Fading Memory

Tyrant Shell: The Answer of Rain [CANCELLED]

The skies burned and exploded above as Shrike prowled about the downed Carrier. Every few steps brought the Susanoo rifle up, and after a moment of charged deliberance the catastrophic beam of energy would erupt and blaze through a Drone that entered his field of view. The chaos of the battlefield and the prowling nature of his Shell's movements, for a few precious moments, brought him relative peace as he prepared himself for his anticipated close quarters engageme-

Fire rained down as the remaining aerial support forces consolidated their formations. Fire surged along the treeline, his squad's movements became a chaos of telemetry data on the archaic readout interface of his neural-helm, and Shrike was forced to back against the framework of the Carrier and lower his rifle. The left arm rose, the shield blazed to life, and he calmly bided his time as the temperature within his Shell steadily climbed. Torrent after torren of cannon fire rained against the energy barrier as Shrike silently listened to the comms chatter and observed movements. Sweat began to form along his arms, his palms growing moist, his forehead beading with the rising temperatures within the machine. As their strafing runs meandered back into strike positions, eventually the squad managed to eke out enough skyward damage for Shrike to have breathing room again.

As he lowered the barrier and emerged from a Shell-shaped silhouette blasted into the side of the downed carrier, Ijsvogel's advanced recon data hit his sensory overlay and Shrike, as was typical, sent a singular ping of acknowledgement to the data received. It meant there were no other surprises than this group waiting for them. But, alas, Shrike being pinned in position was a fateful situation indeed. Before he could continue circling the Carrier, the Ushi-Oni emerged unassailed. Shrike witnessed the eruption of that colossal beam on the far side of the ship and began to trigger a boost as Ava's orders came in over the combat channel. In the blink of an eye Shrike's own vengeful wrath was redirected; Ava said to link up with Ijsvogel, and the chain of command is a chain that binds.

"Moving to acquire your weapon, Ijsvogel. Prepare for assault."

The Shrike rounded the carrier, made direct visual contact on the Ushi-Oni-- and activated his boosters to leap up and over the damn thing and disregard it. He had to trust the others to do what they felt was best; a disarmed Ijsvogel was his duty now. The Susanoo rifle was slung onto his back as both arms locked into their reinforced talons, and when Shrike landed upon the ground it was right as Hachidori, Gizzard, and...Barn Owl collapsed towards it.

He couldn't help but chuckle privately, bitterly, to himself at witnessing Barn Owl's own passions become public.

The rain fell heavy upon the thick smoke of the burning jungle, but Shrike was ever the observant and tactically apprised individual; Following Ijsvogel's tracking data the Shrike plunged across the earth in a frenzied blur of lashing arms, throwing burning trees and massive gouts of earth into the air as the ancient Shell blazed a trail through the hellfire of the jungle until its hand unfuzed and came down upon the mighty machine gun of Ijsvogel. The heat of the flames and the straining of his radiator made him wary about triggering his boosters so frequently, thus the Shrike emerged from the flaming forest with heavy footfalls like a smoke-streaked demon of metal with the lost weapon in its right hand. He began a sprint back towards the carrier, left arm still poised for its lethal and brutal close combat intentions, before throwing the rifle to Ijsvogel when they were close enough to link up.

If all went well, Shrike would open that carrier like a tin can and they would tear through it before the other Shells turned on.

Don't Forget Me

The suit's words were of a familiar kinship to Sunrise, his lingo and dialect resonating with her own upbringing. He was still a suit, no doubt about that, but in the end his words reeked of his desperation and fear. She relaxed her posture, letting the duster coat fall back over the holster of her revolver as she crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her head to peer out from beneath the hat.

Six goons, armed for bear and kitted like tanks. She appraised them in a slow manner, sucking on the inside of her cheek and chewing on it lightly as she did so; if push came to shove, six on three weren't great odds but she'd dealt with worse and with lower quality companions. By her sussin' and their jabberin', Sunrise kenned that Flint and Steel could square dance with these goons if they had to and that bolstered her own rebellious embers...

But there was a job to do, and this man could be worked. Black Jack's tongue ran smooth and made Sunrise's stomach churn as he yarned at Richard; the lad was a fast talker for sure, she made mental note. In timely fashion, Sunrise leaned forward off her perch and made an easygoing, open handed, sweeping gesture of peaceful intentions that also seemed as if she were embracing the day as she stepped forward.

"Pal, you seem like a Dick to me rather than a Richard. Mind if I all ya Dick? We're appreciatin' such a warm welcome... By my reckonin' this ain't normal formals."

She fell into a slow, methodical, swaggering gait as she trailed behind a few paces.

"It's yer house so you set the tune. How's this gonna go?"

Don't Forget Me

Julia Meyer. The girl's image filled Sunrise's eyes, which in turn meant it filled her mind. The wide brimmed gambler hat hid her eyes from most angles in the transport's rear seating, but the hologram glow filtered beneath her visual shield and imprinted the target's visage into Sunrise's memory.

"Mm..." She grunted as she leaned forward, lifting a hand to flick the hat upwards and reveal her face to the other members of the crew as she swept a slow gaze around them. "...Little lady'll stand out sore-like. Putting eyes on 'er will be easy 'nuff... Once we find out where she's holed up. If she's anything like me, she's gon' be in the desert with the guilders."

Sunrise leaned back, propping a boot up onto the side of the hologram projector and manually triggering the next slideshow image with her heel. The gambler hat settled back into a neutral position atop her head, a thick curl of crimson hair falling loose and framing her face in the process. She licked her teeth slow before continuing on.

"We'll see soon, by my reckonin'. She's a big item, but she cut and run on her pa; doubtin' we'll have luck asking by name."

She fell silent, giving the others ample opportunity to fill the silence as the Rockefeller made its final descent to Fiction. The thud of landing gear upon ground signaled Sunrise's rise to her feet. When Trey entered the passenger area, Sunrise swept a hand across her duster and let it billow to its full length. Trey's news about the deadline and the incoming peacekeeper forces warranted a silent nod- but his next piece of news brought her own attention to the horizon.

"...Don't like it, I'll let you folk to the talkin' on this one." She commented as she stepped from the shuttle, eyes studying the encroaching suit and his security. She leaned back against the landing leg of the Rockefeller shuttle, sweeping one arm low and brushing the duster back from her hip holster on her left side to grant ease of access and brazen display of her imposing revolver, the Gabriel. Her other hand rose and in silence made the sign of the cross, tapping at her forehead beneath the hat- then pulling it down over her eyes- before centering on her chest, then completing the motion in a left-to-right sweep.

Don't Forget Me

Sunrise

Name: Scarlet Ewing || "Sunrise"

Age: 26 Standard Earth Years of age; 19 Dorcas-2 rotations.

Appearance: A lock of strongly curled crimson hair runs down the side of a roughly hewn face, chiseled from stone and baked in the sun to a deep tan. Atop her head rests a well worn gambler-style cowboy hat which covers wild hair messily contained in a hasty bun. Its wide brim covers up hazel eyes that have laughter wrinkles nested around them. Thin lips are drawn in an easy-going smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Faded scars cross over her lips, giving her visage a bend to the maniacal. Her stature is average for a resident of Dorcas-2, but short for humanity standard height; she rises to the height of 5'1", but is built sturdy. Broad shoulders and somewhat thicker limbs exemplify the strength granted to her by the hard conditions of her homeworld. Her typical attire is rustic, but comfortable; thick trousers, leather boots, homespun fabric shirts, and long duster coats- and she's rarely seen without her hat, which bears the patches of repair that mimic her own bodily scars. If the locale is of the higher scale sort, she will trade the duster coat for more appropriate formal jackets and vests. If given a thorough scrub, a day in the salon, and a bottomless budget at the latest trendy fashion scene, she might fit in with the higher class corporate elites if they needed glasses.

Inspirational image

Background: The colony of Dorcas-2 lies in the far reaches of frontier space. It was founded by Cthonic Industries, officially speaking, via a seed ship launch from Old Earth before it was lost. The vessel, carrying knowledge of Old Earth as well as the frozen genetics of peoples and creatures, was shot from a space catapult and into its long voyage. Untold time passed as its speed carried it dizzyingly through the stars, until at last its automated systems detected the planet designated Dorcas-2, second in orbit around its blazing red sun, and triggered a safe descent.

The world of Dorcas-2 was denser, smaller, but slower rotating and with a larger orbit than Old Earth. Its gravity is approximately 1.3 earth-standard, and the automated Cthonic Industries vessel succeeded in its landing and initial colonization attempts. The first generation of settlers was reinvigorated, constituted, and educated by the machine intelligence of the ship; from there, humanity was back in its own hands. Believing themselves to be the only survivors of the fall of Old Earth, the original denizens of Dorcas-2 banded together in solidarity- but as populations grew, so too did dissent and conflict. Generations of diaspora and scattering families lead to the planet being inhabited by its own microcosm of frontier towns, limited infrastructure, and disparate peoples. While abundant in raw resources such as precious metals, the planet lacked in abundant water and was primarily considered arid by ecologists. This meant that the most important settlement on its surface was that of the original landing site, where the Cthonic Library was still in tact and the great Seed Ship's material constructors were kept in varying states of operation.

But Sunrise's tale does not begin there. Her tale begins in a far off plain, near to a snowy topped mountain, where a rare river snaked its way and brought grassy rolls to the otherwise dusty plains of the planet. A place where the horses, strong and squat compared to their earth counterparts, ran in herds, and the peoples hunted the mighty predators for their needs. A place where her father was preacher, and she was free. Her upbringing was that of the ranch-girl and farm-hand; she tended to critters, learned to shoot, read the Good Book, and got into a little good trouble where time and circumstance permitted. Her life was, despite the lack of a mother, a good one. She and her father got along well enough, they quarreled through thick and thin but always shared a bond stronger than anything else. There was a boy in town she fancied well enough, and it appeared that the Ewing name would have died with her father when she was wed if it weren't for the rediscovery of the colony by the Cthonic Industries corporation.

She was fifteen, and like many of the denizens of Dorcas-2 she was already strong, stubborn, and instilled with an unshakable pride in her personal liberties. Unlike many of the others, she had a schooled upbringing, a level head, and her father's indomitable spirit guiding her. She stayed out of the conflict directly, only offering what aid the church was able to publicly, as the peoples of Dorcas-2 resisted the claim of 'ownership' by these offworld nightmares. It wasn't until she made a mistake of passion, hiding her lover-boy-turned-rebel in the Church, that her small town suffered from the resistance movement.

The corporate planes brought fire down onto the town. In the blaze that followed, only the Church remained standing. When the corporate soldiery followed the blaze, she witnessed her father's execution as well as her lover's death in a final blaze of glory. She was seventeen when her world changed twice with as many pulls of a trigger. For the next three years, she was a long and sharp thorn in the foot of the Cthonic Industries corporation. Hit and run raids, stampedes of the immense wild predators of Dorcas-2, shootouts in the wilderness, and a saboteur operation against the imposing citadel now erected around the old Seed Ship Library, all highlighted her career and birth as Sunrise, outlaw rebel. On her twenty first birthday she was captured in an ambush. The next day she was shipped offworld, the flag of Cthonic Industries finally quashing the last vestiges of Dorcas-2's wild and free spirit.

The fact she wasn't executed is in itself a miracle. No, she was to join the rest of the Dorcas-2 prisoners as manual labor in the tight-fisted territories of the inner-Cthonic-Systems. She spent a year slaving away in deep mine pits before a fateful dawn brought before her another miraculous chance at life, and she grabbed it with both hands and never let go. The rebel spirit within her resurged with her faith as a catastrophic re-entry by a cargo vessel brought hellfire raining down onto their prison camp, and in the chaos she and several others were capable of overpowering their guards, arming themselves, and securing an escape ship. Thus Sunrise was reborn, and her escape came with a squad of scrappy, hungry, strong men and women to back her up. Their raids started as those of necessity for food, clothes, supplies, but swiftly escalated into full on anti-corporate terrorism.

Over the next four years, Sunrise survived where the original rebel crew did not. Whether through death, disinterest, retirement, or good old fashioned settling down the escapades of Sunrise became calmer, more methodical, considerate, and deliberate as she eventually became a solo operative of her outlaw existence. She began to fight for others rather than herself, a gun for hire who had a reputation laden with both violent successes and shining moments of kindness and selflessness. For every rumor of her itchy trigger fingers, there's another highlighting her willingness to simply do the right thing-- and damn the paycheck in the process. She became picky with her work, striving to fulfill her father's teachings and to make the universe a better place.

When a contact reached out to her about a solid gold paycheck signed by a bigwig CEO's own hand, she nearly turned it down out of principle. Then the details hit her and she couldn't refuse. She'd never had a chance to say goodbye to her father, and Gerald Meyer's circumstances struck a chord with her. She swallowed the bile, and took the job.

She took the job for the girl's sake.

At A Glance: Sunrise is a principled rebel, a ruffian with a heart of gold and a quick trigger finger. She maintains an old fashioned and outdated sense of spirituality in the face of the depressing modern galactic situation for humanity, and wields it as armor for her soul and purpose in her dealings that keeps her light and upbeat in dreary situations and dire straits. She operates by a code of give and take, never owing a debt, and never shooting an unarmed man. Her belief in a higher power, and a place beyond death awaiting her, permits her a bravado and panache that many can ill afford. She strives to do more good than harm, and believes that anyone can be redeemed-- they just have to choose it before she pulls the trigger. The ultimate reward and goal is personal freedom, and the freedoms of others; she is therefor heavily anti-corporate in her disposition and does not tolerate other forms of bullying or despots.

Skills: Ambidexterity, gunslinging, horse breaking, animal handling, wilderness survival, tailoring, feats of strength, liquor-drinking, brawlin', theological debate, advanced agricultural studies, cast-iron stomach.

Sunrise's unique homeworld circumstances on Dorcas-2 make her a physically powerful person despite her reduced stature; the higher gravity of the planet instilling all its inhabitants with impressive strength. She wields this to brawl and batter those too thick headed to listen to reason, but there are many uses for such a physical prowess beyond the mere fisticuffs. She's quick on the draw, and quick with both hands, making her a daring figure when armed with a pair of revolvers. The natural world is an open book to the surprisingly learned woman, and when it comes to the foraging of foodstuffs, the hunting of game, the sussing of clean water, and the navigation of unfamiliar and unbroken wilderness she is a proven trailblazer. When the time comes for settling down, she's just as like to till the earth as she is to establish a church.

Equipment: Sunrise bears many common survival tools such as knives, rope, canteens, flint and tinder, rucksacks, all-weather-gear, hats, dusters, compasses, iodine tablets, etc. While not an exhaustive list, it should be noted that she does carry extensive survival gear for prolonged expeditions in the wilderness.

Her iconic Duster Jacket is actually a rather unique piece of survival kit from Dorcas-2 as well; it is heavily wind resistant, heat retaining, waterproof, and lightweight. Truly an all-terrain functional outerwear.

Of note, she carries a brace of pistols; two heavy revolvers, of the 'big iron' variety, modeled after the ancient Earth variant known as the Colt Single Action Army revolver of the old west; officially they are D2 Judgement revolvers, designed on her homeworld to defend homesteads and hunt the hardy predators of the planet. Her pistols, called 'Gabriel' and 'Azrael', are capable of operating in truly ludicrous conditions of wet, muck, disgust, and other exotic circumstances due to their remarkably rugged manufacture and ease of maintenance. She can fire them individually with remarkable speed, but her ambidexterity permits her to wield them in each hand where she can still manage a respectable rate of fire despite the single-action style of the guns. Their firepower is potent, but limited by the restrictive ammunition capacity and prohibitive reload times. the Gabriel and Azrael are old and worn, their wooden handles notched for her survived operations and the heavy barrels engraved with religious iconography.

Sunrise carries a rifle slung upon her back, but rarely unwraps it from its leather bindings unless anticipating heavy conflict. The gun is of the same style and model as the one that used to be carried by her father. It is a lever action rifle, but surprisingly advanced for Dorcas-2 technological feats despite its archaic mechanisms and appearance. Chiefly, the weapon is rifled for larger rounds than one would anticipate of its design, thusly reducing its capacity and capabilities as a skirmishing firearm but rendering it an armor penetrating nightmare of a long rifle. The weapon is sufficiently heavy and built sufficiently sturdy that it makes a remarkable steel club in addition to the traditional uses of a firearm. Sunrise calls it The Morningstar.

Tyrant Shell: The Answer of Rain [CANCELLED]

Mentions: Yes
Location: The Beach, with added wrecked airship for taste

---

The ambush was set. Everyone, for better or for worse, was in their chosen positions. Shrike felt calm. The ancient machine that idled beneath his fingers was worn like a favorite glove, and all its silent tremors and vibrations were familiar to him. His fingers lightly danced over his controls as his heavy display helm cast predictive movements of the drone swarm and airship beyond his field of direct vision. His, in a relaxed manner, settled upon the movement controls and he let out a single breath.

”Got it.” The pilot interrupted, as if she’d read his mind.

She fired.

@Kamen Evie

Within the breadth of that deafening bang, the Shrike's boosters triggered and it surged from the sands in an explosion of movement and insignificant chaff. The ambush was executed. The Shrike rose like a jagged metal behemoth, left arm locking magnetically into the horrendous spike of brutality as it outstretched and impaled onto a drone that had wandered too closely, a micro explosion rocking down Shrike's arm as smoke and oil washed over it. Cutting the limited boosters there, Shrike landed heavy upon the ground right as Crow's second shot connected with the crater of the first. Swiping the pistol-bearing right arm along the left to clear the debris of the drone off the spike-hand, Shrike spared a single glance upwards to affirm the visual feeds he was receiving.

Then he was a visage in efficiency as a drone's microcannon pinged a shot off his rear shoulder armor. The Shell whirled about, pistol upraised. His targeting data was struggling to compute the myriad drone positions as the team's data tether updated from everyone's positions, but his eyes didn't have such reservations; in a swift semicircle of movement the pistol rang out in a dizzying hail of fire for a sidearm, shots landing squarely against the vulnerable, exposed, flight apparati of several drones that were attempting to swarm around him. With breathing room briefly established, Shrike's radiators spiked as his boosters were punched into maximum thrust to maneuver from beneath the toppling airship. His eyes flickered over the display, and his hands twitched on the controls to adjust movements to complete the linkup with Barn Owl. His boosters cut the moment he was safely from beneath the airship, the Shrike's long steps now breaking into a physical sprint.

A swift tap of the comm panel pinged @AtomicEmperor Barn Owl directly; "Keep moving. Crow's alone. Move to support. Watch the skies."

And as if his words were predictive, and seeming to spite his fire control system's inadequecies, Shrike whirled and dropped to a knee, raising the left arm up even as his gatling cannon rotated into position on his shoulder. The blazing light of his energy shield manifested, a full length barrier cutting into the sand and extending upwards to the height of the Shell. Just in time, as a fighter jet's withering cannon fire exploded along the beach and into Shrike's shield. The energy barrier held as the strafing fire rained upon it, but Shrike could feel the heat creeping up into his cockpit from having deflected such a devastating and surgical strike.

The shield disappeared in an equally disorienting disappearance of color. Then, the gatling cannon unleashed its own retort into the skies; the first jet's wingman (Or, perhaps, Wing-AI, knowing Murakumo) was deterred off-course by the return torrent of fire, a few stray micro-missiles whizzing past Shrike and impacting into the sands on the beach. Everywhere this man went, things exploded around him it seemed. He made sure to specifically flag those jets as priority targets in the team's shared targeting system as his gatling cannon rotated out of its functional position, and his Shell rose back to its feet.

His voice rang across the combat frequency;

"Need support with those jets."

He was wary of this downed carrier. The Shrike ambulated around the downed vessel like a jagged metal predator as Gizzard ripped into its surface from above. The pistol slotted into its internal compartment; the mighty Susanoo laser rifle slung into the arms. One doesn't usually send a carrier without cargo and soldiers, and he was going to be the first thing anything that emerged from its wreckage had to deal with.

Don't Forget Me

Been big on sci fi lately, gonna stick my nose in for now :)

Tyrant Shell: The Answer of Rain [CANCELLED]

Mentions: N/A
Location: The Beach

---

The Shrike stood, ancient in its form and terrible in its visage. Long, claw-like, fingers bulked with immense armor plating into the horrible Shrike's Talons of repute. Heavy arms loaded with the impossible density of myomer-muscle-like-chords that gave the S-86 its unparalleled strength. Broad shouldered, small of head, barrel-like in its chest... Its bulky silhouette was a far cry from the sleek outlines of many of its nest mates. It was one of the heaviest Shells in Vulture Squad and the prodigious layers of heavy armor upon its archaic form made its role and function abundantly clear. As its pilot, Shrike the Man, nestled into the cramped cockpit a woman's voice chirped onto the combat frequency in a short burst of direct, ice-laden, messages;

"Clockwork on Comms; will monitor squad Shell status from the Nest. Touchdown with the crew post op. Ossifrage is running repairs solo on this one. Shrike status all-clear. Going Silent."

The Shrike, as opposed to more modern machines, required bulkier means of control. The already small cockpit seemed more claustrophobic than ordinary as the mass of its pilot filled the space. The heavy helmet came down upon his head, feeding sensory data into his eyes and ears. His hands fell onto the controls, the years of operating this one machine sending the ghostly sensation of phantom presses along his fingertips and arms. As he caressed over the worn buttons, battlefields of years past played across his vision.

Clockwork's voice chirped into his communicator band privately, bringing him back from reverie as the Vulture Squad began to dismount the Nest. He didn't have to strain to hear, but her voice was quiet in the privacy of their private radio band. There was no less ice in her words, however.

_{"The rain never stops. Don't scratch the paint on this easy shit, Shrike. If I have to redo the scheme before the job has even started I'll kick your ass."}

He chuckled to himself, hearing his own voice muffled by the bulky neuro-helmet he wore. A swift ping of the radio band signaled his acknowledgement of her message, before he focused onto the combat frequency. When the Shrike stepped out of the hangar it was contradiction to the targeted dismounts of the rest of the squad. The Shell plummeted, as if wings pinioned, straight out of its hangar bay towards the beach below. The squad's movements filled his HUD, delegated into a burst of tactical data that took up minimal clutter in his displays. The comms chatter washed over him as he fell like a stone towards the sea.

A violent burst of the boosters signaled his landing. The mass of the Shell landing upon the surf, and the blast of superheated thrusters, caused the churning sea waters to hiss and explode into a cloud of water and steam around the Shell as its imposing visage touched down.

"Shrike Online."

At last, his own voice cut into the comms chatter with an accent matching Owl's; but beyond that, Shrike spoke with a distinct authority and presence of self. His words were brief and carried the efficiency that decades of combat communications brings. The Shell began to move, powerful legs carrying it across the sands of the beach in a swift gait as its fingers snapped magnetically into place and fused into the immense driving spikes of the Shell's namesake. He was taking a central position amongst the scattered blips of the Vulture Squad, noting Gizzard and Ossifrage's intentions as well as the scattered Fire Support element of the squad.

"Anchor on me. Hammer to Anvil."

His swift words were accompanied by the Shell's sudden blitz of movement, powerful arms striking into the sands. In a scarce few moments the Shrike was, by all visibility, just another partially buried old Shell near to Hachidori's ambush position. A swiftly executed ping to acknowledge Hachidori deliberately was all the further communications offered by Shrike as they awaited their ambush targets. The constant drum of the rain was almost soothing in a moment like this. Beneath the sands one hand unfused its fingers and gripped its pistol in concealment, the shield-bearing left arm above the sands and ready to produce its protective barrier should the ruse fail-- or should his allies own shots fly danger close in the moment of ambush. Such was the way of war.

Tyrant Shell: The Answer of Rain [CANCELLED]

Shell:The Shrike

The Shrike

HEIGHT: ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Twelve and a half Meters WEIGHT CLASS: ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Medium SPEED: ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Medium ROLE: ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ All-Rounder; original design intentions as a combined arms support Shell

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ DESCRIPTION: ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ The Shrike is a modified first generation G.U. S-86 Shell designed by the fledgling Grand Union at the advent of the Nation Fall. In its inception, the future of warfare was uncertain and the Shell's original run suffered from a lack of future-proofing. The S-86 was designed as a Combined Arms support Shell, meant to work in tandem with traditional infantry and support teams in prolonged confrontations. The original S-86 carried a single Rifle and a mounted Howitzer, stood on bipedal legs and supported minimal boosters, and sported immense armor for its size at the time. This gave it a reputation as a durable machine meant for static defenses, where it excelled in prolonged wars of attrition but suffered in skirmishing conflicts with faster Shells or enemy forces that could outmaneuver it. It gained a loving reputation amongst those who fought alongside it as a 'Trooper', a stalwart machine of the line. The iconic and unique design quirk of the S-86 is the Entrenching Arms. The S-86's arms and hands are capable of locking joints and magnetically fusing the bulky armor plates of the fingers into singular solid mass spikes. This gives it incredible strength and durability in its arms, and made it highly effective in situations where hasty defensive positions needed to be established for Infantry. It could, with ease and haste, dig suitable trenchworks or otherwise build barriers of earth. In the rare situations of the S-86 being in position to assault an enemy fortification, no walls, bunkers, or enemy Shells could withstand the strikes of its reinforced arms. The Shrike resembles this original machine in Chassis and Entrenching Arms alone. It has been, over the decades since its inception, heavily retrofit to be a capable modern warfare machine. Its armaments have been replaced with highly weight efficient energy based options, a laser rifle and energy shield giving it immense versatility while keeping the weight low. Its reliance on a Shell Pistol as a sidearm reduces its offensive capabilities, but only further lowered the initial weight issue of the S-86 base design. A modern Gravity Matrix is housed within its incredibly armored hull, only further reducing the machine's mobility handicap and rendering a balanced and well-rounded Shell. The immense Howitzer cannon has been replaced by a Gatling cannon, completing the arsenal of sheer versatility of the Shrike. Despite all these modifications and upgrades, the Shrike still suffers from design flaws of its early inception as a Shell. There simply isn't room in the head for highly advanced Fire Control Systems, meaning that the pilot has to rely on personal skill even more than the average pilot to make shots land on swiftly moving targets. In spite of the immense armor, the reduced weight keeps it more mobile than one would anticipate of its archaic designs and allow it to brawl with larger, heavier, Shells-- but it cannot mount Boosters in respectable quantities and is capable only of very limited bursts of speed or flight, meaning that dedicated skirmishing Shells can still outmaneuver it in prolonged conflicts. The Shrike's ultimate flaw, however, is that to make room for modern Generator equipment room within the Shell had to be made; the cockpit has no ejection capabilities, and the Radiators can struggle to keep up with constant use of the energy equipment. in short, the Shrike is a versatile Shell who's flaws render it sub-optimal in high intensity engagements that last longer than its Heat Sinks against opponents who can escape its immediate threat range. Its energy based equipment and incredibly durable construction render it perfect for prolonged expeditions without maintenance and give it respectable ranged firepower, while the rest of its kit gives it shockingly brutal close range power. ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ARMANANTS & EQUIPMENT: ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Primary Armaments: Shoulder Mounted Gatling Cannon, Murakumo “Susanoo” Series Laser Rifle. The Shrike’s shoulder mounted gatling cannon is a powerful weapon requiring time to kneel and deploy. The variant equipped on the archaic Shell possesses an immense rate of fire, but lacks in spread control and is impossible to use for anything besides suppression beyond medium ranges. The laser rifle is a salvaged Murakumo variant rifle traditionally paired with highly advanced fire control systems for their automated Shell forces; rather than the traditional hail of laser fire, this “Susanoo” series laser rifle consolidates its charge into a slower firing yet devastating singular beam of energy. Secondary Armaments: Pistol, Energy Shield, Reinforced Entrenching Arms (Nicknamed Shrike's Talons) The pistol carried by the Shrike is a variant sporting a higher rate of fire than traditional Shell sidearms, but otherwise is par for the course when it comes to the usually unassuming backup weapon category. The energy shield is a somewhat older variant, but still markedly more up to date than the Shell’s chassis. Located in the Shrike’s left arm, this shield forms a full body energy barrier that can be maneuvered with ease by the left arm. Generates more heat than the latest, cutting edge, energy shields. Its appearance on the archaic Shell usually catches opponents utterly off guard. ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ OTHER: ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Full inspirational image for the Shrike ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ .................................................................................................................................................

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment - On Hiatus

I’m always lingering around for if folks catch the vibe again :)

Tyrant Shell: The Answer of Rain (An Armored Core Inspired Mechapunk)

Temptations. I like the aesthetic and vibe here. I've been on a sci-fi kick and have a soft spot for -Punk. I'm not experienced or knowledgeable in Armored Core, do I need to do any homework on that setting/property to catch the vibe you're going for, or do you think I'll be able to pick up on it from the chatter?