Height: 5'9” Mass: 125 Ibs.
Build and Skin Color: Is she in shape? Well I guess. I mean, she’s not fat or anything. Just very…out of place. A brown skinned traffic pileup with white and black smoke for hair would be one description. She is certainly on the lean to muscular side of the Gutbuster Spectrum, with the proper curves that a healthy woman should have. Until suddenly biceps.
Her stomach shows recent dwindling activity of abdominal sexiness, the once athletic rows of muscle that some call abs beginning to fade away. As some have found out, her stomach still breaks people’s hands. No falcon abortions here.
Facial Features and Eye Color: She needs sleep. And to stop wearing goggles. From years of welding and repairing around the clock, Vis has branded herself with the telltale shift worker’s eyes and what looks like a rectangular field of lighter brown skin around her eyes.
She has a frightening sex appeal with her eyes, slender and plotting with a pair of green orbs sliding from left to right like a serpent’s gaze. Her head is slender, forming a rather sharp point at her chin. Most of her head is hidden by a shaggy assault of hair fangs and bangs.
Hair Color and Style: White, mixed in with dirty patches of black. She was born with black hair, but people pissed her off while in the service of the Astral Cockblockers. In the short amount of time since her transition from Frame Masseuse to freelance outfitter she has managed to grow back her pride, though the cascades of black are yet to return.
Until she scares her hair black again and gets a few more months of growth, a mess of white hair with a few black strands in uneven, blended color streaks is her current “style”. Vis’ hair curls upwards across her cheeks, attacks her forehead wildly, and rests on her shoulders like a homeless drunk on a beat up sofa. Two ponytails swing across the middle of her back, wrapped with black insulated wire.
Personality: “Laid back” describes too many, but a comfortable and advanced lifestyle breeds complacency. It just kinda happens. Vis would love nothing more than to just do her job, chill out and throw back a few with everyone in the world, but life has taught her how much the other guy can be a problem. Her voice matches her attitude, often intimidating people with a rough, rolling tone.
Because of this, she has to be rude.
People deserve to be messed with. Whether because they did something, they might do something, or they could do something uncool, Vis makes it a point to give friends and foe alike a forced vaccine of comeuppance.
Likes: Break time, cans of air, spoiling plots, silly pictures of cute animals, boozery, tooling around with junk.
Dislikes: People who give too much of a damn.
Goals: Make it to the next day without worrying about work, money or relatives asking for favors.
More criminals than Congress
See Also: Congress
Long ago, in a crumple of metal and shambles far, far away, a momentous event was sparked that would change the cosmos forever. Upon the Hlarai system, settled in the remains of the HAS Bismark, it was created. Born from the seed of a washed up Eyr Ranr pilot and the weapons development/blackmarket arms dealer that fell in love with him, Visphōta started life pretty poorly.
Her dad, Labaka, was thrown out of the Astral Vanguard a few years before Vis was born. He was an okay fighter pilot. At least, he managed to make people die more than they made him die. Has to be worth something, right? Apparently people get their butts in a vice over smuggling Yamatai pleasure dolls to wealthy customers every other mission or so. Good for him, good for the economy, bad for image. He got busted, people made a fuss, but they let him out easily with a few ego demotions.
It didn’t matter much to him. By the time it happened, he was already hitched to some chick that worked at a testing facility named Idha. Yeah, I would, too. Officer no less, with a rich family. BANK, iknorite? The Nityataa Family that Idha came from family adored Labaka like a puppy. After all, he slopped around some of their “dirty work”. Sometimes people get in arguments. Sometimes they die from a shovel wound to the throat, and sometimes they need to be flown out of the system to avoid jail time. Perfectly understandable.
Labaka’s day job was pretty reliable. He was on a racing circuit and sometimes performed on mock dogfights. Occasionally he helped out the The Family with some body and boom movement, but the legit bacon came from Idha’s work as a weapons dealer.
…Then again, it isn’t always legit, but at least she’s backed by the Commonwealth.
Nothing much happened around here. Vis didn’t grow up in the slums, but she didn’t live in the lap of luxury. She grew up with a bit of an inspiration from her daddy’s racing, but most of her love came from her mother’s work. At around four or five, Idha noticed that the little girl would tool around in her broken and shambling junk that sat in the back of their home. She wouldn’t miraculously slap together a crude death ray or anything, but the girl knew how to fit part A in to disconfunkulator B-179. Exploitable.
They fed her the world of engineering slowly, making it more of a hobby to have fun with rather than pushing her to the edge. Most of her time was spent crawling around her mountain of dirty Iromud friends from the slums, but she would always have something fun to show.
As Vis became older, her talents seemed to blossom overnight.
Her rack, too.
She was the go to girl in her school when it came to getting things fixed. Needed to steal some signals for free soap operas? She’d rig it in fifteen minutes and be out the door to dropkick the cable guy before anyone was the wiser. It wasn’t that Vis grew up as a tomboy, but she was teased for being a “smarty”. She was doing the other kids a favor. Kicking their asses herself before The Family handled it with cement boots.
Graduation. What the hell now? Engineering studies, oh boy. Okay, we’re done with that. Almost failed public speaking for using t as a comma, but we made it through. What now? Work? Kay, let’s give it a try.
Seriously? Vis? Be ON TIME and DRESS UP to say yes to some other egghead who just rips off other people’s work and makes it look all curvy? Yeah screw that bro, we’re joining the Vanguard.
It’s the same thing but they’re threatening to put me in prison.
Vis entered the Astral Vanguard as Field Technician at first. She figured it would be pretty easy, hanging out at a deport or refitting area or mothership or something while other people did the dirty work. Not so fast chick, you won’t get off that easily. The title “Field Technician” was just a technicality. The enemy had strategy. If they could take down enough frame runners to send them back for repairs, then hit the enemy base.
Many sleepless nights went by, dropship’d a few clicks downwind of an anti-bandit squadron. A few of the more crafty enemies would make a beeline for their position as soon as weakened frame runners would make a break from the battlefield and start pelting the heck outta their boxes. Kicking ammo into a loading bay with her boots and pumping out as much cover fire as she could for the returning party, her smoke covered goggles didn’t see a bit of relaxing for a good two years.
Not to mention that the assholes downrange were always kicking up so much dust. Even if there wasn’t an attack on their station, she’d have her hands full reloading and lopping off some moron’s attempt at making a Divine Fist into a Divine Cock.
It was obvious that she was overqualified for grunt work. She was indispensable at orange zones. Not because she could run a repair depot on her own, but because she could train others to be at least half competent. The opportunities for advancement came and went, from Maintenance Watch Officer to Company Commander, and finally the most dreaded part of her career.
Senshirin Visphōta Āsamāna. Ops Chief.
Not only did she have to keep an eye on the scrubs below her and get screamed at when some idiot lodged their finger inside a gear, but she had to handle paperwork and eat fancy dinners. They even made her wear a skirt once! The nerve! “F— this raccoon s—” she said after on particular dinner. After kicking the drunken Maintenance supervisors out of her apartment, she enrolled to pilot training. Vis flew decade-old junker frames before, and could transport a VANDR in the cockpit. She even had to do a bit of shooting when her escorts were ambushed, though the other pilots took care of the hard part.
Training school was awesome. She was with mostly kiddo pilot trainees, one older Warrant who was never sober, and the instructor kept calling her sir every once in a while. Once her fellow pilots in training found out that this blazing hot chick that outranked them grossly didn’t give a damn about protocol, they easily became the best party wing ever. Professional and efficient in training exercises and the side to be on during a bar brawl, her class earned a great nickname. Bitch Wing.
Vis and a nice clutch of the pilots in training with her were assigned to—of all things—a support depot with a repair facility that seemed to mock her every time she flew by. El Bazr Field’s Argeelah Wing stood proud, powerful and successful in one mission and one mission only.
Robbing bandits, then charging them for safe passage. Sometimes these bandits were just unlucky blackmarket pushers that needed to get some sticky vice and kidnapped daughters of rich families into another system. Sometimes they were parts of the government that needed to work in secrecy, and wanted to take a “legitimate” route out of the Iruotl System without getting checked too hard.
It was no coincidence that Vis ended up in this wing. She was part of a smuggling family, the daughter of a weapon developer who did everything the wrong way, and the members of the Bitch Wing that followed her were nothing but followers.
The Wing Commander and the depot commander were as crooked as crooked could get. Vaygraiv Kasmir ibn Fatima, “Protector of the Coinpurse” within his family’s “business” and his league of flunkies always had a new scam to brew up. He had at his disposal an Ahmida Civiltech liason, his son as the director of a mining operation in the area, and the Argeelah Wing his beck and call. One would think that Vis would have it easy, but no.
Bursting to flank a cargo ship with two wingmen only to find ex-cons waiting for an ambush inside a decoy, playing cops and robbers with some Intel spooks needing a gunfight or two to prove themselves amongst schemers from outside of the system. Dragging officers who got too close to some of the Commonwealth’s “dangerous secrets” for some gun-to-skull brainwashing. Nothing glorious, but when they partied, the Argeelah rocked the stars until cocaine fell out.
The depot was largely understaffed. By the time she was up for Vaybalri, she was already wearing multiple hats. The Maintenance officer was always dragging her towards crates of new deliveries and spoils intercepted from other nations, and they would giggle. Oh would they giggle, all the sparklies. Interface cards, heat displacement systems, starship-class weaponry to mount inside asteroids and shoot at random crap like the Spacenecks they are. The supply officer always needed someone to slip out and make a few purchases off the books, and outside of sending the pampered junior officers, Vis was the one with the highest clearance.
If she wasn’t doing those things, she was either smoking or playing cards with her wing. Her Wing Commander, some quiet chick named Surya would always be cooking whenever they weren’t ripping off some poor bootlegger saps in transit. Life was good.
Until her mother pissed off the wrong politician. As soon as a hint of her mother’s power plays made it to the depot, she was up for orders. Expeditionary Forces, to a hot little conflict between religious jerks.
Yeah F that bro, we’re getting outta the Vanguard.
With a recommendation from Vaygraiv Fatima and his ckmany rings, Vis threw up the deuces and flew to Hlarai. She had enough cash to roam for a few years, and the politicians after her weren’t keen on making too many revenge attacks.
During the week? Drunk. Weekend? Partying. Every day Vis was either pushing into a new night club in Lahru for every night of the week. She’d bust in with her standard issue coveralls zipped halfways down, bondages wrapped barely over her boobs and run the show as best as she could. Her rough, careless voice and lyrics inspired by not giving a damn across the stars gave her a bit of a spotlight, but if anything she was just a regular club goon.
After a while, she started to catch on. It began when a few members of Bitch Wing came to visit-with a few more friends in tow-and throw back a few drinks with their old Space Mama. What began with a few jackasses dancing and making a fuss in the darker side of town turned into an event that visitors looked forward to. Then a local attraction.
It took a while, but eventually contracts started flying her way. She was onto the shenanigans of “contracts”. Sign name on paper, receive gun and hate life again? Riiiight. It wasn’t until she was promised her own pad paid for on the HAS Aotearoa did she sign over her name and shaking hips. It started out with a few of her own songs, but quickly became a mission for record labels to steal her for collaborations. Before she knew what was going on, people were trying to sue her for drinking the drinks of their competitors. Every once in a while she would have to do some redonkulous collaboration, like doing some kind of dance gig while dressed up as a maid with a chainsaw or ride a bear through space, but eh. It's a living.
It was a fad. Famous for a year or so. Maybe people would recognize her as that chick who did the voice for some end boss demon chick on that one game the geeks are always going crazy about. Possibly people would remember her in a few years when vintage love sets in, since she didn’t get too famous. Just a few commercials, joining one of those girl group mega dance gangs. She might pick up another voice acting deal when Final Sakura Gears V comes off hiatus, but Vis had more important things to worry about.
Bills. They paid for her luxury suite on the Aotearoa, but the taxes. Oh the taxes. The drinking. Oh the drinking. The building statues of all her friends. What the heck was she thinking. Now Vis looks at her forearms, the toolset that still sits in the corner of her bedroom, and she looks out at the graduations of new pilots.
Fix some crap. Shoot some crap. Why not give it another go?
There still were a few strings that she could pull. She was still good friends with the Ahmida Civiltech liason her old base, and a few favors were owed for transporting a few thousand units of “produce”. There was a position in the Ahmida Grand Prix that she could hide out under for a while, moving excess units for the Vanguard without giving enemies or the public a huge view on larger operations.
Little did she know that she was about to become cargo.
Vis has been tooling around since she was a kid, and spent her first years with the Astral Vanguard as a field mechanic. She has most of her experience with combat vehicles, frames and a bit of work with Starship refitting. In the civilian sector, Vis has worked with repair and maintenance of competitive racing technology.
Her mother was developer, and fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree. Though she has more experience with repair, Vis’ ability to improvise is stellar. She specializes in Frame subsystems, but has knowledge of weaponry systems for a variety of platforms.
Not only has Vis worked as a runner inside Organoid units, but she dug inside the mechanical critters for a living. Her skills aren’t quite “ace”, but she’s no easy target either. Head on a swivel, eyes on her buddies and the status of the enemy flow through her mind like a stock ticker.
She’s got military training, but Vis is a brawler. She grew up as a bit of a privileged kid with brains around poor kids who took their jealousy out on her face. During her time as a field repair tech, Vis spent most of her time with rifles, launchers and stationary artillery. After getting out of the Vanguard, she had to chop a few people over the head to keep her skills fresh.
Her street fighting is unique. She has a huge wrench, and knows how to use it.
Vis can push a frame to the limit because she knows it inside and out. For this reason, she isn’t much of a “hot dog” pilot. After doing all those tricks or taking too many risks in battle, someone has to clean up the mess. This situational awareness and planning comes in handy. Most of her experience comes from hit and run tactics in the El Bazr Field, where operations in unmarked and IFF-disabled units were the norm.
In addition to frames, she tests for the Grand Prix circuits for safety and pre-pilot checks.
She hates to admit it, but sometimes between the drunk mumbles and rants after some greenhorn does it “their way”, Vis knows what she’s talking about. Situational awareness is her forte, and disseminating that information is a vital skill. Where some leaders excel is inspiring their people or being destructive aces, she can lift the hood of an enemy and yank out the important stats second to none.
Singer and dancer. Her speaking voice is a bit more rough and casual than her loud and strong singing voice, which keeps her from being caught by old fans too often. Vis is better at instrumentals, mostly drum and piano pieces suiting her tastes, but she doesn’t mind lending her voice for others to use.
* Argeelah Wing patch, discolored
Soap and water, what the hell?