The Haunted Stars
Career Mechajock and soilder turned mercenary
A large well muscled man with pale skin, red eyes, and a dark green faux-hawk
He was a boy. He learned independence and rebellion. He moved to the moon of his home world, Strix. He learned brotherhood outside of familial ties. He grew to appreciate what it was like to satiate appetites. He learned greed and corruption. He learned tragedy.
The boy grew up, he moved back home and learned what it was to make a living in a hard world. He fixed and protected what he had stolen and destroyed, and learned pride. He knew what it was to love a woman, be loved back, and eventually the loss of it.
He was now a man, and chose to serve. He learned to destroy to protect, kill to save and the bonds forged in the fires of war. He found his weapon of choice.
He was on the last legs of an offensive when he saw it. A forest green monstrosity that fought with a brutality and grace that belied its size. The battle and ultimately the campaign was coming to a close, and they had clearly saved their best for last. He was in love. The machine tore into his fellows like a hawk in a field of mice, an angel of death doomed to die. A plan was already forming in his mind. When he found his time and place, he took it. With a single anti-mech missile he holed what he knew would be the cockpit.
Soon after, he found the wreck.
Inside was a pixie of a woman, face scared beyond all recognition from burns. He thought she might have been lovely once. He glanced at the name plate on her uniform, Captain Maxilano.
“Thank you, Max, and don’t worry” he said. He tried to impart his respect while her steely eyes bore cold hard hate into his face and his sidearm bore hot lead into hers. He frowned at the state of his cockpit while he called his Black Market contact.
In the end they took the shoulder mounted new tech energy cannon (that he had been very excited to tinker with), a set of mech verniers and two MANPAD systems that he had scrounged to move the machine and provide all the particulars of personal mecha ownership.
It took over a year, and hard campaigns worth of wages and trophies to finish. When it was ready, he painted that machine his favored mat black adding splashes of forest green to create a camouflage pattern. Finally, the man told it her name; Maxima.
If Jericho Fynn is ever asked why he calls his mech by the feminine pronoun when most share the sex of their mind linked mech, he’ll typically reply “She’s a cold, hard bitch, my Max, and tough as all hell. My kind of lady.”