Supermaxx

Superboy's Shitty Characters

| Name |

Superboy // Kon-El // Conner Kent

| Age |

Early 20s

| Character Differences |

Kon-El is further along in his life in this iteration than most, and a world-shattering tragedy has thrust upon him a terrible burden. Like many former sidekicks, the mentor that molded him into the hero and person that he is today was suddenly and brutally attacked. Kal was one of the lucky ones to survive as he did, though not so lucky when he learned of the extent of his injuries. The world has been deprived of its former heroes. A golden age of capes came and went in the blink of an eye, and the world's citizens teeter on the brink of complete panic and chaos. Its been suggested that Conner take up the name and mantle of Superman, both as a practical decision to take up Kal's former duties and as a symbolic gesture to the people that the new generation is more than ready to fill the void left behind by their predecessors. Conner is meant to spearhead that initiative, and yet...he isn't sure he has what it takes.

Most of the differences between this version and the Post-Crisis one is his maturity. He's older, more restrained, and perhaps even a little wiser. Along with that emotional maturity came physical maturity, too: his powers have evolved with time, growing stronger by the day. He's still far from a match for the modern Kal-El, but can be compared to the 'Golden Age' iteration in many ways, including a lack of flight. Rationalizations for this vary wildly, but most observers agree that, if Kon's physical age tracks with Kal's, he should be able to fly by now.

| Brief World Background |

Superboy's origin earth differs little from the Prime iteration up until the events known as the 'Tower of Babel.' Ra's al Ghul and his League of Assassins launched a massive assault on the Justice league's Watchtower, utilizing Batman's stolen contingency plans to capture, kill and wound Earth's greatest protectors. Unlike in the Prime timeline, the attack succeeded, and they were able to move onto the next stage of the plan. The Assassins created a series of false flag attacks to drive the countries of Vialya and Qurac to war with one another, dragging a complex web of alliances into direct, military confrontation with one another in the hopes of sparking a global war. It was believed that, without the possibility of intervention by the Justice League, such a war would be made inevitable, and from the ashes Ra's al Ghul's new world order could rise.

They were wrong.

Nightwing rallied the non-Leaguer heroes still left, many of whom were active or former members of the Teen Titans and Young Justice teams and their affiliates, and struck back. The conspiracy was revealed to the world, Ra's was captured, and the Assassins scattered to every corner of the planet, never to rise again to their former glory. The cost, however, was high. Numerous heroes were lost in the violence, either dead or too crippled to continue their service, and almost done managed to escape unscathed. Batman was not present during the attack for unknown reasons and has yet to resurface since- its assumed he was killed beforehand, but it isn't certain.

Of those that survived, Superman was the highest profile, and he was the primary reason the panic could be contained. He acted as a source of hope and inspiration, assuring the general public that they were still safe. All of his speeches, interviews and even his supposed appearances to continue the good fight were a calculated attempt to obfuscate the truth. Nightwing had realized early on that Superman was their lifeline to the old way: a stalwart reminder of what the League had represented. The public believed that so long they had Superman things would be alright. He also realized that the radiation poisoning Kal-El was suffering from was only getting worse, and it was only a matter of time before their lifeline snapped.

| Brief Character Background |

Superboy was originally a clone of Superman created by CADMUS with the goal of replacing the original with a copy loyal to the interests of the United States government. The project was discovered by a small group of sidekicks before he finished 'incubating,' broken free, and brought under the group's wing. He spent the next several years of his life adjusting to his new reality, being mentored by Superman and other prominent heroes. Superboy worked closely with the likes of Robin, Kid Flash and Miss Martian as co-founders of the Young Justice team.

Things took a dramatic turn after the League's massacre at the hands of Ra's al Ghul. Kon-El did all he could to help, playing an instrumental part in containing the Bialya-Qurac conflict while Grayson unraveled the conspiracy for the world to see. He could not, however, save many of his friends and mentors: he lost Kara, Barry, J'onn, Dinah and many, many more. And to make matters worse he was forced to confront the fact that Kal was ill, and there didn't seem to be any way to reverse the sickness. It was only a matter of time before the world lost its Superman.

Blood Reigns Over Westeros: A Song of Ice & Fire Story (Accepting Player Proposals)

House Stark

Theon I

---

The sun beat down on the backs of the sailors aboard the Father's Vigilance like a cudgel borne in the fist of the Long Summer. They'd been assailed in such a fashion since the day they left White Harbor, only for it to grow more intense the further south they traveled. To make matters worse the winds were all but dead for most of the voyage, forcing the oarmen to carry the burden of bringing them down the Narrow Sea to the Bay of Crabs. Venerable though the flagship's crew was, even they were not immune to discomfort- they complained, surely, but they never allowed it to impair their work.

They were good, loyal Northmen. Theon only wished they had the power to make the sea less fucking choppy.

His stomach churning in time with the sea, the Lord of Winterfell found himself perched over the edge of the war galley. He'd already expelled chunks of his lunch into the water lurking below, and it didn't take a maester's mind to know it would happen again in the near future.

"Gods be good this damned heat will dry you up before the tourney's end and I won't have to suffer you again on the way back." He snarled down at the sea, wiping the spittle from his wild mess of a beard with the corner of his tunic's sleeve as he did.

"Your father was never one for sailing either," A familiar voice called out from behind him, carrying with it a warmth that Theon would never tire of.

He turned to face Lady Leona Stark and found his lips splaying upward before he even realized it. She flashed a smile just the same, just as charismatic and beautiful as the day Jon married her. The silver that had overtaken her golden braids years ago and the many lines that dotted her rounded features had done little to diminish either quality. There was a youthfulness to her eyes that no amount of physical frailty could hope to snuff out.

"S'pose I'm more wolf than merman." Theon japed, leading his mother by the arm to join him in looking out over the sea. He did his best to shift the conversation away from that, hoping he could hold himself together long enough to have one, decent conversation. "Must be good to be back on the open waves after so long pent up in our dark, dreary castles, eh?"

Leona gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. "Mayhaps." She lifted a hand up above her eyes to keep the sun's blinding light away, giving her a better view of that vast spread of salt water. Some said it ran in her veins, only turning to blood the moment it touched the air- that was why the Manderlys had so dominated the waves for a thousand years. A silly story, she was sure, but it was hard to deny the swelling in her breast as she stared off into the disappearing horizon.

"Do you ever wish you could go back?" Theon muttered, his voice quiet and subdued. "Home, I mean."

"Not for a second." She was quick to reply, her voice like the wind on a spring morn. "Home isn't a holdfast or a city or any of that nonsense; those are just buildings, no matter how splendid they might be. No, my home is with my family. First Jon, then you and Jeyne...and now all those little scamps you've got running around Winterfell."

"I don't like leavin' 'em behind." He admitted. "Seven hells, I can't imagine what trouble Edrick's getting up to."

"Alys can handle him, you know that. That woman's tougher than weirwood."

"And what of Sara? She must be sobbing her pretty little head off-"

"-She's eight, Theon, not two." Leona laid a hand on her son's arm, squeezing it tight. "Everything's going to be alright, you know that. You're acting as if you've never left them before."

"Course I have," he scoffed, his body sinking forward as he rested his arms up against the deck's rail. He kept his eyes trained on where the vast, blue stretch met the sky. "Just not since..."

Silence hung between them like a morning fog. The past year had been difficult for all of the Starks. None of them had dealt with Jon's passing well. Leona had found herself retreating into the sept more and more often, complaining of foul dreams and pain in her head. Willam had left the North long before that, but he was fraught with guilt the day he returned for Jon's funeral, furious with himself for not being by his brother's side when he died. But Theon...Theon had taken it the hardest of all of them.

"It'll be good to see Harlon again." He stood back up and coughed, shifting the conversation once again. "He's, what, two-and-ten now? Walys must've made a fine knight of my boy in all this time. Won't be surprised if he could unseat some'o those pompous, southron bastards in this tourney-"

"Theon!" Leona gasped, trying and failing to hide her smirk. "We're here to celebrate Lord Arryn's nameday, so it may be wise to hold your tongue while we're in Gulltown. You're liable to have one of those 'pompous, southron' knights challenge you to a duel if they hear you saying such things. They'll think you've besmirched their honor."

"They should, because I have." He chuckled. "It's all a mummer's farce! They prance around on their show horses, all dressed up in their colorful costumes while they hit each other with sticks. It's a children's game that kills a few men every time. Madness, the whole of it, I tell ya."

"It's supposed to be fun." Leona countered.

"They're playing at war! War isn't meant to be fun."

"Tell that to your uncle. I don't know what he likes the most: drinking, fighting, or when he can do both at once."

The two broke out into shared laughter that carried across the wind, memories of uncle Willam showing up to melees unable to walk straight yet still winning handily popped into both of their minds. It went on for a little while longer than either would've wanted, but they couldn't help it; there was infectiousness to the merriment that neither could deny. It felt like it'd been centuries since the two had truly been able to enjoy one another's company.

Their fit only came to an end when another, louder sound drowned it out, drawing their eyes down the deck of the Father's Vigilance. The sound was the collective voices of the sailors and crewmen crying out a joyous song in broken union. Off to Gulltown rang like thunder up and down the galley, spreading like wildfire. It didn't take long for Theon to see why it had started when he turned his gaze to the other side of the ship, a sprawling city appearing, resting inside a natural harbor in what Theon could only assume was the Bay of Crabs.

They'd finally made it.

He could see other ships docked in port already, many of them just as large or larger than the flagship of the Manderly fleet. They carried with them a wide array of flags and banners flapping in the wind, announcing proudly the name of the House that owned them. Theon recognized most of them, though he had to admit the maester's heraldry lessons had never been his favorite.

"Seems all of Westeros has come to wish Robert a happy name day!" Theon shouted, making swiftly for the other side of the ship so he could get a better look at the breathtaking display. It wasn't often a gathering of this size was had. Something like this was usually left for royal events, though Robert Arryn was old and respected enough that he may as well have been king to many people.

"You may wish to get dressed before meeting all of Westeros. We'll be making landfall soon." Leona gently reminded him.

Theon turned to her incredulously. "What do you mean? I am dressed." He answered, glancing down at the woolen tunic, gray mantle and simple breeches he dared call 'clothes.'

"You've spent too much time with that Red Priest of yours," she shook her head and clicked her tongue. "Head down below, my hand maids will pick from the best of your wardrobe for you. And you'd best heed their advice, or I'm throwing you overboard myself."

Polaris: A New Anchorage Story

---

Smith's Rest | Transit Station
January 16th, 2677

---

That 'conversation' with Demetrius went about how Mara expected it to. It mirrored all the other little talks she had tried to initiate with him ever since they left the battalion to strike out on their own. He always found some way to brush her off; had some excuse to keep from engaging. Mara couldn't shake the feeling that he'd conveniently lose his characteristic bluntness and honesty the moment that particular topic came up. There'd be something else, something more important he needed to do with his time. Or he wouldn't 'hear' her talking to him in the first place.

Maybe that was why Demi was always pumping that garbage into his ears.

'Doesn't help that I forget how to talk every time I try it, but...'

Mara's train of thought quickly found itself derailed at the sound of some other passenger yelling at them, apparently unhappy with Demi's choice in music. Her accent was thick and exotic, hailing from some corner of the world Mara had never been- if she had to guess, it sounded close to some Oceanians she'd heard in holovids in the past. But what was someone like that doing all the way up here? Not...that she had any room to talk in the 'a little far from home' department.

For the briefest moment Solon felt a heat rise to her ears and a choler build in her throat, her natural instinct being to meet hostility with it in equal measure, but she knew picking a fight before she was even on base was a good way to get her contract shredded. She needed to choke it back if she wanted to make a good first impression. "Sorry 'bout that." Solon forced a grin, deliberately relaxing her posture. "S'not my first choice either."

It seemed to work, too, as the other woman broke off to gaze out the window, allowing Mara to breath a quiet sigh of relief. If the Aussie had decided to escalate Solon couldn't guarantee she'd keep her cool for long; that was something she was getting less and less capable of as the days ticked on.

Demi hadn't so much as blinked during the brief confrontation, so zoned out he might as well be on another planet.

Not much time passed before Smith's Rest came into sight. The tram started to slow and the passengers began to gather what belongings they'd brought on with them in preparation to step off. Mara slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and stuffed Demi's own into his lap in the process, keenly aware of how likely he was to leave it behind.

Stepping off the tram and into the transit station brought with it a great sense of relief. She was glad to be done away with the stench in the train, and even if the air in 'Rest was stale and a bit musky, anything was better than what she was leaving behind.

The misfit band of pilots, workers and settlers found themselves greeted almost immediately by two figures. The man with the datapad appeared to be some kind of administrator or coordinator here to make sure the tram was running on time and no cargo or personnel were missing. It was the man standing beside him that really interested Mara. Tall, strong-jawed, and eyes like a hawk- she knew a military officer when she saw one, and from what she'd heard there was only one man in New Anchorage that carried himself like a real soldier.

Mara was less-than-subtle about making sure she was one of the first out in front, leaving her brother lagging behind as she did so. She snapped a quick salute for Director Graham, her soon-to-be commanding officer. She knew enough about outfits like this to know how hellish it was to be on the XO's bad side. Anybody with a brain would know to start brown nosing the second they could. "Reportin' for duty, sir!"

Superboy's Shitty Characters

| Name |

Iron Patriot // Norman Osborn

| Age |

Early 40s

| Character Differences |

In this timeline Norman Osborn is no longer a villain, though calling him a hero might be overselling it. He has dedicated a great deal of his recent life to fighting for humanity's survival, not just because his interests happen to align with the side of light (namely not wanting to die in an alien-induced genocide), but because he sees that fight as a road toward redemption. The war with the Skrulls is Norman's chance to prove he's no longer the monster he once was, that he's conquered the Goblin, and that he deserves to see Harry again. All the while he continues to struggle with his psychosis in a silent battle for his mind and his soul.

| Brief World Background |

Earth wasn't in the least bit prepared when the Skrulls came for Earth. Unlike in the mainline continuity, Tony Stark never learns of the Secret Invasion, and the Skrulls are able to systematically pick apart every major threat before they're discovered. The Avengers, the Fantastic Four, the x-Men, and even SHIELD all fall, the world none the wiser to what's taken place. It was only after victory was assured that the aliens launched an all-out attack on Earth.

Yet the swift triumph they anticipated never came, for in their darkest hour humanity still managed to resist- led not by its traditional heroes but instead by dictators, conquerors, terrorists and villains of all other stripes. Pariahs once shunned by the world for their misdeeds rose up in earnest to defend it. Among the highest echelons of the resistance sat men and women like Doctor Doom, Emma Frost, and Namor, united in common purpose. They were the strongest mankind had left to lead them, and that ensured their demise. The Skrulls managed to pick off the leadership one by one, carving out a power vacuum within the command structure.

A vacuum that Norman Osborn stepped in to fill.

The war was a long, grueling affair, with neither side willing to give even an inch of ground. It was the bloodiest conflict the world had ever seen, and it raged on for more than a decade before Osborn was able to strike the critical blow that would turn the tide in earth's favor: he punched through the Skrull flagship and put a bullet through their queen. It didn't end the fight by any measure, but it marked the turning point that allowed a united earth to crush the invasion for good.

With the Skrulls pushed back into space, the surviving members of humanity began to reorganize themselves to prepare for further conflict- they knew well that the invasion of Earth was only the start of things. Osborn was, naturally, the best choice to lead the effort. He established HAMMER as a militarized opposite to SHIELD with himself as its director. Construction of a space fleet began, headed by former scientists and engineers from AIM, with the hope of striking back at the Skrulls for all that they had done.

| Brief Character Background |

Norman Osborn gained his wealth selling prototype weaponry to the American military. His company, Oscorp, was once a significant competitor to the likes of Stark Industries, only for the entire industry to be flipped on its head the day the 'Iron Man'- quickly revealed to be Tony Stark himself- appeared on the public stage. Nothing Oscorp was developing at the time could ever hope to live up to the armor, and every country on the planet was looking to replicate it. Osborn was far too proud to stoop to the level of many of his competitors that were racing to make and sell copycat suits en-masse, and he stuck religiously to his current project: attempting to re-discover the Super Soldier formula that created Captain America.

But progress was painfully slow, and USFDA refused to allow human trials to begin until the numerous side effects appearing in the animal testing phase were addressed. Norman flushed more and more resources into the development of the drug, diverting them from the company's more profitable ventures in the hopes of making a breakthrough. It didn't work, the serum remained unstable, and Oscorp was dragged under by his obsession. In a final, desperate bid to prove he wasn't a failure, Osborn injected himself with the incomplete formula, and the psychopathic killer known as the Green Goblin was born. That personality dominated Norman for eight, long years of his life, compelling him to terrorize the people of New York City and do battle with local hero Spider-Man.

This 'second personality' wrought chaos across the city, killing, maiming and destroying whoever or whatever he pleased, showing an intense obsession with proving its superiority over everyone else- most especially Spider-Man. It wasn't until Norman's son, Harry, was caught in the crossfire that Osborn was able to wrestle some semblance of control back. He surrendered himself to SHIELD, beginning down the arduous path of rehabilitation with the hope of one day being allowed to see his son again.

It became immediately clear to his doctors that the chemical mixture Norman had injected himself with was altering the state of his mind in a profound way, causing symptoms of Dissociative Identity Disorder, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, and Borderline Personality Disorder to manifest. A treatment plan was written up that involved a great deal of medication and therapy over the course of three and a half years. There would never be a cure for Osborn's condition- not without a miracle- but they were confident they could stabilize him enough for him to return to polite society.

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done or would ever do, but Norman committed to the plan and refused to give up on himself. Norman Osborn wasn't going to let himself be beaten by this.

Unfortunately he was never given the chance to finish the treatment. The Skrulls invaded earth, assassinated its front line of defense and swarmed over the rest of humanity like a plague. It became brutally obvious that mankind wouldn't be able to win this war on its own, and Osborn couldn't simply sit back and watch the planet burn from a padded cell. Freeing himself from his rehabilitation facility, Norman armed himself with stolen commandeered Stark tech and began organizing a resistance movement with many of his old rivals from his time as the Goblin.

CLONE JOCKO WILLINK FOR MEAT-EATING PURPOSES

JOCKO SMASH

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Boy, this sure is awkward.

I want to start by saying that I really enjoyed playing with you guys. You’re all great writers, and even though I struggled to keep up with the IC, I loved every post I read. Even outside of the IC thread, though, you’ve all been a fuckin riot. Some of ya’ll are funny as hell, and all of you have been a treat to just hang out with. It’s been a good time.

That said, however, I feel an obligation to be up front and honest with you all. I value this bunch of players too much to mince words or lie to them, and I hope they understand where I’m coming from when I say that I can’t continue with this game. Gowi is a good friend of mine, and despite his many flaws, I can’t in any way agree with or support the decision to remove him like this.

He did everything asked of him. He participated in the GMing process as much as I did, and he was more than willing to reconcile his differences with Wraith, and I feel that his treatment has been ludicrously unfair. With that in mind I will be stepping down as co-GM and removing myself from the game. I wish you all the best of luck going forward, and I hope I get the chance to write with you guys in the future.

RPGN // Issue No.2 - July 2019

hey wow thanks for shouting out my RP, Absolute Comics, random unbiased reporter. RPGN is my favorite news source on the Guild

Polaris: A New Anchorage Story

---

In Transit | Old Harbor-Smith's Rest Tramway
January 16th, 2677

---

The tram was cramped, loud, stunk of dried urine and Demetrius couldn't decide which of those annoyed him the most. Whichever dumbass had designed the transport decided to shove twenty-eight seats into a box that could comfortably fit maybe fifteen passengers; if there were actually enough people there to fill every seat, Demi was confident he would've chucked himself out of the emergency exit half an hour into it. Thankfully there were only seven or so of them, but that was still five too many in his humble opinion.

Maybe it'd be more bearable if three seats down from him there wasn't a passed out drunkard that had soiled himself sometime since he got on the tram. The stench was bad enough, but then he had the audacity to start fucking snoring. Every time he drew in air through that fat nose of his, Demi felt a primal desire to smother him into silence.

'I need to finish this before I actually snap.' He thought, turning his attention back to the plastic and steel box he held in his palm. The front cover had been removed, revealing a mess of circuitry and wiring that it's creator had failed to organize in any reasonable way. It was such a haphazard design that Demi wasn't all that surprised it had just stopped working that morning when he stepped off the ship that had carried him from Vancouver to New Anchorage. Something about the bitter northern cold must've screwed with the internals, somehow.

Honestly, though, he couldn't blame the AutoBeat for not wanting to work in a freezing hellscape like this. 'And here I thought Scandinavia was bad. Christ.'

"You makin' any progress?" A familiar voice from just a seat over called, a slight, unintentional sing-songiness to it.

Demetrius didn't look away from his work when he answered Mara, focusing on soldering a new diode into the music player. "Mountains of it."

She let out a slight chuckle, sliding over from her chair into the one directly next t him. "Y'know, lil' brother, you could always talk to me to pass the time. Doubt you'll be done with that thing before we get to 'Rest anyway."

"I could, that's true," Demetrius slid a pair of safety goggles over his eyes and plucked a mini-torch and a handful of electronic parts out of his toolkit. It was probably a bad idea to do this kind of sensitive work on a train, but he was bored out of his mind and it kept his hands busy. "I won't. But I could."

Mara gave an exasperated sigh and slunk down where she sat, moving her arms up to rest behind her head. "You're a real dickhead sometimes, y'know that?"

"And you're a real airhead all the time. Nobody's perfect."

"It's just..." She sighed again, struggling to come up with the words that she wanted to use.

Demetrius could see that she was flipping her old Black Steel ID tags between her fingers out of the corner of his eye, and he mentally braced himself for a painful and awkward conversation that neither of them really wanted to have; it was necessary, probably, but that wouldn't make it any better in the moment.

"Just spit it out already. No use floundering over phrasing."

Mara shifted, her smile faltering somewhat. "It's just that, like, the two of us are on our own now. For the first time...ever, really." She spoke softly, her eyes shifted down toward the metal she held in her digits, her own name staring back up at her. "Nobody else we can rely on anymore 'cept each other. I figure that means we should probably learn to get along better, y'know? Learn how to talk to each other, and-"

The sound of a heavy guitar rift and the pounding of drums suddenly filled the cabin, thundering out so loudly that it even managed to wake up the passed out drunk. "Finally." Demi grinned and plugged his headset into the AutoBeat, cutting off the blaring music, much to the gratefulness of the two other passengers. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

She turned her head away from him, resting her cheek on the frost-covered glass of the tram's window. "...Nothing."

Demetrius shrugged and lifted his headset over his ears, grateful to have his music back.

Username Context

Okay so when I was a kid there was a TV show I watched a shitton called Chaotic. It was based on a trading card game and I learned you could play that shit online for free on the TV show's website, but you needed to sign up for an account to play. This was the very first time I needed to make a username, and I decided to base it off the username a character in the show used- Kazdan "Kaz" Kalinkas (A.K.A. KidChaor).

I swapped out Chaor for his rival from the 'good' faction, Maxxor, but I was too fuckin cool to name myself kid anything and went with lord like the edgy 10 year old that I was. Thus my first username and the one I stuck with for a long ass time, Maxxorlord. Overtime that got shortened down to just Maxx. If I could do that as a standalone, I would, but there's a certain motherfucker that stole it so I had to slap an adjective in front of it: in this case, Comrade, because I'm a dirty Communist _{but ironically only sometimes tho #Bernie2020}

So ye, my name's not actually Max, it's just a childhood username that I've used for so long that it's my regular ID now

Polaris: A New Anchorage Story

Mara Solon | Icarus | F | 19 | Saxony, Germany

Personal Dossier

---

Physical Description

Mara spent her whole life as a soldier and that fact is burned into her very identity. Rigorous, daily training has resulted in her developing a fair bit of muscle and an athletic frame- though no amount of hard work can make her grow any taller than 5'7, unfortunately. She's been dragged into more than a few brawls in that time, leaving her with plenty of scars, both big and small. The most visible of these are the cut along her left cheek and the numerous, smaller abrasions that pepper her jawline, neck and upper body.

Her 'style,' if one could call it that, reflects on how military life has shaped her: she continues to wear the same grey Battle Dress Uniform, work boots and the fur-lined aviator's jacket that were all given to her by Black Steel back when she first became one of their pilots. She's since removed all their iconography, of course, and replaced them with an embroidering of Icarus's wings; after all, who would be dumb enough to continue to wear the colors of a group they turned their back on?

Personality Traits

Confident
Impulsive
Outgoing
Possessive
Passionate

Psychological Effects of Polaris Shift

The Polaris Shift drastically warped Mara's natural aggression and impulsiveness, causing her to develop symptoms of Intermittent Explosive Disorder. This disorder is characterized by frequent outbursts of anger and aggression, almost always disproportionate to the 'slight' that caused it. These outbursts become even worse when Solon is in the cockpit, morphing acts of violence into an almost relieving or intoxicating experience. Her symptoms appear to be worsening with time, and her previous methods of maintaining or seizing control over her emotional state are becoming less and less effective. Worse still, the release and pleasure she feels during these incidents seem to be growing more intense and addicting- and that fact terrifies her.

Personal History

Mara was always the more combative of the two Solon twins, even from the beginning preferring to solve her problems with her fists than her head. That aggression and bravado made her a shoe-in for soldiering, according to her superiors at Black Steel, and she started her training regime from an extraordinarily young age at the discretion of her father. They instilled within her a discipline and strong sense of duty, and gave the skills she'd need to eventually develop into the excellent pilot that she would one day become.

She was ecstatic when she learned she was NC compatible, and all but leapt into the first mecha they'd let her climb into. Piloting was easily the most thrilling experience she'd ever had, and Mara dedicated herself to being the best in the entire battalion. It was a goal she got closer and closer to as she grew, both as a person and as a pilot, her skill and maturity developing well in tandem with one another. Her fondness for the outfit grew as well- she fell in love with the sense of purpose and comradery that came with her service. She was meant for this; she was meant to be a soldier.

Her first few sorties gave solon a healthy dosage of reality, however, as she was forced to turn her guns on flesh and blood people for the first time. She was able to rationalize it, at first:

The other pilots she fought were out to kill her, too, so why shouldn't she kill them first?

Her outfit wouldn't be targeting them if they didn't have it coming- her commander was a good man.

Mom and dad were encouraging her to fight. That meant it had to be okay, right?

Slowly but surely she came to the realization that these were little more than excuses. The guilt she felt every time she watched another mecha fall continued to build and build until it was so heavy that Mara could no longer bear the weight. It forced her to start asking questions. It compelled her to confront the worst parts about herself, about the work she did for Black Steel, and whether or not she would be able to continue to serve under such conditions. These weren't questions that came to her easily or in a short amount of time, but rather had to be teased out, long term, all while she busied herself acting as little more than a glorified leg breaker for a monolithic, uncaring megacorporation for nothing more than a simple paycheck.

She attempted to bring these worries before her family, she tried to get them to understand why she was hesitant to fight for them, but all it resulted in were dozens of fights and arguments with her parents about what was really important in the world. They argued- vehemently- that all that really mattered was that they do what they needed to help each other, that they needed to be loyal to the battalion; the company had given them so much, and it was only right that they give back as much as they could. Mara wrestled with that idea for quite a long time before she was able to reject it completely.

From there she decided that she could no longer continue to work for Black Steel in good conscience, or any corporation for that matter. She wasn't sure where she could go to avoid the massive shadow they cast over the world, but she'd become convinced of the fact that working for such organizations was wrong, and that it was a great disservice to waste her skill on a cause she didn't believe in; that left her with the 'simple' task of finding a cause she could believe in.

Enter a recruitment ad she found for New Anchorage.

Tactical Preferences and Skills

Trained Professional: For all of it's faults, the Black Steel Battalion knew how to turn boys and girls into hardened soldiers. She developed a wide breadth of skills both during the initial training process as well as during her active service, including but not limited to: operating a firearm, basic CQC and hand to hand, survival in extreme environments, field medicine and equipment maintenance. All of this was packaged along with a healthy sense of discipline and the resolve to see the day through, regardless of the personal cost or difficulty involved.

Excellent Marksman: The primary area of expertise, the skill Mara has spent her entire life honing, is her marksmanship. She has an intuitive sense of range, projectile drop, standard deviation and how weather affects specific types of projectiles. Even without the assistance of her targeting computer, Mara's aim is impeccable, bordering on prodigious. This skill doesn't translate as well outside of the cockpit, since shooting a hand-held weapon and aiming the Icarus's gun are such diametrically different things, but she's practiced enough in gunplay to operate normal firearms at a competitive level.

Precision, Speed, Reconnaissance: Mara Solon's role in an engagement is to act as a forward operative with the goal of gathering strategic intel on enemy numbers, armament and movement while also engaging them from a safe distance. Icarus's highly mobile yet lightly armored frame requires that she be constantly vigilante in how she's positioned; if she stops moving for more than a few minutes she's liable to catch a bullet. Knowing the composition and capability of enemy combatants is vital for her success as a scout and as a marksman- the vulnerability of her particular machine means that she doesn't have the luxury of missteps.

Notes

Mara, like her brother, speaks with an accent, but unlike Demetrius it gets significantly thicker when she begins to lose her cool- at her angriest she has a habit of switching back to her native German without fully realizing it. She also never learned French.

Keeps a strict schedule to keep herself sane and in control, including daily meditation and long exercise regimes.

Theme

Neural Combatant

---

Codename

Icarus

Type

Small, Bipedal

Squad Role

Scout Marksman

Description

Icarus is a Paragon manufactured, lightly armored NC designed specialized for the task of battlefield reconnaissance and eliminating high value/vulnerable targets from extended range. Standing at only seven meters tall and twenty five tons in weight, Icarus is one of the smallest and lightest NCs in its class. It's frame is streamlined to minimize drag and stripped of all but the lightest armored plating for maximum potential mobility. Originally Icarus featured a black and gunmetal grey paint-job to match the aesthetic of the rest of the Black Steel Battalion, but since leaving Mara has swapped it for a softer white and blue palette.

Equipment & Armaments

Light Beam Rifle (LBR): The Light Battery Rifle (LBR) is Icarus's weapon of choice for long range engagements. It is a recoil-less, rapid fire style rifle that can unleash continuous bursts of energy beams for several minutes before the battery has to be replaced. Utilizing a specialized system of mirrors and diodes to fire a thin beam of super hot energy, the LBR is designed to burn through even the thickest armor to strike at critical internal systems, potentially disabling an enemy mech in just a few, well-placed shots. For all its armor-piercing abilities, it lacks any explosive or shrapnel elements, meaning a round has to hit a vital area to have any effect. Worse still, most modern armor is designed in such a way as to reflect laser based attacks off all but a few areas. This in mind, an incredible degree of precision, patience and knowledge of opposition mechs is required to use the weapon effectively. The LBR is a recoil-less, rapid fire style rifle that can fire off continuous bursts of energy beams for several minutes before the battery has to be replaced.

Plasma Knife: Close quarters is the last place Icarus wants to be, but there are times where Mara doesn't have any choice in the matter- in those moments she's always glad to have a secondary weapon on hand to defend herself with.

Directional Rockets and Jump Pack: The main source of Icarus's mobility are the jump pack and directional rockets installed on the NC's back and limbs, respectively. Its jump pack allows the NC to reach otherwise inaccessible strategic positions, while the directional rockets focus more on improving strafing and letting Icarus run circles around enemy mechs.

Advanced Sensor Suite: Icarus possesses a wide array of electronic detection equipment including Radar, LiDAR, and thermal imaging. On top of these reconnaissance tools it has an entire electronic warfare suite for the purpose of disrupting enemy communication and obscuring their ability to track Icarus's squadron mates. These systems are constantly being tweaked and upgraded personally by Mara's twin, Demetrius, keeping their tech one step ahead of rival organizations.