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Commander Green

:)

0 · 176 views · located in The Wasteland

a character in “The Age of Gifted”, as played by VitaminHeart

Description

Full Name: Known by anyone around base simply as 'Commander Green' or just 'Green'.

Nicknames/Aliases:

Age: [NO DATA]

Gender: Male

Gift:

-Manipulation of Biological Matter


Loyalty: Erubesco, Knight Commander in Charge of Medical Research, Pathology and Specimen Acquisition.


Description: Green resembles a tall, slender male of indeterminate age. His skin is smooth and pale, and lacks the lines of age, but his hair is a shocking silvery-white. Possibly most notable are his eyes, which appear a near dayglo green, with slitted pupils and black sclera.
He tends to dress neatly, and is rarely seen without a pair of black gloves on.

Personality: Green is, on the surface at any rate, a very personable individual. He is always polite, amicable, and never loses his temper, even in rather tense situations. Indeed it is a degree of cool and detached that some people might find a little disconcerting. He has shown to be extremely intelligent, and appears to have a great knowledge of gift biology, though where he acquired such knowledge is less than clear.




Skills:

-Green's ability allows him to have a great degree of influence over the biology of samples. This allows him to work on a lot of very novel projects.

-In addition to this Green has proven himself to be extremely organized and competent within his work, and as a result is generally allowed to get on with his work with minimal micro-management from the upper orders. Green is more often than not trusted to deliver on his work, and has historically proven this justified, creating a number of massive medical reforms.

Weaknesses:

-Green's ability comes with a considerable caveat, that he cannot use it to attack another living thing. Anything detrimental applied must be balanced out by an equivalent advantage, and even this must be something that the subject has agreed to.


Brief History: Green has been a member of Erubesco for more or less as long as anyone can remember. Extremely competent, but relatively unambitious, he has continued to diligently serve the Erubesco cause in this research. Many of the faction's biggest medical breakthroughs have come through Green's research, and as a result he has always received a good level of funding.

Several years previously Erubesco approached Green about the prospects of the potential combat usage for his powers, and whether he could impart some version of it upon other subjects, thereby ridding it of the caveat unique to the Commander.

This led first to the OUROBOROS project, which started with 200 subjects, and resulted in most either being killed or warped beyond possible usage. A few of the results were placed in general military circulation, but were mostly eventually 'removed from service' due to the rather volatile nature of the results.

Undeterred, Erubesco came up with another plan, and this resulted in Hel, the child of Commander Green, and Knight Kora Norrevinter. Green was charged with making the child into a valuable asset to Erubesco, and like everything else, he set about it with total commitment.




Other:
(Anything else you think everyone needs to know about your character.)

So begins...

Commander Green's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Larke Sterling Character Portrait: Kora Norrevinter Character Portrait: Lulu Botrelle Character Portrait: Commander Green
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The berserker sat listening, momentarily silenced by the whole of the story she'd only seen bits of.
Lulu had been punished for not terminating Skip? Skip had been set for terminating? This was a bit of a revelation...and really only served to make her feel more wretched from not people more helpful than she had. Still it told her a lot. It had not just been her that Balthazar had been out to destroy.

When Commander Botrelle went to answer the door, Kora took the opportunity to slip out of the way and pull on some of her cleaner clothing. Still aching all over, she did at least feel a little less pathetic. She was wrapping some adhesive bandages around the burned palms of her hands when Lulu returned.

"Oh...uh...yeah...probably." she responded to the question asking if she could keep food down. What that actually meant was that she hadn't really ingested anything other than painkillers, soda and alcohol in days, but that she'd not been vomiting blood since the day before, so guessed that it was okay.

The Knight set down at the coffee table as she tied the bandages off at her elbow, at least allowing her to get hold of things without the sharp stinging of untreated burns.

"You're right, he did set me up to fail.. but what can I do? Varren wants me out. Thinks I'll be better off at the front. How very magnanimous of him." she muttered, a little bitterly.

It was far from lost on her that Lulu had been re-instated in her post while she was getting unceremoniously booted out of the citadel. She could hardly feel resentment when she knew some of the unpleasantness thar had happened in the interim, but Kora could hazard a guess as to why it was.

"I don't exactly play the popularity game very well and it's not as if I've got too many friends in high places. Considering the things Piper had to say about me I think it's probably only having a foot of height on most Knights that's stopped be getting smacked in the face in the corridors."

Kora sighed, flexing her handss they rested on her lap.
"What am I gonna do, Lu? I think I'm really screwed this time.


----

Much of the Citadel that morning was cheifly concerned with the coming of the big ball. Commander Green was, of course, invited by default. His rank invited it. However that morning the research head was concerned with rather more pressing matters. Business did not simply end when there was some party on the horizon.

And certain researchers did not stop being captives of groups of fanatical terrorists either.

As the base began to stir, Green was stood within the fortified chamber of the teleportation zone, with its Knights stood guard on the exists and numerous signs bidding for ID and clearance cards.

His rather distinct presence was enough to allow him to enter with a short salute from the guard contingent. Tall, slender, his silvery-white hair shining beneath the halogen bar lights, he was hard not to recognize, even with out the bright, carnivorous eyes like radioactive malachite. The presence of the green-eyed figure also to allowd the man with him to pass without questioning.

That was helpful, as there had already been a fair amount of red tape and hoop-jumping involved to get Larke Sterling cleared to leave the Citadel when he was, by all accounts, supposed to be a prisoner held by Erubescan authority on a fairly long sentence. And year there Commander Green stood, ready to release him out into the Wasteland unaccompanied.

Some might say that that was madness.

Then again, some might also say that what the prisoner was planning to do was madness too, with Green expecting him to face off against a militant cell that had already claimed the lives of many far better prepared troops, let alone steal two people awat from them.

Of course, if Green felt that way about either of these matters, not a single hint of it could be seen in his face as he meticulously outlined the kit he would be sent with....standard field gear as well as an... 'enhanced' tracker in the unlikely event that he were to wander away.

"Now remember." the researcher stated.
"The group in question are not only violent, but very persuasive. If you are not attacked immediately they will most certainly try and manipulate you. I suspect that they will have similarly manipulated Helena, and encouraged her to fear us. Do not let this throw your judgement. Both her life, and the life of Miss Kovalenko depend on your success. I do hope, Mr Sterling, that you feel prepared for the risks of the mission?"

Green could be almost certain that he was not prepared, when so many had been utterly flattened by this persistent little invasive creeper of a group, spreading through the cracks of the Helton rubble. There was a very good chance he was sending this man straight into the fire, though there was no real remorse or concern in the mind of the Commander.

Worst came to worst, it would at least mean they were likely to panic and kill Oren before she gave away too much data.
You used all your options, even if the outcomes weren't always the ideal resolutions.

Green had taken to playing the longer games.

Kovaleko and Sterling were useful to have around, but ultimately disposable.

And he would take Helena eventually. One way or another.

The setting changes from the-citadel to The Wasteland

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dawn Memoli Character Portrait: Larke Sterling Character Portrait: Talin Melardos Character Portrait: Toby Schippers Character Portrait: Commander Green
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Larke Sterling could count on one hand the number of times someone had called him “brave”: Once, when he was seven, and he offered to be the first to sing at the school talent show. The second was when he was thirteen, and squished a spider for his mother. The third occurred when he had promised to attend a rehabilitation group at twenty-four (though he never did).

The last had been a mere one day ago, when he had offered to take on the wounds of his friend to save the boy’s life.

As he shifted the pack full of medical supplies strapped snugly between his wings and bucked their straps onto his chest, however, the word “stupid” seemed more apt.

He shuffled from foot to foot against the floor of the South Teleport Zone, his hazel-green eyes unwilling to look directly into those of the Commander as he spoke. A golden-colored feather drifted lazily to the floor as Larke checked the support straps around his wings once more; though he was positive they were in place.

Any action to keep his mind from wandering.

The better part of Larke’s evening had been spent scouring over the details of the thick briefing document: It contained extensive reports on Helena’s condition, as well as in-depth profiles for a good number of the terrorists. He was unsure whether to be more concerned over the biographies that were present, or the small asterisk that said “and two to six possible others.”

The worse part of his night was spent trying to avoid an existential crisis in the face of possible suicide.

And also sweating.

Maybe a bit from his eyes.

“I’m prepared, sir,” Larke replied, and the confident baritone timbre gave away none of his internal dread. Perhaps someone would have believed he weren’t nervous, were it not for the incessant fiddling with every piece of equipment on his person.

Neither the firearm holstered at his waist nor the compound bow fastened across his shoulders helped to put his mind at ease.

“I- I’ll report in as soon as I’ve acquired the targets. Sir.”

He stepped back into the main bay, and did not look at the teleporter assigned to transport him to the designated drop point outside of Helton.

Looks of pity were not was his confidence needed at the moment.

He closed his eyes, offered the gesture of the Erubescan salute, and then—

“SHIT!”

A thousand feet or more above the ground, with the wind whistling against the thick leather of his jacket, screaming in his ears while biting his face with cold... Larke was hurtling toward the ground.

“ShitshitshitshitshitshitSHITshitSONOFA-“

He twisted. His body writhed in mid-air to try and make sense of the strange weight on his back and the disorientation of being poofed into a free-fall with no warning.

“SHIT!”

With a cracking whoosh, he unfurled his wings like tawny-feathered parachute, launching his body straight upwards on a gust. He grimaced at the unfamiliar yank against his pectoral muscles, and again at the unearthly feeling of the wind pressing up against his belly and legs as his wings generated lift.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, finally able to hear his own voice. The sickening spinning in his vision settled after a moment or two, and he beat his wings to keep up with the air current below him. He looked left, and then right, still somehow taken by the presence of the feathered appendages that extended almost four meters on either side of him.

And then he glanced around.

The ground that extended for miles in all directions was yellow-green with scrub brush, occasional crossed by a decaying strip of asphalt or a crumbling ruin. The air was as clear as could be expected in the Ash, and smelled vaguely of running water, and something acrid.

There was a fierce breeze that rolled over his body and tousled his sandy hair back from his eyes.

But he did not have the luxury of dwelling on the first free air he had felt in years; the tracker strapped to his ankle was more than enough reminder of that.

He reached up onto his forehead and pulled down the scoped goggles that were strapped there to cover his eyes, and took a more scrutinizing look around at his surroundings. According to the compass in the corner of his vision, he was heading Southeast at approximately thirty miles an hour.

On the horizon, he could make out (far more clearly than he was comfortable with,) the decimated city of Helton.

Several quick snaps of his wings lifted him higher into the atmosphere, hopefully enough that his shape as a person would be less easily deciphered as he made his approach.