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Sara Ainsley Janovsky
Age: ~32 (physical), ~53 (actual)
Date of Birth: September 29, 107 Post Departure
Gender: Female
Species: Newtype (Exam Cyborg)
Hair: Platinum Blonde
Eye Color: Azure
Height: 5' 7"
Weight: 132 lbs
Affiliations: Terra Firma Republic, Maxwellian Intifada, Neo Terra Firma Republic, Exegesis, Ambra Sestinas
Profession: Mobile Suit pilot
Residence: Forodwaith, Laurelin Colony, Archeon Bunch
"The fate of destruction is also the joy of rebirth. The history of humanity is all about starts and stops, but each time, we survive. Come with me then. Let's see how this ends, together..."
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Appearance:
- Sara's body was genetically and mechanically manufactured by Vexnel Corp, and later reinforced with advanced nanotech. Because it was so difficult to acquire, and almost impossible to replace, she works hard to keep all physical parameters within medically nominal values. The end result is that she's as flawless as physically possible for an aryan woman - pale skin, toned muscles, shiny hair, supple curves. This optimization however only pertains to her particular genetic strain - thus while certainly not unattractive, her typically nonaccentuated looks can come off a bit plain-jane.
- She has a strict non-modification policy about her hair, a factor that was much to Alfimi's chagrin. She pays careful and methodical attention to it, very rarely trims it, and typically wears it either free behind her back, or bound simply into a ponytail. When piloting or on certain high-formal occasions she ties it back into a bun with no small amount of effort.
- Her taste in clothing tends to be spartan, if not outright drab. If she doesn't have a faction uniform to wear, she basically uniforms herself. Her common taste in civilian attire is a white dress shirt, black blazer, black slacks (or pencil skirt and hose), and black pumps. To skew much outside this requires outside intervention.
- It should be noted that her eyes are synthetic, and a clear, azure blue iris. Originally they were red, based on her birth color of a ruddy light brown. Upon a later repair, she gained conscious control over the color, and chose to turn them blue for aesthetics. When agitated they tend to turn back to their default red. And when truly enraged, they gain a glowing fractal echoing her EXAM origins.
Personal Information:
- Her OS 'ghost' was stored in an EXAM program. At her creation, she was still able to go into a 'berserker mode', suspending extraneous (but expansive) portions of her persona in favor of combat clarity. This function was painstakingly removed by Trent Silverton during a series of repairs, moving her mental mechanics closer to human.
- That said, the experience of being EXAM is still a major portion of her psyche. She strives for constant control in all things pertaining to her person, not least of these an active aversion to anger. As her typical temperament tends to run severe and dispassionate anyway, this isn't terribly difficult. But when she does feel herself losing control of her anger, she regards it as slipping back into the clutches of the (now non-existant) EXAM parameters.
- Her body is 80% organic, the remaining 20% being primarily a cybernetic nervous system. Her brain, eyes, spinal column, and various other key nerve junctions are high-end Vexnel cybernetics. This tends to make her mentally quick, with processing and retrieval speeds rivaling that of most coordinators.
- However, being an electronic brain means she's not subject to brain chemistry. She can't intrinsically be intoxicated, and thus has to simulate inebriation based on blood-alcohol rating. She has no intrinsic sexual orientation, only the memory of being attracted to men. Post-cyberization, she has engaged in a series of homoerotic relationships, but each of these were judgement calls based on the person.
- In life she was an untapped Newtype. After being digitized, she retained the core of that function, and has steadily improved her grasp on over time. Her potential is limited only by her cybernetic nature, and that drastically so. Were she to somehow regain a fully organic body, she could become as potent as her mentor, Myun.
Biography:
Sara Ainsley Janovsky was born without incident on September 29, 107 P.D., the second child of Matthew and Elaina Janovsky. Though not a particularly prominent or wealthy family, the Janovsky line had produced a fairly steady stream of career soldiers and dedicated civil servants. As such, the family had made several beneficial connections over the generations, enough to live quite comfortably at the fringe of the upper class. This adjacency to privilege allowed Sara to grow up in somewhat modest mansion, surrounded by bevies of aunts and uncles and cousins of varying distance. It also allowed her to attend a series of elite private girl's academies, much of her formative years spent sequestered in quiet and dutiful study.
One of her few passions in those years was mystery fiction. She was initially introduced to the genre by the shows watched with some frequency by one of her aunts. Police and legal procedurals were her first love, and they in turn lead her to detective novels and suspense thrillers. She was particularly fascinated by those ashing sleuths of old, so perceptive and so widely-versed, masterfully maneuvering through the veil of secrets and lies that had baffled all others, to eventually arrive at the truth. To see justice was done, no matter how oppressive the situation, how impossible the world around them. As her own world descended further and further into the bloodbath of the Solar Civil Wars, she found reassurance of pride and purpose in those tales. One day, one way or another, the Republic would find peace again. There was simply no other way it could turn out.
But the war dragged on and on. The global population was being decimated, the Republic conscripted more and more of its citizens into the churn. She was spared from the draft by a combination of age and favorable position - no one was going to send a bunch of little girls off to fight, especially the daughters of politicians and business leaders. At the same time, her academy had to show solidarity with the cause, and so began classes in the most basic nursing and defensive skills. She learned firearms safety and first-aid, the proper ways to tie a tourniquet or carry a box of ammunition. She was sixteen when the first war finally ended, and with it the Post Departure era. She graduated not long after, her diploma bearing the mark of the hopeful new age - 01 S.E.
With the planet still reeling from the devastation, the young Ms. Janovsky enrolled in a state-sponsored military college. Though not entirely certain what major to pursue, she felt a duty to both her family and the world at large to go into the service in some capacity. The initial plan she flirted with was to indulge her favored pastime and pursue a degree in criminal justice, perhaps end up as an MP. Perhaps eventually get her law degree and become a JAG. She progressed admirably through the general education requirements of her first couple years, her dedication only strengthened by the gradual deterioration of peace within the Earth Sphere. She just kept her head down and her eyes on the task at hand.
Well, there was one other thing that she kept her eyes on.
His name was Nathan. Nathan Woodall, an up-and-coming engineering student. As much as she tried not to let him distract her, to keep her crush to herself and eventually let it fade, she couldn't entirely banish him from her thoughts. She was eighteen and had relatively little experience with men in general, let alone handsome ones around her own age. It was only a matter of time before happenstance and required courses led them into close proximity, and she, unable to completely rid the signs of her affection from her body language, eventually drew his. Over the summer of 03 S.E., with war breaking out again in Europe, Sara lost herself entirely in her burgeoning romance, the naive girl unable to muster much of any resistance to Nathan's advances. He doted on her, he spoiled her with affection, and he talked dreamily about the next era. What their generation could do with the Republic's increasingly sophisticated mobile suits. The sorts of protections they could offer, stemming the carnage and defending the populace. How he wanted to help build that future, with her at his side.
He talked her right into his bed, his betrothal, and a new major. In May of 05 S.E., she graduated cum laude with a degree in mechanical engineering, specialized in industrial robotics. With a degree in one hand, a ring on the other, and a position already waiting for her in the Republic supply corps, the future seemed promising. The Judas war was over, the independent strike teams were establishing order. With any luck, the future Mrs. Sara Woodall would be able to contribute to that, if only in her own small way.
That was about as far as her luck would take her. One year later, the North and South Star Strike Teams staged a coup, supplanting the Republic government. The supply division they worked in was absorbed and reorganized, pushed closer to an arms factory. In their own veiled form of protest, the division took on a contract to develop a next-generation mobile suit, and conspired to keep the end product a non-lethal civil defense unit. Over the years that followed, the government grew ever more oppressive, ever more totalitarian, and the pressures piled up to push the project towards a war machine. Their efforts were forced into greater and greater subtlety, elaborate sabotage and subterfuge slow the project down, but keep it just viable enough to prevent it (and they) from being killed off.
The stress of the situation weighed heavily on the young couple. Stringent limits on travel and communication cut off Sara's contact to the rest of her family. To her greater despair, she found Nathan becoming increasingly cold and distant. Right when she needed him most, right when she needed someone to lose herself in again, to hold her and console her that everything would still be alright, she instead found him stiff and numb to the world around him. Every day became a struggle, watching what she said and what she did and where she went and who she saw. At any moment, she felt, any little thing could get the lot of them incarcerated for treason, or worse, and her would-be husband was so weighted with his own sorrows he had no room left to help bear hers.
In desperation, Sara hatched a scheme to defect to the newly-forged Maxwellian Intifada, for the sake of her sanity and her pending marriage. Had it been for herself alone, she would never had been so bold. But for him, for the love of her life she felt she was losing, there was nothing she wouldn't attempt. One by one, she brought her co-workers in on the plot, manipulating storage locations and testing dates to set up their own little jailbreak. To spare her beloved's heart, she waited until the plan was in motion, until she was certain of its chances for success to let him in on it. They would finally find deliverance, she hoped, and in that the freedom to rekindle their love affair.
The plan was fairly simple. A test flight, an aerial experiment they would need to accompany in their own small observation craft. They would take their convoy up to altitude, following an extended flight plan, and make a break for it midway, weaving toward the open sea. Should they be caught, they could try to pass it off to mechanical errors. Otherwise, once out at sea, they would swing up toward Intifadan territory in eastern Eurasia. Thus, one evening, all three prototypes of the BGM-07 Justice were prepared to be mobilized. A plane was made ready with all the needed instruments. Ms. Janovsky herself was at the controls of one of the prototypes, Nathan at another. Together, she swore, they would forge a new future for themselves and their cohorts.
That was not to be. As they began to implement their plan, and break away from their scheduled route, they were beset by a Black Guard squadron. In a fair fight, their Justices could have disabled the trio of GINNs they were faced with. But this was not a fair fight - amid the chaos of the engagement, one of Nathan's birdlime volleys snared their wingman, just long enough for a GINN to skewer the torso. Both machines went down, and the remaining defectors tried to use the distraction to make for the coast. With their pursuers closing in, Sara tried to buy time for the others to get away, planting herself on the beach and turning to face the remaining GINNs. Nathan followed, she assumed to assist her in the effort. But before she could so much as take aim, she found her own machine ensnared - her beloved had betrayed them all.
One GINN kept on the survey craft's trail, the other landing to 'secure' their stolen prototypes. She begged. She pleaded. She screamed at him not to do this, not to let this happen. The world closed in on her it seemed - with the might of the Guard before her and the ocean behind, her almost certain execution stalking nearer, the only man she had ever truly loved was standing calmly by, complicit in her pending demise. She did as much as she could, tried to maneuver her half-disabled machine into some avenue of defense or escape, but what few methods the GINN didn't anticipate, her fiance did. In her agony, her heart and her mind cried out for someone, anyone to save her. Time slowed to crawl, each minute its own lingering epoch. Her Justice fell beneath the GINN's heel. The cockpit door was torn away by its blade.
And then, at the last moment, salvation came. A separate band of defectors, themselves following what was becoming a well-traveled route, were drawn by the psychic echo of her terror. A melee broke out before her. A struggle that continued to escalate. Her rescuers pried her machine loose. More Guard units were mobilized. Nathan's Justice turned, pointed its clay bazooka her way. Without even thinking, she charged at it, one Justice pummeling another. When next she came to her senses, the other machine had stopped moving. It was unimpaired, unimpeded, and yet simply lay there, crumpled and motionless. Somewhere in the back of her mind, in the pit of her stomach, she knew the reason why. Somehow, she could simply feel it.
In truth, it was one of the last things she would ever feel. Their band of fledgling revolutionaries fled all the way to the former Soviet block. They met up with the Intifadans. They talked their way into the ranks, went through the screenings and the procedures, the questions and the scrutiny. They found themselves new positions, a new assignment out beyond the Earth Sphere. Soon they were all in space, leaving behind a blue marble for a red one. They were giving over the fruits of their work, their wearying labors, to these new people, to this loudly proclaimed cause. And through it all, she felt absolutely nothing. Her life was a walking shadow now, everything she had ever known or cared for being taken away piece by piece.
Her unwitting psionic call was not forgotten, either.
Relationships:
- ~~Put one of these for each line~~
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Personal Holdings:
- ~~Put one of these for each line~~
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Primary Mobile Suit:
[image]~Suit Image (We can put this in for you)~~[/image]
~~Mobile Suit Name~~ |
Combat Style: Clarion
Clarity of mind, mission, and purpose. Sara is an engineer at heart - building something she could be proud of was all she ever truly wanted. That same level of surgical precision, of mechanical knowledge and intuition, was only enhanced by her forcible digitization. At her best, she thinks as fast or faster than a Coordinator, analyzing, dissecting, and finally dismantling her opponent. On the battlefield, hers is a mind unclouded by emotion. Instead, she operates under a near ruthless devotion to accomplishing her task as quickly and directly as possible, no matter what it takes. Her effectiveness is, however, often undermined by her single-minded fixation with Alfimi. Because she refuses to part with the woman, she is often thrust into unfavorable positions to save her partner, even putting herself in harm's way just to protect the object of her obligation. Furthermore, she is prone to taking death-defying risks if they seem to be to be the most effective course of action - but this drive for efficiency and results is far from perfect. Sometimes the most direct route is not the best one.