Her name is Veterātōria, and she is just that. Sly, crafty, manipulative. Cat-like in her movements, with the sharpest senses, and a perfect shot. She may be small, but she is quick. Try to attack and she will have a gun to your skin before you can take a breath. She knows what people want, and gives it to them, or so they think. That’s what got her a top place as a mercenary. She was Wily’s pet, and happy to be so. She and Wily are somewhat alike. She never asks for anything in return for her services, and people rarely question it; who would not trust a small, fragile, lady like her? She observes, hears the things people would never think to hold back, takes the information without it being missed by anyone. She will learn more about you in a single conversation than should be possible, and stores that knowledge away, to be analyzed and sorted through at her leisure. That’s what Wily liked best about her; he could learn everything he wanted to know about a person and never have to get his hands dirty, nor leave the comfort of his Tower. She was happy to do his bidding, and was able to do it well, earning rewards other mercenaries only dreamed of. She was willing to do anything for the man, willing to give anything to the man, anything…except for that.
The first time it happened, she would admit, she enjoyed it. Bearing the mark left by that impossible man made her feel proud. A rare moment of anger had caused it, the information she had been holding back, whispered in his ear as he gave her a well earned reward.. Had he a weapon on him, she might have been dead. In this state, however, he had only his teeth, and it had a different effect on her than he had anticipated. She wore the dark mirrored crescents at her neck like a crown. No one would doubt whose teeth had left those, and most, like herself, saw it as something to be envied. The second time it happened, she was scared…
The information was not what Wily wanted to hear, news he had been dreading, not to mention denying, before he sent his best out to investigate properly. He wanted to hear her tell him something different, that it was not what everyone whispered about, that everything was a lie, spawned by the Resistance to discredit him, but she only confirmed how true it was. That’s when he turned nasty; his rarely seen temper emerged once again, as did a knife. Had she not been quick enough, her throat would have been slashed for bringing him this unbearable news. She dodged the knife, the blade nicking her cheek just below her right eye as she moved away. Wily had shouted, the knife had flown across the room, piercing the neat wall with a dull thud. He had roared at her to get out, his usually placid face flushed and twisted with rage, his eyes flashing dangerously. She had left him immediately, a small trickle of blood running down her cheek, paralleled by a single tear. She would wear this mark forever, but the story behind it would be told to no one. Her trust in the man was forever broken.
She had gone to the barracks, packed a bag of supplies, including whichever guns would fit (along with their ammunition), grabbed her sniper rifle, and left. She knew Wily could see her, but did not care. She walked down the streets, her gaze avoiding every camera she knew was there. Citizens who spotted her whispered behind their hands. She was out of uniform, no armour adorned her body. She was plainly dressed in a simple green tank and dark denims. This was to become her statement; nothing extravagant, not where she was going. The moment he had turned on her was the moment she had made up her mind. She would find the Resistance, she would fight, she would bring Wily down.
Oh my god congratulations on your EVERYTHING.