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    Juedas Sinclair

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    Juedas Sinclair

    Monetary Credits : 1,500
    Posts : 5
    Join date : 2017-03-21

    Juedas Sinclair

    Post by Juedas Sinclair on 21st March 2017, 23:00

    Pilot's Name: Juedas Sinclair

    Starting stats
    0 AP
    4 Skill Points

    Apply your skill points to the following Pilot Attributes:  (See the Stats Defined page in the rules for the break down)
    -Mental Ability:2
    -Reflexes:2
    -Proficiency:0


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    Character Description:

    Age: Thirty-two [32]
    Gender: Male

    Physical Description:
    Juedas stands tall and proud at nearly six foot in height. Well groomed, and meticulously so, he is often mistaken for a businessman if he wore a suit, or otherwise regarded with the same sort of charm that a pearly white smile and a soft pair of eyes could bring. Not a lot would give away the appearance of a dangerous person, his hair roughly shoulder length and straight, brown, and kept up to the typical standards of grooming that the rest of him shows. Venturing too close would also get a whiff of the wonderful shampoo he uses. Friendly green eyes that sparkle and say "hello there, let's be friends!". Smooth skin, free of blemish. His typical attire ranges from suits and working clothes to leathers and over coats. Typically, he wears what ever is trending at the time, like he was a walking fashion model sporting the latest and greatest of what ever just came out in Vogue magazine. Except skinny jeans. Screw that noise. He is well built, obviously giving a lot of care to his body. The slim figure would suggest a healthy diet and exercise was a fairly common part of the man's daily ritual. Shoes are spendy and trendy. Sneakers, docs, what ever the man happens to be feeling that day.


    Personality:
    Juedas is that man at the bar who buys you a drink, and you start talking to, and the next thing you know, it is 2 a.m and you have told him about the recent troubles with your mother and how your spouse has been causing you trouble or heart ache. Juedas is the smile that distracts you from your task while you attempt to talk about the local financing issues or how neighborhoods are being effected by legislature. Charming, witty, friendly. Juedas is the sort of man who walks behind the restricted line with such confidence that he is rarely questions as to why he is within a restricted area. Confidence exudes from the man, and the more dangerous part of this is, he exudes that confidence in other people. A friend who feels their worth will find their confidence in you, and Juedas starves for that confidence. He is one to talk sweet words to the ears of kings while standing behind the throne, whispering the encouragement to others such that they might smile upon him. Certainly, he believe in them so, he could not possibly mean them harm.

    Juedas is a creature of emotion. His attitude is changeable, if bordering on some what bipolar. With a single minded focus, he tends to let nothing and no one distract him from a task once it is set. No measure is too big or too small to complete his objective, and if he finds himself in a fit of anger, he tends to leave the ramifications to consider afterwards if he believes an action will ultimately further his goal. That is not to say he is a loose canon. More so, he is the warm and calculating sort. He has no issues blending in a crowds if that crowd will help him serve his purpose, only to blend away and vanish once their usefulness has filled its purpose. He typically keeps people close to him that he meets, often assuming multiple lives at once in order to placate his boredom. A pretty face at a bar might know him as Fransisco, while the man at the end of his gun might know him only by a letter. To Juedas, a winning smile and some honey coated words makes the world his playground.


    Backstory:

    I will actually be opting out of a background. I realize this might make the character less desirable, but I intend to slowly reveal his background over time. Sorry if this puts anyone off! But look forward to his threads that will be edited here in a chronological order. <3


    ----------------------


    Zoid: Isabella [I.S.A], prototype.

    STEALTH DRAGON
    Type: Serpent

    Speed: 13/13/17/10
    Agility: 32/30/38/20
    Heat Index: 35

    Internal Slots: 6
    CPU Slots: 3

    External Hardpoints: 8 - Body: 7 (along the length of the serpent), Limbs: 1 (tail)

    Base Armor - Head: 35 / Body: 100 / Wings (x2): 45 / Tail: 40

    Specials:

    Maneuvering
    The SD is an evolution of the Stealth Viper. It moves on land as if it was a snake as it has no legs. It is also more than capable of maneuvering at great speed and agility underwater, and in air using its wings. Its wings are also retractable so when not flying they are not exposed to damage.

    Dual 40mm Machine Guns
    Mounted in the mouth of the dragon.
    60DP

    Hardened Alloy Tail, Claws, and Fangs
    The tail can be used for grabbing or as a whip, while a bite from this dragon is deadly. A pair of three-taloned claws adorn the body without arms, but they are also sharp enough to slice through armor.
    45DP

    Rocket Launcher
    [Explosive]
    This two-shot launcher is housed in the main body of the Stealth Dragon. Rockets have moderate homing capabilities and may be fired together or separately.
    35DP per missile

    Steam Vents
    Vents all over the body emit steam to cloak the Zoid.
    Lowers foe accuracy by 50% for the round; usable every other round
    -Cannot be used in the same round as the E-Shield

    E-Shield
    A shield can be generated using the rotations of the turbines that provide cover the front of the Dragon until a few joints from the tail, essentially covering the front and sides. However, the shield can only be used whilst the Zoid is on land.
    -Reduces solid damage by 25% and energy damage by 50%
    -Lasts for three actions; usable once per round, every other round
    -Cannot be used in the same round as the Steam Vents

    ----------------------


    Sample Role Play:

    Warning: Violence, blood, death.

    Something about a cleared street at night always stirred the imagination. No cars, no people, just the street lights on, as if taunting the stars above with their own light. Numerous, dotted along the city streets for who ever might need something to find their way. From the air, it was beautiful, the sign of industry. Civilization. Of thriving culture. But down here, on the streets, it was more like revelation. People had been snatched away into their homes, feigning into a death-like sleep from which no one in the world was safe. Sleep found them all, eventually, and cast back into those infinite stars would they be from whence they came. Energy, they say, could never be created or destroyed, which meant that when a body passed on, that energy passed on with it. Some believed that it was heaven. The promise of life eternal as part of the stream of essence that connects everything and every one in the universe.

    What a load of pretentious crap.

    The man's mind had a funny way of wondering, feeling the cool metal against the back of his head, the friction of cloth in his pockets as his fingers idly rubbed along the outside of his thigh. All of it felt reminding. Reminding that this was real. Everything he felt, right now, leaning against the back ally of this building with his eyes closed, breathing in the night air, was real. He savored it. Savored the breath he took, the feeling of his feet crushing those silken socks against his well tailored shoes. This was it. This was the night he had been dreaming about. Everything was perfect, in it's place, and he felt...free. Like the weight of a thousand questions was lifted, such that even this morning seemed like a distant memory of the past. He didn't even remember what he had ate when he woke up, and he didn't care to flex his mind in an attempt to figure it out, because the steps he stood in were the very last steps of the life behind him. Everything would change from here on out...he just knew it.

    Dark green eyes blinked open, peering upward beyond the slim walkway of the two buildings, his view of the sky obstructed by a fire escape that had likely never seen use but for smoke breaks upon the landings of the people inside. Even if he could see beyond, the lights of the city tainted the sky, obscuring the stars beyond it. Good. Something about the stars always bothered him. Like there was some greater meaning. There wasn't. It was this, right now. The feel of steel and cloth and silk, this is what it all meant. The moments that passed, he was glad these bothersome starlight would not hinder his existence. He didn't need existentialism right now. All he needed was to focus...

    Focus...focus...

    A click to his right signaled the cascade of thoughts and reactions that followed. A hand shot out, catching the door that had been pushed open. This door, with no handles on the outside, was not meant to be an entrance, but the right hand in the right place would catch any opening. Fingers grasped at the door as he turned to see it cracked, a florescent light spilling forth from within. "It's time." He thought to himself. Those gloved fingers pried, forcing the door open from it's mechanism that would attempt the automatically shut and secure the doorway. Inside was a long hall way. White tiled floored played valley to the set of equally white walls that ran parallel down the length. Half way down, and with his back turned to him, a rather portly man secured a loop of keys to his belt, working his way down and around the corner. Juedas walked with purpose, heels clicking softly against the waxed flooring as he made to follow the guard. Around the corner, he would find the guard putting another set of keys into a service elevator, calling it to the floor they were on. The guard didn't look at him, simply held out a hand with a keycard. "Floor seven, room twenty one. You've got fifteen minutes while the shift changes." Came his voice. The voice of a man who didn't want to be where he was. The voice of a man that wanted to pretend this was all just a bad dream.

    The same man that would have a rather full stack of bills replaced into his hand as the keycard was removed. "Merci." Came the man's reply through those full, smiling lips. The keycard spun between a couple fingers as the elevator landed. The guard removed his key from the metal slot, turned, and was gone. Juedas watched the man's back as he left, disappearing from sight, and with a fresh wad of cash in his pocket. A grand for a life. Things where getting cheap. The doors to his carriage slid open, and he would take a few steps inside before spinning, fingers pushing into the button that would carry him to his destination. With a soft sliding sound a little whoosh, up he went, green eyes peering into the doors like they held the secrets to a horde of treasure. Still, his mind wondered..."Who made elevator music, anyway. And why. Do people go to school for this crap? How much can't it actually make...come to think of it, if there was a monopoly going on and every elevator ever had to use the same music...no, no. That still would have to make this crap far too expensive..oh, doors are open!'

    The hallways of the office building were lit but empty, the footfalls of the man failing to reach the ears of any one that might care he was there. He even passed a maintenance woman who pushed along her cart of cleaning supplies, but she didn't dare stop or question the man. He wasn't stopping and looking about like he was clueless, he obviously was suppose to be here. The woman didn't give the man a second thought as they passed each other, Juedas coming to stop in front of an office door. No windows, and a single, solid metal door with a handle and a keycard. Before he entered, however, he relieved his belt of a weight, a gun coming to his grip, and from his pocket, a silencer that he began to screw on to the top of it, humming a gentle tune to himself. The same one he had heard in the elevator. Damn catchy music.

    Sergeant Peter Gallace sat at his desk, pencil ticking away at the reports he had to do. Should have been done two days ago, but procrastination was his worst enemy. The haggard man leaned back in his chair, a hand rubbing over a scraggly beard and tired eyes. All he wanted to do was go home and have a drink, he had enough of this paperwork crap in the ZBC. When he moved on, he had hopes that this would not be following him. Behind him, he heard the door open, and he would grunt. "Still in here, move on to the next stall." He grumbled, in no mood for Tilde's advances tonight. When he heard the feet shuffle inside and the door close, he sighed, spinning in his chair. "Damn it, I told yo-.." He paused, eyes coming face to face with the business end of a pistol. "What in the hell.." He said, eyes following the long arm back up to that beautifully framed face that smiled down at him. "W-what do you want? Money? I'll call security.." He warned, hand reaching behind him slowly.

    The pistol would ignite, a bullet sailing from the barrel and into the plastic of the phone, sending bits or receiver every where as the gun returned. Juedas tsk'd the man with the noise of his lips. "No no." He said, waggling a finger. "Sergeant Gallace?" He asked, to which the man nodded his head. Juedas' lips curled into an almost cruel smile. "Good." His accent flowing through every word that he spoke. "I do not want your money, just an answer to a question." One hand reached into his jacket, pulling from the fine cloth a picture, worn with age, holding it up for the man to see in his office light. "Do you recognize this man?" He asked, green eyes focused only upon him. His hand did not shake, there was no nerves to be found, only the steely resolve of a man ready to start a new life.

    The officer squinted some at the picture, opening his mouth to deny any knowledge of the man, fear clouding his mind for a moment, though once his visioned focus, he could see clearly the man in the picture, smiling back at his. Those old eyes traveling back up to this stranger. "You..." He said quietly. "I remember...of course I remember.." He said, reaching over to the bottle whiskey on his desk, intent on pouring himself a cup. He knew what this was about. A pistol butt to the face would see the man sputtered and drop the glass, a cut across his nose dripping as the stranger pressed up against him with that gun.

    "Do you think I would allow you such comforts?" Juedas hissed, the butt of that pistol slamming into the face of the man, and then his hands as he brought them up to shield himself. After a bit of scuffling and a few more whacks, the man lay panting, bloodied and bruised face looking up at the assailant as Juedas spoke again. "You do not deserve a drink. You do not even deserve to speak his name!" He almost shouted, though a hand would raise, gloved fingers running over his face and through his hair, revealing the same smiling resolve he had just been showing, the only sign of that anger was the speckles of blood that now marred his cheek. "Tonight, you can consider me your starlight. Know that your death is only the first. Many more will come, but take some solace in the fact that you are the first of many." He said, the thumb of the man pulling back the hammer on the pistol. It wasn't needed, it was already to fire, but the sound. The sound of that click brought along that fear, and even though the man's face was bruised and starting to swell, he knew, the fear was there.

    "I am not sorry for what I have done." He said, sputtering a bit of blood onto his shirt.

    Juedas only smiled. "Good. It wouldn't make a difference anyway."

    ~~~

    The next morning, the news covered a shocking story of a worker found dead in his locked office, three bullet wounds in his chest was the cause of death, but more shockingly was the fact that, who ever had killed Sergeant Peter Gallace, loved husband and father of two, had taken a picture of the body just after the fact, and posted it to twitter. The image showed on screen after a warning to potential viewers of its contents. The man's head was hung back, his neck had been cut nearly completely open, and blood had run down the front. The most peculiar thing was, whoever it was that had killed the man and taken the picture, took time to run the blood from each shoulder into a direct line down the man's front, making a gruesome "Y" out of the man's body. At the base of the "Y" was a pinned piece of paper reading only three letter. "ZBC." The anchors played the story off as a small time incident with a random meaning that was meant only to throw authorities into a wild chase, and they were sure nothing more would come of it. Still, they mourned the loss of the solider who had fought along side the ZBC, and claimed that his death was a travesty.

      Current date/time is 24th November 2017, 10:53