Editing LotS/5th Planet's Equipment Set

== '''5th Planet's Equipment Set:''' ==

{| class="lotstable sortable" width="100%"
! width=40px | Icon
! width="23%" | Name
! width="6%" | Att
! width="6%" | Def
! width="6%" | Stat DPS
! width="6%" | Max Proc DPS
! width="6%" | Min Proc DPS
! width="23%" | Ability
! width="23%" | Obtained
|-
{{LotS/SimpleRow|5th Planet's Sword}}
{{LotS/SimpleRow|5th Planet's Pistol}}
{{LotS/SimpleRow|5th Planet's Helmet}}
{{LotS/SimpleRow|5th Planet's Torso Armor}}
{{LotS/SimpleRow|5th Planet's Gauntlets}}
{{LotS/SimpleRow|5th Planet's Leg Armor}}
{{LotS/SimpleRow|5th Planet's Boots}}
{{LotS/SimpleRow|5th Planet's Ring}}
{{LotS/SimpleRow|5th Planet's Planet}}
|}
==== '''Lore:''' ====
'''Main Hand:'''

1. "I told you <he'd/she'd> cave," Shane Vortex said. "I know people, Tori. I understand how they think."

"Yes, Mr. Vortex," his secretary said. "It's with their brains!"

"<Player> cares about the Sian Empire and its people more than he cares about fame and credits. Crazy, isn't it?"

"<He's/She's> such a nice <man/woman>!"

"Nice? Don't you watch the news?"

"The News? I don't think I've seen that show. Who's on it?"


'''Off Hand:'''

2. Shane went into his office. He walked across the vast chamber, to the window-wall that overlooked the stadium from its lofty vantage point. Below him two warriors in bright, garish armor clashed in the ring. Thousands and thousands of fans cheered and screamed, howling their heroes' names. Signs waved above their heads -- emblazoned with slogans or marriage proposals for Natasha Cybersmash and the sport's other femme fatales.

He stretched his arms out to either side and reveled in his empire.


'''Helmet:'''

3. "Mr. Vortex... Mr. Vortex!"

The voice blared over the intercom, snapping him out of his pleasant contemplation. Shane frowned.

"Damn it, Tori, I told you not to disturb me!"

"But it's an emergency! There's been a murder!"

"The jobber matches are always murders. That's what people pay to see!"

"No, not in the ring. In the parking lot."


'''Chest:'''

4. "So? Call the cops and let them handle it. If some idiot chem-heads shot each other over a deal-"

"It was Charlie!"

"Huh? Charlie Campbell?"

"Yes!"

"Damn it! Grab everyone from security we can spare, and tell them to come to my office."


'''Gloves:'''

5. Shane stared down at his head of security. Charlie Campbell's dark, rugged face stared up at the sky, unblinking. One of his big hands clutched his pistol. The other was pinned to his chest, skewered by a slim steel flagpole that transfixed his big muscles, his lung, and the ground beneath.

A black rectangle fluttered above his body. It bore the emblem of the Centurian Collective.

"I think it was the Centies, Mr. Vortex!"

"Shut up, Tori."


'''Pants:'''

6. The ringing of his phone made Shane jump. A couple of the security guards grinned, though they averted their faces or lapsed into coughs in the next moment. He tore it out of his pocket and glanced at the display -- half expecting it to be an idiot reporter already asking for a statement they could misquote.

He didn't recognize the number. But the same instincts that had allowed him to build on his father's vast fortune told him he should answer it.

"This is Shane Vortex."

"I know who you are, asshole! That's why I called you!"

"Listen, if I want abuse from a foulmouthed cow, I'll talk to my mother. If you've got something worth saying, say it. Otherwise go to hell. I'm Shane Vortex, damn it, and I don't have time for this crap!"


'''Boots:'''

7. "You've put <Player> on your next card, in the main event."

"Yeah. If you want to see it, buy a ticket."

"Call the match off. <Player> should be in jail or in a grave, not on pay-per-view! If you let <him/her> appear, you'll be sorry!"

"You're threatening me? Do you know who I am, you sack of menstruating Snuuth crap? You punks think you can murder one of *my* employees and get away with it? I-"

But the line was dead.


'''Trinket:'''

8. "Hit him again!" Shane laughed and punched the air, mimicking the blow <Player> landed on 5th Planet in the distant ring and on the massive vid screen opposite his office window. "That's what these people paid to see! Didn't I tell you it'd be a great match, Tori?"

"Yes, Mr. Vortex! Who do you think's winning?"

"We are! These are the best pay-per-view numbers we've ever seen! If-"

A massive detonation boomed across the arena. Fans screamed, and smoke billowed through the stands.


'''Utility:'''

9. "Those are Centi Priders, Mr. Vortex!"

"I know who they are, damn it! They're wrecking my card, and killing my fans! Damn it! Dead fans don't buy tickets and merchandise!"

"They're going for <Player>!"

"This means war!"

"Wasn't there already a war?"

"Shut up, Tori! Tell them to bring me my battlesuit. If those bastards want to storm my arena, they can become the main event!"