjoys smoking. Close friends with Clifton.
Oren's plan made sense to Mako, he could tell this really wasn't her first rodeo. She was one of the few that had been in these kind of high stakes situations, he could tell. Shame the other two experienced fighters had been blown to pieces. Makorai took a deep breath, and prepared his rune, till looking at his other team member. He'd keep her alive for this run. That was his solemn, silent promise to himself, and to her. That wasn't a dig at her experience, she clearly had it by the way she could focus her power, but the simple fact that a P.I. would never have a reason to be ground zero during a Jotun incident.

"I got your back Dawn." He responded, softly.

His eyes closed, but his world wasn't darkness. There was still the muted glow of the sunlight lighting his eyelids. Next came a length of fabric, one that looked like it had been torn from something larger, and expensive. He tied it around his eyes, securing it firmly in the back.

Makorai took a deep breath, and the rune on his forehead glowed. In his minds eye, Makorai could see a scene unfold from all angles, he could see Amity's face, twisted in rage, he could see the Jotun, focused on tearing her opponent apart.

He could see the chaos of Dawn's illusion SWAT teams busting in.

His hands blurred around his weapon, switching ammunition and tweaking the firing mechanism to switch from bolt action to semi-automatic.

"JOTUN, LEFT SIDE BREACH, INTO THE STREET."

The future wasn't a passive stream. It was active, it could change on the fly. It could even be influenced.

Staying beside Dawn, Makorai raised his rifle, and began to fire into the building, shooting with a sight far beyond his mortal eyes. High caliber rounds ripped through fence and wall alike, each one passing inches away from Amity, and toward the vicinity of the Jotun, enunciating the threat Dawn's phantoms posed. No bullet would hit his teammate. He knew where she'd be, seconds before she did.
It was as Makorai looked toward Dawn expectedly, waiting for her input on how they should proceed, when he heard the explosion. A body soared past his field of vision, and landed with a wet slap on the adjacent pavement. As Makorai looked over, surprise clear cut on his lightly reddened face, blood began to pool around the body. The skull had been split by the concrete, which was quickly being soaked by fluid and brain matter. Eyes wide, his brain identified the corpse from recent memory. It was that kid, the strange one who was kind of creepy.

Well now, he was kind of dead.

A leg had fallen in front of him. He hadn't noticed in light of Volkir's final entrance. Mutely, he bent down and lightly touched the metal plated boot attached to it. His hand burned, but he hardly noticed. This boot beneath his palm had been attached to that one girl. The one with the heart on her sleeve she had so desperately tried to hide behind bravado. Makorai could feel his stomach drop.

Makorai stood up, and wordlessly took a deep breath, followed by a sudden flinging of his now empty sake bottle. It struck the top of the burning house and shattered.

"How about everyone stays the fuck out of there other than the girl who pulls off doors." He forced his words out through gritted teeth. If he had been greener he'd have asked himself how everything had just gone to shit. He knew now. This is how it happened. He'd repress it for now, repress their bodies and repress the events so he could focus, so he could shoot with a steady mind.

Makorai was foolish, but he wasn't entirely foolhardy. The flare, while obvious, and ignorant as some would rightly say, wasn't a symbol of brashness, but rather, a beacon for the brawn and booty that made up a point of the pyramid that was his team. He heard the rest of the team settle in behind him, moments before Amity struck ground like a living bolt of lightning, tearing the asphalt beneath her like it was gravel beneath a skidding truck.

Ahoy the- He stopped immediately, her eyes mirrored those of a beast more than a woman. He recognized that look, and in that recognition understood she wasn't going to hear anything he said.

He quickly realized that coordination was out of the question. Which was fine with him. He didn't have much of a head for planning.

"Dawn!" He called back, waving at her. "I'm..I'm probably just going to start shooting it so...I don't know."

He had planned on checking who was inside of the house before he started shooting, and, if possible, getting them out. Since that had already been accomplished by Mr Clean Cut, he figured it was time to start shooting shit.

Going into the house was a no go. Too hot, too much smoke. Hard for him to see. Instead. He'd find a vantage point.

"What do you want to do? Because I'm not running folk out of the area, we got enough people doing that."

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