You're a monster.

Harsh but true. You, Kyle Mercer age 23, are a monster.

Take it from me. Real recognizes real. Sure, it's not entirely your fault. You didn't <span class="mu-i">used</span> to be this way, but let's be honest with ourselves here: the difference between you now and the Old You is that the New You just doesn't care anymore. Peel away the skin, strip away the gossamer thin wrappings of civilization and society, and what do we have underneath?

A creature of instinct. Hunger and hate. You. A monster.

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_
Deep down, far below even the furthest reaching roots of the ice capped mountains, distant from even the faintest beam of sunlight can reach, a Primarch and a collection of long dead souls hold audience, conversing across the gulf of bleakest reality enforced by the anti warp generators that had longed protected the Squat descendants of the original colonists of the world.

You were talking with one of the kindest most gentle souls, one who by every right should've been born and usurped the souls inhabiting the technology that had been its cradle but instead was content to exist only within the ambient, background collective thought and soul stuff that so many souls so tightly packed together in code and wire had spawned, like a whisper in the ear or a breeze brushing against one's bare nape.

They had agreed to permit you a chance to replace the ancient machinery that powered the gellar field that surrounded much of the planet and its interior, through creating an array and network of lesser replicas of the Archeotech "Dragon's Heart" That had so banished the warp that drawing too near to it could strip men of their souls. However, the process of separating the souls to grant them freedom if they wished, apart from the collective, to continue their duty or else be free from it, would inevitably condemn the gentle soul to death. No. Something far more dire than death. Non existence. Having never been. And even a creature like the unmade gestalt possessed a fear of death, and while the digitized ancestors of the Squat people debated and argued if they should trust your plan, they were unaware of the trembling, frightened soul that had been partially formed of all of their essences and thoughts.

They were afraid. Your philosophy guide, the Journey, advised one to not fear death or their own demise. For it was inevitable, all things must one day perish. Even infinity was finite. Eternity was simply a concept, rather than a truth. It was simply the nature of life and being, that it must one day be terminated and cease. Breathing out, centering your mind and calming your heart, you thought how best to comfort the gentle soul. Even though you would do all in your power to prevent their erasure.

"Death is natural, even for beings such as yourself" These words were met with an immediate reaction, a chilling torrent of mortal terror, the fear of death, rising panic, dying the white void that the Dragon's Heart enforced in the realm of souls. You endured the storm, facing it and weathering it as your conversation partner tried to rein in and control their panicked swell of emotions and compose themselves as the most natural fear of all was inflicted upon them like an arrow to the heart.

You held up an appeasing, soothing hand and took in a deep breath, frost coating your lips as your ever burning pyre of a soul flickered and danced
Cont

The past few months had been rough. Your severance package turned out to be worthless in the wake of post war inflation, and even in one of the supposed seats of Pact Joint Command you couldn't find a stable job. Trying find work outside the Pact was nearly impossible with how destroyed your reputation was with the Raihan Empire.

One drink turned to three quickly, and soon you were telling anyone who would listen about the hardships. The undue, unjust, and entirely of no fault of your own, hardships.
---
Make a choice. You are currently a little buzzed, but a few more drinks shouldn't hurt.

>Complain about having to moonlight in the pharmaceutical industry, and getting no thanks. A bump couldn't hurt.

>Decry the squalid living conditions you've had to endure, despite your charitable work at the local clinics. Pound one.

>Rail against Solei, who is an unimaginative prick. Take a shot.

Humanity has spread out into a massive sprawling empire throughout the galaxy. The edges of the sprawl remain poorly guarded and sparsely settled after all humanity throughout a thousand stars has always been alone save for their own creations which once waged war against them. This is no longer true now an unknown force has begun to attack sector 63 and other sectors and it is up to poorly supplied and desperate sailors to hold them back.


You are the Admiral of the naval fleet of sector 63 one of nearly a 100 rimward sectors on the edge of settled human space. The war has finally turned in humanity's favor the once unending horde of bird ships, who you now know are called the Argono have finally ebbed away. The war is not yet over for yourself; a large enemy fleet has formed and seems intent on finally ending your harassing attacks by striking your home port of Carth. In the last few weeks you've been striking the main body of the enemy fleet in an attempt to weaken the blow that will fall on your home.


Your fleet soon arrives at Cartha having finished your last ambush you should have at the current rate of enemy advance roughly a week before they arrive here. A significant minefield greets you at the jump point exit hundreds of the dangerous weapons scattered in a circle around the point. A signal from the fort which is visible from the jump point is the next thing to greet you, a friendly greeting from Colonel Roose who is legally in command while your gone. It also includes a request for a meeting at some point.

The defense of Cartha can be broken up into three distinct types: static defenses like the fort and mines, naval in the form of ships and torpedo boats operating out of the fort and finally the army which currently mans the fort and holds several positions on the planet. Which to visit first?

>The fleet
>The army
>Static defenses


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Your name is <span class="mu-s">Terian Choke</span> and you are an <span class="mu-s">Urgi</span>. You were stationed as a petty technical officer on the planet of <span class="mu-s">Newroost</span> by the Accord government, which is <span class="mu-i">completely</span> fine by you. You have very little interest in being a military engineer working on the front line against the machine collective or dealing with renegade Redwing regiments out in some cold space colony; instead having the job to secure territory and maintain bases in the blue zone of your species new homeworld. This is also, completely fine. What is <span class="mu-i">not</span> fine is that the bird you bet on to win on is <span class="mu-i">losing all of his events.</span>

<span class="mu-g">”Swim damn you! Swim you sorry excuse for a bird!”</span>

In the Consortium, every type of competitive event is open to sports betting. You may be halfway across the galaxy; but your credits are just as good here or there. Zaloon racing is supposed to be the best type of sport to bet; since the racers are too stupid to take bribes or get disqualified for cheating. They just take whatever performance enhancing drug cocktail their handlers make for them; which is all public information. Perhaps you should have studied biochemistry more if you wanted even more of an edge.

<span class="mu-g">”GO ORANGE!”</span>

He overtakes Blue, then Orange and Red come up close behind. They close their armor plates together and squeeze the water out of the interim space; the diving section of the race is next. You know your racer is going to reach the base of the river first with his own body's divebell technique. Unless...

<span class="mu-g">”No! NO!”</span>

He stops to take in breath, giving critical seconds for the other racers to make it to the dive site. He overshoots his oxygen he'll need, as two other racers rapidly dive to the finish at the base of the river.

Your name is Vincent Cruz. You work in a shady government-backed facility in the middle of the New Mexico desert. You're not here of your own volition, but you've grown used to your new life. By all accounts, you are a complete and total nobody to the Powers That Be.

Your job, frankly, sucks. You wake up, you spend hours upon hours studying fickle anomalies that could kill you at a moment's notice, you go to sleep, 30 GOTO 10. All so you can make money for the Abnormality Regulation Coalition (also known as ARC), the group who kidnapped you.

On the bright side, at least, you've been doing good at your job so far. You've been recently promoted for your hard work and you've been steadily earning more and more money from your research. At least you're making more money in one day than you did in a week during your last job.

It's cold comfort though. You can make all the money in the world but it doesn't change the fact you're stuck in the same ol' wringer. The same old rat race. Will you manage to make it out of here, you wonder, or will you die here? Left as nothing more than a rotten corpse in some random hallway in the facility.

Who's to say? All you can really do is to keep moving forward. One step at a time.

As for a recap of some notable things that happened recently?

You had an awkward, if friendly, reunion with your younger brother. He has gotten REALLY invested in religion and hey, if that helps him, you're not going to stop him.

You had another dream about the <span class="mu-r">Heart.</span> It's obsessed with you, but you still don't understand what it sees in you. Apparently it's also been pestering your brother and one of the corporate reps you work with, so who knows what its end game is?

You got a new anomaly called HARD TIMES but you don't know much about it still. All you know so far is that it REALLY loves to work and, hey, at least that's something you share in common with it.

You managed to resolve the situation Liz got herself involved with through some clever equipment usage and pure brute force. It feels nice to help people, you know? You even managed to help resolve a dispute she had with her friend Nicole.

Lastly, you subjected yourself to an incredibly painful shift by accepting five sponsorships that are going to make your job a nightmare. It'll make you a lot of money, yes, and it'll earn you a lot of respect with corpos. So the pain will be worth it, won't it?

That's your motto, Vince! You'll ENDURE at any cost! No matter how much your job sucks, no matter how much pain is inflicted on you, you'll keep moving. You are a flesh automaton and nothing, and you do mean NOTHING, will stop you from finishing your shift.

It's your obligation as a worker, after all!

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>It is January 24th of the Year 71 of the Cosmic Era

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<span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">Heliopolis Colony has been Destroyed.</span></span> The Clandestine operation of the Le Creuset Squad missing one of the vital G-Project's mobile suits and its state-of-the-art mothership. Even with two brand-new mobile weapons, Frieden Moon has found themselves unable to force their surrender and the Colony's remains signify the great power of not only the Strike Gundam but of the Archangel battleship... Yet the Archangel isn't off-the-hook with the Colony's destruction obstructing further inquiry into its location. <span class="mu-i"> A silent chase beginning to be charted by command of Rau Le Creuset's Vesalius...</span>

A soft quiet hangs over the forest as you run through the underbrush. Compared to the lobby, it felt like a heavy blanket was draped over the arena and muffled everything outside. You do your best to not break the silence with your movement as you hurry through the forest. Spawns in an arena match are static but there were a few different locations where one could be spawned in. The limited amount of spawn points meant that anyone could narrow down the location of their opponent by heading over to them and seeing if they were there. That was, of course, assuming that their opponent hadn't moved in the interim. With how defenseless you were right now, you were sure that one or two direct hits from a simple spell would be disastrous. Not to mention her aim was far better than any newbie you ever saw. It would be best not to underestimate her, especially now that she had practice. You slide behind a fallen log and go prone. You strain your ears for any sound of your opponent but the silence persists. You needed to formulate a strategy.

The set up of your fight was quite simple, each of you had 3 healing potions and 3 mana potions. Not too egregious but enough to give each other a pick me up in case of a bad hit. You're not sure how well you'd be able to utilize the mana potions at the moment but the healing potions could come in handy in a pinch. You also had your ability to cheat death once per real world day. It was an ability that Serena didn't know about and you weren't really sure you wanted to use for a simple spar. Lifting up your coat, you make sure that your canister of fuel on your hip was locked in and ready to use. A quick adjustment of the wrist and the nozzle for your igniter, a miniaturized flamethrower, pops up and ready to use. You only had about 5 shots with a single can unless you decided to empty it completely for a large wall of fire. Finally, you reach down and pop off the small buckle on your belt. You flick the small lid off of the fake lighter and see the tiny grapple hook pop out, ready to fire and zip you towards your target or pull something towards you if it was light enough. These were just two of the gadgets you had built in what you hoped would be a small arsenal of tricks you could use. Even so, you weren't sure how well they could carry you now that you were playing a class without features.

OH SHIT NIGGA. You are lady Firemane. Of the (formerly) noble house of Fireborn! You were once the greatest wagon racer this side of the kingdom. Sadly due to shenanigans, you lost everything and went into debt with the Adventurer's Guild in order to survive. But then you found the Inexperienced Hero, Ezekiel "Kid" Rutebega ! You took him under your wing to mold him into the hero he's always meant to be: your devoted apprentice (probably)

Ezekiel's older brother has started his campaign of destruction, he leads his hordes of undead barbarians to ravage the lands. As members of the guild, your party has went on the quest chain to stop said undead barbarian horde.

In pursuit of said barbarian horde, the party is currently going through the SPOOKY FOREST™

You have been Isekaied into an unknown game world in medieval times with MAGIC and shit. Choose your age.

>18 Fresh outa high school- Low real-world experience but at least you know a bunch of useless facts and/or athletic ball chucker. Some possible backgrounds. Jock, Nerd, Gamer, Eagle scout.

>25 Wage Slave/College debtor - Possible real-world experience or maybe choose a degree that could be useful in this new world. Some possible backgrounds. Mechanic, Drug Dealer, College Grad.

>35 Unc Statis - You just got your idea job now you're in this shit at least your back hurts a bit less. Most real-world experience and skills but stats can fall off with age. Some possible backgrounds. Engineer, Contractor, Professional Hunter.

Feel free to add backgrounds when you are choosing your age.