Post by Slade Stryker on Aug 8, 2014 16:52:49 GMT -5
Name:
Slade Stryker
Rank: Private First Class
Assignment: Rifleman
Section: 1st squad, 2nd fireteam
Age:
Twenty Two
Height:
5' 10"
Weight:
170 lbs.
Years of Service:
Four years Active Army Infantry
Injuries Received in the line of Duty:
Bullet wounds to chest, lacerations of shrapnel in legs and hips.
Character's Kit:
One set of A21 Tactical "Marauder" Armor, One M68C9 Assault Rifle, One under slung Grenade Launcher, One attached EOTech 557 Holo Sight, One M1 Personal Defense Weapon, Four magazines of 7.62×51mm, Two magazines of PBP 9×19mm, and Two M2 Smart Grenade.
Frame:
Slade is of average build. He stands five feet, and approx. 10 inches. He has many scars along the left half of his body from an IED, but his right is rather clean. He has a tattoo of his old infantry company on his right shoulder, and several others dotted about his body. One that stands out is a name on the back of his neck, Liliana, in flowing cursive letters, with what looks like a sound bar beneath it. He has toned muscles, none of the usual bulky weight, and raven black hair. He has green eyes, that have a great dull to them, and yellow teeth.
Personality:
Slade is not a jovial fellow. He laughs and smiles for sure, but it is rare. He is a rather serious individual, and always does whatever needs done to achieve maximum results, in minimal time. He doesn't have a problem telling exactly what's on his mind when it comes to people and plans, but will still do what he is told. He rarely talks behind someones back, but neither does he talk someone up. He is always ready for a fight, but doesn't always go looking for one. During down times, Slade is a rather heavy drinker, and not a good person to be around when he is drunk. He does have a soft side, but only for people of loss and hardship. If you don't fall on that soft side, he holds you to a high standard of being a good person, or at least strong enough to survive in our harsh reality. He sometimes gets the "thousand yard stare", and seems to mumble in what sounds like Russian in times of stress. He treats everyone fair and gives respect where respect is due, but only after you have earned it. He will still always talk the Army up before the Navy, even though he'll feel foolish afterwards, being in the Navy now.
History:
Born on Zukl, to a hard working father, and a not so hard working mother, Slade was the eighth child in the family, and the youngest. His up bringing was filled with hardship, and borderline starvation. His father was a caring man, that worked as much as he could to provide for his family, but his mother was a harsh and unforgiving woman. School was placed last on priorities, but Slade did everything possible to pass school. He was one of the three children to actually graduate a high school level. Where the rest of his family decided that the work of the factory was good for them, Slade wanted off his miserable rock. His three older brothers had taken to gangs, his four older sisters worked in the factories night and day. So Slade did what he thought was his only option, he joined the Army. He originally took to it like a drowning man to air, he did everything he could to excel in the things he did, and it was noticed. Slade went on to lead a fire team, and that is where things began to go wrong. After a engagement with the rebel forces in a small town, Slade's fire team was cut off from the rest of the unit. While the company went one, Slade and his team were left behind. Three days of grueling fighting, and two casualties later, Slade was rescued. He immediately walked up to his commanding officer, and beat him within an inch of his life for being left behind. He was court marshaled the next day, but Slade's contract was up and he was given an ultimatum. Not wanting to return home to his waste of a family, he reenlisted, under a new branch, and beginning from the bottom once again. Now he finds himself here, a veteran of war that's greener than the grass outside.
Sample Roleplay:
They left us, Slade thought. His weapon kept firing regardless of his thoughts, it was just automatic. Those damned bastards left us here, now Slade was getting angry. "Wilson, Dolan, the right flank! Richards, on me. They are trying to hit the front door". Wilson and Dolan took off without a word, they were tired, and worn out. The sound of small arms fire greeted Slade's ears, as the two members began to pour fire into the enemy. Slade and Richards took up positions in what could be described as a living area. A large window looked out into the street, and a table was pushed on it's side to provide cover between the ends of the window. Bullet holes already wormed their way in the wall behind the pair, and many other places besides. Slade kept his rifle up, and scanned for targets. The dust that rolled around outside was thick, even difficult for the helmets the pair were wearing to breach it's cover. Suddenly, like a ghost in the night, a man came screaming towards the window, a rifle in hand. He fired indiscriminately into the window, and Slade brought the red dot scope of his rifle to rest on the mans chest. BANG. The sound roared in Slade's head, and the man pitched over, as a crimson mist spilled out of his back. He groaned for a few seconds, then ceased to move. Slade smiled for a brief second. He felt alive, as all the rage he had just felt at being left behind was punched into that mans chest, leaving a euphoric feeling behind. Then another sound brought Slade back to the present. "Corporal, I don't feel so good..." Slade looked to Richards, and he knew what he would find. He was bleeding, a bullet wound in the shoulder, where it met his neck. "Did you get the bastard," he asked. Slade stared, he knew there was nothing he could do, and damn it the kid was only nineteen. "Ya, I got him. Take a rest kid, I got the rest." Slade watched the light fade from the kid's eyes, "Rest sounds good". That face would haunt Slade until he died.
