[b][i]War Machine[/i][/b] [b]Dojo Gates[/b] [i]This had been his first stop on the road across multiple dimensions and various universes. He had fought the Lennies twice, he had seen the likes of Salazar, the rise and fall of June Bellicose and Cobalt Phoenix, the Dojo invaded itself. He had seen the crazy parties, where AC/DC and Motörhead had played live, when everyone had been blasted out of their minds. It had been quite some time since then... He had become something else. No longer a simple mercenary, no longer in command of Edgewater, he was of the most notorious men alive. They knew him as the Courier, the God Damn Mailman, the cold-blooded killer, the sociopathic behemoth. Finally, he had made his return, he had heard things from some of his more recent targets. Stories of newbies, oldies, and the Dojo. Alex Wilson stood for a moment, smiling beneath his X-01 MKVI helmet, its eyes glowing an orangish-red, his T-60F armor sparking with the energy of his Tesla shielding. The armor was painted gunmetal grey, but blood was splattered across his helmet, and a phoenix had been etched into the right side of his armor's chest-plate. Atop his right shoulder, an M2HB .50 caliber machine gun, atop his left, the skull of an alpha male deathclaw. Two bandoliers crossed his chest, belts of .50 BMG rounds. A gunbelt crossed his waist, and two S&W Model 500 magnums sat at his hips. A boot knife could be seen strapped to his leg, and a thin port was visible at the top of his right gauntlet. On his back, a cloak, the Old World flag, tattered and torn, blowing in the breeze, occasionally exposing his MG3 and his Remington 870MCS pistol-grip.[/i] [spoiler]Open[/spoiler]