Starlance

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Boraro - D'Urville Island

---

Good thing they stole the six wheeled version of the Cougar, the heavies would’ve had a tough time squeezing in the back of the short four wheeler. Stepping on the accelerator, the added weight confused the automatic transmission a bit, shifting too early and lugging the engine, the hunk of American steel and aluminum persisting through stubborn determination and the turbocharger working overtime to provide enough air for the amount of fuel being injected. Inertia worked both ways however, and once the MRAP got moving it’d be as hard for Artemis to stop it as it was to get moving. Once they broke contact, Ebrima killed the lights, relying solely on his NODs to navigate. They'd still be about as inconspicuous as one of those inflatable advertisements that looked like a stickman flailing his arms on thermals, but between the darkness and the rain they were pretty much invisible to the naked eye. Frankly, they were still four people in an MRAP and not aerosol hovering around a crater due to several factors out of their control: chaos with a lowercase ‘c’, Chaos with an uppercase ‘C’, shit Russian optics on the surviving Havoks and luck.

That was when the report came, callsign ‘Boomer’ warning them that Artemis knew of their evac boat. Unacceptable, he wasn’t swimming all the way to Wellington, even if the suit probably made it possible. At the same time, the radio set up for use by the front seat passenger was in easy reach, allowing them to listen in. Obviously Artemis knew an MRAP had been tactically acquired, but with the amount of teams out of contact they couldn’t exactly tell which once they lost visual contact. Crossing the island wasn’t a particularly comfortable affair at the speeds they were going, but time was not on their side and Artemis brought enough to occupy a small city. Since they leveled the house instead of clearing it, practically nothing was stopping them from making a beeline for the dock.

Approaching the dock, he spied the sight of a familiar Land Rover Discovery parked nearby. Good to know at least those two had made it, but by now Artemis had wisened up to the fact the squad they sent to destroy the boat went silent and the missiles had likewise been intercepted and were hustling over. ”Chaos should check the sea. They had a submarine, a gunboat catching us once we sail doesn’t seem far fetched.” Ebrima called over his shoulder, parking the Cougar about 50 meters away from the boat and getting out to take cover, expecting trouble.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Marit quickly turned Archie’s torso downward, trying to shield the cockpit as best as she could. ”Ow. Ow...” She complained to the warm air in Archie’s cockpit over the din of missiles raining down around her, more annoyed than worried, at least so far. The clown and his voodoo man needed a damn calculator if they thought that was enough to reduce her out of the problem. ”OW, fuck!” She cried out as ten missiles slammed down into Archie’s right torso at the same time, her helmet bag tearing free of where it was secured and a metal buckle smacked her across the shin. She started backing up, checking the rear-mounted camera display in her helmet to make sure she didn’t step into a pile of burning wreckage or slip on the greasy stain that used to be an aerojock. She wasn’t running, she was advancing backwards to a more advantageous position! Damn Hunchback was too close. Turning Archie’s torso to the right as she went, she got an easy lock on the fleeing MechBuster, its thrusters turned toward her, and sent ten missiles its way, not lingering to watch and turning back to the BattleMechs.

And BattleMech things were indeed happening. Tank things, too. She could vividly imagine the grins and jeering inside the Von Luckner as a round from it knocked the Hunchback off its feet. To his credit, the Crimson Fists MechWarrior started moving almost immediately. Shame, be nice if he broke his neck and left the ‘Mech intact. Almost simultaneously, the Panther decided to change careers and become a roman candle. She couldn’t help but feel a little bad for the guy, knowing what’s coming and being powerless to do anything about it. Sod that, just send an AC/20 round through her cockpit without a warning, literally fighting until the last breath. Behind the Crimson Fists, the unmistakable form of a Marauder appeared. They were about to eat shit.

Speaking of, Hunchback. No TAG on this one, but that hardly mattered given his horizontal position. 25 missiles arced over Ingrid, about half of them peppering the prone Hunchback. Not great, not terrible
<Ammunition: 75%.>
Plenty of canned hate left in the racks according to Betty and still almost ten tons of armor left. From where she was sitting, things were starting to look gloomy for the Fists, still getting outgunned in support vehicles despite reinforcements and now outnumbered two to one on BattleMechs. Almost two to one if one counted the Ostroc and Raven as half ‘Mechs in their current state. Checking the sky to her right where she hoped to see a plume of black smoke and falling debris, she was greeted by the disappointing sight of a disturbed cloud of chaff and flares and a MechBuster shrinking in the distance. ”Yeah right. Run, coward...” She muttered under her breath as she tried to police the loose bag with her left hand, knowing that wasn’t the case.

Rise of Rasalhague

The thermals were utterly useless for navigation, as with everything outside being the same freezing temperature they turned his view into a uniform gray canvas. Karel kept to the right flank of the formation, using his ‘Mechs’s speed to keep pace while moving in an irregular zig-zag pattern, hopefully making himself a harder target to hit and letting him see a wider area despite the worsening conditions. He kept an eye on the sensor pings marking the other enemy lance as they moved up, but nothing happened as they approached the enemy base until they were right on top of it.

It was a strange thing of beauty, the wake left by the autocannon shell in the thin atmosphere visible in the snowfall. Not the Hunchback, that thing was everything but beautiful, especially ‘terrifying’ and ‘a fucking problem’. Karel leaned against the throttle as he ran parallel to the Hunchback’s charge, giving it enough space to be able to adjust if it decided to come after him and using the speed and nimbleness of the Mad Goose to safely ignore the VTOLs. All he had to do was command the ‘Mech to slightly lean to the side via his neurohelmet and that was enough to turn a few degrees, like riding a motorbike. The jumpers would be given no such quarter. They were far too big a threat by virtue of being hard to scrape off once latched on and he had a small laser and, by god, he was gonna use it. He managed to clear out half a squad worth of them, not wanting to even think about what fresh Hell Remy was probably putting the crunchies through, before reaching his turning point, making a hard left 90 degree turn and keying his mic. ”Hold fire, crossing over.” He warned his lancemates, turning his torso to the left and raking the back of the Hunchback with his three medium lasers and quickly getting clear to allow the others to resume firing.

He didn’t know what exactly he stepped on, must’ve been a flatbed buried under the snow or something of the sort, all Karel knew was that his ‘Mech had suddenly jerked up, just barely missing the intended target and forcing Karel to move the reticle down toward the ground to avoid hitting a friendly. He could hit a jump trooper but not a fucking BattleMech, seriously? Couldn’t these peasants keep their base properly maintained? Swearing up a storm to rival the one outside the ‘Mech, he turned 90 degrees right again and sought shelter behind the building with the ‘Mech Bays, hoping the Hunchback wouldn’t have the time or the intent to turn around and take a shot at him as an AC/20 hit anywhere on him would take out a part of the Mongoose, including the center torso.

Rolls

3x Medium Laser, HBK-4G: Miss

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Boraro - D'Urville Island

---

“...and you shouldn’t have to worry about it too much, I’ve seen it get run over by an MRAP. You’ll break the launcher before the FCS module.” The bespectacled boffin finished, notably more relaxed now that Ebrima had put his helmet on. Before that, he kept staring at his pale face and Ebrima had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing, aware he had that effect on some people and not about to grow tired of it anytime soon. The tube attached on top of the scope indeed looked sturdy, the Cameroonian merc giving it a good whack with his fist to verify the claim. To his credit, the engineer just winced without any protests. Loading a magazine of frags into the M25, Ebrima had to admit it was a useful gizmo: The grenade’s flight path was projected on his HUD as a white line, ending in two translucent, concentric spheres indicating the kill radii of pressure and shrapnel, updating in real time to reflect the airburst settings. Shouldering the launcher, he picked out a target, sending a round down the valley and obliterating two dummies behind a low wall with an echoing, rumbling boom.

…that wasn’t the grenade…

Turning to face North, the trio of men watched in various levels of disbelief as a cloud of dust and smoke rose above the hill. Soon after, the roar of jet engines cut through the wind and rain. Alright, let’s unpack this: An explosion in the base’s general area and a fast mover. Ebrima wasn’t officially on the active roster yet, so he didn’t have access to the squad’s comms and the two eggheads busied themselves explaining the toys to him and neglected to monitor the radio in their Discovery parked a few dozen paces away. Ebrima tried the link to the squad’s leader he’d been given, but that line was dead. Hopefully just the line, not its other participant. The first piece of useful information came from the Land Rover’s radio, a looping message for the staff to evacuate. ”Do you know where the evacuation point is?” He asked.
“Yeah.” The first engineer nodded, his skin tone now closer to Ebrima’s than a minute ago.
’Good, because I don’t.’ He thought as he threw out the remaining blank mags from his pouches and replaced them with live ones from the Land Rover’s trunk, ”Then go. Keep your lights off and don’t stop until you’re there.” He handed his spare NODs to the engineer, leaving it to him to figure out how to use them without a helmet to mount them onto. They had duct tape in the car, they’d manage.
“And where are you going?!” The other boffin asked.
Ebrima simply pointed in the explosion’s direction before taking off.

Running with an exosuit was a strange sensation: Faster than ordinarily possible, with less than half the effort. With a long gun and a grenade launcher on his back. It allowed him to reach the top of the hill and get a good view of ‘the house’ just in time for the second JDAM strike. Those fuckers just destroyed his model collection… Deep breath. Fuck it, violence is the only language these people would understand. Ebrima started running again, downhill actually being harder than up to avoid busting his ass, more sounds becoming clear as he got closer. Gunfire, explosions… helicopters? He didn’t have much time to ponder what on Earth was happening as he came upon an eight man infantry team bearing markings he didn’t recognize as friendly. But why were they marked as friendly on his HUD? Safely hidden from view by foliage, he turned his attention to the suit’s controls on his left arm, navigating through a couple menus to confirm the suit was still set to training mode. Disabling it with an annoyed grunt, the green tags over the infantrymen turned red. Unloading the M25, he swapped from frags to thermobaric shells, firing one at each end of the staggered column while picking up speed, their blast areas overlapping in the middle. He didn’t have to stop to mop up.

Approaching the base from the direction of support personnel housing, there wasn’t much going on. Good, that likely meant that the support staff had evacuated already, less people to worry about. Now just follow the gunfire-

BANG!

…or an explosion not fifty meters away, that works too. With the Origin in his hands, he cleared the fence around the compound in a single jump pack-assisted bound, hitting the ground running. Yeah, he could get used to this. Rounding a corner, he was somewhat surprised to see the backs of two infantrymen and one exo operative, the latter turning to face him as he spoke. “The bitch went that way! Ramirez, take the rest of the squad and follow, I’ll circle-”

The exosuited man’s commands were cut short by a series of seven impacts against his armor. Ebrima didn’t have high hopes of the flechettes making a dent in the exosuit, having not had the time to swap magazines, but it ought to keep him off balance long enough to deal with the rest. The infantryman farthest away was brought down by two shots, the tiny steel darts tearing flesh and snapping bone wherever they found a piece of him not sufficiently protected. The other infantryman reacted quickly, actually having fired before realizing he found himself between a rock and a hard place. Two sections of chest armor turned yellow on Ebrima’s HUD, warning him that there’d be bruises tomorrow, and although he definitely felt it even without that, at that point there was no stopping the charging Cameroonian’s momentum. The infantryman got squished between the wall and Ebrima with a wet crunch, probably the sternum, and got finished with a kick to the head as he slid down the wall, the exosuit making quick work of the helmet and the head inside it.

He’d already been raising his weapon partway through the kick, just in time to hit the enemy exo picking himself up. It gave him enough time to drop the shotgun and draw his knife - well, on involuntary long-term loan from the Nepali government - and charge. The other guy refused to go gentle into that good night, using his exosuit to stand up and kick in the same stroke, a knee to the damaged plates definitely felt, in turn allowing the Artemis exo to draw his own knife. His combat knife may have been about half the size of Ebrima’s kukri, but what mattered wasn’t the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog. He clearly knew what he was doing, his first strike aimed at Ebrima’s throat to feint followed up by an upwards thrust to the armpit, trying to get at the brachial artery. With a puff of his jump pack, Ebrima got his arm clear and his knee into the Artemis exo’s chin, hacking halfway through his right wrist on the way down and finishing the job with a draw cut. The sounds the exo operative made as his hand was held in place by nothing but the exosuit were not pleasant, but fortunately only lasted as long as it took Ebrima to load a magazine of slugs to put the bastard out of his misery.

Reasoning that following the Raven operative directly was a good way to get shot, Ebrima took a page from the dead exo’s book, vaulting the fence and taking a wide arc around the forest, following the chatter of a lone machine gun until he spotted a figure. A tartan-patterned exosuit, that could’ve only been one person. ”Queen! Friendly, eight o’clock.” he called out, standing out in the open between two trees with his weapon pointed down to look as unthreatening as possible. ”I would appreciate full team comms. Couldn’t raise you.” He said, pointing to his ear. He’d love to say he was fashionably late to the fight, but he was just late. At least now that he found the team leader of all people, he could stop running around like a headless chicken.

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Boraro

Name: Ebrima Arendse

Age: 32

Appearance

A 193 cm (6'4") man carrying himself tall and proud, weighing 88 kg (194 lbs), Ebrima sports a wiry build and a slight frown as his default expression. A dark blue-eyed, oval-faced man with sharp features, a clean-shaven head and circular goatee, his most distinctive visual feature is his albinism and the resulting nearly snow white skin and hair.

Off duty, Ebrima prefers business casual attire with a particular fondness for colorful shirts inspired by Cameroonian fashion and dislike of ties. Since his time in Mexico, he’s taken to wearing sombreros and colorful ponchos outside to shield himself from the sun, making due with scarves otherwise.

Voice: Lance Reddick (Charon, John Wick)

Nationality: Cameroonian

Callsign: Boraro

Skills:

• Close Range Mastery: Though capable of wielding a wide variety of weapons, Ebrima favors shotguns, submachine guns and carbines as they best suit the environments he's the most used to. When weapons fail, knives, fists or even pieces of rubble have his back.
• Jungle and Urban Combat Expert: Native to the jungles of South-East Cameroon, Ebrima thrives the most in jungles, forests, cities and environments with obstructed lines of sight in general. In such environments, he can easily and reliably navigate without most aids.
  Guerilla Warfare: Though by no means a light operator, Ebrima’s been introduced to the art of guerilla warfare at 17. He knows how to plan and lead guerilla operations, translating well into an ability to break them up just as well.
• Languages: On top of his native French he speaks fluent English and passable German, Hebrew and Spanish.
• Endless Reserves: Although not the strongest or the toughest person out there, Ebrima rarely seems to tire, capable of running for hours or walking for days with little else but some rations.

History:
Ebrima was born in Cameroon two years before his sister Lishan. Albino siblings caused quite a stir, and since superstition still ran rampant in the Cameroonian countryside, the two spent a lot of their childhood inside the house, hidden from the hateful neighbors. Their father died when Ebrima was ten, leaving supporting the family solely to their mother Alemayehu.

Shortly after his 11th birthday, the siblings foolishly snuck out of the house at Ebrima's suggestion, got separated at the market and Lishan Arendse disappeared. The authorities quickly closed the case as fleeing home, despite numerous complaints from Alemayehu. The case was briefly reopened seven months later, when a raid against a black market dealing in witchcraft supplies found Lishan's DNA in several powders and potions, but quickly closed again for insufficient evidence to convict anyone. Alemayehu then sent her remaining child to his uncle, a veteran of one of the many African civil wars, and Ebrima Arendse disappeared from the face of the Earth for a few years.

He reappeared at 17, when he moved to his childhood home after his mother’s death. While his missing and presumed dead sister didn't concern the local law enforcement, the name "Ebrima Arendse" was a common staple of their reports. Some might say it became an unofficial medical diagnosis covering bruises, fractures, missing teeth and the odd laceration. No longer hiding, Ebrima often got into trouble for his skin color, to the detriment of the troublemakers. Not long after his return, people around the area started disappearing. As every single one had a bad reputation and many had a criminal record, the police swept the disappearances away with the same disinterest as Lishan Arendse's, until the disappearances became so numerous the complaints from the victims' families could not be ignored anymore. Once it became clear that all of the missing people had something to do with trafficking of rare animals or human organs, someone made the connection with Ebrima's return, but a raid only found a booby-trapped house.

For the next 12 years, Ebrima worked with numerous mercenary groups both large and small operating across Africa, Southeast Asia, Mexico and South America, never staying in one place for too long. Until a new flare-up of the Colombian Conflict, where he found his first "permanent" home among the soldiery of an Israeli arms trafficker, Avital Shalev. Ebrima quickly worked his way into Shalev's inner circle, where he was responsible for shipment security, as well as Shalev's personal security whenever he traveled. Colombia was also where he gained his callsign, originally something the other side called him, after a tall, pale creature from Colombian folklore.

Unfortunately, Shalev was a bit too successful and eventually his operation caught the ire of Mossad, and Ebrima's security measures and intelligence gathering have more than met their match. Caught between the Mossad agents and a sizable force of cartels Shalev refused to sell weapons to, Ebrima went all in on a pair of 2s of clubs, suggesting they surrender to the Mossad team and leverage what they knew to keep their prison terms as short as possible.

But life threw Ebrima a bone in the form of a choice: Spend upwards of a decade in prison, or put his talents to better use. And so, he found himself being put through the Devil's Cooker and joining Raven Squad, pretty much doing the same stuff as before, just for someone else.

Personality:
Ebrima’s childhood was not pleasant. As such, he relishes every moment of normalcy to its fullest, being fairly jovial off the clock. As a coping mechanism for the shit life threw at him, Ebrima turned to humor, dry as a desert road and as dark as the night sky. Honest to a fault, something that had gotten him into a bad spot previously when a Burmese revolutionary hired a mercenary when he wanted a yesman, he will respect the skilled and will not suffer the incompetent. Having never stopped blaming himself for contributing to Lishan’s death, he’s fiercely protective of the people he grows close to. Once secured, Ebrima’s loyalty is unwavering and he’ll walk on water for the people that have earned it. But if betrayed, that loyalty is lost forever. Life is too short to be wasted on people you can’t rely on.

On the job, the other Ebrima surfaces. The image of a consummate professional, calculating, uncompromising, weighing every option before acting if he can and only acting on impulse when absolutely necessary. Some would call him savage in a fight, every motion planned to expend minimal effort for maximum payoff, without any flair.

Armor (medium)

image

Features:

• HUD with integrated truecolor NODs, red hot thermal and hybrid vision modes.
• Helmet camera and rangefinder.
• Backtracking of incoming fire and strain gauges warning the wearer of potential soft tissue or bone damage based on impact strength.
• Strength and mobility enhancing exoskeleton.
• NIJ level IV protection of the torso (front, back and sides) and shins, NIJ level III rated helmet and forearms.
• Fire resistant undersuit with kevlar reinforcements on the torso and shoulders. Also reduces the wearer's IR signature.
• Inflatable PFD. The suit itself is too heavy to permit swimming unaided.
• Temperature controls.

Weapons:

• FosTech Origin-12: A semi-automatic 12 gauge shotgun fed from ten-round magazines. Fitted with a one-point sling, a holographic sight and is suppressor-compatible. Ebrima carries a mixed loadout of flechettes, slugs and a magazine of frag shells for emergencies.
• DesertTech MDRx: Chambered in 5,56x45 mm and fitted with a 16” barrel, two-point sling, side ejecting adapter and Vortex Optics XM-157 FCS.
• H&K USP Expert: Chambered in 9x19 mm and fitted with a red dot sight. Suppressor ready.
• M25 ISABS: A revived and modernized version of the XM 25 semi-automatic grenade launcher fed from five round magazines, fitted with a two-point sling and an attachment connecting the weapon to the wielder’s helmet, allowing him to see the shot's trajectory on his HUD for easier aiming. Ebrima carries a mix of HE airburst and thermobaric rounds, plus one magazine of breaching rounds.
• Ghurka Kukri: A military Kukri Ebrima pulled off a Ghurka he killed in Myanmar.

Equipment:

• 2x flashbang
• 2x smoke grenade
• IFAK
• Backup NVGs (night operations only)
• Jump Pack
• Arm-mounted PDA
• Analog watch

Hobbies:

• Cooking - Having learned to cook while looking after his sister, Ebrima kept up a useful hobby, collecting recipes from every corner of the world his life took him to.
• Motorsports - From grand tourers to open wheelers, as long as it’s double-track. Will happily argue for hours with any fool who claims that Oscar Piastri isn’t, in fact, the undisputed king of racecraft.
• Scale Models - Owns a hoard of display models of various scales and subjects. With a more permanent base, now actually has a place to build and put them all.
• Speculative Fiction - A fan of spy thrillers in particular, having recently discovered the treasure trove that is Tom Clancy’s work.

Likes:

• Cocoa.
• Metal and orchestral music.
• Animals.
• Rain.

Dislikes:

• Unreliability.
• White lies.
• Vegetarian substitutes.
• Cold.

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Boraro

Name: Ebrima Arendse

Age: 32

Appearance

A 193 cm (6'4") man carrying himself tall and proud, weighing 88 kg (194 lbs), Ebrima sports a wiry build and a slight frown as his default expression. A dark blue-eyed, oval-faced man with sharp features, a clean-shaven head and circular goatee, his most distinctive visual feature is his albinism and the resulting nearly snow white skin and hair.

Off duty, Ebrima prefers business casual attire with a particular fondness for colorful shirts inspired by Cameroonian fashion and dislike of ties. Since his time in Mexico, he’s taken to wearing sombreros and colorful ponchos outside to shield himself from the sun, making due with scarves otherwise.

Voice: Lance Reddick (Charon, John Wick)

Nationality: Cameroonian

Callsign: Boraro

Skills:

• Close Range Mastery: Though capable of wielding a wide variety of weapons, Ebrima favors shotguns, submachine guns and carbines as they best suit the environments he's the most used to. When weapons fail, knives, fists or even pieces of rubble have his back.
• Jungle and Urban Combat Expert: Native to the jungles of South-East Cameroon, Ebrima thrives the most in jungles, forests, cities and environments with obstructed lines of sight in general. In such environments, he can easily and reliably navigate without most aids.
  Guerilla Warfare: Though by no means a light operator, Ebrima’s been introduced to the art of guerilla warfare at 17. He knows how to plan and lead guerilla operations, translating well into an ability to break them up just as well.
• Languages: On top of his native French he speaks fluent English and passable German, Hebrew and Spanish.
• Endless Reserves: Although not the strongest or the toughest person out there, Ebrima rarely seems to tire, capable of running for hours or walking for days with little else but some rations.

History:
Ebrima was born in Cameroon two years before his sister Lishan. Albino siblings caused quite a stir, and since superstition still ran rampant in the Cameroonian countryside, the two spent a lot of their childhood inside the house, hidden from the hateful neighbors. Their father died when Ebrima was ten, leaving supporting the family solely to their mother Alemayehu.

Shortly after his 11th birthday, the siblings foolishly snuck out of the house at Ebrima's suggestion, got separated at the market and Lishan Arendse disappeared. The authorities quickly closed the case as fleeing home, despite numerous complaints from Alemayehu. The case was briefly reopened seven months later, when a raid against a black market dealing in witchcraft supplies found Lishan's DNA in several powders and potions, but quickly closed again for insufficient evidence to convict anyone. Alemayehu then sent her remaining child to his uncle, a veteran of one of the many African civil wars, and Ebrima Arendse disappeared from the face of the Earth for a few years.

He reappeared at 17, when he moved to his childhood home after his mother’s death. While his missing and presumed dead sister didn't concern the local law enforcement, the name "Ebrima Arendse" was a common staple of their reports. Some might say it became an unofficial medical diagnosis covering bruises, fractures, missing teeth and the odd laceration. No longer hiding, Ebrima often got into trouble for his skin color, to the detriment of the troublemakers. Not long after his return, people around the area started disappearing. As every single one had a bad reputation and many had a criminal record, the police swept the disappearances away with the same disinterest as Lishan Arendse's, until the disappearances became so numerous the complaints from the victims' families could not be ignored anymore. Once it became clear that all of the missing people had something to do with trafficking of rare animals or human organs, someone made the connection with Ebrima's return, but a raid only found a booby-trapped house.

For the next 12 years, Ebrima worked with numerous mercenary groups both large and small operating across Africa, Southeast Asia, Mexico and South America, never staying in one place for too long. Until a new flare-up of the Colombian Conflict, where he found his first "permanent" home among the soldiery of an Israeli arms trafficker, Avital Shalev. Ebrima quickly worked his way into Shalev's inner circle, where he was responsible for shipment security, as well as Shalev's personal security whenever he traveled. Colombia was also where he gained his callsign, originally something the other side called him, after a tall, pale creature from Colombian folklore.

Unfortunately, Shalev was a bit too successful and eventually his operation caught the ire of Mossad, and Ebrima's security measures and intelligence gathering have more than met their match. Caught between the Mossad agents and a sizable force of cartels Shalev refused to sell weapons to, Ebrima went all in on a pair of 2s of clubs, suggesting they surrender to the Mossad team and leverage what they knew to keep their prison terms as short as possible.

But life threw Ebrima a bone in the form of a choice: Spend upwards of a decade in prison, or put his talents to better use. And so, he found himself being put through the Devil's Cooker and joining Raven Squad, pretty much doing the same stuff as before, just for someone else.

Personality:
Ebrima’s childhood was not pleasant. As such, he relishes every moment of normalcy to its fullest, being fairly jovial off the clock. As a coping mechanism for the shit life threw at him, Ebrima turned to humor, dry as a desert road and as dark as the night sky. Honest to a fault, something that had gotten him into a bad spot previously when a Burmese revolutionary hired a mercenary when he wanted a yesman, he will respect the skilled and will not suffer the incompetent. Having never stopped blaming himself for contributing to Lishan’s death, he’s fiercely protective of the people he grows close to. Once secured, Ebrima’s loyalty is unwavering and he’ll walk on water for the people that have earned it. But if betrayed, that loyalty is lost forever. Life is too short to be wasted on people you can’t rely on.

On the job, the other Ebrima surfaces. The image of a consummate professional, calculating, uncompromising, weighing every option before acting if he can and only acting on impulse when absolutely necessary. Some would call him savage in a fight, every motion planned to expend minimal effort for maximum payoff, without any flair.

Armor (medium)

image

Features:

• HUD with integrated truecolor NODs, red hot thermal and hybrid vision modes.
• Helmet camera and rangefinder.
• Backtracking of incoming fire and strain gauges warning the wearer of potential soft tissue or bone damage based on impact strength.
• Strength and mobility enhancing exoskeleton.
• NIJ level IV protection of the torso (front, back and sides) and shins, NIJ level III rated helmet and forearms.
• Fire resistant undersuit with kevlar reinforcements on the torso and shoulders. Also reduces the wearer's IR signature.
• Inflatable PFD. The suit itself is too heavy to permit swimming unaided.
• Temperature controls.

Weapons:

• FosTech Origin-12: A semi-automatic 12 gauge shotgun fed from ten-round magazines. Fitted with a one-point sling, a holographic sight and is suppressor-compatible. Ebrima carries a mixed loadout of flechettes, slugs and a magazine of frag shells for emergencies.
• DesertTech MDRx: Chambered in 5,56x45 mm and fitted with a 16” barrel, two-point sling, side ejecting adapter and Vortex Optics XM-157 FCS.
• H&K USP Expert: Chambered in 9x19 mm and fitted with a red dot sight. Suppressor ready.
• M25 ISABS: A revived and modernized version of the XM 25 semi-automatic grenade launcher fed from five round magazines, fitted with a two-point sling and an attachment connecting the weapon to the wielder’s helmet, allowing him to see the shot's trajectory on his HUD for easier aiming. Ebrima carries a mix of HE airburst and thermobaric rounds, plus one magazine of breaching rounds.
• Ghurka Kukri: A military Kukri Ebrima pulled off a Ghurka he killed in Myanmar.

Equipment:

• 2x flashbang
• 2x smoke grenade
• IFAK
• Backup NVGs (night operations only)
• Jump Pack
• Arm-mounted PDA
• Analog watch

Hobbies:

• Cooking - Having learned to cook while looking after his sister, Ebrima kept up a useful hobby, collecting recipes from every corner of the world his life took him to.
• Motorsports - From grand tourers to open wheelers, as long as it’s double-track. Will happily argue for hours with any fool who claims that Oscar Piastri isn’t, in fact, the undisputed king of racecraft.
• Scale Models - Owns a hoard of display models of various scales and subjects. With a more permanent base, now actually has a place to build and put them all.
• Speculative Fiction - A fan of spy thrillers in particular, having recently discovered the treasure trove that is Tom Clancy’s work.

Likes:

• Cocoa.
• Metal and orchestral music.
• Animals.
• Rain.

Dislikes:

• Unreliability.
• White lies.
• Vegetarian substitutes.
• Cold.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Vigdis had been asleep for a few hours by then, only woken up by the commotion when the strange black substance appeared. She staggered to her feet, still half awake, immediately dropping to a crouch to take cover behind the boat’s walls. Cover from what? She didn’t know. She briefly considered helping the paralyzed soldier get away from the hole in the boat, but that idea got shot down faster than the Jotunheim. No way she’d move a Tekeri, much less one wearing armor.

The captain’s command spurred her into action, though probably not in a way the captain expected. ”NO! STAY ON BOARD!” There she goes, stepping over Zey’s authority in front of people again. Fuck it, ask for forgiveness, permission takes too long. ”Touch the goo while in water and you’re dead!” she pointed the paralyzed soldier out to the captain. Her first assumption was some squid-like river monster actually using its ink to fight rather than escape - or maybe it was paralyzing them to escape - but then she had to ask herself why exactly K-A wildlife would even have something like ‘a squid’ releasing ink? Could’ve been Merfolk for all she could guess. Still, it was something in the water, which meant their weapons were pretty much useless unless the culprit was just below the surface.

Regardless, Vigdis would hardly have been able to shoot even if she wanted to, as some force grabbed a hole of her weapon and several items on her person and in her backpack and started pulling her up, a barrage of Russian swearing touching a variety of topics streaming from her mouth s she held onto her weapon with one hand and the boat with the other, managing to shove a foot under a nearby cleat to keep herself grounded, at least for as long as the cleat stayed attached to the deck. Good thing the implants in her foot were titanium and not steel.

Whatever Kareet, Nellara and the other Tekeri soldier were doing - and she had no idea what it was - was working, the barge being worse for wear but nearing the shore at last. Once they were on solid ground, they could deal with- were those bows?

The volley of arrows answered that question pretty definitely. Curled up behind the boat’s walls, her backpack in front of her as additional poor man’s armor, Vigdis waited for exactly three volleys, counting the time between them while loading a flechette magazine. This called for whatever spread she could get. Right after the third volley, she popped her head and shoulders above cover and fired three times before ducking back down. Funnily enough, the coilguns weren’t much louder than the bows, little more than metallic clicking as the projectile was pulled into the barrel and the coils slightly moved in their mountings. Say what you want about them, but a chemical propellant gun would’ve had a much better psychological effect on the natives. Not wanting to take an arrow to the knee or anywhere else, she didn’t wait to see if she hit anything and ducked back down. ”Nellara? Your neighbors are a bunch of bastards.”

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

That still counted! Abandoning a ‘Mech due to damage was basically an ejection, that was her kill with assistance and Marit would fight about it. She made a mental note of it as Tarak charged past, nimbly dodging the Hunchie’s kick - that ‘Mech didn’t look right kicking, with its stumpy little legs set far apart under a disproportionate torso - while Ziska and Ingrid made their retreat. ”Ramrod, Alleycat, use me for cover if you need to hide behind something.” She offered on Lance comms, Archie’s armor still barely scratched while the two ‘Mechs in question had seen better days and Tarak now moving ahead in a Medium. She would’ve approached, close quarters combat not being her favorite but she did have plenty of armor, but she couldn’t get the thought of the bridge out of her mind. Yes, the Fists had to cross it, but if they started losing they might decide to go back where they came from and shoot it out from under them out of spite. Maybe she should have worded it differently though, the word ‘hide’ may have precluded Ingrid from taking the offer entirely.

Raven’s suggestion had some merit to it, but at the same time what if using the environment would give the Fists the same idea? Regardless of Ingrid’s decision, Marit had her target, Ziska’s targeting equipment doing the aiming for her. She oh-so contemplated taking potshots with some of her lasers at the Hunchback, but she very much did not love the smell of cooked myomer in the morning, it smelled like excessive wear and reduced movement speed. She started walking Archie backwards and keyed her microphone twice to let Ziska know the order had been received and was being processed, about to let loose another 35 missiles when she noticed it. The range. The stationary target. Marit removed one of the LRM 10 launchers from the weapon group and instead selected two lasers for a second trigger. There would be a faint smell of mildly toasty myomer after all.

The first trigger sent 25 missiles toward the Crusader. She could see it between the Panther and Tarak’s Phoenix Hawk, watching with a smile as over half the missiles struck true. With no spectacular effects like limbs flying off or ammo detonations, she didn’t linger to watch and instead turned her attention to the Panther. With a slight adjustment of Archie’s torso, she moved her thumb to the trigger linked to the lasers on Archie’s arms and sent two beams of green light in the Panther’s direction. The temperature in the cockpit jumped higher than before, a notable increase remaining even as the heat sinks did their best. Her reward for the endeavor was an explosion and the Panther’s left arm flying away in a shower of actuator bits and shredded myomer, the armor on its left torso - already largely stripped by previous attacks - now completely gone, exposing the structure beneath it, including the SRM missile rack the laser sadly did not find.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Right, sea monsters. She didn’t take those into account when asking the question. ”Monsters of the deep? Oh, that’s easy: We don’t have any. Well, some are still left, but those stay in the depths. Either they live so deep down they can’t function near the surface or they learned that bothering us isn’t worth the trouble it brings. Humans have this tendency for disproportionate retribution: Countless times in our history, when one type of animal killed too many people or livestock for our liking, we nearly or completely eradicated that animal from that part of the world.“ And then had to airdrop Wolves into Yellowstone in early 21st century, once people realized they were important for keeping other animals in check. ”Many of the large sea creatures have died out on their own thousands of years ago due to there being not enough food for them, others died due to water pollution.” Vigdis counted on her fingers. Blue Whales were hardly monsters, if anything they had been known to protect other creatures and even humans from sharks and killer whales, if documentaries and Vigdis’ grade six biology teacher were to be believed, but the Orcas definitely counted. ”Plus we started building our waterborne ships from steel… 450 years ago? That would’ve helped too.”

”Hey, Captain, have you heard? There’s a fortune to be made shuttling explorers and settlers beyond mountains and oceans once we get the Jo airworthy again.” Now, Vigdis was clearly joking, even the locals would’ve recognized laughter by now, but in a pinch…

”So you never had someone who one day decided ‘I’m just going to sail West and see where I end up.’? We had people like that even back when we believed in sea monsters, magic and gods. A quarter of Earth’s landmass was discovered due to navigation errors. Everyone had been sailing to India due East, until one day one man decided he would find a Westward path. Found a new continent because it was in the way.” Bit of a simplification, but it got the point across. ”And how does magic factor into it? No life mage ever tried changing into a creature that would tolerate the harsh conditions during the overland crossing?”

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Great, these tossers were about as stable as the Espian government and they weren’t even trying to hide it. True, she almost expected as much from someone willing to do what they did, but it was still nice to know how well put together the Knights actually were, despite their quirks.

And apparently, the true Knights were shit talking back. Can do. Switching comms to a short-range open channel, hopefully she’d reach the Fists without somebody else outside of the map Hex picking it up. ”Hey, look, I get it. It’s okay to be jealous of our talent and style, I know we look stunning, but dressing up your rattletraps to look like our ‘Mechs before you go catch up on your war crime quota is a serious no-go. Cut that shit out before we stop telling the duchess to be nice to you.” It was a little unfortunate that the duchess in question was retreating, on fire and about five degrees from busting her ass when Marit said it, but the lunatics probably didn’t know who that was, so all was in order except the ‘Duchess is on fire’ bit.

Right after that, the Crusader decided to give her some attention, a flight of missiles scratching Archie’s paint. With the way an Archer’s cockpit was placed, from where she was sitting it looked like the missiles were about to fall down the back of her neck. A quick check revealed nothing broken, allowing Marit to get back into the mix unburdened. As far as she and Archie were concerned, the most effective weapon the Fists had so far was the noise coming out of their faces. Maybe if they kept the Firestarter guy talking for long enough, his own lance would switch sides. Furthermore, they basically admitted to their false flag shenanigans, so that was a plus. Spurring Archie forward to get as close as possible to minimize missile spread on target, she stopped uncomfortably close to the edge of the ravine, ready to lean back at the first sign of losing balance. Falling on her back was preferable to falling a hundred meters.

Then the symbols of Ziska’s TAG laser and NARC beacon appeared on Marit’s HUD, and so did a broad grin on her face. Temporarily forgetting the stricken Panther, the missiles eagerly locked onto the marked Firestarter, almost quivering in the launchers to be allowed to fly with purpose. Who was Marit to deny them? ”Dodgy fucker, aren’t you?” Marit idly asked with an audible grin, addressing the Firestarter and setting all three launchers to top fire mode to avoid the Panther and Catapult it was hiding behind, Ziska’s TAG making sure their accuracy wouldn’t suffer like it usually did with indirect fire. ”Dodge this, Piss-colored Clown.” She transmitted as she fired all of her ordnance at the Firestarter.

And fly with purpose they did, riding the beam of Ziska’s TAG home and tearing chunks out of the Firestarter’s torso armor and structure. Its right arm flew off, the left one barely hanging on by myomer and prayers before ultimately joining its sister. Thermals picked up a heat spike through the holes in the Firestarter’s mangled center torso, Archie’s sensors reporting serious damage to its engine with 92% certainty. She liked that number. ”Get fucked!” She cheered off comms. She owed Ziska a drink. Forget that, if she kept the spotting up for a few more sorties, Marit would buy her a whole bar.