Starlance

Wizard Mafia (Harry Potter Organized Crime RP)

I'll throw my hat in as well.

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Enri Uemura
Briefing Room
02:20 Local

---

For her part, Enri sat in the briefing room looking like a lost kid in a shopping mall. And what a sight she was: A bespectacled whirlwind of color among the military greens, grays and function over form. When Tahlia asked for questions, Enri raised her hand. ”Ummmm. Is this the part where you’re told I’ve never fired a gun? Like, ever. Or has someone told you before?”

---

Armory
0300 Local

---

If someone thought Enri looked out of place before, it was time to reconsider. The vest didn’t fit her right, the plates doubled her weight. The helmet on her head was like a pot, requiring additional padding to sit secure and they had to look among the Blue Sword staff to find someone with small enough shoes that Enri could borrow.

And she was absolutely miserable.

She’d worked for Shalev long enough that she could rattle off the basic specifications of most of the equipment employed for the operation, including the BGM-109P Land Attack Missile - Conventional. The most recent in the venerable Tomahawk family, a 6,35 meters long angry telephone pole with over a 2000 kilometer range, reduced radar cross section and capable of carrying the W80 five to 200 kiloton nuclear warhead (sold separately, additional charges may apply). But the mere thought of using a weapon, much less on a living being, made her wonder how quickly she could take the helmet off in case she needed to offload her last meal. The fact that the man indirectly responsible for her nearly getting shot in the face would be the last line of defense between her and a bunch of angry morons with too much tech for everyone’s good wasn’t helping her situation in the slightest. Yes, the pale bastard left her there to die, but this guy was part of the reason they had that problem in the first place.

She tried to clear her mind by checking the two bags - yes, she had to outsource carrying some of it to someone else in the team - but she’d done that several times already so her mind kept wandering. Come to think about it, Kitsune was kind of a shit customer all things considered. She’ll be charging a premium next time. At least she’d get to play with some highly experimental hardware Raven provided, the device looking like a heavy duty laptop connected to a sizable multispectral antenna she carried on her back that would let her wreak absolute havoc.

Boraro
Briefing Room
02:30 Local

---

Water. Ebrima loved water. He was made up of the stuff, after all, rain offered a welcome reprieve from the Sun’s searing heat and you couldn’t make brandy without the stuff.

But Ebrima also loved bacon and naturally-aspirated V8s, yet too much of them would increase cancer risk.

So why on God’s green Earth did they have to go into a damn ocean? Maybe that was wrong. It was God’s blue Earth, wasn’t it? Strictly statistically speaking it was a miracle he’d spent his entire life on land, though that would be ignoring a big influence on the sample pool, namely that humans had no damn business being in the ocean. He was no thalassophobe - or at least he was pretty sure, he’d never played Subnautica to check - but… too much bacon.

Maybe reading scale model building instructions would allow him to understand rebreather instructions quickly, but something told him he shouldn’t hold his breath about it. Or maybe he’d have to, worst come to worst.

”I’ve heard enough about Vasquez when I was in Colombia. There’s places in that country where people are afraid to till the land for fear of finding another mass grave of her making and unleashing some curse she’s placed upon it.” Ebrima said with clear disdain, having never had to deal with the woman before. Were the stakes not so high, he might have actually looked forward to that fight. Killing her was just public service. ”With the toxin on the platform, can we risk using air support at all?” He continued with a question of his own. He was no chemist, but if any vapor was bad, surely sending a Hellfire near it couldn’t end well?

---

Armory
0300 Local

---

With no civilians expected, Ebrima prepared accordingly. Six full drums of slugs and two of flechettes for the shotgun for when things went loud, three magazines of subsonics for the rifle for the sneaking before on top of the two magazines for his sidearm. Smoke grenades stayed home, instead making way for a total of four flashbangs. Seeing the effect it had in marrakesh, he did bring a magazine of stun grenades for the launcher, as well as a magazine of frags, but with the threat of the toxin he instead loaded up four magazines of thermobarics. He would make Canada proud.

Lastly, the contentious blade. He might even start calling it that. What legendary sword didn’t have a name, after all? Scanning the armory for who might be the most durable person on the team, he settled on Chuck and approached, holding out his hand for Duke to sniff before speaking. ”Should I not return, will you please see to it that this gets back to Purna?” He asked, tapping the holstered kukri with his knuckles. Might as well go out on a kind note if the dice were to fall poorly.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Premiere

18th March 3027, 19:36 - Sartu system, Sartu c - Federated Suns

“Alright, Half Pint, post up on that hillside over there and let that PPC rip. Ghost, IRIS will call out targets to you, focusing on the ‘Mechs. Giggles,” Her callsign cut through the noise like a foghorn, “prioritise the VTOLs and then combat vehicles. Once those are done, coordinate with Ghost. Wait for Alpha to give you the go. I’ll be ahead of you, looking out for trouble.”
The three Bravo Lance pilots each found a place they could comfortably shoot from and waited. Two minutes later, Alpha Lance reported contact and 30 seconds after that, Bravo was given the fire-at-will order.

Alpha reported good initial effect as Warriors started falling out of the sky and a PPC and two LRM 15s began tearing into the enemy ‘Mechs, forcing them to take cover from two directions. As Marit focused on the battle raging hundreds of meters away from Bravo Lance, she completely missed small figures moving along the ground. She only noticed them when one of them soared through the air and headed straight for her cockpit. Turning the torso was a completely instinctive reaction, like when a ball is thrown at your head and you swat it aside. Unfortunately for the infantryman, Marit was right-handed so the reaction still worked as the unusable SRM launcher hit the jumper’s legs, sending the man tumbling toward the Dervish’s canopy. The impact was marked by a faint thud and left a red streak across the ferroglass.
Around the same time, the machine guns of Deadstick’s Locust woke up. “Infantry and jumpers at three-one-zero. Handling that.”
Marit turned back to the sensors readout, finding that the remaining combat vehicles had already been decimated. She was about to ask her mother to call out her current target to focus their fire when a sudden flash of light and spike in cockpit temperature drew her attention to a nearby jagged rock. As she hauled the Dervish around to make herself harder to hit and peered through the canopy to identify what the Hel was shooting at her, something weird about the view kept tugging at her eye. Something had changed. The bloody smear was gone. That could only mean the laser vaporized it. A cockpit hit. Bastard! The other medium laser carving into her right torso was just an insult on top of it

Perhaps it was her inexperience, perhaps the way she was raised, but Marit subscribed to the same way of thinking as fighter pilots ever since the rise of flight back on Terra: That theirs was a different, cleaner kind of combat, machine pitted against machine, free of the mud and blood of regular ground war. Of course it wasn’t true and there were about as many ways one could die horribly inside a BattleMech as there were reasons to hate the Draconis Combine, but it was one thing if an accident happened and a whole other can of worms if someone went out of their way to make it happen. SHe’d been stationary for crying out loud.

The offending BattleMech turned out to be a Cicada, gunning straight for them. No doubt sick of being pelted by LRMs. “Bravo, Cicada, dead zero.” She cautioned, firing off her only medium laser and turning to run behind some sort of cover, aware that she couldn’t outrun it. The Cicada was drawing mercilessly close when a flight of missiles slammed into its side, rending the armor on the left leg and torso and ripping off the left arm wholesale. The Cicada stumbled, leaning over precariously before its pilot regained his balance. Seeing the ‘Mech turn to her once again, Marit raised the Dervish’s arm to cover the cockpit and kept hauling ass into cover. Both of its medium lasers found her ‘Mech and Marit was able to feel the Dervish’s weight shift as the rest of her right torso armor ceased to exist. Fortunately, the right side LRM rack was empty to offset the weight of the missing arm. The Cicada’s stumble fortunately allowed Marit to gain enough ground to fire her missiles, sending everything she had at the enemy BattleMech.

The laser carved out a piece of the right leg armor while the missiles - Marit somehow landing all 20 of them - wrought havoc upon the Cicada, making the center and left torso armor look like Lunar surface, stripping the right arm completely and breaching the already weakened left torso. The hail of fire was joined by four medium lasers from the Cicada’s left, two making contact with the leg and torso as Idun’s Catapult rounded a rock, coming to the rescue.

The Cicada’s pilot realized which way the wind was blowing, took one last potshot at Marit as he turned tail and ran, the medium lasers taking a decent chunk off her center torso armor. Using the right arm to try and shield her now exposed internal structure, Marit hastily sent out a volley from the left torso launcher, three missiles making contact with the rear armoring of the Cicada’s center torso, joined shortly by two more lasers and a volley or LRMs from the Catapult, stripping the rest of its back armor, mangling the left torso and even striking the head. The fusillade pelting its back and a poorly timed dip in the terrain sent the fleeing medium ‘Mech face first into the ground, plowing a short trench in the soil before tumbling over its head and coming to rest unmoving, the MechWarrior likely unconscious from going 130 to zero via lithobraking.
“Alright?” Her mother simply asked.
“Lost a piece and running dry, but moving.”
In the commotion, Marit hadn’t even noticed that Half Pint and Deadstick had taken down a Locust that accompanied the Cicada and the rest of the infantry.

“Bambi here, need help, I’m-” The call for help was cut off mid-sentence. Looking in the depot’s direction, Marit was treated to the horrible sight of a Panther engulfed in LRM explosions. The stricken ‘Mech took one last, wavering step backwards as the shaken Diagnostic Interpretation Computer carried out the last command given to it before all inputs from the pilot ceased and the ‘Mech fell limply flat on its back as when the smoke cleared, it became apparent there was no longer any cockpit to send commands to it.
“Bambi’s gone.”
“No!”
“Did she eject?”
“No. Negative punchout.”
“Xerox? Xer- Aili! Snap out of it!” Marit could see IRIS’ Grasshopper backhand the now-stationary Locust as the realization that Xerox had just witnessed her twin sister get vaporized in front of her hit her like a freight train.
“Bravo Leader, Bravo Two, missiles running low, recommend we get in there and get physical.”
“Agreed. Alpha Lance, we’ll be with you in a minute, hang in there.”

The site of the skirmish was bloody. In addition to Bambi’s Panther, the downed Warriors and wrecks of several ground vehicles, she could see a wrecked Blackjack and Commando. The Sons didn’t have any of those, good. As they arrived, Marit also caught the tail end of a Panther - Charlie Lance’s last working BattleMech - and half of Ångström’s Assassin, down to just its SRM 2 launcher, tearing into a Trebuchet they isolated from the rest of its Lance and determined to keep doing it until the noises stop. Given what they all just watched it do, she wholeheartedly approved. Bravo’s own Locust busied itself with harassing a Quickdraw as it tried to disengage and landing some good shots by the looks of it, but it was only one mistake from getting stomped into the ground. All was not well though, as IRIS’ Grasshopper was facing off a Locust and a godsdamned Guillotine. The only way he was holding on was the depot behind him forcing the enemy ‘Mechs to take care with aiming while he had a clear shot and the fact the Guillotine was missing both of its arms by now.

“Half Pint, Quickdraw. Ghost, Guillotine. Giggles, Locust.” Deadstick ordered, a hard edge rarely present in his voice indicating how many enemy survivors there wouldn’t be. Marit could see her mother firing everything she had save one LRM launcher and did the same, her medium laser missing, as did half her missiles. She would’ve felt embarrassed to miss a ‘Mech that had its back turned to her and likely had no idea she was even there aside from a lock on warning were it not for the fact that Deadstick failed just as bad as she did. At least the Locust turned to look for what the heck was shooting at him and stopped trying to circle around IRIS’ Grasshopper, who took advantage of the shift of his attention and scored a hit to its legs with his large laser. One leg buckled under the weight of the machine, the other one getting flung away as inertia won over the tumbling ‘Mech’s remaining structural integrity. Any jubilation was quickly ended by a bang as the Assassin’s right torso was ripped open by an ammo explosion, struck down by the Trebuchet’ final laser volley before being itself destroyed. With the remainder of the Sons barreling down on them like a ton of vengeful bricks, the Guillotine and Quickdraw didn’t last much longer, despite another attempt to break off and flee and Jolt’s Panther succumbing to prior damage and forcing her to shutdown and eject.

And just like that, it was over. No proverbial mist clearing, no serene silence, just the same ambient noise of the Dervish beneath her and the thought of four lockers in the ready room without a master. As status reports from the other MechWarriors started trickling in and orders to check on Jolt and RTB came from the Kalevala, Marit could hear the relief in her dad’s voice.
“Mari?” Idun asked when Marit lagged with her check-in, using her regular nickname to give her brain a push for some traction.
She took a second to recompose herself before answering. ”I’m alive.” She stated flatly with a hint of disbelief, the situation yet to fully sink in.

Rise of Rasalhague

”Boring!” Karel teased in response to Sulser’s ‘teetotaler’ comment before acknowledging Ulrik’s order, turning the Mongoose’s torso toward the Raven. ”Race you there.” He joked, matching the slower ‘Mech’s pace as they headed back to the DropShip to pick up a load of crunchies of their own. Hardly a surprise to Karel they’d done this well. Given the pirates’ equipment and tactics, the bar was so low it was a tripping hazard in Hell, The League could’ve mopped them up. Well, okay, (un)SAFE would still probably swear up and down the moon was uninhabited, but that was just a fact of life one accepted and moved on.

---

Not feeling like clearing out pirate bunkers - if he wanted to do that, he wouldn’t have spent years training to be a MechWarrior - he keyed his mic. ”I’m staying outside. Don’t get turned around in there in case you need to scram.” He continued the role he’d been filling thus far, circling the base in search of trouble, or perhaps some stragglers who saw the writing on the wall and tried to surrender. Not that he expected anything of note, given the amount of scrap the company has left in their wake as they charged up the valley. Not unless the VTOLs fancied round two, which would’ve been straight up suicide. They got their shit kicked in when they had jumpers and a ‘Mech, alone they’d be headed for a slaughter. Maybe they could go look for them later, a few intact VTOLs never hurt.

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Boraro
Camp Hannula, Pöyrisjärvi National Park, Finland
2000 Local Time

---

“Well, you can't just go rogue when the world's hunting anything that has your face.” Adam moralized, eliciting a chuckle from Ebrima as he let go of his weapon again, visibly loosening up. ”Evidently she can.” The Cameroonian shrugged, ”And if convention was followed in Raven, there would be no Raven. I’ve learned that much in my brief time here. Welcome back, Major. I trust a dog’s nose.” He stated plainly, a mischievous smirk growing on his face. ”Correct answers, sure, but: Dog.”

”We’ve agreed to postpone the fight to the death until after the current world ending crisis is resolved. One might say we are balancing on a knife’s edge.” He followed up on Purna’s comment about their little situation. Ebrima wasn’t in the least surprised Raven knew a lot about a lot, and if Raph had indeed taken part in the Shalev operation then it only made sense he’d have shared what he knew about the boxed crook they were supposed to trust with their lives in a fight. He’d have to do some digging later, figure out just how good Raven’s homework squad was. His work for Shaelv was hardly a secret, Enri having been one of the behind the scenes crew while Ebrima had been Avital’s pale shadow wherever the arms dealer went, but if they had somehow managed to dig up his childhood, he’d be officially impressed. Also mad as fuck.

But something Skye said caught Ebrima’s ear. ‘Enri’. A name was just a name, familiar or not. Once is a happenstance.
A Japanese woman named ‘Enri’ in her late twenties, short, thin. It was a Japanese woman’s name, and half of that country needed a few burgers to bulk up and platform boots to see a bus over a proper dog. Twice is a circumstance.
A Japanese woman named ‘Enri’ in her late twenties, short, thin, and a superstar hacker of loose morals. Thrice was deliberate action.
And then the full name. A ghost from the recent past, soil barely settled on the figurative grave in Ebrima’s mind. No wonder he didn’t recognize her standing there, even if he’d known she was alive. Comparing her then to now was like if he grew an afro and painted himself his biologically correct skin color.

---

Enri Uemura
Camp Hannula, Pöyrisjärvi National Park, Finland

---

Enri, on the other hand, was shocked by Skye’s knowledge, or at least an aspect of it. ”Hang on a fucking minute: You knew we used to work together, you knew how that ended, you probably then knew the specifics, you work with this coke-faced, spineless, backstabbing, shameless fuck and you didn’t fucking tell me?” She gave Skye a face and a wide shrug with her hands, an expression and gesture practically yelling ‘What the fuck?’ almost as loud as Enri. It was a good thing that woman dragged Ban away so she could break decorum and speak her mind without concern. Not that anyone would really care, every single person in that room could bench her and call for more weights doing it, the big ones with just one hand. She was like a chihuahua yelling at a Belgian Malinois in the presence of German Shepherds and Saint Bernards.

A few paces away, the coke-faced, spineless, backstabbing, shameless fuck was visibly confused on several levels, wondering how she was there, where all of this was coming from and how and when to start unpacking this issue, all the while trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the scene and the fact Enri was somehow alive. There was enough fuel in the dumpster fire already without pouring gasoline on top of it. ”I have no clue how you survived that, but it’s clear that we’re both missing critical pieces of the puzzle that is the past two months. I’d-”
”Fuck off and don’t even breathe around me, you know what you did.” Enri jabbed a finger in his direction and turned to storm out, stopping halfway when she remembered that door didn’t lead where she was going and quickly making her way to the correct one.
”Talk later I guess.” He sighed with a big, dumb grin on his face.

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Boraro
Jemaa-el-Fnaa, Marrakesh, Morocco
1412 Local Time

---

’Old man? Who was the Hobbit calling old? The age difference between them was less than a good whisky.’ Ebrima thought with an eye roll as he came upon the ambush, a team of people speaking French and wearing Moroccan Army kit setting up with an RPG-32. They were probably on Artemis’ payroll - they better fucking have been on Artemis’ payroll - but even if they were legit, no one tries to point boom tubes at his team, even if his employment contract was on the unorthodox side. With Purna working the other side and no exosuits among them, he didn’t have that much to worry about, doubly so since they were preoccupied with their equipment and hadn’t noticed either of them.

He flew between them like a bowling ball between pins, shoving the rocketeer over the railing before he could react. An uncontrolled two story fall wasn’t necessarily lethal, but definitely debilitating for a time. Two steps for a running start, he grabbed onto a TV antenna to swing around another man’s back with a burst from his jump pack, a satisfying crack - to a Raven operative, normal people would’ve called it disturbing - announcing the spine losing its brief clash with Ebrima’s heel. By now the two remaining ones had scrambled for their weapons, until a piece of gleaming metal described an arc through the air and separated the third man’s shooting hand from the rest of him. Placing the amputee between himself and the last man would’ve slowed any bullets fired at this range enough for the armor to handle them, but the fourth man refused to fire at his comrade and that small moment was all Ebrima needed, kicking the still screaming one toward the fourth one. He moved out of the live projectile’s way easily enough, but it left him open for a follow-up strike, the Himalayan blade continuing to prove its worth as it found the fourth man’s neck.

Finishing off the wounded and wiping off the blade, Boraro rejoined Purna at the edge of the roof, not one to turn down praise from a Gurkha. ”Oracle does not seem like a man who offers second chances to just any merc he comes across.” He shrugged, listening to Purna’s complaining before following him down. His armor being on the heavier side compared to Purna’s, Ebrima didn’t want to risk breaking something fragile by jumping onto a truck from the roof, instead working down to the street across window sills and other protrusions and the jump pack, catching up to the truck and leaping up onto it with a backflip after letting the driver know he was there. It was as if a switch had flipped in the albino’s head. Although they still weren’t entirely out of the weeds, the mission was pretty much wrapped up and with that, a different man replaced the clinical precision displayed thus far. He took off running, leaping between vehicles and looking in the side windows to find the one the VIP and the rest of the team were in, returning some of the gunners’ high fives and fist bumps as he went past.

Following Purna down the transport’s top hatch once he’d found the right one, he squeezed in wherever there was room and took his helmet off to wipe down the sweat from his head before jabbing a finger in Purna’s direction. ”You do not get to call me old and then complain about running, mon ami.” Ebrima couldn’t resist an opportunity to sweep the Nepali’s words back in his face, a wide grin ensuring the verbal jab wouldn’t be read in a bad way.

Boraro
Camp Hannula, Pöyrisjärvi National Park, Finland
2000 Local Time

---

In their line of work, there was no such thing as ‘impossible’. As this whole mess was proving, some things were highly improbable, but two weeks ago he would’ve said the same about a clone-hopping consciousness of an omnicidal maniac. Even when nine people agreed something was highly improbable, it was the duty of the tenth one to ask “What if?”. A staggering amount of people didn’t accept that, but Ebrima assumed that was why Mossad were the ones who got them in the end. Therefore he’d learned to expect the unexpected to a point. A nice buffet to refuel before the next outing would’ve been unexpected. But what, or rather who, he saw qualified for a category of its own: A Skye-looking individual and two others he’d never seen before. And while he may not have expected the statistically improbable, he at least could roll with it and process it on the go. ”What was the last thing you and I spoke about before you jumped out of the Hercules?” He asked, the Origin reappearing in his hands, if pointed at the ground, hoping the real Queen knew enough to tell an Atlas from a Hercules and had good enough memory to remember the conversation.

Enri Uemura
Camp Hannula, Pöyrisjärvi National Park, Finland

---

Enri was miserable. The hasty departure would’ve been bad on a good day, having to quickly pack up or secure a lot of hardware she didn’t want in anyone else’s hands, but heap on the death of Hataro-sama and the possibility that it had all happened because she made a mistake somewhere and it made for a very bad day. Still on the way to the airport she messaged everyone else from her network involved with the heist a recommendation to disappear for a few weeks and spent the entire flight to and their stay in the United States going over every single line of records from the heist to see what had gone wrong.

And now she was in Finland, bundled up in at least five layers making her look like Jackson Pollock’s redesign of the Michelin man and still cold. And that was when he entered. She couldn’t, nay, didn’t want to believe her eyes, but how many tall albino Africans in this profession could there be running around? The absolute nerve of this prick to stand there like she wasn’t even in the room was just a frosting on the shit-covered cake this day had turned into. Ordinarily she would’ve gone and punched him straight in that pale, stupid, false face of his, but although a punch from her was hardly a threat at the best of times, wearing what he was she’d be like a fly tackling a windshield, and that was not even factoring in the others, with several of what could pass for Oni among their number. Her rage would have to wait for a more opportune time.

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Enri (NPC)

Name: Enri Uemura

Age: 27

Appearance

Standing at 158 cm (5'2"), Enri is a twig of a woman clocking in at 47 kg (103 lbs), usually making up a bit of extra height with heels. She fancies herself a cyberpunk netrunner, adopting an appropriate wardrobe and style mixing garish tops, skirts or pants and hairstyles with goth makeup, boots and trench coats when going outside. Spending most of her time staring at computer screens, Enri wears thick-lensed cat eye frame glasses over her brown eyes. An indoor dweller, she's as pale as they come

Her misadventure in Colombia as part of Avital Shalev's crew left her with a disfiguring injury to the left side of her cheek and missing her left ear. She does her best to cover it up with makeup and keeping her mane of hair combed over to the left side of her head.

Nationality: Japanese

Alias: Outflaw

Skills:

• Software Sorcery: Enri is knowledgeable of most operating systems, network function and architecture, but her primary skills lie in creating custom conventional and AI-based malware, reverse-engineering malware created by others and devising ways of defending against them. She also keeps up to date on developments in programming languages, AI, firewalls and antivirus software.
• Hardware Hermetics: Sometimes the easiest way of hacking something is walking in and plugging in an infected device or pulling out the right drives and walking out with them. Enri knows her stuff when it comes to the function and setup of computers, from phones to server farms and mainframes. Her knowledge extends to electronics in general, and she can frequently be found tinkering with a soldering iron.
• Nerd Network: if there's something she can't or doesn't have the time to do, she knows someone who can, having a globe-spanning list of similarly skilled (but she's better than all of them, obviously, at least if you take her word for it) people she trusts.

History:
Enri grew up in a tiny, 95 square feet apartment in Kagoshima with her mother, a strict prison warden-esque woman economical with smiles and even more so with praise. Enri practically lived at school, at least figuratively. Out working at miscellaneous temporary jobs on good days or outright stealing on bad ones and thus unable to supervise directly, Akari Uemura enforced discipline and diligence with the belt and anything less than perfection was rarely accepted. It wasn't until nearly two decades later that Enri came to appreciate how much her mother pushed her to climb out of the gutter. So, she excelled, particularly taking to math and logical disciplines, and indeed did start climbing out of the gutter, getting into an IT university.

But life had other plans. She had worked day and night to be where she was, so naturally it was her right to use her skills as she saw fit, right? At least that's what she thought. Six weeks into her tertiary education, she crashed the university's mail servers with a seven line script. By the end of the second semester, she knew the location of most of her classmates' phones at all time, having infected them with malware of her own design disguised as a document file with notes shared in their messaging group. She coasted through the school scamming people and companies for her own amusement and curiosity, and naturally started selling what information she found. Hey, if Google and Facebook can do it, why couldn't she? That was what first put her in contact with Avital Shalev, the arms dealer needing some dirt on a competitor. So impressed were they with her performance that they offered her a position on his IT team. Moreover, they offered something she'd always craved: Praise, recognition and an almost family-like environment. She abandoned her studies and swiftly replaced the former head of IT when he retired for medical reasons a year later.

Unfortunately, Shalev's flight from Colombia became a messy affair, with Los Zetas and Tijuana cartel already a significant enough pincer even without Mossad mixing into things. The motorcade moved at night, hoping to avoid notice but was ambushed nonetheless, the first shot fired nearly decapitating Enri, the MRAP's armored glass likely responsible for deflecting the bullet enough to just graze her and knock her out instead. As the driver, being put out of commission made the truck crash, forcing Shalev's head of security to order a hasty retreat on foot.

It was the Zetas who retrieved her, and she likely would've ended up on some liveleak successor site were it not for one of Shalev's best customers, Clan del Golfo, raiding the compount for unrelated reasons and finding her. After that, and a plastic surgery to cover up as much of the damage as her savings allowed, she decided a change of scenery was in order, returning to Japan to use her talents elsewhere, quickly finding work with one Yakuza family.

Personality:
Formerly a shrinking violet, a brush with death made her reconsider what she expected and asked of life. Enri is loud, from her speech through dress style to music, and those who need to speak with her often either come to like J-pop or learn to text her instead of meeting in person. She is convinced she's the smartest person in the room and she'll let you now it. The kind of person who passed a MENSA IQ test for the sole purpose of using the @mensa email to flex on people.

Taking extreme pride in her skills and enjoying her work a bit too much, people who share this interest will easily find a friend and partner in crime (figurative and literal) in Enri, though she can get a bit competitive with people of similar skill at times. If you hire her for a job, you are not just a customer who has a problem you need to fix. In her mind, you've just become her best friend and whoever pissed you off, pissed off both of you. She's likewise capable of showing proper respect to people above her in a hierarchy, but those equal, below our outside of it are liable to the full spectrum spazz experience, from the gaudy golden retriever she becomes when in a good mood to being yelled at for breathing wrong when in a bad one.

Enri likely suffers from undiagnosed PTSD, exhibiting a fear of firearms and being easily startled by loud noises.

FALLOUT: ALOHA (RP)

The interceptor raced skyward, its launch site nought but a tiny dot in the distance. Its target - likewise still a mere dot in the sky - was rapidly approaching. Deep beneath them, the Seattle Space Needle stood tall and defiant like a true American patriot, a steel and concrete middle finger to the Communist menace grasping at it with its centrally planned claws. The interceptor reached the target altitude and detonated, a blast wave screaming toward the incoming warhead, but alas the fuse triggered early and the shockwave dissipated before it met the incoming munition. With the way clear, the ballistic missile continued its murderous mission until its fiery conclusion, the Space Needle falling to its wrath. ”Frickin' bastahd.” Vigil cursed under her breath, popping the Atomic Command holotape out of her Pip-Boy and returning it back into its protective casing. 300 points and she would’ve passed her high score from two months ago.

She’d spent most of the trip on the weather deck, looking out across the ocean in search of whales. Back in the Commonwealth, she’d of course heard the legend of ‘Ol’ Peg’, a supposed Ghoul Whale living off Boston harbor, but she’d believe it when she saw it with her own eyes, and two weeks on the Green Horizon weren’t looking too good for Ol’ Peg’s credibility. That being said, Vigil was looking forward to getting off the ship. The sight of ocean was nothing new to her, but there was something fundamentally wrong with the scene that greeted her when she looked down along the hull, an endless mass of water churning at the bow and stern, threatening to swallow anything and anyone who’d fall in.

She hung back from the crowded sections of the deck, wanting no part in the moshpit and the landmass ahead being just a landmass to her, uninteresting like any other. Lounging lazily on a squeaky deck chair, she noted the reporter trying to talk to the drunk, rolling her eyes. Bothering a drunk was risky business, much less a grieving one. In a way, Vigil could sympathize with losing a loved one to a machine, a fellow Vault 75 Dweller she was very close to falling to an Institute Courser at Bunker Hill, though the drunken man’s specific circumstance had a special sting to it she couldn’t help but feel bad for. Seeing the newsman and his colleague heading her way, she moved her hat down to shield her eyes from the sun to take a nap, hoping it would dissuade the reporter.

It didn’t.

“Hi, Sam from California Channel 89! We’re broadcasting live to California now. If you don’t mind, could you tell our viewers at home about what made you come onto the Aloha Isles?”

“Work.” She replied with one word, merely canting her head so she could see Sam with one eye. “And why do the viewahs cahe? How does knowing help them in life?”

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

She was about to swing when another crack was heard, not a part of the fighting but the sharp barking of sonic cracks followed by shouting. Turning to face the angry voice, in utter disbelief at what just happened. ”What by Odin’s ravens are you doing? Has no one taught you how to safely handle firearms, you maniac?!” The combination of discount berserker rage, blatant violation of gun safety and sudden onset tinnitus enough to get even the sunny-natured MechWarrior to fly off the handle. Not that she couldn't be expected to apologize for the outburst by breakfast except under extreme circumstances. But first and foremost, she simply didn’t see Ingrid’s threat being worth taking seriously in this situation. Even Takka, the apparent instigator of the brawl, wasn’t that batshit nuts, right? Right…?

But something kept tugging at her eyes. Something wasn’t right. It took Marit a second or two to figure it out, maybe on account of a pretty good haymaker she found herself on the receiving end of just before Ingrid’s non-negligent negligent discharge. But there it was. Despite standing some distance away, Marit was looking Ingrid in the face with her head level, not canted downwards. She started snickering at the sight, pointing the box out to Ziska.

Nevertheless, orders were orders and she took her place in the queue. Best to get it out of the way early, and maybe the pain would go away by the time she went to sleep. ”I ever tell you you can be hard to like sometimes?” She said to Ziska in the same tone someone complains they ran out of milk, a smile nevertheless creeping onto her face despite knowing how much the rest of the day would suck.

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Boraro
Jemaa-el-Fnaa, Marrakesh, Morocco
1412 Local Time

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Ebrima followed the Nepali ghost out of the cafe, once again replacing the half-empty magazines with full ones, noting they were the only full ones remaining aside from the fragmentation grenades for the launcher. They better start wrapping up, else he’d have to start scavenging 5,56 and forget he even had the Origin. In absence of a grappling hook, the Albino had to employ a bit of imagination to find his way topside again. A younger, less experienced Ebrima would’ve taken a few seconds to give Purna good-natured grief for showing off with his flips and mid-air cartwheels, but the man knew it was more responsible - not to mention fun - to wait for the right moment. It was a great shame the rest of his previous team didn’t get the same opportunity he did, he could vividly imagine comments about ‘wearing tights to a fight’. Well, those who made it out of Colombia at least.

Coming back up onto the roofs following some jump pack-assisted gymnastics of his own, he paused with a double take, the disbelief at a heavy operator somehow stuffing himself into a mech almost physical, but with no good angle on the man and an armor-clad personification of Twitter or whatever it was called these days showing up to handle the problem with brutal efficiency, he let it go. Still, it wasn’t looking great down there, even the heavies looking worse for wear. Calling out to Purna to go on ahead along the evacuation convoy’s intended route and that he’d catch up, he took up a position behind a low wall on the market-side edge of the roof, shouldering the MSRx again and taking potshots at whoever he could find down there that was still causing trouble until the evacuation trucks arrived. Purna of course had a good point in getting out while they could, being on foot and thus slower even if the city would slow the vehicles down considerably, still leaving while the fight was still on felt wrong.

With that, he turned around and broke out into a run, keying his radio. ”Wilk, Boraro. Viper and I are withdrawing, will try to follow along your route and join you when we’re clear. Out.”
Ebrima opened a satellite map on his PDA, trying to figure out which way the convoy might take as he made haste to catch up to Purna and gave up almost immediately. The Souk was a mess of alleys, meaning the lead vehicle would most likely be guessing their route on the spot based on roughly the direction they wanted to go and which alleys were open, unless they had an Italian there to make sense of the street spaghetti they found themselves in.

They had to clear out an attempted ambush or two, but the chaotic nature of their environment worked for them as well, as the sheer amount of possible routes made setting up an ambush difficult and the hectic day had seemingly started to slow down at last, allowing the two Rooftop Ravens to slow down a little. Someone really should’ve told him being ‘the good guy’ was this much effort, he would’ve at least considered networking from the prison instead.