Alan Fouren  
Corridors, Nouvel Anchorage CC
C'est quoi, ça?
M O O D M U S I C
L'obscurité était épaisse et vide, mais le pire sentiment de tout était la crainte qu'elle exsoudait. Silence, pas de lumière, pas de son, juste le manteau odieux de noir devant les hommes comme ils se sont lentement rangés hors de la caserne et dans le hall. Tout cela a mis Alan à l'abri; il n'était pas trop désireux de se tenir dans une zone aussi ouverte, surtout avec des hommes armés de fusils qui s'approchaient. Il savait qu'ils devaient bouger rapidement.Alan avait passé une demi-décennie seul et dans des situations dangereuses. Mais il n'avait jamais été dans une telle situation. Soudain, la sécurité de l'enceinte militaire se sentait plus comme un cercueil, et les larges murs se sentaient comme s'ils se refermaient sur lui. Ce n'était pas de la sécurité. C'était un piège à mort.
Jingo a levé les yeux et a envoyé une prière rapide au seigneur, espérant qu'il prenait toujours les demandes et demandait de ne pas mourir.
Il a brouillé, "Ski'ers, prenez le pooint."
« Nous allons à gauche ici. » Alan a dit, au fur et à mesure que le chien robot se dirigeait vers l'avant, ses griffes métalliques cliquaient contre le sol en métal et en béton. Eh bien, nous ne gagnerons pas avec le silence. Jingo, les Skitters nous alerteront-ils s'il voit quelqu'un dans le couloir?
Il a besoin de ta, les chances sont que les coups de feu seront alertes enuf..Jingo ne pouvait pas s'en empêcher; l'atmosphère lourde et l'humeur sombre était insupportable. JJingo sifflait, tout ce qu'il pouvait voir c'était la faible tache de lumière émanant de son indicateur de munitions. "Oui, nous allons, vous allez "prendre l'arrêt de ski"ering.
N'oubliez pas, la vision nocturne ne veut pas dire qu'ils peuvent voir des miles. Les capteurs Skitters sont probablement meilleurs qu'un ensemble de lunettes ou de cybernétique. Laissez-le lui faire confiance pour lui donner un avertissement sur le moment de trouver une couverture ou une nouvelle route.Alan ferma les yeux et pria pour qu'il ait raison. Il avait été dans beaucoup de trous de renard avant, mais il était seul à l'époque; il n'était pas responsable de la vie des autres et il n'avait pas à compter sur les autres. Cependant, c'est ici qu'il avait besoin des yeux de Skitters, du but de Jingo et de la confiance de Joshua.
Jingo a hurlé bien qu'il n'ait pas pu être vu. Il connaissait très bien les capacités de Skitters. Le chien faisait partie d'une gamme de canines robotisées utilisées à diverses fins de combat, et il s'est juste avéré que Skitters était un chien de prison versé dans des espaces intérieurs et des poursuites extérieures.
Tandis qu'ils se déplaçaient sur le long chemin, le cœur d'Alan s'arrêtait lorsque les pattes de Skitters s'arrêtaient. Alan savait tout de suite ce qui se passait. Ils étaient dans la merde, et mauvais. Ils n'étaient qu'à quelques pieds de la prochaine jonction. Mais il semblait que leur chance s'était déjà épuisée; ils étaient coincés. Ils pourraient retourner à la caserne, ou essayer de pousser. De toute façon, c'était probablement aussi dangereux maintenant.
C'est pas vrai. C'est pas vrai. C'est pas vrai. C'est pas vrai.
Au loin, le bruit de dizaines de pieds au loin résonnait dans toute la salle, remplissant les oreilles d'Alan comme le rugissement d'un moteur. Ils venaient. Il se déplaça dans la lumière basse pour que les autres s'agenouillent, et ramena rapidement sa carte de datatool, à la recherche d'une autre route. Il n'y en avait pas.
Jingo lâcha un long soupir silencieux et renversa la sécurité de son pistolet, s'approchant d'Alan, il plaça une main sur l'épaule de l'homme. Jingo siffla dans son oreille.
Je veux dire, nous allons tous mourir de toute façon, alors pourquoi pas?
Alan s'était habitué aux quips de Joshuas après un mois d'entraînement à ses côtés, et avait grandi comme l'autre homme.Même s'il y avait quelque chose de beaucoup plus réel et cynique sur Josh maintenant, bien que, compte tenu de la situation et de sa groggie, il était probablement son filtre n'était pas exactement présent. Mais il semblait y avoir quelque chose de différent dans l'obscurité, car le désespoir semblait les engloutir et en dehors de la façon dont Josué parlait; Alan l'avait attrapé pendant un moment alors qu'il remarquait la position de Joshua avec son pistolet et son couteau — c'était militaire. C'est comme ça que ça s'est passé. Alan se sentait constamment hors de la place parmi tant de pilotes; ses compétences avaient été largement autodidacte. Même s'il s'est amélioré, assez pour corriger ses scores lors de l'entraînement, il a vu comment Stein s'est portée. Comment certains des vrais soldats ont agi. C'était comme eux.
Alan a lentement hurlé. Oui. Je vous fais confiance tous les deux. Quel est le plan?
"Ligh" les uup.
Pas de retour en arrière, ça semblait. Alan a augmenté la force sur son datatool's lumière à max et l'a dirigé vers le bas du couloir, éruptant soudainement le hall en lumière blanche brillante, assez pour obtenir un contour des cinq figures armées soudainement stupéfié par le spectacle de lumière. Un œil perspicace aurait également pu voir le dispositif d'arrosage suspendu au-dessus des assassins. C'était leur chance.
Malgré un seul œil, Jingo a repéré la lueur de métal dans les lumières combinées de Skitters et d'Alan. Prenant le but et fermant un œil hors de l'habitude, Jingo a tiré, un éclair de lumière rouge éclatant de sa muselière et frappant l'un des arroseurs.
Pendant un moment, les Skitters se tenaient immobiles tandis que les assaillants s'endormiraient dans la lumière aveuglante, puis il poussa. En chargeant l'homme le plus proche, l'électricité a cambré entre les deux électrodes sur le museau de Skitters; le taser s'est cassé et étourdi lorsqu'il a pressé dans la gorge exposée de l'homme, dans l'écart entre son menton et le collier de son uniforme.
Les cris des soldats étaient évidents car le bruit des coups de feu et du métal résonnait dans le couloir, tandis que deux des soldats s'enfonçaient en arrière, le vert néon de leurs yeux se déplaçant vers un rouge cramoisi alors que l'un d'eux éteignait son arme.
C'est un feu d'artifice!
Un éclair bleu et rouge a traversé les couloirs alors que les deux soldats s'attaquaient aux ennemis qui s'approchaient, avec trois de leurs propres alliés devant eux.
MOYENNEZ! Fucking MOVE, maintenant!
Alan garda sa lumière en avant, agissant à la fois comme une cible et comme une distraction pendant qu'il serpentinait en avant, tenant sa pipe dans sa main libre. Il sentait ses pieds céder avec les planchers lisses, et tomba dans son cul, glissant vers l'avant. C'était une pure chance, alors que des faisceaux rouges d'énergie se déchiraient dans le mur où il se tenait. Alan sentit la chaleur rayonner près de sa tête alors qu'il filait dans l'eau, les lumières clignotant de son datatool alors qu'il tentait de garder son pied.
Merde, merde de merde...
 C'est vrai.
Il y avait un cri alors qu'Alan entra en collision avec le côté d'un banc métallique et considérant s'il n'était placé que quelques pieds à droite, il aurait été droit dans les couloirs de passage il avait de la chance et il le savait. Son esprit courut alors qu'il luttait pour arriver à l'étape suivante : parce qu'en ce moment il allait encore mourir très, très bientôt. Ses yeux attrapèrent Joshuas qui s'étaient plongés dans le cadre d'une porte fermée; ils n'avaient pas beaucoup pour se couvrir, mais tous deux essayaient de ne pas s'étaler à découvert. L'homme aux cheveux noirs regarda Alan avec une expression qui reflétait les pensées d'Alan—nous allons mourir, n'est-ce pas?
Ce regard terrifiant frappa Alan dans l'estomac. C'était ça, n'est-ce pas? Il avait conduit son escadron à leur mort, comme il le craignait. Au fond de son estomac, il sentait quelque chose de brûlant. Une fosse de feu. Dicer, divisé en deux. Son cou est toujours lié aux restes carbonisés de son NC. Elicott... pas de cadavre à enterrer. Son génie avait explosé, l'emmenant avec lui, lui et l'un des raideurs. Janus n'a jamais atteint son NC. Il avait été écrasé dans la main d'un homme. Ces soldats sont entrés chez eux et ont assassiné les gens qu'ils ont mangés à côté chaque après-midi. Ces salauds prenaient tout. Ils allaient le tuer.
Il ne les laisserait pas tuer son équipe.
Alan poussa le banc vers l'avant, resserrant le poteau en métal dans les deux mains. Il a commencé à crier.
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.