Personnel Dossier
NameAndrea 'Andy' Muriel Thompson
Age39
Physical EvaluationWhen people read the words "former doctor," they usually think of Andrea as a thin, weedy woman carrying a clipboard. One with little discernable musculature, and even less combat experience.
And then they also read the words "combat medic," "pilot of a heavy assault Exoframe," and "court martialed," and their thoughts tend to change rapidly.
Almost as important to Andrea as her doctor's work, and intimately intertwined with it, was her career as a soldier. Consequently, she has a significantly more developed physique than people really expect out of her. She is tall, at 5'11", with a slim figure, little curvature, and ghost-pale skin. But that skin hides a great deal of wiry whipcord muscle that's always prepared to injure someone if she needs to. Her stark white hair is worn long and is frazzled and tangled much of the time, twisted around as a nervous habit. Her gray eyes are constantly shadowed by dark circles under her eyes that stand out very sharply against her pale skin, and her face wears an expression somewhere between irritation and exhaustion. She walks with a crisp, snapping stride, making her look like she's perpetually hurrying.
And yes, she does occasionally carry a clipboard.
Psychological Profile- Obsessive
- Possessive
- Controlling
- Arrogant
- Driven
- Caring (in her own fucked-up way)
Andrea was born and raised on a small, temperate planet called Paadax. A child of wealth, she wanted little as a child; her parents owned and operated a massive mining empire, pulling the supremely valuable minerals out of the planet's lithium and argon-rich crust. Even as a child, she was a little bit strange, obsessing and hyperfocusing on things for long periods of time. But for the most part, she was a normal(ish) kid in a rich family.
Then, when she was nearing adulthood, she found medicine. And she fell in love with it. There was something about having somebody in front of you that you knew only you could save—somebody who was depending solely on you—somebody that you had so much power over—that dragged her into studying it. And she studied it fervently. For as small a planet as Paadax was, it was affluent, and so there were exceptional schools of medicine on it. And she consumed everything they had to offer, attaining a full doctorate at only age 26.
And then...then the Thedes Empire came calling. The lithium was what drew them in. And the lithium was why they conquered. The planet's leadership didn't resist them. Didn't even try. Hung on so tightly to their power and money that there was a bloodless conquest. In theory.
In practice, there was a bloody civil war of only three months, in which the Thedes military crushed the Paadaxian civilians underfoot. It was in this horrifying bloodbath that Andrea first truly plied her trade on the side of the Thedes. And for some reason...it was a rush. Every casualty brought to her for treatment. Everybody there in her domain. The absolute power that she wielded over them. It was intoxicating, and she grew very, very attached. So, when the Thedes left, taking the majority of their military force with them, she signed on as a doctor with experience as a combat medic. And she was happy with that for all of two years, before she started looking for a more...direct approach to the battlefield. A more direct way to ensuring those under her sheltering wings were unharmed.
And then, in her 29th year, she discovered the Exoframe program. And after a lengthy series of aptitude tests (which she aced, thankyouverymuch), paperwork, and assorted other bureaucracy that took her until thirty one, she was finally given the privilege to pilot her beloved: the Perses.
Of course, her medical work came first, as she was dispatched to the newly-conquered planet of Kallas, which was currently undergoing a similar conflict as Paadax did. But they were evidently much, much better at it; it kept going for years while she worked there, primarily as a field doctor and occasionally as an absolute menace on the battlefield with her kitted-out Perses, already beginning to take on the heavily-armed, lightly armored appearance that would mark it forever.
Of particular note during this time period—a time period that was characterized by her strict adherence by medical codes of conduct slowly coming less and less tightly tied as she treated more and more patients—that she was called to treat the Prince himself, who'd gotten himself shrapneled watching military activity. She fixed him up perfectly. A consummate professional. She was awarded by the prince himself with the Kallas Medal of Eminence, which she pinned proudly to the lapel of her lab coat (in a bit of a violation of procedure).
She served with distinction during the Kallas Rebellion for three more years, until she was 36. And then she gave into temptation. The bleeding-edge medical breakthrough of nanotechnology had just been made available to her. And really...what else was she supposed to DO? There were infinite scientific discoveries to be made here! Ways to become so much more effective in surgery! Ways to fix people who otherwise were broken! Even more power to have! So really, it would have been immoral if she didn't try to test them on a patient of hers, right?
Apparently, that is not what the military, medical community, or government thought.
The fools, blinded by their clinging to past strictures who couldn't appreciate what she was trying to do lashed against her. The medical community stripped her of her medical license, the license that she'd worked so far for. Andrea Thompson, M.D. no longer. The military court-martialed her, confiscating her Exoframe and her title. Major Andrea Thompson, Exoframe pilot, no longer. And the government? They stripped her of that medal that she was so proud of, imprisoning her summarily. She was humiliated.
And then she had a visitor. William, the prince that she'd saved. And he offered her a deal. He'd get her Frame back. He'd get her medal back. He'd get her out.
And all she needed to do was to take her with him.
Her tenuous grasp on mental stability just about shattered, she agreed, using what connections she still had in the military to get the kid an old Exoframe, about to be decommissioned. And he managed to use his connections—and his money—to retrieve her things and spring her from Kallas. She was a free woman again.
Since then, she's been wandering with William, taking odd jobs. Back-alley medical malpractice with no anesthetic and terrible, unsanitary working conditions became the order of the day, far from her immaculate laboratories. The considerable nest egg that she'd put aside from military and doctor work was all but spent now with taking care of Perses. William had been cut off from his family. They were at the end of the rope.
And then they found the Fortuna.
"You look like you need a good doctor who can also destroy a small city with her Exoframe. But if you take me, you take him too."
Exoframe
DesignationT-30 Heavy Assault Frame 'Perses'
Weight ClassHeavy
DescriptionA thirty-foot-tall juggernaut. Taken (illegally) after her court martial, this military-grade frame is beginning to show its age. It's been repaired dozens of times now, but never fully fixed; no medical license and a black mark on her name from her dishonorable discharge conspire to ensure she never has the money to fix the thing up and feed herself in any given month. The plating is visibly repaired in many places, and in as many, there are scars and pockmarks that she's unable or unwilling to repair. The only piece that she never skimps on and keeps immaculate are the inertial dampeners, allowing her to make use of her full excessive arsenal when locked in zero-G combat, and the thrusters, which allow her movement in flight or spaceflight that, while somewhat clunky and unidirectional through sheer mass, is extremely fast.
Equipment and ArmamentEach shoulder of the machine carries a
Tyr FMMC missile pod, each containing up to ten heat-guided rockets linked to a targeting system (or what remains of one) in her frame's HUD. The wrists each contain a pair of
Shiva LAW retractable laser HMGs, the set of which serves as her main (and only) real anti-personnel weaponry; though they do not measure up to the remainder of her weapons in power, they make up for it with rapidity, blanketing swathes of the battlefield with a hail of laser fire. On the back is mounted Perses' heaviest armament; the
Thanatos SHPC, a frankly ridiculous heavy plasma cannon. Though its fire rate is incredibly slow and she needs to lock joints and brace to actually fire it, each shot carries enough destructive force to level a building. Finally, in her hands is carried the
Mjolnir APIC massive anti-vehicle and anti-frame cannon, a plasma induction weapon nowhere near the sheer explosive might of her back-mounted cannon, but tailor-made for piercing through armor and shields alike. This, too, is beginning to show its age; not as efficient as a railgun for armor, nor a traditional plasma weapon for shields. Still, it's an excellent middle ground weapon, serviceable against both. In addition, between the missile pods and the heavy cannon, there's a comparably small barrel on each of her shoulders; two
Heimdallr LPD turrets, which automatically seek and destroy incoming munitions with brief pulses of laser fire. These can be turned to manual mode and used as proper weapons.
As you might imagine, this level of armament on a single exoframe is just
asking for trouble. Andy, though calculating, is not very good at risk management, and prefers to go all-in on sheer
blistering firepower. Her shields are as light as you can really get away with on a heavy frame, and her armor is lacking. It's always
been lacking. But when she was in the military, she could get away with it through access to high-grade repair facilities. Not so much anymore. As much sheer destructive force as she brings to bear, her frame is quite fragile for a heavy unit. Not only that, but it can't even withstand
itself. If Perses is firing on all cylinders and bringing its full firepower to bear, then the joints of the frame—never fully repaired anymore, mostly and
visibly patched together—can crumple under the strain.
Finally, she keeps her ace in the hole in the back of her molded pilot's seat. At her command, a needle pops out, injecting a payload of a powerful stimulant cocktail that drastically slows her perception of time and allows her to pull off things that she perhaps shouldn't be able to. Still, this isn't without risk. It's a last-ditch effort, a final push that lasts half an hour in the best case scenario. As soon as the drugs wear off, she is struck with a bone-deep exhaustion, and if she's
lucky she won't immediately pass out. And these drugs aren't cheap. Or safe. Or legal.
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