Android 17

Character Name: Android 17

Starting Location: Earth

Attributes:

You start with 50 as a base for each attribute and have 200 attribute points (AP) you may distribute amongst them.

Strength: 120 (50+70)
Agility: 90 (50+40)
Ki: 60 (50+10)
Endurance: 130 (50+80)

You start with 50 technique points (TP). What abilities will you start with?
Hell's Storm (-50 TP)

Were you referred to this site, if so, who referred you? Brian will know me as Ginyu on ADBZ. Shana (BF) referred me here.

Please post a link to your wiki username/profile: http://infinitedbz.wetpaint.com/account/Gin-Goku

Roleplay Sample (250 words):

TEMPERATURE FIFTEEN POINT EIGHT DEGREES CENTIGRADE. WIND DIRECTION SOUTH, SPEED EIGHT KILOMETERS PER HOUR. HUMIDITY LEVEL SIXTY TWO PERCENT.
Lance stepped out from his taxi, staring with a sense of amusement at the semi-grandeur of the World Tournament Grounds. A bitter chill floated across the air, and the door slammed shut as soon as the cash left the boy's hand. Lance's plain black gui fluttered quietly in the air, showing the black jeans and black sparring shoes underneath. Lance didn't even flinch. He walked, coolly and determinedly, through the Tang-Era gateway leading to the entrance gardens. Today was the day of the 29rd World Martial Arts Tournament, and the first day that he would be able to prove his prowess as the most powerful fighter to grace mankind.

Lance closed his eyes, and put two fingers to his temple; a trigger for his scouter to begin searching for opponent of comparable power level.

CALCULATING...

He sighed quietly to himself, very bored with his prospective challengers. Only seven other power levels in the lot were over fifty; the rest were garbage, not even a fraction of his power level. He opened his eyes, and walked through the front gates. He had deigned to register the week before, so he was able to skip the lines set aside for challenger registration, each of which was several times the length of the spectator ticket counter.

He made his way down the long and elegantly decorated Hall of Champions, in which massive portraits of every previous World Champion were poised in rows down the length of the hallway. To get to his or her respective spots, each challenger had to walk down this hall, with the eyes of giants staring down at them as they walked. Lance stared at each with speculation, then amusement. Each picture of Hercule Satan that lined the walls toward the end of the hall gave him more and more confidence, until when he took his seat on Challenger's row, he was certain that not a single opponent in the arena stood any chance of defeating him.

Soon after taking his seat, he began sizing up his competition. First on the bench was an imposing middle aged man, wearing armor his database didn't recognize. The insignia was foreign, which intrigued Lance. He would have to look into it. Besides, he seemed powerful enough, with a large stature and a face that showed a kind of superiority and elegance. Musing under his breath, he cursed the scouter his creator had given him. While it showed power levels like no other, it could not gauge fighting prowess, and his on-sight simulator was gauging a tough fight, even without seeing him take one step.

The next fighter on the line was totally unimposing, a short, bald monk; one from East City if he had the skin tone right. His orange gui bore the logo of the Turtle School though, so he had been well trained in Martial Arts. That much was undoubted. Scanning down the line, he nearly missed the third competitor, totally unordinary except for her extraordinary power level. She was a young woman, of untraceable origin. She was wearing a purple gui, styled similarly to the dress of the desert nomads. She smelled like the winds off the dunes, and off the flowers of the oasis. It was an interesting smell. Lance didn't quite know what to make of her. He simply added her to the database without comment, and moved on, trying to find the next competitor of note.

ABNORMAL POWER SIGNATURE DETECTED

Lance turned his head to the left, scanning the crowd for whatever power flare had been there a second earlier. He had felt something, a spike in energy, and then it had dropped, back to an undetectable level. What had it been. It only took him a moment to spot the answer.

No...

The announcer's microphone shrieked with static, and the man at the referee's podium had begun to speak, but Lance wasn't listening. He had seen something he had hoped to never see. Another android. Not simply another android... but one wearing the insignia of the Red Ribbon army. Instantly, thousands of thoughts pounded the shell of his subconscious; programmed feedback associated with even the words Red Ribbon Army. Instantly, all thoughts of gathering information on any of the other competitors halted, and he focused himself directly on the man, not even ten feet away. They had never met, but Lance and this unnamed android had now become eternal enemies.

The last minutes leading up to the match were a blur. Fights went on in the background, but Lance was busy, taking all the information he could about the Android's appearance, attitude, and makeup. He had no conscious say in the matter; his robotic components seemed to act all on their own. Lance made no effort to resist, that he could remember. If he did, it was washed away by the command that had been forged in steel, and beaten into his subconscious:

Doctor Gero, and all of his creations, were utter and absolute abominations.

The spell was only broken when the android sat down again, his match finished and over with, and all stored on video at the Kyotou Lab in Yunzabit Heights. Lance woke in a daze, quite aware of the events that had just occurred, but was at a loss to explain why. In this moment of bizarre self-reflection, he failed to notice the repeated, agitated cries of the announcer.

"Will Lance Shimahara please come to the fight ring! Your match will be forfeit if you don't come at this final call!" Lance stood, and leapt down into the ring, where his opponent was waiting. It was the girl from earlier, the one who smelled of the desert winds. He smiled at her, as if to apologize for his rudeness at coming late to his calling.

"Oh, alright then..." The announcer said, both frustrated and confused at the same time. "If both competitors are ready, the match will start in THREE! TWO! O---..."

"One." Lance finished for the announcer, and took a step toward the woman. He wasn't one to hold back, even for a woman, "I promise you that I won't think any less of you if you just give up now," he started, in his usually calm demeanor, "Because I promise you I won't hold back."