Post by Spork on Oct 6, 2012 19:12:10 GMT -5
Valeria Cerenti
Dossier: The Biotic Infiltrator
- Accomplished biotic user
- Capable marksman and covert operator
Valeria Cerenti is a former officer of the Illium Law Enforcement. She has decades of training and field experience, and has shown her potential as an effective infiltrator. She has a strong sense of justice, though her knack for taking the law into her own hands put her at odds with her superiors.
Name: Valeria "Val" Cerenti
Alias: N/A
Species: Asari
Gender: Monogendered, identifies slightly more as female
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Age: 240 years
Height: 6'1
Weight: 184
Origin: Planet-Born (Illium)
Morality: Paragon: 60% | Renegade: 40%
Affiliation: Illium Law Enforcement | The Dresden
Residence: Illium (Apartment) | The Dresden
Occupation:
Illium Law Enforcement Officer (Former)| Mess Sergeant of the Dresden
Discipline: Biotic/Combat
Specialization:
Biotic Infiltrator
Valeria, while not possessing the technical finesse of a more "traditional" Infiltrator, has found success with adapting it's tactics into a biotic oriented skill-set. What she lacks in omni-tool abilities she makes up for in biotic powers designed to distract, befuddle, and weaken her foes while she continuously moves around the battlefield, setting up precision shots and moving in to finish off the survivors with her deadly monomolecular blade.
Abilities:
Biotic
- Biotic Cloak
- Pull
- Throw
- Barrier
Combat
- Shadow Strike
- Sticky Grenade
- Armor-Piercing Ammo
Distinguishing Features:
Valeria's skin is a light blue, and her facial structure has a "square" look. In addition, her bone structure appears sharp and focused, and her dark green eyes are almost always staring ahead with an unblinking ferocity. In human terms, she has the appearance of a hunter, or predator.
Valeria's face is devoid of face paint, and her only physical "features" are markings above her eyes that resemble eyebrows, as well as a handful of freckles around her nose and under her eyes. A variety of scars, long faded, adorn her back, with a particularly long scar running from the bottom of her left eye down to the left side of her lip.
Psychological Profile:
Valeria Cerenti is an asari who has a firm belief in upholding the law, and acting in the name of justice. Though her methods of doing so involve bending or breaking laws that would appear to obstruct her methods. While she acknowledges that laws are there for the purpose of maintaining order, she admits that there are a variety of laws that deserve to be broken, as such, she is usually open minded when it comes to dealing with situations that a by-the-book cop would be unable to handle. She often copes with her day to day life with a healthy dosage of sarcastic humor and puns, the latter of which are usually of poor quality.
While formerly adverse to killing, Valeria has become more and more comfortable with the thought of taking a life to save many more. However, she always gives her opposition one chance to surrender or face lethal force. She usually laments the effectiveness of giving most criminals this mercy, coming to the conclusion that she still holds some semblance of the honor she formally had as a cop. Regardless, in battle, Valeria takes her role in combat seriously, and she will always consider the lives of her fellow squad mates over that of a few criminals, or anything that wishes to kill them.
Valeria has a decent rapport with all of the Dresden crew, being the one who cooks all of the meals. She tries to keep the crew's general happiness up by serving meals popular with their respective species. This often leaves her supplies strained more often than she'd like. In order to deal with the stress that comes with the job, Valeria usually has a variety of musical tunes playing at all times in the mess hall.
Valeria tends to get along with nearly every species. The only exception being the batarians for the practice of slavery. But even then, she's seen individuals from every species do unspeakable acts, and she finds it pointless to be prejudiced against any of them for a few bad eggs.
Preferred Equipment:
Name: M-97 Viper
Classification: Sniper Rifle
Manufacturer: Rosenkov Materials
Description: Rapid-fire military sniper rifle. Incredibly accurate and deadly at long range, these weapons are popular amongst infiltrators and assassins. Very effective against armor; somewhat effective against shields and biotic barriers.
Modifications: Enhanced Scope Mod
Name: M-5 Phalanx
Classification: Heavy Pistol
Manufacturer: Systems Alliance
Description: The M-5 Phalanx is the product of the Alliance's Offensive Handgun Project, a close-in weapon to be used with no loss of stopping power in comparison with a soldier's assault rifle. The Phalanx enjoys a ballistics advantage over most heavy pistols. Civilian variants are often purchased by colonists on planets that have particularly dangerous big-game animals.
Modifications: Increased magazine capacity.
Name: Monomolecular Blade
Classification: Melee Weapon
Manufacturer: Systems Alliance [N7 Division]
Description: A short sword (essentially a long dagger) kept in a hidden sheathe in the back of Valeria's armor. The name "monomolecular blade" comes from the famous claim that the sword has been sharpened to the point where it can cut through individual atoms. In addition, the blade is nigh unbreakable (unless subjected to repeated shots at a focused point) and can cut through all but the strongest shields and armor. Due to the high risk of bringing a sword to a gun fight, the monomolecular blade is best utilized for stealth attacks and ambushes. Note: Valeria, having just looted this weapon, is very much unfamiliar with how to wield it properly. Until she receives any semblance of training in blade combat, she will avoid using it extensively.
Name: Recon Hood
Classification: Helmet
Description: A hood issued to covert action teams, this model's optic display interfaces with most small arms' auto-targeting software, linking hand and eye for improved accuracy and increased weapon damage. Ballistic-mesh fabric and composite ceramic plating provide necessary armor, and the integral air filter helps in hostile environments.
Name: Duelist Armor
Classification: Light Armor
Manufacturer: Elanus Risk Control Services
Description: Chrome colored plates cover vital areas of the body while keeping flexibility and freedom of movement relatively unhindered. This armor model can withstand a variety of
environmental extremes such as cold, heat or toxic exposure.
Additions: One spare ammo case is attched on her upper left and right arms.
Name: Gemini Bio-Amp
Classification: Biotic Amplifier
Manufacturer: Armax Arsenal
Description: The Gemini Amplifier sacrifices any form of power duration buffers in favor of reducing the cool-down time of powers as much as possible. While it offers a minor increase in power, the effect is minimal compared to more high end amplifiers. None-the-less, this amplifier is a power happy biotic user's best friend.
Name: Bluewire Tool
Classification: Omni-Tool
Manufacturer: Aldrin Labs
Description: A lower tier omni-tool that is still somewhat reliable. The software is outdated on Val's model, however, and her hacking and tech skills are severely limited because of this. The upside is that the medi-gel healing effects are slightly above average due to most of the power going into it.
Background:
I'll tell you right now, I respect the law. I know how hard it is to do the right thing, to not pull the trigger when you really want to. And I know what it's like to fail when it comes to that last part. The people I arrest on a daily basis have connections, and they get off on assault and murder just because their credit chits are big enough. I've been doing this for over one hundred years, watching these people just walk free. You can't blame me for saying "enough is enough". <She drinks from a cup of water> I don't regret anything. Joining this crew was the best decision I've made yet, it has to be...
<Start Recording>
So I guess that I'd better start filling up this journal. Background information and all, for some reason everyone who comes onto this ship seems to be doing something like this, so I figured "Hey, might too." Alright then... I'll start from the beginning.
My childhood was nothing special, I grew up on Thessia. My father was a salarian chef who somehow managed to marry an old, retired cop who left Illium when she decided she didn't give a shit anymore. Mom was always bitter about Illium, about how the law doesn't mean shit when you get down to it. Dad usually tried to cheer her up with his cooking, and sometimes she'd forget all about the past. I swear, if Dad wasn't such a good cook... I think Mom would've lost her mind ages ago.
We were a pretty average family, not too poor but not too rich. Dad made a decent living selling his recipe books, and Mom tried her hand at art (she sold a few pieces, not much). I spent all my time being homeschooled by Dad, seeing as how I was scared to death of school to the point where I'd make the furniture fly around when I threw tantrums. <Laughs> My tantrums were pretty... terrifying. Anyway, I learned a lot from Dad. He really got around the galaxy during his time as a traveling chef. He tells me that even the krogan respected him when he was on Tuchanka. By "respect", I mean they didn't eat his liver when they tasted something better. Mom didn't like to talk about her job, and I never questioned her when she changed the subject every time I tried to interrogate her. She just seemed so sad all the time. Not saying she never smiled, because she really loved to tell me jokes (even if they were really corny) and take me places when I behaved (Earth is really beautiful planet).
I wanted to be just like my parents. A chef like Dad, and a cop like Mom. Dad was more than happy to share his recipes with me, and Mom let me read all about asari law enforcement. It was a quiet life, really. After Dad died at age forty-three (I cried for a few days), Mom decided that if I really wanted to be like her, eighty was old enough to enroll in the academy. She wanted me to make a promise to her, something I was supposed to take seriously. She made me promise that when I graduated ("when"... She had so much faith in me) I wouldn't go work on Illium. Of course I told her I wouldn't, she was afraid for me to take this career. I told her to chill out. So... She gave me the credits I needed to enroll, and then I was off.
We were a pretty average family, not too poor but not too rich. Dad made a decent living selling his recipe books, and Mom tried her hand at art (she sold a few pieces, not much). I spent all my time being homeschooled by Dad, seeing as how I was scared to death of school to the point where I'd make the furniture fly around when I threw tantrums. <Laughs> My tantrums were pretty... terrifying. Anyway, I learned a lot from Dad. He really got around the galaxy during his time as a traveling chef. He tells me that even the krogan respected him when he was on Tuchanka. By "respect", I mean they didn't eat his liver when they tasted something better. Mom didn't like to talk about her job, and I never questioned her when she changed the subject every time I tried to interrogate her. She just seemed so sad all the time. Not saying she never smiled, because she really loved to tell me jokes (even if they were really corny) and take me places when I behaved (Earth is really beautiful planet).
I wanted to be just like my parents. A chef like Dad, and a cop like Mom. Dad was more than happy to share his recipes with me, and Mom let me read all about asari law enforcement. It was a quiet life, really. After Dad died at age forty-three (I cried for a few days), Mom decided that if I really wanted to be like her, eighty was old enough to enroll in the academy. She wanted me to make a promise to her, something I was supposed to take seriously. She made me promise that when I graduated ("when"... She had so much faith in me) I wouldn't go work on Illium. Of course I told her I wouldn't, she was afraid for me to take this career. I told her to chill out. So... She gave me the credits I needed to enroll, and then I was off.
I got my ass kicked on my first day.
I think I should clarify, I smarted off to two other students, and they got their friends to kick my ass. I'm not complaining though, I loved that fight. Five of them versus one of me. I knocked out a few teeth, broke some bones, then I get sucker punched and it went downhill from there. I didn't dare tell the instructors why I came to training the next morning covered in bruises, I'd have to have told them I ran my mouth again. I say "again" because that's what got me in trouble the most. I was the best out of my class, sure, but I wanted to do things my way, regardless of what my orders were. This drove a few instructors crazy, but their attempts to set me straight ended up being successful. And as much as it hurts my pride... I'm kind of glad that they broke me out of that rebellious attitude.
When I finally graduated, I was one hundred and fifty five. In hindsight, me deciding to surprise Mom by making contact with her after I graduated.... That bit me in the ass. So when I formally recognized as an officer of Thessia, I requested that I have a week to meet with my family. The instructors, now my superiors, were more than glad to give me some time away from the academy. You can imagine my surprise when I found out that Mom finally bit it at the age of one thousand and sixty-seven. I remember feeling empty, not sad or angry... Just... empty. I know it was old age that killed her, but I couldn't help thinking that her failures just sped up the inevitable.
A came back to the academy a day early, and I requested that I be transferred to Illium. I worked in Thessia for a solid month before that transfer was approved, and it couldn't have come any sooner.
I think I should clarify, I smarted off to two other students, and they got their friends to kick my ass. I'm not complaining though, I loved that fight. Five of them versus one of me. I knocked out a few teeth, broke some bones, then I get sucker punched and it went downhill from there. I didn't dare tell the instructors why I came to training the next morning covered in bruises, I'd have to have told them I ran my mouth again. I say "again" because that's what got me in trouble the most. I was the best out of my class, sure, but I wanted to do things my way, regardless of what my orders were. This drove a few instructors crazy, but their attempts to set me straight ended up being successful. And as much as it hurts my pride... I'm kind of glad that they broke me out of that rebellious attitude.
When I finally graduated, I was one hundred and fifty five. In hindsight, me deciding to surprise Mom by making contact with her after I graduated.... That bit me in the ass. So when I formally recognized as an officer of Thessia, I requested that I have a week to meet with my family. The instructors, now my superiors, were more than glad to give me some time away from the academy. You can imagine my surprise when I found out that Mom finally bit it at the age of one thousand and sixty-seven. I remember feeling empty, not sad or angry... Just... empty. I know it was old age that killed her, but I couldn't help thinking that her failures just sped up the inevitable.
A came back to the academy a day early, and I requested that I be transferred to Illium. I worked in Thessia for a solid month before that transfer was approved, and it couldn't have come any sooner.
When I stepped off the shuttle, I was surprised when I saw the most beautiful sunset I'd ever seen. Earth had nothing on Illium. I didn't have time to sight-see though, I was to report to an 'Officer Dara'. She was in charge of overseeing the transportation in Nos Astra, the largest center of trade on Illium, and where I operated. It was boring stuff, working with her. But it gave me some time to get used to how things worked on Illium. Apparently, everything here was legal, except murder. Slavery was big business here- did I say slavery? Sorry, I meant 'Indentured Servitude". It was slightly more classy than what batarians do. Every once and a while, we'd bust some sad sap who was smuggling Red Sand, but most of the time it was quiet. Thankfully, my superiors on Illium thought I could be better used investigating murder cases. It only took then forty-five years, too!
I was put under the jurisdiction of one detective Anaya. There, I actually did stuff. Every time a murder came up (it happened on a day to day basis), I'd get the more smaller ones. The "open and shut" cases, to be specific. Those were the worst. Half the time it was a red sand junkie that ended up shooting someone important, the other half was a guy killing another guy's servant. I hated those murders. The only penalty for killing a servant? You pay a fine for the cost of their contract. The only people who were stupid enough to kill a servant were the ones who were rich, and had deep pockets. Every time I saw their smug faces leaving the station after three or four months of jail time, I swear my hand went for my gun. It got even more worse the higher I went up. You'd catch people who were just plain... crazy. But there were people who planned these murders too, and if they got caught, the most they served was a year or two. Most of the officers here were dirty that way, see? This went on for forty something odd years, then one day I just... snapped.
We'd finally nailed a murder case, all evidence pointed to this Eclipse commando who had offed this woman and sacked her business when she couldn't pay Eclipse for their "protection services" (that sounds cliched, I know. Eclipse isn't fond of originality). I was sent to bring her in, and I cornered her in her apartment. She had no chance to draw her weapon, but she wasn't afraid anyway. She just smirked, and told me that she's ready to pay what she needs to get out early.
The next thing I knew, I'd pulled the trigger, and she was dead. Clean shot, right through the head. I didn't go back to the station that night. I wiped my Omni-Tool, everything I owned was gone right then. Looking through the commando's apartment, I found a stash of equipment. Armor, weapons, grenades... hell, even a freaking monomolecular blade. I figured that since "Officer Valeria" was retired, that I'd go pay the commando's Eclipse friends a visit...
Then one thing lead to another... And here I am.
I was put under the jurisdiction of one detective Anaya. There, I actually did stuff. Every time a murder came up (it happened on a day to day basis), I'd get the more smaller ones. The "open and shut" cases, to be specific. Those were the worst. Half the time it was a red sand junkie that ended up shooting someone important, the other half was a guy killing another guy's servant. I hated those murders. The only penalty for killing a servant? You pay a fine for the cost of their contract. The only people who were stupid enough to kill a servant were the ones who were rich, and had deep pockets. Every time I saw their smug faces leaving the station after three or four months of jail time, I swear my hand went for my gun. It got even more worse the higher I went up. You'd catch people who were just plain... crazy. But there were people who planned these murders too, and if they got caught, the most they served was a year or two. Most of the officers here were dirty that way, see? This went on for forty something odd years, then one day I just... snapped.
We'd finally nailed a murder case, all evidence pointed to this Eclipse commando who had offed this woman and sacked her business when she couldn't pay Eclipse for their "protection services" (that sounds cliched, I know. Eclipse isn't fond of originality). I was sent to bring her in, and I cornered her in her apartment. She had no chance to draw her weapon, but she wasn't afraid anyway. She just smirked, and told me that she's ready to pay what she needs to get out early.
The next thing I knew, I'd pulled the trigger, and she was dead. Clean shot, right through the head. I didn't go back to the station that night. I wiped my Omni-Tool, everything I owned was gone right then. Looking through the commando's apartment, I found a stash of equipment. Armor, weapons, grenades... hell, even a freaking monomolecular blade. I figured that since "Officer Valeria" was retired, that I'd go pay the commando's Eclipse friends a visit...
Then one thing lead to another... And here I am.
Guess I got my cards on the table, finally. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll need to see about fixing up some pasta. It'd never tried making that dish, and some of the human crew members seem to have expressed a fondness for it. Now... What can I cook that's dextro based...?
<End Recording>
RP Sample:
Thread Link
Rust Commons West, unspecified bandit camp
The chatter from numerous men, all wearing an assortment of dirt spattered, ripped or torn clothing, some concealing their faces with bandannas or masks, died down when a woman walked through the large gate built in between a narrow rock passage. She wore light brown cargos caked with dust and old blood stains and a faded black leather jacket with the bottom sleeves torn off, which allowed a grey sleeves to move down to her wrists. The jacket was zipped up to her collarbone, with the unzipped portion covered by a light brown checker patterned scarf wrapped around her neck. Part of the bandanna was pulled up over her mouth and nose, goggles were worn, the silver lens making her eyes nearly impossible to see, and a grey hood from her shirt was drawn over her head, a combination that covered most of her light brown skin and short, spikey black hair. A bandolier was draped over her right shoulder, with sniper rounds lining the front, and the back holding a large, almost comically oversized sniper rifle for the woman's stature. A sheathe holding a menacing machete was fastened to her right leg, and a holster containing a large revolver was attached to the back of her belt. She was odd sight to most, people on Pandora were crazy about carrying as many weapons as possible. This woman seemed to think a mere two guns and a long knife were enough.
The bandits were tense, making a point to draw their weapons and rest them on their knees, glaring at the woman as they sat on various crates in front of their crudely made homes of steel. A closer examination of the woman was enough to confirm her as a bounty hunter infamous among Pandora's bandit population. They were all too eager to put a bullet or two in her head, but orders were orders. Nobody questioned the leader.
Warwick, no last name. She'd came out of nowhere six months ago with nothing but the ratty clothes on her back and quickly made her name known as more than just a wannabe killer in it for a bit of cash. She took any and all assignments. The start of her career was little more than taking jobs to clear out Skag nests, though her name became known when she was tasked with hunting a variety of wanted criminals in New Haven, where she was mostly based. It was always the same, that strange sniper rifle carried a single shot, but that was enough for her. She'd sneak into a bandit camp, wait patiently for days (or so the stories say), then nail her target with a shot powerful enough to make his head explode in a bloody mess of brain matter.
Naturally, the civilized of Pandora loved her work. Though her quiet nature and minimal speaking habits made people cautious. She never bothered to make contacts, and had a cold stare that would make most turn and walk away. The various gun corporations wouldn't sponsor her, seeing as how she had no record of purchasing any weapons, instead sticking with that strange sniper rifle. In short, people liked her work, but not the person behind the gun. Though they needed her too much to say anything, bandit activity was as low as it had been in years.
It was out of desperation that Kiva Warwick killed for money. She had quickly realized that honest work did not exist on this godforsaken planet. Cash came to those who did favors for people. "Favors" was another way of saying "I want you to kill this person". She had resolved long ago to try and avoid killing humans, and the very idea of people doing so for something as trivial as money was enough to make the Stranded all too ready to leave Pandora. But once she saw her gummi ship stripped to the bones, she knew that she'd be eating her words.
Six months, and she still felt like a hyprocrite.
It was tough at first, nobody trusted her. She had no connection to any of the life long residents in the various communities, and she felt that revealing herself as an off worlder would only cause more problems. But desperation meant that worrying about public opinion mattered less, and it lead to a series of painfully boring tasks for little more than a fistfull of dollar bills as a reward.
Over time, people noticed her skill with a sniper. This led to individuals contacting her by name in New Haven. Often, she was tasked with killing a certain bandit who had stolen a valuable. Other times, a whole camp was responsible for stolen supplies. Every time however, she succeeded, and her payout increased in a matter of days. Within the third month, she had purchased her own shack in New Haven, and the pricey meals were affordable on a daily basis. Her clothes, which stank from years of scarce washing opportunities, were replaced with an entirely new set that could handle the planet's climate. Better yet, her name had gathered a significant degree of respect, and people became more willing to forget her mysterious roots.
This didn't mean she trusted anyone. While her willingness to trust had improved since her encounter with Dani, she knew that the people of Pandora would not hesitate to sell her out if she outlived her usefulness. So she made no attempts to speak with anyone outside of job requests (especially Scooter, a car salesman of sorts who seemed to be interested in her in ways she tried not to think about). She kept her sanity by imagining her eventual escape, but some days that dream seemed impossible. By the sixth month, her hopes were gone.
It was during these months that bandit leaders had started paying people in town talk with Kiva. These messangers relayed hits on others, often rival bandit leaders. She had no qualms over doing these jobs. They often lead to night time hits that resulted in an entire camp dispersing or fighting among themselves once their leader was dead. Her rewards were substantial, many thousands of dollars dropped off outside New Haven. Proof that even if bandits hated her, they were at least smart enough to honor their deals.
There was never a time when she was told to go to their camp for a reward, however. Kiva was naturally wary once the messanger gave her the location of the payment area. But five hundred thousand was difficult to pass. So she made the journey despite her better judgement.
Though the bandits made no sudden movements, Kiva was naturally tense. Stopping in a wide, circular clearing, she crossed her arms. Though a door being kicked open from a house in front of her caused the Stranded to flinch. Though she composed herself by pulling her goggles up to her forehead, pulling the scarf down, and drawing her hood back.
A man well over six feet ducked out of the house. He wore tattered boots with steel tips, muddy cargos ripped at the kneecaps, and fingerless gloves with metal studs at the knuckles. He wore no shirt, the only chestwear being two large bandoliers, covered with bullets, over both shoulders. He was sneering, giving Kiva full view of his yellowed teeth. A beard overgrown and curly matched his matted, greasy black hair.
Kiva truly wanted to shoot this man, but she resisted once she saw the large duffel bag in his hand. "My money?" She said, raising an eyebrow.
The bandit leader laughed, "You know it! You earned every bit of green for killin' that b*****d Five-Fingered Freddy! Been a thorn in my side for a while. Name's Barry, but you can call me Batsh** Barr-"
"Money. Throw it over."
Barry's smile faltered slightly, before he tossed the duffel bag to Kiva's feet.
Opening it, she peered inside to find... Ashes? Looking up, Kiva scowled at Barry, reaching for her revolv-
BANG!
An intense, burning pain ripped through her stomach. Looking down, she saw a large stain of red gather and seep through her coat at the stomach. Her mouth agape in shock, she sank to her knees. Looking up, she saw Barry blowing the smoke off of the barrel of his revolver. He approached her with a confidant strut. Kneeling in front of her, he bellowed with laughter. "You really thought I'd pay the b**** who's been killin' my guys and my buddies' guys for six months? Nah... I was gonna kill you soon, but not before gettin' you to remove some competition. Freddy there was always keepin' me from takin' over New Haven. Gotta thank you for that." He ruffled Kiva's hair, to which she lunged at him. Another burning sensation, this time in her shoulder, and she fell to her back. The world was becoming blurry.
Barry stood, holstering his revolver. "LET'S RIDE BOYS!" He roared, before a vast convoy of turreted cars lined up. Once his small army packed into the seats, Barry jumped into the driver's seat of the lead car. The entire convoy then roared out of the camp, with the turret gunners firing into the air.
Kiva struggled to stay conscious, even trying to sit up. But the pain, the pain made this impossible. Soon, her body began to go numb, and her vision faded to blackness.
Stupid....
Rust Commons West, unspecified bandit camp
The chatter from numerous men, all wearing an assortment of dirt spattered, ripped or torn clothing, some concealing their faces with bandannas or masks, died down when a woman walked through the large gate built in between a narrow rock passage. She wore light brown cargos caked with dust and old blood stains and a faded black leather jacket with the bottom sleeves torn off, which allowed a grey sleeves to move down to her wrists. The jacket was zipped up to her collarbone, with the unzipped portion covered by a light brown checker patterned scarf wrapped around her neck. Part of the bandanna was pulled up over her mouth and nose, goggles were worn, the silver lens making her eyes nearly impossible to see, and a grey hood from her shirt was drawn over her head, a combination that covered most of her light brown skin and short, spikey black hair. A bandolier was draped over her right shoulder, with sniper rounds lining the front, and the back holding a large, almost comically oversized sniper rifle for the woman's stature. A sheathe holding a menacing machete was fastened to her right leg, and a holster containing a large revolver was attached to the back of her belt. She was odd sight to most, people on Pandora were crazy about carrying as many weapons as possible. This woman seemed to think a mere two guns and a long knife were enough.
The bandits were tense, making a point to draw their weapons and rest them on their knees, glaring at the woman as they sat on various crates in front of their crudely made homes of steel. A closer examination of the woman was enough to confirm her as a bounty hunter infamous among Pandora's bandit population. They were all too eager to put a bullet or two in her head, but orders were orders. Nobody questioned the leader.
Warwick, no last name. She'd came out of nowhere six months ago with nothing but the ratty clothes on her back and quickly made her name known as more than just a wannabe killer in it for a bit of cash. She took any and all assignments. The start of her career was little more than taking jobs to clear out Skag nests, though her name became known when she was tasked with hunting a variety of wanted criminals in New Haven, where she was mostly based. It was always the same, that strange sniper rifle carried a single shot, but that was enough for her. She'd sneak into a bandit camp, wait patiently for days (or so the stories say), then nail her target with a shot powerful enough to make his head explode in a bloody mess of brain matter.
Naturally, the civilized of Pandora loved her work. Though her quiet nature and minimal speaking habits made people cautious. She never bothered to make contacts, and had a cold stare that would make most turn and walk away. The various gun corporations wouldn't sponsor her, seeing as how she had no record of purchasing any weapons, instead sticking with that strange sniper rifle. In short, people liked her work, but not the person behind the gun. Though they needed her too much to say anything, bandit activity was as low as it had been in years.
It was out of desperation that Kiva Warwick killed for money. She had quickly realized that honest work did not exist on this godforsaken planet. Cash came to those who did favors for people. "Favors" was another way of saying "I want you to kill this person". She had resolved long ago to try and avoid killing humans, and the very idea of people doing so for something as trivial as money was enough to make the Stranded all too ready to leave Pandora. But once she saw her gummi ship stripped to the bones, she knew that she'd be eating her words.
Six months, and she still felt like a hyprocrite.
It was tough at first, nobody trusted her. She had no connection to any of the life long residents in the various communities, and she felt that revealing herself as an off worlder would only cause more problems. But desperation meant that worrying about public opinion mattered less, and it lead to a series of painfully boring tasks for little more than a fistfull of dollar bills as a reward.
Over time, people noticed her skill with a sniper. This led to individuals contacting her by name in New Haven. Often, she was tasked with killing a certain bandit who had stolen a valuable. Other times, a whole camp was responsible for stolen supplies. Every time however, she succeeded, and her payout increased in a matter of days. Within the third month, she had purchased her own shack in New Haven, and the pricey meals were affordable on a daily basis. Her clothes, which stank from years of scarce washing opportunities, were replaced with an entirely new set that could handle the planet's climate. Better yet, her name had gathered a significant degree of respect, and people became more willing to forget her mysterious roots.
This didn't mean she trusted anyone. While her willingness to trust had improved since her encounter with Dani, she knew that the people of Pandora would not hesitate to sell her out if she outlived her usefulness. So she made no attempts to speak with anyone outside of job requests (especially Scooter, a car salesman of sorts who seemed to be interested in her in ways she tried not to think about). She kept her sanity by imagining her eventual escape, but some days that dream seemed impossible. By the sixth month, her hopes were gone.
It was during these months that bandit leaders had started paying people in town talk with Kiva. These messangers relayed hits on others, often rival bandit leaders. She had no qualms over doing these jobs. They often lead to night time hits that resulted in an entire camp dispersing or fighting among themselves once their leader was dead. Her rewards were substantial, many thousands of dollars dropped off outside New Haven. Proof that even if bandits hated her, they were at least smart enough to honor their deals.
There was never a time when she was told to go to their camp for a reward, however. Kiva was naturally wary once the messanger gave her the location of the payment area. But five hundred thousand was difficult to pass. So she made the journey despite her better judgement.
Though the bandits made no sudden movements, Kiva was naturally tense. Stopping in a wide, circular clearing, she crossed her arms. Though a door being kicked open from a house in front of her caused the Stranded to flinch. Though she composed herself by pulling her goggles up to her forehead, pulling the scarf down, and drawing her hood back.
A man well over six feet ducked out of the house. He wore tattered boots with steel tips, muddy cargos ripped at the kneecaps, and fingerless gloves with metal studs at the knuckles. He wore no shirt, the only chestwear being two large bandoliers, covered with bullets, over both shoulders. He was sneering, giving Kiva full view of his yellowed teeth. A beard overgrown and curly matched his matted, greasy black hair.
Kiva truly wanted to shoot this man, but she resisted once she saw the large duffel bag in his hand. "My money?" She said, raising an eyebrow.
The bandit leader laughed, "You know it! You earned every bit of green for killin' that b*****d Five-Fingered Freddy! Been a thorn in my side for a while. Name's Barry, but you can call me Batsh** Barr-"
"Money. Throw it over."
Barry's smile faltered slightly, before he tossed the duffel bag to Kiva's feet.
Opening it, she peered inside to find... Ashes? Looking up, Kiva scowled at Barry, reaching for her revolv-
BANG!
An intense, burning pain ripped through her stomach. Looking down, she saw a large stain of red gather and seep through her coat at the stomach. Her mouth agape in shock, she sank to her knees. Looking up, she saw Barry blowing the smoke off of the barrel of his revolver. He approached her with a confidant strut. Kneeling in front of her, he bellowed with laughter. "You really thought I'd pay the b**** who's been killin' my guys and my buddies' guys for six months? Nah... I was gonna kill you soon, but not before gettin' you to remove some competition. Freddy there was always keepin' me from takin' over New Haven. Gotta thank you for that." He ruffled Kiva's hair, to which she lunged at him. Another burning sensation, this time in her shoulder, and she fell to her back. The world was becoming blurry.
Barry stood, holstering his revolver. "LET'S RIDE BOYS!" He roared, before a vast convoy of turreted cars lined up. Once his small army packed into the seats, Barry jumped into the driver's seat of the lead car. The entire convoy then roared out of the camp, with the turret gunners firing into the air.
Kiva struggled to stay conscious, even trying to sit up. But the pain, the pain made this impossible. Soon, her body began to go numb, and her vision faded to blackness.
Stupid....
Future Plans: I'd like for Val to end up as the Dresden's Mess Sergeant, if only to give me a new experience in writing. Anything else, I leave up to fate.
Face Claim and/or Voice Actor Claim:
Voice Actor Claim - Claudia Black (Uncharted 2/Gears of War 3)
Face Claim - Claudia Black
-I found the site through: Affiliate clicking. A lot of affiliate clicking.
-If you wish to talk to me, the best way to reach me is through: Google Mail
-I have been role playing for: Five years, and I am mid to high-intermediate at writing.
-The PASSWORD is:
*****- Password accepted- Jadis
