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[CHAR] π΄ππππππππ πΎπ π·πππ - π·πππππ ππππππππ πΈπ πΎππππ
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Jamesyco Forever a Student
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11 days ago
Jackson Vastitas
24 - Male - 5'10 - 180 +/- lbs
24 - Male - 5'10 - 180 +/- lbs
Profile
This man stands in with the crowd, he blends in well, and he is something to not be feared of. He scurries around the streets around his home trying to do work for his father or his friends. He is a bit of a cowardly daredevil; he loves the thrill of fighting, luxury, and adventure, but he hates the thought of a consequence and dying. He lives his life on the edge, one that has a nice safety bar and a safety rope around him. He one day hopes to see a world free and happy, where his father's bosses can rule, and Mars can be orderly once again instead of the constant threat of mutants, death squads, bandits, and other things that plague his lifestyle.
When out of town with his father working, he can be found in a redlight district of where ever his father is working, Jackson tries to stay away from his father's work. He still does a lot of it for money, sitting in a corner listening to politics or moving boxes and crates, but he prefers the comfort of a whores couch in a brothel or the countertop of a bar. Sometimes he can be found tweaking out where his father and him are staying, possibly due to the lack of his mother being there. Between the cities where ever they are going, he has some excitement seeing the world for what it is, or seeing the massive cities on the horizon. He desires the adventure that he has, but he doesn't really want the threat of what could happen to him outside of his little world.
When he is home, where his mother is, he is seen being friendly, and less of a drunken whoremonger. He shines as a bright example of who to be, an honest, self-righteous, idiot, who has a lot of money and guns to give to his friends, and people who he feels will work and fight for a 'better' Mars. His tendencies of being an addict to many things seem to disappear in his home, and he seems more like a person than a crazed drug-fueled man. He could probably be a good leader, do something with his life, but no, when he starts becoming a normal person, his father leaves for work with him. To either smuggle something or to barter and deal outside of his respective bosses. But, when he is in his little world, you might find him to be a completely different character then who he is when taken from his comfort zone.
When out of town with his father working, he can be found in a redlight district of where ever his father is working, Jackson tries to stay away from his father's work. He still does a lot of it for money, sitting in a corner listening to politics or moving boxes and crates, but he prefers the comfort of a whores couch in a brothel or the countertop of a bar. Sometimes he can be found tweaking out where his father and him are staying, possibly due to the lack of his mother being there. Between the cities where ever they are going, he has some excitement seeing the world for what it is, or seeing the massive cities on the horizon. He desires the adventure that he has, but he doesn't really want the threat of what could happen to him outside of his little world.
When he is home, where his mother is, he is seen being friendly, and less of a drunken whoremonger. He shines as a bright example of who to be, an honest, self-righteous, idiot, who has a lot of money and guns to give to his friends, and people who he feels will work and fight for a 'better' Mars. His tendencies of being an addict to many things seem to disappear in his home, and he seems more like a person than a crazed drug-fueled man. He could probably be a good leader, do something with his life, but no, when he starts becoming a normal person, his father leaves for work with him. To either smuggle something or to barter and deal outside of his respective bosses. But, when he is in his little world, you might find him to be a completely different character then who he is when taken from his comfort zone.
Days-gone
Born to a young prostitute, Little Trixie Pixie or Terenda Bello, and a middle-aged member, Willis Vastitas, of the MCA he grew, up in a life of secretive annoyance. His mother found a new source of life, with her new owner and husband, and he was able to live in a carefree environment, getting some decent education, entertainment, and life compared to the counterparts around him. He would still have to work, mainly in restaurants, or moving things around in his home before his father's guests and co-workers would arrive. He wanted to show the family he had created with hard work, and a strict lifestyle could do for the world. It was a lie, of course, most of it was due to money. Willis had a nice young son, who could play an actor in a shitty world, a beautiful wife and out of this world, being able to stay at home, but it was mainly just a ruse to trick people into believing his doctrine worked in this world.
Growing up, Jackson slowly became more of his father's lackey, moving things around, and being an example of what this degenerate world was. He would bring his son with him on trips, and lace his food and drinks with liquor and drugs. It was showing him off to his clients and friends, to what happens when you become just a typical lapdog to roam the streets. What would happen if you followed the in the footsteps of those who entirely walk under the corporation's steps. He would also bring along other small items, mainly just tools for keeping information, but sometimes other more illegal things place to place. These smuggling operations were the dealings with the EE, where he got most of his money from. The transactions were to get some extra cash or drugs that his son could have to make him look like a good father.
Willis did care for young Jackson, but he needed him, to better Mars he would do anything, even sacrifice his son to a hellish life of addiction, pain, and war. He would bring him back to the only person who could calm him, his mother. Trixie was a good mother, caring for her manchild of a son, keeping him comfort after a week of a high that he was coming down from. She kept her scared son from spiraling into a full addict; she held his spirits high, she got him, friends, to enjoy life with, got him his first drink, paid for his first trip to a brothel, even allowed for the whore to come home for a night. Though this would be his downfall as well, those friends just wanted to use him. With him and the money he received, he could quickly get weapons, drugs, food, anything they could want. Mainly small little insurgent or terrorist cells posing as friendly people around his age, although he did have several real friends, his other 'friends' just saw him as a large trust fund to fuel terrorism.
Jackson loved it, however, after seeing his 'friends' for who they were, and learning of their intentions, he decided he wanted more of it. He loved the thrill of such risky actions as helping different MLI cells, even finding that some of his favorite local ladies were apart of one or two groups here and there. He would give them anything if he could see his money go into the world and make a change, or at least fun fireworks. Though, this is how he would eventually get into his dreaded nightmare.
One day, a man was walking down an alleyway to a brothel in the redlight district near his home, one he frequented a lot. Two women popped out and gunned down this man, and two others. The man was a Lieutenant to some higher up in YNIG. The two women were swiftly caught and interrogated, their cell destroyed promptly, and had an idea of who the idiot was who gave them the weapons. A young man by the name of Jackson Vastitas, would soon be leaving home, his gun, a pack, some clothing, some drugs, and plenty of money. He would set off to do a job for his father, a sort of initiation to his father's line of work. Maybe he could make something of himself here, where he and a group of... whoever would let Mars grow out of the ashes and spread its wings once again or whatever job his father has gotten himself into.
Memories
Jackson smiled down at the little cake in front of him; it had been years since he had something like this in front of him. A birthday cake, with his mother usually being a flashy show for his father's clients, co-workers, whatever they were she didn't have time to do stuff for him when he was home. Maybe an hour, which he spent just trying to catch up before either one would cry themselves to sleep, or more work was needed to be done from one of them.
Jackson felt a tear welling in the corner of his eye as he shut them, smiling almost ear to ear as he turned his head to face his mother, "I love you... thank you." he would say for possibly the last time in his life as a small communicator on his wrist lit up. He wouldn't answer it, he would just slowly take a bite out of the small cake in front of him. Bit, by bit, it was gone, he enjoyed every bit of the tiny little cake. He assumed it was some chocolate subsidized thing, but it was a birthday cake, and it was better than anything an artisan could make.
He slowly pushed himself out of the chair, and he hugged his mom for the last time he remembered, and he just sat there until the small little communicator lit up again, it was his father.
"Jackson, you need to get down to the street, I am picking you, I am dropping you off at the depot nearby tomorrow... I need you to do a job there, the first one without me so don't fuck it up." Willis said before looking for a response.
"I will be down there soon... I am just saying goodbye to mom, and thanking her for possibly the best moment in my life."
"Well do it quicker, you need to be there soon before you miss out on what the hell you're supposed to be doing." The older man said, "Two minutes and you better be packed and down here."
His mother had known and had most of his things together in a pile near the door, she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, possibly knowing this could be the last moments she spent with her only child. She raised one of the luckiest boys on Mars, in her opinion, somewhat luxurious living as an actor in his father's games. She lived that life too, but it was better than her previous life, also she was purchased, she didn't have much in the way of what she could do herself.
"Go," a quiet whisper said before a peck on the forehead was given, "don't want to make him mad, I'll clean up and see you soon okay... After your first job, and we will celebrate that as well."
Jackson couldn't say a word, he nodded softly and went into his room for a few novelties and needles, and changing into his out of the city attire, mainly just a light armor mesh with a few plates for protection in case if there was a fight. He had a helmet that he slid over and locked it to the mesh before he moved to his mother and placed his forehead on hers for a second. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before leaving his home with his goods.
He shut the door behind him, "goodbye mom..." Jackson whispered to himself before getting on the elevator down, and down. It felt like forever before he reached the street floor, and he stepped out to where his father was already waiting for him. He took his bag and got into the vehicle, setting off for the depot.
Jackson felt a tear welling in the corner of his eye as he shut them, smiling almost ear to ear as he turned his head to face his mother, "I love you... thank you." he would say for possibly the last time in his life as a small communicator on his wrist lit up. He wouldn't answer it, he would just slowly take a bite out of the small cake in front of him. Bit, by bit, it was gone, he enjoyed every bit of the tiny little cake. He assumed it was some chocolate subsidized thing, but it was a birthday cake, and it was better than anything an artisan could make.
He slowly pushed himself out of the chair, and he hugged his mom for the last time he remembered, and he just sat there until the small little communicator lit up again, it was his father.
"Jackson, you need to get down to the street, I am picking you, I am dropping you off at the depot nearby tomorrow... I need you to do a job there, the first one without me so don't fuck it up." Willis said before looking for a response.
"I will be down there soon... I am just saying goodbye to mom, and thanking her for possibly the best moment in my life."
"Well do it quicker, you need to be there soon before you miss out on what the hell you're supposed to be doing." The older man said, "Two minutes and you better be packed and down here."
His mother had known and had most of his things together in a pile near the door, she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, possibly knowing this could be the last moments she spent with her only child. She raised one of the luckiest boys on Mars, in her opinion, somewhat luxurious living as an actor in his father's games. She lived that life too, but it was better than her previous life, also she was purchased, she didn't have much in the way of what she could do herself.
"Go," a quiet whisper said before a peck on the forehead was given, "don't want to make him mad, I'll clean up and see you soon okay... After your first job, and we will celebrate that as well."
Jackson couldn't say a word, he nodded softly and went into his room for a few novelties and needles, and changing into his out of the city attire, mainly just a light armor mesh with a few plates for protection in case if there was a fight. He had a helmet that he slid over and locked it to the mesh before he moved to his mother and placed his forehead on hers for a second. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before leaving his home with his goods.
He shut the door behind him, "goodbye mom..." Jackson whispered to himself before getting on the elevator down, and down. It felt like forever before he reached the street floor, and he stepped out to where his father was already waiting for him. He took his bag and got into the vehicle, setting off for the depot.
Equipment
IPDW 11SP - The interchangeable personal defense weapon 11 Standard Production is a short-range 7.62x51n personal defense weapon that can be modified in the field without extra equipment. It starts off as a handguard; you can put the bolt carrier and barrel on either side of it to configure as a bullpup, which can be shot ambidextrously, or normal gun which is configured for a right-handed shooter. Different length barrels can be attached, from a short 6 to 8-inch barrel. To a 15.5-inch barrel, and the longest being a 25-inch barrel. A strong but light metal handguard can extend down the length of the barrel, it has the accessibility to have accessories such as a foregrip. On the 25-inch barrel, it goes down half the length to a bipod slot.
Why would anyone want to use such a high caliber round with such a short barrel, no one will know, but that's what people wanted, and that's what they got, the recoil is almost uncontrollable, but it is found effective when using it in groups or in small rooms. But it was given this ability, but the best uses are with a longer barrel, it's as accurate as a rifle needs to be, but can be useful in suppression if needed.
example set ups
The IPDW can be used for many tasks, but the current user typically uses it with a short eight-inch barrel in a front-firing position with an extended stock. It has a straight down foregrip on the front and a small circle reflex sight with a green triangle similar to a modern soviet/Russian sight interior.
Why would anyone want to use such a high caliber round with such a short barrel, no one will know, but that's what people wanted, and that's what they got, the recoil is almost uncontrollable, but it is found effective when using it in groups or in small rooms. But it was given this ability, but the best uses are with a longer barrel, it's as accurate as a rifle needs to be, but can be useful in suppression if needed.
example set ups
The IPDW can be used for many tasks, but the current user typically uses it with a short eight-inch barrel in a front-firing position with an extended stock. It has a straight down foregrip on the front and a small circle reflex sight with a green triangle similar to a modern soviet/Russian sight interior.
Light surface environmental suit - The LSES is a light protective mesh that has several attachable plates and a helmet to create an internal environment for the wearer. It typically has plates that cover the entire body but is mainly used with the chest, neck, and back pieces as the others are seen as bulky. The mesh mainly works against blunt force and sharp objects such as knives. The armor plates are just there to protect against highspeed projectiles, such as bullets. The chest and neckpiece are used to lock the helmet onto the wearer. The chest piece is where a small internal battery is stored for the night vision and lighting system in the helmet, as well as the oxygen filter. It is also the sturdiest and best-protected part of the body; it's pike shape can usually push fastmoving objects, like bullets away from vital organs, and into arms. It is a system that meant to save a life, not an arm when minimal plates are worn.
It's highlighted colors come in several different colors; the most popular are red, blue, and green. The cheapest is yellow.
Loyalties
As the son of an MCA member, he was inducted into the ranks of its members from a young age, but he found that their subtle ways were boring and not what Mars needed. His father would also enjoy doing business with the EE, mainly trading or smuggling goods into a place where he was going to be doing work for the MCA. He decided he would go off on his own when he could and help those he thought were making a difference, or who could make one. His father's wealth allowed him to do pretty much whatever a young individual could want, but he mainly used it to buy guns and ammo to give out to freedom fighters.
Any resources he could, he would give to the different Partizani and guerrilla groups around where his home was. The different MLI groups around his homeland were mainly small, but he hoped that one day they could come together, or do something meaningful. Possibly, he could join one and make his father proud by getting him and the MCA back into a powerful state, where they can put a reign on the corporations of Mars. But for the moment, he gives whatever he can to those groups, weapons, supplies, and money, things to keep them operational, the only thing he can't give out is manpower. That is something he has no ability to get, unless if money can buy it for him. With this, he has some dealings with the EE, not many but he does do work for them, mainly through his dad, just moving things around, going city to city, sometimes even just running things in and out of different districts in one city.
Constant customer of Red Light District services.
Any resources he could, he would give to the different Partizani and guerrilla groups around where his home was. The different MLI groups around his homeland were mainly small, but he hoped that one day they could come together, or do something meaningful. Possibly, he could join one and make his father proud by getting him and the MCA back into a powerful state, where they can put a reign on the corporations of Mars. But for the moment, he gives whatever he can to those groups, weapons, supplies, and money, things to keep them operational, the only thing he can't give out is manpower. That is something he has no ability to get, unless if money can buy it for him. With this, he has some dealings with the EE, not many but he does do work for them, mainly through his dad, just moving things around, going city to city, sometimes even just running things in and out of different districts in one city.
Constant customer of Red Light District services.
From a private convo
BurningCold Magical Bastard
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
" M O R T "
M O R T I M E R K R A K O W S K I
β 24 β MALE β 5'10 βΊ
β 24 β MALE β 5'10 βΊ
P R O F I L E
Cool; like a cucumber. Or some other genetically modified variant. It's all the same to Mort. No sweat to him one way or the other. The point here is that, at least on the surface, this is a young man that exudes an aura of absolute zen. In fact this is a fellow that is so chill it's a wonder that the room doesn't ice over when he enters it. That's what it looks like, at least. Sweet, sweet indifference. There's a lot roiling beneath that frosty exterior though. Mort's seen things, you know. He knows things that other people don't. You should try talking to the guy, actually. Maybe if he likes you he'll tell you a secret. Don't worry about him, really. He doesn't bite. Unless provoked.
Mort is not a fan of people getting their jimmies all up in a twist over minor issues. It's just so totally not the way that people ought to be. If an individual can't keep their calm over some of the smaller hurdles that may crop up in their daily routine, how could they ever hope to deal with the real, higher stakes issues that may befall them? Just do as Mort does. Practice mindfulness, be grateful that you even exist at all, and if all else fails, roll up a joint of space dust and smoke the edge off. This tactic has yet to fail our king of cool.
Oh, and what a king he is. Young Mortimer Krakowski is well known throughout the neutral zone for hosting some of the wildest ragers and raves the glitter clubs have ever known. In the underground party circuit, he is second to no one.
Especially dressed for success as he is, decked out in all the hippest neo-retro-futurewave gettup, from his steel tipped jump boots to his custom made lime green visor and top end wireless headset constantly playing the soft sounds of ocean waves lapping at the distant earthen shore. Mort assumes the sound file is genuine anyways. Not that it matters. What does matter is that with absolute zen comes the right disposition for making true friends.
Now, friends are something that Mort loves having around. The right people can make any room brighter, or any task less daunting to face. In his usual haunts, you know, clubs and bars and the like, Mort is surrounded by friends. His absolute best buds, Rosco, Teacup, and Gloria, he shares a nice flat with in one of the more posh enclaves. So. We've established that Mort is an absolute social butterfly. How does one go about befriending this charming fellow? Well, beyond keep it cool, it's not too tough.
Be real. Be comfortable with what and who you are. Mort's spent enough time around liars and self haters to know one when he sees one, and he also knows that it's not often that those folks ever want to change anyways. He would help, sure he would. If they ever actually asked. You know what they say about the horse and the water and all that though.
D A Y S - G O N E
There's a lot of rumors about Mort's past. Who he was and where he came from before arising from obscurity as the king of space dust and all the wonders it can provide. Some of them even come close. He knows what some people say about him you know. The nasty things about the way he looks and acts and carries himself. He usually doesn't care. I care though. So I'm going to tell you the real story of Mortimer Krakowski, no holds barred. And it will make you blanch.
Enter young Mortimer, destitute and alone, scrounging through the grit and grime day by day just to feed himself. No parents, nobody on the entire surface of Mars that even knows who poor young Mortimer is. Now enter the Children of Mars. Enter Chekkon Zeffra. Wealthy man of middling age buys a defunct factory and refurbishes it as a home for the poor and destitute of the Kion-Za Enclave. The caretakers? Fellow men and women of faith like Chekkon himself. Mortimer is among the most eager of the young converts. For the first time in his life, he found something to believe in and was surrounding by a loving family that seemed to believe in him too. It was something like a miracle.
Say nothing of Chekkon's draconic methods of discipline. The beatings and starvings and threats of expulsion from the sanctuary should Mortimer not get his act together. At least someone was paying attention to him. And as it pertains to the next segment of this sad tale, he did get his "act" together. He became an exemplary disciple of the Children. Sometimes he even believed the lines that Chekkon and the other priests made him repeat. Such a fine pupil was he that at the age of sixteen he was chosen to go on a pilgrimage to the nearest Happy Pets enclave and spread the good word.
Hang on, let me roll up a puff. This part's even worse than the last.
So Mortimer goes on this mission to Happy Pets, eager as they come to further his search for the Ultimate Truth. Two priests traveled with him, and as they crossed the boundary into the enclave, it was one of those two priests that screamed out in agony as automaton gunfire ripped through him. The other one followed shortly after. For reasons unknowable, Mortimer they chose to capture rather than kill. Maybe these were some of Happy Pets' infamous malfunctioning bots. Then again, maybe not. Screaming to ππ£πππππππ for protection and to Killgore for rescue, he was dragged off and away from his dead compatriots.
The automatons kept him in a cell most of the time. He did see nor hear any sign of human life on his way into the facility, and for the nearly two years that he was trapped there, it remained as such. Usually, Mortimer was left alone. When he was not, the things done to him were strange and awful. The robots would feed him odd, foul smelling slime sometimes, strapping him to a chair until the horrendous meal was completed. Other times they would hook him up to unfamiliar machinery and shock him, stick him with needles, or flash bizarre strobing images before his eyes for hours at a time. It was torturous. The stress and isolation began to eat at Mortimer's mind, like so many rats nibbling upon a stinking, rotten corpse. His sanity unraveled.
He began to see and hear things that were not there. At first, just brief flashes at the corners of his eye or unintelligible whispering beyond his ability to understand. Eventually however, as most things tend to do, it got worse. Mortimer came to believe the old gods of Mars were speaking to him; reaching out to him and making him their chosen. He believed that they were teaching him the Ultimate Truth. I've asked him to explain it to me before, and either he is incapable of articulating or I am incapable of understanding.
The essence of what he believes is the only important part anyways.
Mortimer, or Mort as he would here on begin to call himself, came to believe that the old gods were rising, likely very soon, and that all would become awash in cosmic retribution. Mort believed that the end of all things was coming.
Armed with this new knowledge, he felt invincible, and began to plan his escape. As it happens, however, such a plan would be unnecessary. One day when he awoke, the door to his cell was open, and all of the automatons were simply gone. Mort left that day, and returned to his sanctuary. He lied about his experience, elaborating in grim detail upon the more horrific elements while leaving out the more enlightening aspects of his imprisonment. Mort knew the Truth, and he knew that it would not serve them. Young as he was, the others all began to seem like children to him. He wished to spare them from the harsh reality of their lives. He did not believe that they would take the Truth which as much grace as he had. Not but two days after his return, Mort stole away into the night, as much of Chekkon's wealth stowed away on his person as he could carry.
How Mort got into the drug dispersal business is probably the least interesting part of this story. He met the right people, had the right attitude, and was no stranger to hard work. That's how he made it. When you believe that nothing really matters in the end, things don't tend to hold you back as much as they once might have.
So that's it. Mort's story. Satisfied?
M E M O R I E S
None yet...
E Q U I P M E N T & L O Y A L T I E S
A cool high tech visor that grants nightvision, can detect heat signatures, and offers protection from the sun.
Some sick kicks that are also the latest in jump boot technology. If it's high in the air, he can get there. Cushy soles and some other techno stuff lets him land on his feet without breaking his legs.
A badass belt buckle that also happens to have a personal defense shield built into it. Press the button, green energy surrounds you, suddenly it isn't as easy to blast, pummel, or otherwise harm the user.
An actual freaking raygun that isn't good for much more than melting circuits or paralyzing organic life forms. Still, it's gotten Mort out of more than a few jams.
----
The Children of Mars are a bunch of jokers that desperately need to do something more productive with their lives. He feels bad for some of them, sure. But the ones at the top can be downright sinister sometimes.
Happy Pets Food Group is full of bad vibes. Does not come highly recommended.
Everyman Equity is alright. Some of their jobs are boring, some are more interesting, and most pay pretty damn well.
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