DruSM157

NCQuest -- To Be Rebooted

Those robots are scary lookin

NCQuest -- To Be Rebooted

Man I just love giant robots.

NCQuest -- To Be Rebooted

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Alan Fouren
_{LOCALE Smith’s Rest, New Anchorage
TIME // Afternoon}

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Alan pulled at his collar watching the others talk and give their little speeches. This was hell. Putting them on display for all of these civilians-what did they expect? Graham’s words seemed to echo around in his ears—his warning on repeat; almost becoming obsessive in Alan’s mind. Den of vipers. Venom. Danger. There was nothing more dangerous than foolish scared people, and the new Minister seemed to wield her weapon with excellence. Alan had no idea if these civilians were here on order or by choice; but either way he realized that Ryn and Percy were not the two best people to go first.

And you are? The voice seemed to sink in like a cold knife in his back. He was a waster and he and Ryn have seen how the public treated them for years now. Usually they left some of the larger guns with guns at their backs. Other times led to blood on their hands.

Cold metal iron. Calluses on the hand. Blood. The shape of the skull caving. Rapid smashes. Alan was 17. The man had been drunk, belligerent, horny. Pulled a knife on him, placed it to his throat in a seedy back alley bathroom somewhere south of Chicago. A pipe had given way; Alan had swept his leg and came upon him like a wild animal, only stopping when the man’s body had been reduced to a twitching bloody mess on the floor.

Ryn stepped away from the microphone and the crowd seemed awkward in their applause. Next came Percy. They’d spoken momentarily in the canteen. Hell, they’d interacted a few times outside of training. Alan had called him Percival once; which just made the man confused. Of course he didn’t read Tennyson; no one did anymore. He bit his lip as the man’s speech broke apart; unraveled and left the man a broken mess at the end.

He glanced to Celina as she called for the crowd to come to a sense of calm; to return to order. Order was something the woman seemed to wield like a very blunt hammer; and so far it had made things quite awkward between the people and the pilots.

What can you do? All they’ll see from you is a waster. A thief. A vagabond. A liar.

Alan stood up. He shifted his collar around, trying to ignore the tiny beads of sweat that emerged, either from the discomfort of the uniform he was forced to wear, or from the nerves that were slowly beating his heart like a war drum. Thump. Thump. Thump. How did that nursery rhyme go? The boys in the burrow go thump thump thump on the door? Thump thump thump, jumping up up up on their beds. Running thump thump thump down the halls? Banging thump thump thump on the doors? And when the lights go out and they’re left all along their bodies go thump thump thump in the ground?

Alan gasped. He needed air. He needed water. He needed to be anywhere but here. He’d stood up, and was making a slow, methodical pace towards the microphone. Every second felt like ten years, twenty years, growing with each step until it took a painful century to cross to the very front of the microphone. He made an audible gasp for air before he closed his eyes. Home. Warm beds. Fresh baked bread from Pip’s grandmother. Aunt Rosemary’s mushroom tea on a cold autumn day. Mother’s voice. Father’s large, calloused hands. Alan’s hands stopped shaking.

"My name is Alan Fouren."

Everyone is looking at you.

"I pilot The Wild Wolf."

Alan’s gaze focused away from staring at any one person; and attempted to keep his gaze above the heads of the crowd. No need to stare at any one person, no need to focus. Just answer the questions and sit down. The danger of Celina echoed in his head again. No; he couldn’t simply answer questions flippantly. She was watching and the people were watching. He was under a microscope, flayed out and ready to be examined by the masses. He had to make this work; at least until he found the Gold NC.

The first question came, and there was wariness to it. "Where are you from?"

They’re afraid of you. They don’t want a waster here. What will they think about home? Alan closed his eyes. All dead. Fire, gunpowder, blood. Debris everywhere. "It's a little town called Dead Springs-about a quarter of the size of New Anchorage here. Small enough that everyone knew each other."

Their faces flash in his mind. Uncle Bill’s body, torn to shreds. Alan could never find the legs. Just a torso split apart by thermal weaponry. He’d probably died from the impact. Cora the local nursemaid; her body hunched over the burned bodies of the local children. Daisy, who’d kissed him before the ramshackle scrap barn: her body spread across the local town hall.

“It’s a tight knit little community.”

"It sounds nice. Why did you leave?"

"Small town meant that everyone had to pull their weight. Me and three other boys from the area all tested positive to receive the NC implant. Working as caravan guards, extra backup on raids, small-time jobs. It helped keep food on the table."

"So you're planning to go back, then?" another asked.

Alan sighed. "If I could, I'd be back home as soon as my tour ended." These were normal folks; that's who he had to win over. "I heard about your recent raider attack; some time before some of these pilots and I arrived. I was relieved to find the settlement in good condition, and-" he turned a glance at Percy’s empty chair, before facing going back to looking out at everyone again. "I am truly sorry for everyone you lost in your attack."

Forgive me mother. He’d never even seen their bodies. His home had collapsed on top of them in the attack. Their home was their grave marker. And here he was, about to dig them up and parade them around for fucking sympathy. The deep pit inside of Alan twisted, as if his shame had contracted a dark sickness growing inside of him.

"Dead Springs didn't have the same kind of defenses you have here at New Anchorage. Raiders attacked fast while my team was on leave. By the time we returned and tried to fight back it was too late. We lost everything."

He turned back to face the crowd, placing on a mask of something that seemed...brave? Faux confidence. A guise to try and seduce these people. "I swear to every person here in this crowd: I will never let another attack like that happen again on my watch."

Celina let her grin out, if a bit, in tandem with the crowd. "We're glad to have your loyalty, Mister Fouren. Many people are hesitant to trust those who live their lives in the roughest places of our world. Consider yourself as setting a precedent, we'll all have interested eyes on you. Next question."

He felt as if he’s sprung a trap. Here he was, a wild animal pinned under Celina’s words; a sharp vice now. He wanted to run; any animal would simply tear away at its leg to escape a trap. It would be simple, leap off the stage, make a break for the hangar, climb into the Wolf…

"Do you have any family? A wife or child?" The question broke Alan’s fantasy and brought him crashing down, a fantastic meteoric crash back into reality and where he was. Here. Now. Answering these fucking questions.

”I uh…look-” Alan seemed to rub his eyes in contemplation of exactly how to answer this question. “I’m still quite young. But-and this is my own personal belief, because I’ve met many pilots who had families and a happy family life-but I would feel that the amount of danger a NC Pilot undergoes, alongside the fact that a pilot tends to be away for long stretches of time would cause unnecessary strain and pain in a relationship. It’s simply easier to focus on work than to really….think about those kinds of things.”

Alan looked downward and scratched his head. He’d never even had a long lasting relationship with anyone since becoming a pilot. Many people simply looked at him and treated him like he was diseased.

Another man stepped up. "Would you call New Anchorage your home?"

Celina must look like the cat that caught the canary.

Home. "That's...a tough question. Pilots like me, we don't get the chance to settle down much. We're expected to follow jobs. A lot of people like to characterize us as thieves, lowlives and vagabonds."

Get to the point. She's got a knife to your back. Any inch, she wants any inch to dig deeper.

"If you guys will have me, I'd be honored to call New Anchorage my home."

He could feel Ryn's glare on the back of his head. She of all people knew the truth. He wasn't a man with a home. He wasn't a man of ideals. He was exactly what he called himself. He knew what he told them was a half-truth. He never expected any of these people to accept him for what he was; and part of him, deep down didn’t want their acceptance. Ultimately there was one reason for him being so far north; so far from easy pay and safety. That NC. Once he found them; once he finally settled up with that pilot; there wouldn’t be any need for anyone to call him a liar or a drifted any more.

Settle up.

Tentatively, that answer seemed to satisfy the crowd. There was applause in any case, begun by Celina herself no less. "I'd have'im for a drink," said one. "Bet he hunts well, growin' up in a waste," said another. "Well he's gotta survive, first."

"Yeah I've seen pictures--" "--looks like a heap of junk--" "--on earth it even moves, let alone fights."

"Do you think you're capable for the job?" arose a question at last. "These attacks have been brutal and organized, have you ever been up against enemies like that and won? Could you really protect us?"

"I became a pilot when I turned sixteen."Alan scratched his nose, trying to tie the words as eloquently as the great writers and orators he grew up reading had done.

"Since then I've been involved in countless sorties. And while I lack the experience some of our more veteran pilots have, I can say this: when pilots work as a team, they can be unstoppable. I know it seems scary, and I know it is easy to look at pilots with fear for the work we have to do." He motioned to the pilots behind him. "We come from different places, Different backgrounds, different walks of life. But we all came here to serve you, New Anchorage. From trained military to self-taught survival skills, we have decades of experience between all of us." He gave a grin, "I don't simply believe, I know we will be the ones to keep New Anchorage safe. I'm proud to serve with all of my fellow pilots."

Broken vets. Green fools. Foreign military. Ryn. What a fucking team.

"We will make you all proud of us."

Something had changed in the air. Perhaps it was the sudden shift in the style of his response, or perhaps what he was saying was simply a step past where the people were willing to trust a waster. Either way, it would become clear that Alan's inspirational speech was not hitting its mark, at least not with the audience. Celina, though, was still grinning.

"Thank you for those...rousing words, Mister Fouren. I believe that will be all, unless there are any other questions." The crowd shifted, but stayed silent. Celina straightened. "Then, next."

NCQuest -- To Be Rebooted

NCQuest -- To Be Rebooted

Wait we have to bold our dialogue now? Why? Are you growing blind?

NCQuest -- To Be Rebooted

That guy really liked his homes

NCQuest -- To Be Rebooted

RRRRRIGGIDY ROBOT HYPE. Man, I'm very excited to get back to postin' about all these NCQs.

NCQuest -- To Be Rebooted

Alternate image by ADParis

“Tons of danger, low odds of mission success, and I’m probably going to lose a limb. Sounds great!”

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NAME

Alan Fouren

CALLSIGN

Wild Wolf

ALIAS

Al, Jackass (Ryn)

GENDER

Male

D - O - B

July 14, 2654 (22)

ORIGIN

Dead Springs Township, Southeastern Territories

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PERSONALITY & MOTIVATIONS

Alan is friendly to everyone he meets. Affable, open handed and humorous, Alan does not seem to really fit the mold of a soldier by any respects—and he owes that to being more or less forcibly pulled into this life rather than simply volunteering or being raised to be a soldier. Alan has an incurable form of gallows humor when preparing for the sortie, and his mix of inexperience on the actual frontlines of combat make him an odd member of the team. It never helped that he was one of the lowest passing score in Graham’s test; a feat that did not endear him to any of his team.
Alan’s lackadaisical personality is the kind that veterans would push around as the man looking to get himself killed on the battlefield; the key difference is Alan’s personality when in the heat of battle. In combat, Alan feeds off of pain: constantly pushing himself to excel. The harder the fighting gets, the higher his sync becomes; continuously pushing him to dangerous extremes. His "loner" attitude also hides the fact that he is a lonely and needy man who deeply cares for his companions.

EFFECTS OF POLARIS SHIFT

Alan is still unsure what the effects of his Polaris shift has been. Vivid dreams seem to melt into his waking world; except that these aren't simple dreams. Alan hallucinates vivid memories of pilots who used his NC's core; and since his NC is an older core, he has inherited the memories of many pilots-even pre-war pilots. As his de-sync becomes worse, he will fall deeper and deeper into these memories, with reality and memory becoming indistinguishable.

PERSONAL HISTORY

Before New Anchorage

Alan grew up in Dead Springs, near the Atlanta Megacity in Fairbanks. Small ruins and tons of junk, it became a frontier trading post between the larger megacities in lower Fairbanks. Still, living in the frontier comes with danger: raiders especially. The test came to Alan’s town later in his life, when he was seventeen. Thinking of a chance to provide for his family and give them a better life than living in a junkyard town, he took his chance with the surgery.

Still, a town needs money to pay their pilots. And Dead Springs was no megacity. But when you’re in a junkyard, you can find many wondrous things: including the frame of the Wild Wolf. Found nestled away in a collapsed compound in the ruins, the frame had been stripped of armor and a core, leaving only the skeleton remaining: a remnant of what it could be. But a frame would work: with money raised for a core, and what armor and armaments the money could afford; the WW was rebuilt piecemeal. But it worked.

Alan took up sorties with local combatants, as well as defense jobs in the area; providing for both his home and his family; allowing them more luxuries than a Junker’s life can provide. But more than that, he fought to bring them some semblance of peace. However, a roughshod mech is only as good as its parts and pilot allow; and it was on these sorties that Alan met real terror. A team of outdated and hand-built mechs don’t usually fare well against well trained and well equipped soldiers; especially deserters from Atlanta. Outmatched and outgunned, Alan’s compatriots were slaughtered, and he was left broken and left for dead; a heavy grinder blade digging into his cockpit and tearing the metal apart, giving him his facial scar as a reminder. Alan's final memory of that day was a large custom NC inspecting Alan's damaged frame and simply walking away.

The deserters didn’t simply wipe out the defense party; they came to Dead Springs. The town and its people burned. That’s when the second personality came to life. A beast, a wild, rabid dog that fed on all of Alan’s negativity towards his weakness came to life. It consumed him and drove him to fight. He survived, and he kept the Wild Wolf alive using the parts he could salvage from his fallen comrades. Metal scavenged from the destroyed ruins of his town strengthened his armor-and he went hunting.

Surprise attacks. Traps. Decoys and delays. Alan learned to fight his new enemies with his mind to make up for his glaring technological weaknesses and his own lack of combat skills. And when it came to combat, the harder he fought, the higher his synchronization grew with the Wild Wolf. The more he fell into his ravenous fury, the harder he fought. In the end, Alan got his revenge at the cost of the Wolf’s left arm and right leg, both which he felt every bit of pain from. The custom NC however, was nowhere to be found. When Alan returned to the Atlanta burrow with news of the attack and these deserters, he was blacklisted from the job board, removed from the local registry and told that a it was simply a raider attack and nothing more. A week later, towns near Dead Springs claimed allegiance to the Atlanta Burrow and most residents were relocated.

This was the official story was very clean, very censored and lacked anything about Alan. Alan's own interpretations have been classified or simply ignored by Fairbanks staff at the Atlanta Burrow.

With no family and no prospects left in his home, Alan did what he could. Scavenging materials from the newer model mechs he had destroyed gave him a slightly better edge than a raider now, and with the beast inside of him awakened, he aimed to feed that hunger for carnage. That’s where he met Graham.

He was a disappointing prospect to the Commander from the get-go. No real military combat experience. He was a frontier skirmish fighter. He was unfamiliar with up-to date equipment and weaponry. His physical tests and his skill tests were passable and he barely skirted by with that. Ultimately, he looked like he would be a wash-out until Graham’s…test. Climb an aging, old war combat frame with no grappling hook, no mag gloves and make it run without. If you couldn’t get it scrambled in time, you weren’t worth it. This was an easy test for Alan to pass.

Alan was shocked when Graham gave him the news that he would be a squad leader. While his attempts at appearing like a middling pilot failed, his reputation preceded him. Graham basically threatened Alan into taking the position, much to the pilot's chagrin and much to Ryn's anger.

INFLUENCE & RELATIONS

Relations

Commander Graham: Alan can’t exactly put his finger on where he rubs the commander wrong. Whether it’s his attitude or lack of hardened combat experience, the only thing that Alan has going for him is his impressive display during the test. And even that didn’t endear him too much.

Anastasia Kalfox:Alan knows how the wind blows with this girl. Cool, calm and professional; not the kind you piss with the wrong way. He respects her. She's military and she's well skilled. When the shit hits the fan, Alan trusts Stein to be the girl to follow in combat.

Elizabeth Jackspar: Alan isn't quite sure he's even had eye contact with Jackspar in his entire time in New Anchorage. Honestly, he doesn't think that's too bad of a thing.

Kathryn Dradht: Ryn and Alan have an odd relationship. Ryn insults him, Alan smiles and laughs. Ryn is the only pilot Alan knows personally, as he worked several sorties with her before coming to Anchorage. He respects her skill as a pilot and as a sniper. He can vouch for her skill, but he makes not mention of actually knowing her from before, and Ryn isn't out gossiping about Alan anyway.

Percy Moore: Alan respects Percy greatly, due to his morals. He'll just never admit it to the man. Percy's attitude reminds him of his own father, and that's painful enough that Alan keeps his distance from the man, and lays the sarcasm on thick if Percy does talk to him.

Tahlia Styles: If he wasn't so damn intimidated by her indescipherable accent, he might actually want to get a drink with her. She reminds him of his kind of people but with an Aussie flavor. Plus, he's always happy to have some heavy artillery when things get hot and heavy.

Elizabeth Jackspar: Alan isn't quite sure he's even had eye contact with Jackspar in his entire time in New Anchorage. Honestly, he doesn't think that's too bad of a thing.

Madison Cole: Alan's word to describe her? The hospital chick. He has had nearly zero interaction with her due to the woman being in the infirmary, and honestly, he's happy for that. One less person for him to grow to care about.

Vera Voloshyna: Damnit, of all the cute kids in the world, why did he have to have her in this squad. The baby recruit scares Alan, because he doesn't want to see her get into this world. With Ryn it's different; he and her are from the same world, forced to pilot to survive. If Alan had his way, Vera would never see combat.

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APPEARANCE

Scruffy would be an understatement with Alan: nothing about him screams soldier. Shaggy hair, unkempt facial hair, and roughshod angular features. Alan sports a scar running from his left ear down his neck; a wound he received during his first sortie in the Wild Wolf. He stands roughly around 5'11, just a hair shy of breaking 6 foot. He is lithe and had slight musculature, due to his history as a junker. His casual clothes consist of a faded denim button downed shirt and dark slacks. While still young, Alan sports dark bags under his eyes, and has gained deep creased wrinkles on his forehead. His shaggy mop of hair is a dark brown, with matches the near black spotty beard that runs down his jaw, working its best to cover the scar. He seems spacey, and is more akin to sport a smile when not under combat conditions.

TRAITS

Junkyard Mechanic: Unlike his counterparts who had access to proper materials during their combat stays, Alan grew up in the frontier where clean, shiny new supplies were few and far between. This meant that he had to scrounge and repurpose outdated, damaged or scavenged parts to keep his unit in workable condition. While he has to leave it to the professionals for proper upkeep of the WW, Alan can perform emergency repairs in the field if push comes to shove, and that ingenuity comes in handy when things go to shit.

Unshakable Will: In serious situations, the average pilot would lose their cool and give into negative emotions, shaking them and breaking their morale. Alan, due to both his insane drive for destruction when fully “in the zone” as well as his own nature of do-or-die, is not easily shaken in combat. It would take extreme duress to make him break his usual façade; though a break would be disastrous.

Adaptive: Alan’s past has forced him to make due with supplies and weapons he could scrounge either in the junkyard, the frontier or after battle. Alan lacks any sheer expertise with weapons; but he makes up for that in his ability to pick up and use a weapon with gradual skill. If he can find a half-working FMR or a Powered Spike, Alan can find a way to perform maximum damage with it.

Well Read: If Alan has one indulgence it's literature. At a young age, collecting bits of archaic literature became a past time for Alan, especially exploring the databanks of ruined libraries. Alan's datapad has to date over 800 novels, short stories and poetry ranging from the seventeenth century to the twenty-third century. Alan prefers the classics over the later literature, enjoying chivalric romances, gothic horror and transcendental poetry. Alan's favorite stories include Le Morte d'Arthur, The Once and Future King, Frankenstein, T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland, and The Hound of the Baskervilles.

INVENTORY

-Simple Tools
-Electronic Reader
-Metal locket (inside: weathered photograph of family)
-Scrap gun (simple waster shotgun)

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MANUFACTURER

Fairbanks Registry; Waster/Mercenary Armament

TYPE

Medium

SQUAD ROLE

Assault

ARMAMENTS

-Stock NC Control
-Leg and lower back thrusters to give strong bursts of speed and sustained air boosts for a limited time for extra mobility
-Average generator
-Mix of light and medium armor over the mech; the left arm and right leg have heavier armor due to the armor being taken from a stronger mech, whereas his right arm and left leg have lighter armor.
-Heavily Used LFR (Light Frame Rifle)-30 round magazine, short-to-mid range. (Right hand)
-Underbarrel HFG Launcher: A 3 round grenade launcher attached to the LFR. Equipped with standard fragmentary grenades.
-Scavenged light grinder blade: A heavy blade mean to pierce and then tear pieces of a mech apart. (Left hand)
-Electrical Discharge Canon: Emits high powered electrical bursts at close range. Can temporarily disable an unshielded NC or cause damage to the pilot in the cockpit.

OBSERVATIONAL NOTES

What the Wild Wolf lacks in appearance, it makes up in both its load-out and equipment. The mech has been highly customized to deal with the uneven armor and equipment it bares; and its pilot is quite possibly the only person in the entire world capable of piloting such a machine. While it is in constant need of tune up (which Alan is quite happy to perform himself if needed) the NC performs exceptionally well in combat.

Dossiers of Alan's previous accomplishments (including eye-witness accounts) have confirmed command's own opinions that Alan is a more capable pilot than he lets on. Between being a capable teammate as seen with his past accomplishments with Ryn, and his survival instincts in combat against higher numbers, Alan's NC brings an incredibly versatile and well rounded combat unit to New Anchorage.

NCQuest -- To Be Rebooted

Well...uh....there is it.

•HAGAKURE•

i'm alive and swamped with teaching + grading stuff til friday D: