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There was something strange about dealing with Mehetabel, a weird mix of déjà vu and amusement. Watching the woman explode had been like staring into a funhouse mirror, the reflection distorted yet still holding some recognizable qualities. The chip on her shoulder, the aggression bottled up inside, the disdain for authority and the belief that war should be fought in as brutal a fashion as possible, all traits Victoria possessed but was perhaps a bit better at controlling. For example, Vicky wouldn't be flipping her shit just because someone whistled at her.

"Yep. Figured you could use something after that display."

Her smile was a vicious one, baring teeth and making the scar across her face distort.

"You really went in on the sarge, not that anything you said was wrong. Too many jumped-up NCOs hoping to win a commendation around here."

Alex and Jean were pretty much the same damn person as far as she could tell, the same hand-wringing little bastard unwilling to actually get a little dirty while fighting a war. Just like the corporal had frozen up and gotten Thomas killed so would the sergeant make some sacrifices in his quest for honorable glory or some other rubbish. And that made Mehetabel the same as Victoria, a violent punk who knew the way forward was through a sea of mud and blood.

The Oceanic threw up her hands in mock appeasement, grinding a bit of dirt beneath her boot heel as she glanced back towards the pub. "Nah, I'm not really trying to go back in their until he comes looking. All that moralizing makes me sick." It hardly seemed like the sort of environment fit for a battlefield looter. "You seemed like better company."

'Better' was a strong word. More fitting company certainly but there was very little actually 'better' about either of the pair.


Alex was a Darscen, a Vinland Darscen specifically and damn proud of it too, but his people's practices and philosophies had never really been a source of light for him. He had an interest in all the tales and customs obviously and wore the pattern with pride yet never turned to his heritage when he needed guidance. Yet now he was wishing he had turned out to be more of a spiritual man because having some sort of higher power guiding him would be very useful. The other Alex had somehow survived getting cut down by Imperial machine guns and walked back into his life years later with a lower rank and a new name, seemingly just as surprised to see Schäfer as the other way around.

Valkur sensed his master's discomfort and moved forward to expect the stranger only to find his path blocked. Alex grabbed the dog by the face and pushed backwards, a maneuver that would cost anyone else their hand but with him was simply taken as an order to be followed without question. The hulking brute of a mastiff settled his bulk on the floor with all the weighty lumbering of an ox, leaving the two men alone to figure out what the hell was going on. Still reeling in shock Alex reached out for any sort of mental handrailing, scrambling to keep himself upright. Imperial. He'd switch to Imperial, force his brain to refocus.

"You went down, so did most of the others. I rallied the survivors and we rode away in retreat. The cavalry charge died that day so they reassigned me and here I am."

Easy. Simple, clean-cut and devoid of any mystery. Alex's circumstances could not have been more straightforward. Alexndre's on the other hand, his was a mystery. Now he would have to explain his side of the story.

"Quite the demotion you've been hit with. Care to explain how a son of Roland-Florence ends up as a mere soldier of the line?"

His tone was perhaps overly flippant but it was what Alex needed in the moment. Put up a barricade until everything made sense, keep some distance so that he could grapple with the fact that the boy-lieutenant he had mourned was a living, breathing grown man.

@Nimbus @AdmrlStalfos19
Approval given on Discord; moved to Characters tab


A mysterious voice who served as mission giver and benefactor, a trip out to New York, New York and then catching a ride to a dingy paint shop based on instructions from a tape recorder. The scenario Grace had found herself in was one out of every spy thriller and heist film she had ever seen. Which wasn't a bad thing, tropes were tropes for reason. All the cloak and dagger skullduggery shit was a welcome change of pace from staring at walls in some dirt cheap apartment.

All those millions she had did nothing but make her nervous, a pile of cash too dirty to spend in any sizable amount without attracting the attention of every Fed in LA looking for a big bust. She had tried to play it smart, keep everything on the down low and live off the fat stacks but couldn't take the waiting. The Senior was one of two things: an overelaborate sting operation or a chance to get back in the game and do what she did best. Either way Grace wouldn't be putting up with the silence.

Stepping inside the color splattered premises of Cheng's Paint was like a blast to the past. Her first few years as an armed robber had been spent taking orders just like she was now, meeting in the back of Family owned premises where she would be told to jump and ask how high. Then just as now there were middle managers who got paid very well to simply shut up, people with bills to pay or fingers to keep attached. And just like she did those ones Grace ignored Cheng, heading straight back then down into the basement.

Slip in through the freezer, skirt around boxes of paint and slap a few numbers into a very old school keypad and then press her hand onto a scanner that somehow had her metrics. That last bit was a little unnerving admittedly but it was far too late to back out now. The door was opening on a new reality, one chock full of sci fi computer geek tech stuff and the crew she'd be working with.

"Well we all showed up, means we're all fucked.

Who were these people? Grace didn't know and didn't care. Presumably they all brought something to the table just like she brought explosives expertise and a history of military-grade violence. She didn't need their life stories, their hopes and fears or any other band of brothers bull. All she needed was a name to call them.

"I'm Johnny." Her bags hit the ground with a thud, a cigarette pinched between her lips as she lit up. "Any sign of the man behind the curtain?"



Didn't fill out part of the system app because it would have been redundant with the species app. If needed I can edit and restate the information.




In either case, I apologize for the delay on my post. Took a while to find a picture I liked. Will be finishing tomorrow.
Wow yeah I’m looking at the three and there’s def some similarities. If people prefer I can scratch my demolitions idea, come up with something else? I’d prefer not to but I also don’t want to mess anything up
I realize this puts us up to three ex-military guys, but it was honestly the easiest way I figured someone could be up to par to do Payday heists/shadowruns.



Hilariously, that was going to be the image I used if I made a guy
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