ALAN QUATRIÈME
Corridors, Nouvel Anchorage
C'est quoi, ça?
M O O D M U S I C
Alan a les yeux fermés avec des yeux rouges brillants alors qu'il sautait de la couverture. Il accepta cela : il mourrait très probablement. Mais il pourrait donner à Jingo et Josh une chance de se battre ou de s'échapper. Ce serait son dernier acte en tant que leader. Un bon sacrifice pour ses camarades. AAAR---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chunk, CHUNK, CHUNK!*
L'éclat soudain de lumière de derrière les deux soldats qui le visaient est venu comme une divinité; et là sur ses ailes de fureur était un Tahlia Styles: une valkyrie de vengeance qui est venu du ciel pour livrer les trois hommes (et chien robot) à la sécurité. Pour ce moment, Alan est tombé follement amoureux d'elle pour cette fraction de seconde; un mélange d'émotions du soulagement que quelqu'un était là sauver leurs culs collectifs, et le fait qu'elle avait l'air incroyable tenant un fusil laser tuant les hommes qui voulaient les tuer.
Le premier homme qu'elle a abattu a frappé le sol durement; s'il n'était pas mort, il a été blessé, mais le deuxième soldat semblait disposé à retourner le feu sur la femme. Il suffisait de déplacer son regard vers Tahlia au lieu d'Alan, et cette scission seconde était la chance que l'homme devait prendre; il sauta sur plusieurs corps abattus, ramenant sa pipe en métal vers le haut et contre la mâchoire du second soldat, ramenant l'homme sur le sol. Alan ne s'est cependant pas arrêté là.
 - Oui. Toi. C'est fou. Il a fait descendre le poteau de métal sur la main de l'homme avec chaque malédiction ponctuée. Le sang a commencé à éclater de son crâne cible, et bientôt Alan a été taché avec l'éclaboussure, couvrant son sous-vêtement et son pantalon.
Alan continua à battre jusqu'à ce que le son du métal remplisse le couloir, le reste des pilotes se taisant à ses actions violentes soudaines. À ce moment-là, il n'était pas dans le couloir; il était dans un camp de raideurs. Il était en train de se venger. Pour ce moment, la seule façon d'affirmer qu'il était vivant était de prendre la vie de quelqu'un d'autre. Le soldat a suffi pour l'instant.
Je pense qu'ils sont morts. C'est quoi, ça?
Les mots de Josh ont fait revenir Alan à la réalité. Il a murmuré, avant de tomber à genoux. Il sentait la lumière se diriger. Nous sommes vivants.
Jingo regarda Alan comme il battait dans le crâne de l'assaillant, ses lèvres se tapaient finement en réaction à la vue de Gorey. L'homme s'est agenouillé pour ramasser une carbure de plasma qui était posée sur le sol. Il a craqué le levier légèrement ouvert pour vérifier l'état de la cellule d'énergie. S'étant contenté de l'arme, Jingo semblait prêt à continuer.
Grâce à la Sensation australienne, ouais.Le commentaire de Josh a semblé comme une tentative d'alléger l'humeur après Alan...display.
"Continuez à essayer ces tactiques de flirt et je vais vous envoyer sur les lignes de front," Tahlia s'est levée de l'alcôve, vérifiant le fusil dans sa main pour voir combien de munitions restait; peu apparemment. Elle se dirigea vers le groupe, gardant ses oreilles ouvertes afin de s'assurer qu'elles étaient claires. Son premier point d'intérêt était leurs Datatools sur leurs poignets car c'était un moyen facile de savoir qui ils étaient et quel était leur objectif principal. Elle a tapé sur l'appareil et a attendu que l'écran apparaisse.
Tandis que Tahlia s'occupait de son affaire, Alan s'accroupit à son récent meurtre, se baladant dans les poches du cadavre, vérifiant si son armure avait encore assez d'intégrité pour être utilisée, et bien sûr, il s'est armé lui-même. Ce n'était pas la première fois qu'il pleuvait un cadavre, et il doutait que ce serait le dernier. Sa plus grande croyance était la survie à tout prix. Un cadavre ne manquerait pas ses affaires, après tout. Et il a pillé assez de cadavres sans réaction karmique pour l'empêcher de cette tâche. Il a arraché un datatool propre du corps, et a enlevé la couverture extérieure de l'armure de tissage synth. Il a mis l'armure de côté pour l'instant; cela ne ferait pas d'eux des tanks mais cela les garderait en vie dans le hasard une explosion perdue les a frappés dans le torse. Il était chirurgical dans son travail, produisant un chit de crédit, une cellule de secours, rien qui donnait de la crédibilité à qui cet homme était avant. Alan préférait ça. Cela lui a permis de rationaliser sa brutalité en tant qu'aspect de protection, tant pour lui-même que pour ses camarades. Il n'arrêta pas les coups dans ses oreilles, cependant. Lorsqu'il eut fini avec son corps, Alan se leva et brilla sa lumière vers les autres cadavres, marchant vers un nouveau corps et recommença son processus. Voyant le corps frais sous la lumière, Alan a laissé sortir un seul mot : "Matherfucker".
Il était habillé comme un nouveau gardien d'Anchorage, ils l'étaient tous.
"Mon Dieu!" Tahlia a crié dans la frustration déçue. Elle avait parcouru les détails contenus et remarqué qu'une grande partie de l'information clé était simplement disparue. Les journaux de mission, les radiofréquences, même les données personnelles de l'individu. "On dirait que l'appareil est passé par une essuie-glaces complète."
Joshua soupira alors qu'il éteignait son pistolet avant de s'agenouiller pour ramasser l'un des fusils d'assaut couchés sur le sol, au moins ils n'étaient pas truqués en dehors d'un protocole d'essuie-mémoire. On pourrait être tous des tableaux humains en ce moment.
Jingo a prononcé.
Alan a hoche la tête, il peut transporter des objets pour l'instant. Un datatool supplémentaire et une autre cellule d'alimentation.=Il ne devrait pas être difficile de marcher jusqu'à l'armurerie maintenant.=Il a vérifié le fusil dans ses bras, heureux d'avoir quelque chose d'utile— du moins avec plus de portée qu'une pipe. J'espère que les autres n'ont pas rencontré ces gars.
Ce n'est pas ces gars-là que Joshua a donné un coup de pied à l'un des corps pour vérifier les signes de vie. Ils sont morts en quelque sorte.
C'est ce qu'on a dit.
Ils sont morts.La réaction d'Elicott aux suites de leur première bataille résonne dans la tête d'Alan. Il ne pouvait toujours pas s'habituer au canal de communication. Vous pensez qu'on aurait pu résoudre ça... paisiblement? » Elicott et Alan s'étaient déployés ensemble, mais c'était la première vraie bataille d'Elicott. Les premières fois qu'il luttait contre les vers saignés dans les déchets de l'Alabama, Elicott était resté sur son flanc, protégeant le transport de marchandises. Cette fois, il était proche de l'action. Il avait vu la mort. Et maintenant le garçon regardait le métal déchiqueté, la terre carbonisée et les restes d'un cadavre qui avait échoué dans une tentative d'éjecter son NC.
Avec des assaillants? La voix de Dicer's a pris le commandement du groupe au moins. Le garçon plus âgé semblait toujours exsoudre la confiance et la sagesse, même s'il n'avait que 19 ans. Dicer était un vrai commandant, un homme qui aurait dû naître dans la mégapole. Là, il aurait pu se faire un nom en tant que grand pilote ou commandant. Au lieu de cela, il est né dans l'une des familles les plus pauvres de The Mound. Sa mère était une femme de ménage dans un bordel, et son père était mort de maladie il y a des années. Pour Dicer, il s'agissait de se battre pour les villes ou de mourir sans ressources. Il a choisi de se battre. C'était le genre de gars que n'importe qui serait heureux de suivre dans la bouche de l'enfer, sans une seconde pensée. Il les a eus plus d'ennuis qu'il n'en valait la peine, mais ça s'est toujours arrangé à la fin. Les idées stupides de Dicer leur avaient donné des contrats les plus lucratifs de la ville. Les quatre ensemble? Ils pouvaient battre n'importe quoi. Des bêtes mutantes, des raideurs, des tempêtes. Ils allaient être super.
Mais je dois dire, Al. Tu es devenu fou sur eux, n'est-ce pas? J'ai déchiré les bâtards pour les déchiqueter dans ton loup. Il nous faut un nouveau nom. Le loup sauvage! Ça sonne bien Al?
C'est quoi, ça?
C'est ce qu'on a dit.
"Al!" Alan sentit Josh pousser contre son épaule. Allez l'homme, laissez-les arriver à l'armurerie avant que d'autres de ces gars n'apparaissent.
C'est ça. Alan s'est senti perdu à ce moment-là. Perdu dans ses propres souvenirs, et perdu dans l'obscurité des couloirs. En ce moment même, alors qu'ils commençaient à s'enfoncer plus profondément dans l'obscurité, Alan sentit une angoisse de solitude et de douleur qu'il avait enterrée il y a des années. Il s'est senti mal au pays.
Alan Fouren 

“Tons of danger, low odds of mission success, and I’m probably going to lose a limb. Sounds great!”
 C A L L S I G NWild Wolf

 N C O R I G I NFairbanks

 D - O - BJuly 14, 2654 (22)

 G E N D E RMale

 A P P E A R A N C E Scruffy would be an understatement with Alan: nothing about him screams soldier. Shaggy hair, unkempt facial hair, and roughshod angular features. Alan sports a scar running from his left ear down his neck; a wound he received during his first sortie in the Wild Wolf. He stands roughly around 5'11, just a hair shy of breaking 6 foot. He is lithe and had slight musculature, due to his history as a junker. His casual clothes consist of a faded denim button downed shirt and dark slacks. While still young, Alan sports dark bags under his eyes, and has gained deep creased wrinkles on his forehead. His shaggy mop of hair is a dark brown, with matches the near black spotty beard that runs down his jaw, working its best to cover the scar. He seems spacey, and is more akin to sport a smile when not under combat conditions. 
 P E R S O N A L I T Y Alan is friendly to everyone he meets. Affable, open handed and humorous, Alan does not seem to really fit the mold of a soldier by any respects—and he owes that to being more or less forcibly pulled into this life rather than simply volunteering or being raised to be a soldier. Alan has an incurable form of gallows humor when preparing for the sortie, and his mix of inexperience on the actual frontlines of combat make him an odd member of the team. It never helped that he was one of the lowest passing score in Graham’s test; a feat that did not endear him to any of his team.
Alan’s lackadaisical personality is the kind that veterans would push around as the man looking to get himself killed on the battlefield; the key difference is Alan’s personality when in the heat of battle. In combat, Alan feeds off of pain: both emotional and physical. Alan’s own personality in dire combat changes from his happy-go-lucky nice guy routine to a ruthless and aggressive psychopath. The further he is pushed mentally in combat; the more bloodlust consumes his personality. It makes him a dangerous wildcard on the field, putting himself at risk as well as his fellow soldiers.

 S K I L L S E T
Junkyard Mechanic: Unlike his counterparts who had access to proper materials during their combat stays, Alan grew up in the frontier where clean, shiny new supplies were few and far between. This meant that he had to scrounge and repurpose outdated, damaged or scavenged parts to keep his unit in workable condition. While he has to leave it to the professionals for proper upkeep of the WW, Alan can perform emergency repairs in the field if push comes to shove, and that ingenuity comes in handy when things go to shit.
Unshakable Will: In serious situations, the average pilot would lose their cool and give into negative emotions, shaking them and breaking their morale. Alan, due to both his insane drive for destruction when fully “in the zone” as well as his own nature of do-or-die, is not easily shaken in combat. It would take extreme duress to make him break his usual façade; though a break would be disastrous.
Adaptive: Alan’s past has forced him to make due with supplies and weapons he could scrounge either in the junkyard, the frontier or after battle. Alan lacks any sheer expertise with weapons; but he makes up for that in his ability to pick up and use a weapon with gradual skill. If he can find a half-working FMR or a Powered Spike, Alan can find a way to perform maximum damage with it.
Well Read: If Alan has one indulgence it's literature. At a young age, collecting bits of archaic literature became a past time for Alan, especially exploring the databanks of ruined libraries. Alan's datapad has to date over 800 novels, short stories and poetry ranging from the seventeenth century to the twenty-third century. Alan prefers the classics over the later literature, enjoying chivalric romances, gothic horror and transcendental poetry. Alan's favorite stories include Le Morte d'Arthur, The Once and Future King, Frankenstein, T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland, and The Hound of the Baskervilles.

 B A C K S T O R Y

Alan grew up in Dead Springs, near the Neo-Atlanta Megacity in Fairbanks. Small ruins and tons of junk, it became a frontier trading post between the larger megacities in lower Fairbanks. Still, living in the frontier comes with danger: raiders especially. The test came to Alan’s town later in his life, when he was seventeen. Thinking of a chance to provide for his family and give them a better life than living in a junkyard town, he took his chance with the surgery.
Still, a town needs money to pay their pilots. And Dead Springs was no megacity. But when you’re in a junkyard, you can find many wondrous things: including the frame of the Wild Wolf. Found nestled away in a collapsed compound in the ruins, the frame had been stripped of armor and a core, leaving only the skeleton remaining: a remnant of what it could be. But a frame would work: with money raised for a core, and what armor and armaments the money could afford; the WW was rebuilt piecemeal. But it worked.
Alan took up sorties with local combatants, as well as defense jobs in the area; providing for both his home and his family; allowing them more luxuries than a Junker’s life can provide. But more than that, he fought to bring them some semblance of peace. However, a roughshod mech is only as good as its parts and pilot allow; and it was on these sorties that Alan met real terror. A team of outdated and hand-built mechs don’t usually fare well against well trained and well equipped soldiers; especially deserters from Neo-Atlanta. Outmatched and outgunned, Alan’s compatriots were slaughtered, and he was left broken and left for dead; a heavy grinder blade digging into his cockpit and tearing the metal apart, giving him his facial scar as a reminder.
The deserters didn’t simply wipe out the defense party; they came to Dead Springs. The town and its people burned. That’s when the second personality came to life. A beast, a wild, rabid dog that fed on all of Alan’s negativity towards his weakness came to life. It consumed him and drove him to fight. He survived, and he kept the Wild Wolf alive using the parts he could salvage from his fallen comrades. Metal scavenged from the destroyed ruins of his town strengthened his armor-and he went hunting.
Surprise attacks. Traps. Decoys and delays. Alan learned to fight his new enemies with his mind to make up for his glaring technological weaknesses and his own lack of combat skills. And when it came to combat, the harder he fought, the higher his synchronization grew with the Wild Wolf. The more he fell into his ravenous fury, the harder he fought. In the end, Alan got his revenge at the cost of the Wolf’s left arm and right leg, both which he felt every bit of pain from. A team hired out from Neo-Atlanta’s own division had been dispatched to clean up the deserters, only to find their mission had been completed by a junker from the sticks.
Alan received no payment. 
With no family and no prospects left in his home, Alan did what he could. Scavenging materials from the newer model mechs he had destroyed gave him a slightly better edge than a raider now, and with the beast inside of him awakened, he aimed to feed that hunger for carnage. That’s where he met Graham.
He was a disappointing prospect to the Commander from the get-go. No real military combat experience. He was a frontier skirmish fighter. He was unfamiliar with up-to date equipment and weaponry. His physical tests and his skill tests were passable and he barely skirted by with that. Ultimately, he looked like he would be a wash-out until Graham’s…test. Climb an aging, old war combat frame with no grappling hook, no mag gloves and make it run without. If you couldn’t get it scrambled in time, you weren’t worth it.
When it came to Alan’s turn, the instructors gathered already prepared for disappointment. Alan simply smiled.

 T H E M E C H The Wild Wolf is simplistic in design, due to the no-frills need of a working combat mech without much to go on in personal armaments and equipment. Still, Alan had scrounged a few newer parts and weapons to keep up with some of the more professional NCs that he has to work with. The basic frame is simplistic, covered in a hodgepodge of mismatched armor; all roughly painted the same color; even if it doesn’t look all that pretty.
Equipment:
-Stock NC Control
-Leg and lower back thrusters to give strong bursts of speed and sustained air boosts for a limited time for extra mobility
-Average generator
-Mix of light and medium armor over the mech; the left arm and right leg have heavier armor due to the armor being taken from a stronger mech, whereas his right arm and left leg have lighter armor.
Armaments:
-Heavily Used LFR (Light Frame Rifle)-30 round magazine, short-to-mid ranger. (Right hand)
-Underbarrel HFG Launcher: A 3 round grenade launcher attached to the LFR. Equipped with standard fragmentary grenades.
-Scavenged light grinder blade: A heavy blade mean to pierce and then tear pieces of a mech apart. (Left hand)
-Electrical Discharge Canon: Emits high powered electrical bursts at close range. Can temporarily disable an unshielded NC or cause damage to the pilot in the cockpit.

 R E L A T I O N SCommander Graham: Alan can’t exactly put his finger on where he rubs the commander wrong. Whether it’s his attitude or lack of hardened combat experience, the only thing that Alan has going for him is his impressive display during the test. And even that didn’t endear him too much.
Anastasia Kalfox:Alan knows how the wind blows with this girl. Cool, calm and professional; not the kind you piss with the wrong way. He respects her. She's military and she's well skilled. When the shit hits the fan, Alan trusts Stein to be the girl to follow in combat.
Elizabeth Jackspar: Alan isn't quite sure he's even had eye contact with Jackspar in his entire time in New Anchorage. Honestly, he doesn't think that's too bad of a thing.
Kathryn Dradht: Ryn and Alan have an odd relationship. Ryn insults him, Alan smiles and laughs. Ryn is the only pilot Alan knows personally, as he worked several sorties with her before coming to Anchorage. He respects her skill as a pilot and as a sniper. He can vouch for her skill, but he makes not mention of actually knowing her from before, and Ryn isn't out gossiping about Alan anyway.
Ordent Callaway: Alan honestly likes the guy. Since the day of the test, Alan took to manhandling Callaway and being honestly friendly to the guy. When Callaway actually passed the test, much to the shock of the others, Alan actually cheered the guy on. Still, he doesn't actually talk much to him. Alan is nice, but never opens up to him or anyone.
Percy Moore: Alan respects Percy greatly, due to his morals. He'll just never admit it to the man. Percy's attitude reminds him of his own father, and that's painful enough that Alan keeps his distance from the man, and lays the sarcasm on thick if Percy does talk to him.
Tahlia Styles: If he wasn't so damn intimidated by her indescipherable accent, he might actually want to get a drink with her. She reminds him of his kind of people but with an Aussie flavor. Plus, he's always happy to have some heavy artillery when things get hot and heavy.
Madison Cole: Alan's word to describe her? The hospital chick. He has had nearly zero interaction with her due to the woman being in the infirmary, and honestly, he's happy for that. One less person for him to grow to care about.
Vera Voloshyna: Damnit, of all the cute kids in the world, why did he have to have her in this squad. The baby recruit scares Alan, because he doesn't want to see her get into this world. With Ryn it's different; he and her are from the same world, forced to pilot to survive. If Alan had his way, Vera would never see combat.
"Jingo" Strange: Jingo is Alan's ideal drinking partner. Except Alan would be terrified to see the man actually drink. It's not that Jingo's face grosses Alan out (it does) but it's the fact that Alan sees Jingo as a man he could become if he's not careful. Alan's scar already feels too close to that.
Agatha Smith: While she's old enough to be grandmotherly, Alan secretly views her more as a replacement mother. The fact that he latched onto that so quickly terrifies him, and he tries to keep his distance, even if Agatha is the kind to go after you and talk while you're trying to hide in a NC. Not saying Alan has or anything...
Alexander Sky: Alan kept his distance and won't really talk about the guy. Alan seemed put off by his flirtatious nature. After hearing he tried a possible coup against Graham, Alan is glad he's gone.
Jan Van Gent: Alan had worked with guys like him before. They were always assholes, and they were always looking for a chance to blow you away to take your share of the creds.
Joshua Ray: Alan found a kindred spirit in Ray, and he enjoyed his time with him. Bonding over sarcasm and never opening up to one another. Alan thought of him as an almost friend because of that.
Penelope Maverick: She was cute, in the spunky female reporter kind of way. Alan's happy she's not hear risking her neck in combat now. Better off chasing scoops than getting shot at by ion rifles.
Yeshua Horowitz: 16. The same age Alan was when he got his surgery. Alan kept his distance from the quiet boy, seeing him as something terrifying. A lost childhood, gone in burning smoke and corpses.