Roman

The Mavericks: Valiant Heroics

Cassie shivered, but it didn't bother her. It was cold up here, overlooking the dock warehouses, number 12 below her slightly to the right. Initially, she'd thought of moving her set up to the edge of the rooftop, getting a straighter shot, but after an inital scan through the scope of her rifle after the sun had set she saw the skylight that the message had specified. She didn't know why her instructions featured it so clearly, but after tying the location of the skylight, the angle of her shot, and the placement of the gas tank - she'd made a mental note of its position after her afternoon recon of the warehouse before heading home to prepare - she could guess. It was toward her, against the wall facing the rooftop she was on. The other side was sea, no rooftops to take the shot from there. Fuckin' Locke always liked a show. Apparently her targets counted.

She'd have to bounce the damn shot. The shot would go through the glass - despite the lovely open window that someone had left propped open - and glance off a support beam that was conveniently exactly where it needed to be. It was why she hadn't moved over like she thought about earlier - the angle would be wrong. She looked through the scope of her rifle again, but moved down along the wall to the small white chalk-mark she'd made earlier. It was, roughly, the center of the gas tank. She rechecked her shot for the third time. She wouldn't even need to, when the focus came, as long as she knew her target - but still, it afforded some confidence. Or, at least, kept her mind busy. She hated thinking about her targets. She hated what she did. She thought of Jo. She thought of her afternoon.

-

After she'd received the message and descended from the office building, she'd walked leisurely to the docks. It was a fair distance from where she was, but she was used to walking, and the dull aching of her soles didn't bother her. She'd checked out the warehouse, subtly pushing up the sleeves on her arms to show her tattoos when someone looked to approach her. She'd wandered 'innocently' through the warehouses, pausing only slightly at 12-A to scan the layout before stealing away. She left the docks completely, heading to Jo's apartment to spend as much time as she could - Jo talked excitedly about a school dance her 'benefactor' (that was all Locke was to her, and Cassie meant to keep it that way) had somehow afforded her passage to, including a beautiful dress that Locke had allowed her, and a cute boy for a date that Jo had managed quite all by herself. Cassie was jealous, but reminded herself that her life was not that of frilly fashion and handsome men anymore.

After that, she'd bid Jo good luck, and given her the customary kisses and assurance of love, and returned to her own apartment. Cassie still hesitated to call it her home. Once there, she'd taken an hour to herself. A rare luxury, but fuck it, she was paid enough to afford it. It wasn't even eight by the time she was out of the shower, and despite the contrast between Jo's evening - already begun, spiked punch and fumbling male hands aplenty - and Cassie's - still a few hours to go, focused hands and a steady eye - she managed to enjoy herself as she lounged about half-naked, drip-drying because why not, that Locke motherfucker can pay to get the waterstains off the wooden floor.

Come ten, she was ready. Wig in place, contacts in, outfit changed. White was the colour she'd chosen when her disguise was ordered, and she liked it. Everything about Quintain was designed to be as far from Cassie as she could manage. Quintain's bright, conspicious garments to contrast the dull, plain fashion Cassie sported. Quintain's fair, messy hair, to counterpoint Cassie's dark, sheer-cut fashionable bob-like hairdo. Quintain's unnatural shining amber eyes to displace Cassie's low moss-green. It was all carefully constructed to allow Cassie to distance herself, deindividualize Quintain, assume a persona and protect herself from what she was doing. It worked. So far.

Eleven. She was on the rooftop, despite an hour and a half - and four minutes - still between her and the appearance of her hit. Still, she was always early. Settling down, setting up her rifle, leaving to mark the gas tank position on the outside of the wall, coming back. Checking her shot. Checking again. She looked at the guage she had set beside her rifle, completely unnecessary but she liked it. Mostly for the time display. Half an hour to go.

Cassie started breathing.

Unit GC-88, Operation: Eden

Yeah, the sheets I was waiting for are seeming to take a little longer than expected.

I'll go ahead and start the IC. Expect the first post tonight or tomorrow.

Unit GC-88, Operation: Eden

Ah, don't worry about it. Thanks for your interest, though!

Just waiting on one or two more sheets before I launch the IC. Newclib, your sheet is wonderful now, thanks.

Unit GC-88, Operation: Eden

I'm not complaining about the mentioning of marksmanship, but everyone will receive shooting practice in training anyway so that they can shoot well enough to be deployed, and I just don't want people fighting over sniper rifles - or everyone using one.

Unit GC-88, Operation: Eden

Not too sure about the 'multiple coding languages by thirteen' bit, but otherwise pretty solid. Accepted.

Although, fair warning to others - I'm going to be careful about more characters from Gaia, and more characters whose skills include 'marksmanship' or 'good shot'. There are two other planets to come from, or you could even make up your own moon colony, and the obsession with the sniper archetype is something I'm looking to avoid.

Unit GC-88, Operation: Eden

Personal computing devices similar to more-functional Pip-Boys are in development, but there is nothing stable so far. Current computing technology is mostly powerful tablet-like devices rather than laptops, and large server-like supercomputers.

The Mavericks: Valiant Heroics

From the rooftop, Cassie had a pretty good view of the school playing field. Some kind of football game, maybe a friendly between the school team so that moods weren't spoiled for the dance later - she'd seen the flyers around the school buildings, there wasn't a soul in Kilbride who didn't, whether they were driving, running, fleeing past - but maybe it was more important. Maybe the students were on the bleachers to cheer on their team, some for their boyfriends, some because they liked the game and the sun, some because they had nothing better to do. Cassie certainly had nothing better to do. Her burner phone - a cheap piece of shitty plastic that Locke replaced weekly, the model disappearing from wherever she'd left it before going comatose and a new one appearing on her kitchen counter, fully charged, and screen lit up with a single message. Always the same. 'Your sister loves you very much.' Roman Locke was a bastard. Cassie spat, and stood up. The game was winding down anyway.

Her wrist tweaked as she pushed herself up, fingers gripping the corner of the brick edging around the building's outline. She absentmindedly tapped it, and then held two fingers over it, a habit she'd picked up and continued unconciously since the day she got the tattoo that rested there. An imperialist eagle design, overlaid with a simple graphic of a Trojan helmet, bold and blunt in black and gray ink. Locke had sent one of his strongmen with her - a convincing actor - posing as her...father? 'Legal guardian' came to mind, but it had been father. She never thought of her parents anymore. She only thought of Jo, and whatever name popped up on the screen of the burner phone.
It wasn't difficult getting down from the building, although it had gotten dark since she'd pulled the access door open and kicked the breezeblock she'd used to prop it open aside, making her way down the stairs through the guts of the office block. Most of the building was empty, ceiling fans whirling down and a few lights clicking on on some floors where motion-sensors had been installed. Cassie flurried past them all, moving blindingly fast. It wasn't that she didn't like buildings - it was just that since Locke 'hired' her, she came to trust them less and less. To say nothing of their inhabitants.

The tattoo was the real wake-up call. She's heard of Locke before her encounter, of course she had, fucking everyone had, you didn't live in Kilbride and not know about Roman Locke, and Damian Locke, and the secret empire only talked about in hushed whispers and the rustling of loose notes exchanging palms. Money for information? Money so you wouldn't be killed for talking about it. But even if you didn't know about the syndicate, even if you didn't suspect the pigs had their trotters knee-deep in their own bacon fat, even if you didn't see every building as a looming grave, waiting ever so eagerly to carve your name onto its headstone - even if you didn't, you knew about Locke's casinos. Because someone you knew, and everyone you didn't, would have lost their money there. And then they'd have a story about how tightly Kilbride held on to your money.

Cassie exited the building, an automated rotating door spinning up as she approached. She felt like it was an apt representation of her life the past few months. Things just...letting her through. And if they didn't the first time, amber eyes looking up at them with a raw ferocity from behind shock-white hair, then they did when she pulled her sleeve back and almost thrust her wrist at their face. The naive might thing she just fancied herself charmed at the slots, Locke Casino logo on her wrist. But the clued-in would know it was her all-access pass. The clued-in would knew who she worked for. The clued-in would know not to ask what it was she did for the man.

As if on cue. Her thoughts and ruminations were interrupted by a rumbling from her pocket, and as she fished the burner from her shorts, she shivered as the cool evening air hit her. She bore a long, thick scarf, and her jacket was decievingly warm - but her leggings were torn up, and rather than pants, she'd chosen shorts for the aesthetic. Like what she looked like was even close to her top priority. She didn't need to stick out, not in this town. She was plenty safe. Sort of.

'Marco X. Del Fierro peddler. Dock Warehouse 12-A, 00:34. Gasoline tank through skylight.'

And that was it. Cassie's evening decided. Like she had other plans, anyone to make other plans with. Other than Jo, but even Jo was distant these days. It was Cassie's own fault, deliberately holding back, keeping secrets, doing anything not to let Jo know about the arrangements they had fallen into. All Jo knew was they were in the care of a wealthy benefactor who worked in meta-human research, putting together an initial theorem that wold propel him to the top of the scientific world almost instantaneously. Cassie hadn't meant to layer on all the detail - even the stupid fucking fake name, 'Dr. Sorquez', married, no children, wife equally brilliant. It had just tumbled out in an attempt to convince her little sister, something in her mind telling her that over-lying was always more successful that under-lying. Whether that something was right or wrong, it had worked. Or Jo had cottoned on and knew not to press for the truth for fear of what it was. Jo always had been clever.

I guess that's that then. Time to head home and gear up. She looked at her watch. Thirteen minutes past Three in the afternoon. She had plenty of time.

Unit GC-88, Operation: Eden

Very nice! But you left in that she's blind. Might want to quickly adjust that. Accepted otherwise!

Unit GC-88, Operation: Eden

Alright! First sheets!

Newclib, I'm a little concerned about how Robert is "older than most of his unit" and has "years of experience" on them when he's only 21, and the minimum recruiting age is 18. Also, you referenced Speros in your biography as a part of Robert's deployment rotation. I may have to make this clearer, but Speros is completely closed off for now. So, if you could adjust Robert's age to be a bit older, and just tweaking where he's been stationed, then you're happily accepted. And a bit of formatting wouldn't go amiss, it all sort of runs together at this point - it's nice to have headers differentiated from the body text.

MST3K, I'm afraid I have several deeper grievances with your sheet. Apart from your mentioning that Robin is versed in alien languages - none of which actually exist within our universe - everything up to the biography is well-written and perfectly acceptable, but I am concerned with the events detailed therein. I like Robin's military background, but not that her father can pull strings to get her into a special unit, when most of GCM personnel terms are simple policing duties on the many colonies in the Genesis System, and I'd also have 'unit specialties' designated by NPC's according to player performances in the IC, rather than the players picking for themselves, so to speak.
Beyond that, your AO1 accident is plausible, but not for your registration - basic vehicle command is covered in Boot Camp. Accident, sure, why not, everyone loves a tragic incident in someone's history. But building a homing device while blind? Surviving alone for three days without being able to see, and likely bleeding at least externally, if not hemorrhaging from breaks and fractures? It's just unlikely, and stretches belief.
The artificial eyes are the biggest point. There's very little downside to them, and besides that, medicinal technology is very little beyond what we have currently. Which is impressive, surely - but not complete replacement of the eyes impressive. And getting her father to pull strings - again - to get back in the Military while technically not having eyes? It's just...it makes me uncomfortable.

Tweaks, definitely. Take the base of the character, because I like her, but go a different, more grounded direction with it.

[Sci-Fi] [Military] Unit GC-88, Operation: Eden

The Roleplay is up and running, just in time for your sheets to be worked on over the weekend!

http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/4564/posts/ooc?page=1#post-65192