Scarlet Marie Sharp Age: 33 Origin: Bretonian Father: Charles Sharp III Mother: Christine Sharp Siblings: Charles Sharp IV Status: Alive, serving in the Navy Personality: A loaded gun—unpredictable, quick-witted, and rebellious. Though she maintains a laid-back demeanor, there’s a restless fire in her that refuses to be tamed. Abilities & Knowledge: Self-taught pilot, skilled marksman, trained in hand-to-hand combat, sharp tactician
Early Life: A Cage of Gold
Born into the prestigious Sharp family of Cambridge, Scarlet Marie Sharp was expected to uphold the traditions of Bretonian nobility—poise, intellect, and an unwavering loyalty to the crown. Her family, renowned for both political influence and military service, had high expectations for her future.
But Scarlet had other plans.
The lavish gatherings, the endless etiquette lessons, and the rigid social hierarchy suffocated her. Her elder brother, Charles Sharp IV, embraced the family's legacy with pride, excelling in diplomacy and military affairs. Scarlet, however, found solace in the stars. She was obsessed with the idea of flying, spending every possible moment around airfields, listening to pilots and engineers, and sneaking into simulators whenever she could.
By sixteen, she had already taught herself the basics of flight on a stolen civilian ship, narrowly avoiding the wrath of both local authorities and her family when she was inevitably caught. But her defiance was unshaken. Rather than punish her further, her father presented an ultimatum: either embrace the family's path or be cast out without support.
Scarlet chose the latter. From Border Worlds to the Academy
Leaving behind her privileged upbringing, she ventured into the Border Worlds, where she quickly learned that talent alone wasn’t enough to survive. It was there, amidst smugglers, mercenaries, and stranded pilots, that she honed her combat skills. She learned the art of hand-to-hand combat from ex-soldiers, refined her piloting in dangerous asteroid fields, and adapted to a life where every fight could be her last.
For years, she lived on the edge, scraping by as a freelancer and occasional bounty hunter. But despite her independence, she knew she needed structure. She needed something that could refine her raw skills into something greater.
That’s when she made an unexpected choice—she enrolled in the West Point Military Academy in Liberty.
At the age of twenty-two, Scarlet left behind the lawless skies of the Border Worlds and threw herself into military training. Her time at West Point was both a challenge and a revelation. While she struggled with the rigid hierarchy, she excelled in flight maneuvers, combat strategy, and marksmanship. Her ability to think on her feet made her stand out, and though her superiors often clashed with her attitude, they couldn’t deny her skill.
Two years later, she graduated and was assigned to the 5th Fleet of the Liberty Navy. The 5th Fleet and the Breaking Point
Joining the 5th Fleet was meant to be a new chapter, a chance to channel her abilities into something bigger than herself. And for a time, it was. She took to military life with a grudging respect, proving herself in combat missions and excelling as a pilot. Though she never fully conformed to the discipline expected of her, she earned a reputation as a reliable—if somewhat unpredictable—asset.
But loyalty only went so far.
A certain high-profile prison break sent shockwaves through the Navy, shaking the very foundations of trust within the ranks. When it became clear that leadership was divided on how to handle the aftermath, Scarlet saw cracks forming in the institution she had reluctantly come to respect. It wasn’t just about the escape—it was about the politics, the hidden agendas, and the realization that even the military wasn’t immune to deception and internal strife.
Disillusioned and unwilling to be a pawn in the Navy’s internal conflicts, she made her choice.
She left. The 46th Fleet: A Necessary Compromise
Scarlet’s departure from the 5th Fleet didn’t come without consequences. While she hadn’t outright betrayed the Navy, her refusal to follow certain orders and her vocal criticism of command had made her a liability. Grounded and facing potential disciplinary action, she had to make a move before she found herself completely shut out of the only life she had built.
The 46th Fleet provided an answer.
Unlike the more rigid structure of her previous command, the 46th operated with a degree of flexibility that suited her. While she chafed at the idea of taking orders again, she recognized that working with them offered resources, protection, and a way to keep fighting on her own terms.
Now, Scarlet walks the fine line between duty and rebellion, between following orders and carving her own path. She fights because she chooses to, not because she is told to. But deep down, she knows she is still searching—for a cause worth standing for, for a crew she can truly trust, and for a future that isn’t dictated by nobility, military doctrine, or past mistakes.
Until she finds it, she’ll keep flying. Keep fighting. Keep running—if she has to.
Log Date: 3/1/835.A.S. - Norfolk Shipyard.
It feels… easier. Much easier to be here than in the 5th or under the command of the Secondary Fleet. I no longer feel bound by rigid constraints, nor am I constantly caught in the tide of bureaucracy and senseless orders. Here, in the 46th, it doesn't feel like I’ve made a compromise—it feels like I’ve made a choice. And for the first time in a long while, I’m truly happy with where I am.
Pirate hunting, ironically, is peaceful in its own way. Out there, it’s just me, my ship, and the enemy. No overcomplicated politics, no second-guessing whether the chain of command will actually have my back. Just the mission, clear and straightforward. The comms with command are direct, efficient, and more than anything—built on mutual respect. I can see it, feel it, in the way they talk to me. Orders aren't barked without thought, and I don’t feel like I’m being forced into things just because a superior said so. Here, my skills matter. My choices matter.
I know I’m not the best pilot in the fleet. That’s the price of being self-taught in both flight and combat. I don’t have the refined precision that some of these veteran snub pilots possess, but I can hold my own. I can take down my fair share of targets when the situation calls for it. I won’t lie—dogfighting in snubs is still something I struggle with. Fast engagements, sharp maneuvering, the relentless pressure of an opponent dancing just out of reach... I need to be better. And I will be. Giving up isn’t an option.
I was promoted to Lieutenant First Class recently. Another step forward. Another confirmation that I belong here. With the rank came bomber access, and that alone opens a new world of possibilities. The power, the resilience, the strategic advantage—I’m eager to prove myself in a heavier craft. But my sights are set beyond that. I can feel it. Battlecruisers are within reach. It’s just a matter of time, skill, and persistence.
Until then, I keep flying. Keep improving. Keep proving myself.
Remember when I said I was going to get myself a bomber? Well, I did. And how did it go? Absolutely terrible.
I got my hands on a Havoc, thinking it would be the answer to my firepower problems. The moment I took it into real combat, I knew I had made a mistake. That thing flies like a goddamn cement block floating through space—slow, heavy, and sluggish as hell. I barely had time to get a few shots off before enemy fire chewed through my hull like a hot knife through butter. Before I even knew it, my ship was in pieces, and I was floating in an escape pod, cursing myself for even thinking a bomber was a good idea.
That was when I decided: Hell no. I need something faster.
And I found it.
There’s a research station deep in Alaska, a place most people don’t even know exists. Hidden away in that frozen wasteland was something incredible—Order weaponry, experimental ships… and among them, a Bastet. I don’t know what it was doing there, and frankly, I didn’t care. The moment I saw it, I knew it was exactly what I needed.
Holy shit. This thing is fast.
The Bastet feels like it was built just for me. It handles like a dream, responding to my every movement with absolute precision. It’s sleek, aggressive, and outruns anything I’ve ever flown. No more crawling around like a sitting duck—now, I can weave between enemy fire, strike where it hurts, and disappear before they even realize what hit them.
I put it to the test during our latest two-day engagement against the Rogues in Magellan, and let me tell you—it did not disappoint. The battlefield was chaos: enemy gunships and fighters all over the place, missile trails lighting up the void, debris scattering in every direction. But in the middle of it all, I was untouchable. I danced between their formations, landing precise hits and getting out before they could lock onto me. It felt amazing—like I was finally flying something meant for me.
But I know this is just the beginning.
I need more firepower. My Bastet is incredible, but I can’t shake the thought of what’s next. I know I have what it takes to climb higher in the ranks. If I keep proving myself, I’ll make Lieutenant soon. And when that happens?
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