Tips: 0.00 INK
by Loxley on Mon Mar 30, 2009 10:50 am
Name: Casey Shelton Black
Age: 26
Height: 182 cm
Weight: 75 kg
Rank: Master Sergeant
Race: Human
Appearance: Young, with sharp features, and short-cut, light-brown and slightly curly hair, and emerald green eyes. (Caucasian). Lost his left arm in combat and now has it replaced with a cybernetic one. Armor is speckered green.
Specialization: Soldier
Service History: Black grew up an orphan in South Africa. His parents died in an airplane crash, and the young boy found himself alone in the Kalahari desert, with a broken leg, and no hope of surviving. He crawled for three days until he came upon a rebel camp, and was taken in as a child soldier in exchange for food and roof over the head.
When he turned sixteen, the civil war ended and the rebel movement turned in their weapons. As a result, Black was left not knowing what to do. He got a chance to join the Alliance Military, and did so, seing lots of action against space pirates on border planets. During his latest mission his transport was shot down, and he and his fellow soldiers were captured and tortured by pirates. During the torture his left arm was cut off.
When he as the only survivor was later rescued by marines, his arm was beyond saving, but it was replaced by a cybernetic one to allow him to continue as a soldier. It looks like the real thing, though, and few people know it's not. However, due to his past which he has not yet overcome completely, Black is mentally scarred, and is prone to excessive violence from time to time.
People would describe him as a loner, a good soldier who cannot stand bigotry, and is haunted by his own memories. All he think of these days is doing his job as a soldier, and protect the people on the human colonies. The thought of being pulled off active duty scares him more than anything else as he doesn't know how to live off the battlefield.
Weapon: HMWA assault rifle
Black stared down at the arm dispassionately. Moving it he felt a slight tingle where the cybernetic arm joined with the real deal. The pain was worse, though, the arm hammering with it so much he barely cared to move it at all. The doctors had said it would go away with time. It didn't really bother him, though. What did bother him was what would happen to him now - he had heard rumors of other marines that had lost limbs in battle and had them replaced by cybernetic ones, only to be shipped off to do desktop duty for the rest of their careers. That thought scared him more than anything else.
He was free from duty for now, free to roam the Citadel until orders were given. But Black wasn't in the mood for tourism. He had too much on his mind - whether he was going to be allowed to stay in active duty, or if they would put him on desktop duty. The thought of living a life as a pencip pusher wasn't his dream of a future career - fighting was all he had done for the most part of his life - first as a child soldier in Africa, then as a member of the Alliance Military. It was all he was good for. And it was all he wanted to do.
The nurse felt on his cybernetic arm, and asked: "How does it feel? Does it still hurt?" He looked at her and shrugged, as if he didn't care. She noticed it, and explained: "This arm is about ten times the strength of your real arm. It isn't going to prevent you from doing your job - on the contrary." He slowly clenched the fist, and grimaced as the pain struck him again. It wasn't the arm in itself, but rather phantom pain of his lost arm - the body had not yet gotten used to having a cybernetic one. It would probably last for another few days, if the doctor was right, before the body adapted to its presence.
"I'll get by." He muttered.
Suddenly, a cadette entered the med bay, and looked around. His eyes fell on Black, and he approached, moving up into attention: "Master Sergeant, sir. Your transfer orders have arrived." Black reached out and took the piece of paper the cadette held, then waved his hand for the man to leave. As he opened the orders, he looked through them and grunted.
"The Durandal, huh?" He said with surprise. It was one of the most high-tech ships in the Alliance Navy. It was an odd thing for a maimed grunt like him to be transferred to such a ship. Not that he complained, of course. He wanted nothing more than to get back to the frontlines, and once again feel the scorching heat of war burn in his face. Crumbling the paper in his right hand, he stood up, grabbed the bag with his gear and threw it over his shoulder. "I'm off." He said. "Thanks for the fix-up, nurse. And the painkillers." He added with a grunt before leaving. He ignored her protests about him needing rest, and instead, headed for the docking bays.
(OOC: I'll have him arrive at the docks in the next post, when things have calmed down a bit.)
Tip jar: the author of this post has received
0.00 INK
in return for their work.