Because your character is a pilot, you will have two readings for all except intelligence and battle stats: one for out of mech and the other while piloting. Human stats are out of 100; mech stats are out of 10000.
Strength: 85/9000
Defense: 70/10000
Speed: 55/4500
Dexterity: 45/4000
Intelligence: 70
Battles won: 196
Battle lost: 27
Henning opened the community fridge. His favorite soda was on the top shelf, just where he'd left it; he picked a can and opened it. He closed his eyes for the first sip. That sip was always the best, Henning thought, the fizziest and most flavorful. He savored the tingling-popping sensation on his tongue and cheeks and throat, breathed in some of the effervescence and savored that too. The perfect precursor to a bite of his cheese sandwich. With a deep sigh he lowered his head and opened his eyes. They narrowed when he went to the second shelf. His sandwich was
not where he'd left it. Henning enjoyed only a few things in this world: piloting his mech, winning, soda, and cheese sandwiches with mayo. There was hell to pay for anyone who got between him and any of these things.
He closed the fridge door harder than necessary. It rattled and something inside thumped, but he didn't care about the rest of the contents of the community fridge. He hoped that whatever fell would ruin something of somebody else's, preferably the person who'd taken his sandwich. He slammed the door of the break room shut, too, to be sure everyone's attention would be had. His anger always made his face darker than it already was. Many who'd encountered him in this state knew already to stay out of his way. Somewhere in the back of him, he pitied those who still had to learn, though at the moment that pity neither bothered nor stopped him from his task. People flitted out of his way, mere shadows at the corners of his vision, as he stalked towards the center of the room.
There was a large distance between Henning and everyone else. Those whose desks were nearby had found something else that needed to be done, but over
there or
there or anywhere but their desks, really. Henning turned in a slow circle, glowering at everyone. Most were doing their best to look busy, but all had at least one eye on Henning. The tension was palpable.
"WHO TOOK MY CHEESE SANDWICH?" Henning bellowed. Now everyone stopped, no longer able to feign work. They stared at him, but not one spoke. They all looked a bit nervous, which made them all seem suspicious to Henning, but he couldn't tell who the culprit was until a slight young intern, fidgeting with some papers in the back of the crowd, turned and ran. Henning went after him, his strides long, powerful, and fast. Those in his way quickly parted, getting back to work with a certain amount of relief. He didn't need to run to catch up with the boy. He followed the intern around several turns. They finally stopped in a dark, old office that nobody used anymore. The boy was on his knees, bent over a corner that had boxes pulled half around to cover whatever he had.
Henning assumed it was merely where the boy went to eat his stolen goods, figuring he'd find a stash of wrappers and napkins and crumbs, but he was surprised when he loomed over the boy to find a litter of kittens instead. His cheese sandwich was there, torn into tiny pieces and scattered about, though much of it was gone by now. The boy looked up, the terror plain in his pale face, wide eyes, and shaking hands. "P-please don't tell, sir!" He was nearly crying as he picked one of the kittens up and clutched it protectively to his chest.
"Where did these come from?" Henning asked sharply. Animals were strictly forbidden at base. He should turn on his heel to go tell his superior officer right now, but he didn't. Instead he waited.
"I-I f-found them out back... They're mom was d-dead, s-so I took them in and... I-I-I didn't know what else to do with them. I couldn't leave them out there to die too! I-I live in the apartments here on base, s-so I can't take them home... Please, sir!" He turned his back on Henning, sobbing gently over the tiny balls of fur that were mewling loudly.
Henning gave the intern a rough nudge with his boot. "Stand up," he said. The boy stood, his shoulders hunched and eyes staring at Henning's feet. He still held the kitten, though Henning couldn't tell if he meant it to protect himself or the kitten from Henning's wrath. Perhaps both. The boy didn't need to worry about either, though. "Don't tell a single soul about this," he said, pushing his face close to the boy's and forcing him to look up. "Not even your mother. Do you understand me?" The boy nodded meekly. "Good." Henning straightened. "If anyone asks, I gave you a sucker punch like you wouldn't believe. You've learned your lesson and will never touch my cheese sandwiches again." Now he did turn on his heel and stomped back to the door. With his hand on the handle, he paused. "Oh, and one more thing," he called over his shoulder, "next time you want to feed them my cheese sandwich, ask first." He didn't wait for a reply, and strode out of the room.
500
500
500
