Clyde Shepard (Finished)
Dec 9, 2013 20:50:54 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Dec 9, 2013 20:50:54 GMT -7
Clyde Harker Shepard
"I am certainly not one of those who need to be prodded. In fact, if anything, I am the prod."
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Full Name -Clyde Harker Shepard
Nicknames/Alias - Lieutenant, Sir, Shepard, Shep.
Age - 34
Date of Birth - November 5th
Place of Birth - Persephone
Gender - Male
Sexual Orientation - Heterosexual
Affiliation - Alliance
Occupation - Alliance Officer (STO Awarded the rank of Lieutenant Senior Grade)
Play-By -Casper Van Dien
Build - Muscular
Height & Weight - 5'9 & 170lbs
Hair - Brown
Eyes - Green
Unique Features -
- He has a tattoo on his right bicep.
- He has several gunshot wounds along his stomach that he received in New Kasmir.
- There is a stab wound on his left thigh that he received clearing a pirate ship.
Dressing Style - While out and about on the ship while on duty he is always in his Dress Grays.
When prepped for battle he is always in full combat gear which he maintains and keeps in excellent condition.
When he is off duty he dresses far more casual. Sticking with simple T shirts and comfortable pants. Though he does maintain a strict combat boot policy. It wouldn't unheard of for some former Brown Coat on a backwater rim planet to get it in his head to start a fight with him over the "big bad Alliance." And when that happens he wants to be able to kick ass and leave a noticeable footprint.
Other - He maintains fairly standard equipment while out on the field. A Communication device and his body armor. A standard issue assault rifle and pistol as well as two Grenades kept on his belt. For boarding ships he sometimes chooses to bring a shotgun for use in the close quarters of the ships halls, and of course to top it all off a trusty combat knife.
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Likes -
- The Alliance.
- Doing a good and thorough job.
- Classic music from Earth-That-Was.
- Shitty beer.
- Order.
- Looking into the vastness of the black.
Dislikes -
- Pirates.
- Insubordination.
- Personal failure.
- Deviled eggs.
- Pain medication.
- The state of Persephone.
- Politicians that refuse to see what is plainly shown to them and thus disallow action.
Quirks/Habits -
- Cleans and polishes his boots when he needs to mull things over.
- Bites his nails.
Fears -
- That the reason for his requested transfer from The Harbinger becomes public knowledge.
- That the men and women running the Alliance may not be the bastions of justice and fairness that he thinks they are.
Secrets -
- Killed a child while serving on The Harbinger. (On his record)
- That the reason he joined The Alliance Navy was to someday clean up Persephone and not because of a grand sense of justice in the verse.
- Growing up poor he had done some running for various small gangs on Persephone. Delivering messages and the likes for pocket change. It is a source of great shame and a closely held secret.
Strengths -
- Able to keep his cool under fire.
- Strong willed.
- Quick thinker.
- Loyal.
Weaknesses -
- Stubbornly set in his ways and ideals.
- Gets emotional around kids.
- Pushes doubts about the Alliance to the back of his mind and refuses to believe anything that conflicts with his world view.
- Night terrors from New Kasmir. (Much better now but still happens on occasion.)
Talents/Special Abilities -
- Highly skilled Marksman.
- Exceptionally good at handling pain and has torture resistance training.
- Skilled in CQC.
Aspirations -
- To clean up Persephone.
- To have his own ship to command.
- To die with honor and be remembered with dignity for what he did, not where he came from.
Overall Personality - Clyde is an Alliance loyalist through and through. The way he sees it the independents and local governments ain't doing a gorram thing to clean up their own messes. The Alliance is. He reflects this in unwavering loyalty to the Alliance. Loyalty and duty are both very important things to him, and he strives for excellence in all things that he does. It is better to get the job done right than it is to get it done fast. However his own preference was to get it done right and fast. In those under his command he expects excellence and respect. Those that are unable to show respect to those that have earned it or who are not able to live up to snuff find themselves on his bad side.
The bad side is gruff and aggressive. Willing to write up and reprimand small infractions to make a point if need be. He is there to remind soldiers that by putting on the uniform they signed a contract, and that doesn't change just because they may have changed their minds. Everyone is free to think what they want, but a soldier is not free to disobey orders or to hinder the cause. He has a certain level of respect for his enemies for he believes that one can not defeat an enemy without understanding them. To understand them was to on some level like and admire them, to a point. But when the time comes for the hammer to fall it will come without remorse or regret. And he firmly believes that it will fall on all who oppose the Alliance.
He does not like to talk about his time before joining up with the Navy, seeing it as a string of personal failures on his part, and it reflects a time in his life when he did not have direction. The Alliance gave him direction and he clings to it tightly, trying to steer it in the direction of erasing what he once was and forging a better world for it.
Father - Kenneth Shepard/58 alive/Owner of a junkyard. (Remarried)/Neutral
Stepmother - Cynthia Shepard/40 alive/ Primary School teacher/ Independent
Mother - Gabriella Shepard/59 alive/Nurse of a small clinic. (Divorced)/ Neutral
Siblings - Luke Shepard/20 deceased/ killed by a stray bullet when caught in the middle of a gang turf war./Neutral
Other Significant People -Commander James Rickart is his commanding officer and it is Clyde's duty to follow his orders and serve him to the best of his ability.
Pets - N/A
Your History -
He was born a nobody. His Father and Mother were no one special. A junkyard owner and a nurse in a small clinic. They got by, but only just. The pay wasn't much for either of them once you took into account having to deal with the various gangs always vying for power and control of this neighborhood or that street. His Dad always just said to pay them what they wanted. It was just money, not as valuable as their lives or anyone's life. The words rang true, but distant to young Clyde who was young and selfish. He wanted things, he wanted to be able to buy toys and to have better stuff then they had now. Some of the other kids at school had nicer things then they did and he never really understood how it was fair. His older brother Luke seemed to have less of an issue with that though.
Luke focused on his studies or working with Dad in the yard. He wanted to be a mechanic. That life was never for Clyde though. He always craved excitement. He wanted a faster paced life. And he found it the way a lot of young people who grew up in a shitty neighborhood found it. He got involved with a bad crowd. Nothing too dangerous really. He would deliver messages for a few of the gangs. The authorities didn't really watch the kids that much, so it worked out. Easy work and he got some spending cash to buy whatever he wanted. Toys, candies, and whatever else caught his fancy.
He did it for a few months before his parents caught wind of what he was doing and boy did his Dad whoop his ass. Taking the money and giving it to a shelter. He ranted for hours about how stupid Clyde was being, how he was going to get himself killed, how he wasn't going to allow tainted money into his household. At the end of it was a threat that if he caught him sticking his nose in to that kind of business again then he was going to toss him into a trash compacter and the police would never find the body. Obviously his Dad didn't mean it literally and was just scared for his boy, but the threat made it's way home and Clyde started to straighten up. As he got older his goals and mindset began to mature and change, and he started to see what his Dad saw. Friends of his that kept running with the gangs got in deeper and deeper. Some died, some got arrested, and others just got strung out on whatever drug was ripping it's way through the city that year.
It sickened him.
The local authorities didn't do anything to really curb the crime. As long as those in the higher levels of society were shiny then all was well in Persephone. The only people that seemed to do anything about anything was the ruttin' Alliance. They cracked down on smugglers and pirates and all manner of unsavory people. He didn't see why many of the adults had issues with The Alliance. It seemed like they were the only ones trying to make the world a better place. It wasn't until he was seventeen and his Brother got caught in the middle of a turf war on his way back home from the Junk yard that Clyde decided that what he was going to do with his life was serve the Alliance. He was robbed of his brother and the authorities barely even bothered to take a report! It was an injustice. He was a ruttin' human being and they just stood around going on about how it would be impossible to find the people responsible for it in such a high crime area. That it could be any number of gangs responsible. It was utter shit.
They all needed to pay. This planet was like a rotting stump. Peel away the bark and the maggots and insects burrowing in and killing it. Slowly but surely the planet was dying as the insects burrowed deeper into her. Taking and taking and taking. He couldn't turn eighteen fast enough to enlist and sign his life away. Basic training kicked his ruttin' piqu. He was not prepared for the grueling process that they put him through. Never having left the planet before that was a whole new experience. He was thankful that they were told not to eat a day before take off or he would have thrown up every scrap of food from those past twenty-four hours.
Where he found he excelled at in basic training was squad command. Utilizing small groups to take objective points. Capture point A and hold it until evac arrives. Escort target to a safe point, and other war games like that. He did well enough that he was given squad leader. It wasn't a lot of responsibility. He had a few men under him, but his direct superiors were also on the field. Always watching, just a word away from replacing him.
His first two years of service went fairly smoothly. Mostly chasing down pirates, smugglers. He didn't see too much heavy action. A few engagements but nothing that was really worth sinking his teeth into. Oh sure he thought he was billy badass with his promotion and pay upgraded to E4. He didn't know what was to come. The announcement of war was etched in his mind to this day. He remembered that he was in the gally eating the same old crap they served up every week when Jensen runs in with papers screaming that we are going to war. That planets in the outer rim were trying to break away from the Alliance. There was a lot of hooting and hollering about how they were going to stomp out a rebellion, and be back in time for harvest season. Those were simpler days for them all.
His first stop was the planet Boros. Where Alliance shipyards were in place and were deemed vital areas to protect to ensure that construction went smoothly and the Alliance was able to continue to crank out their machines of war in a timely manner. Such a juicy target did not go ignored and his unit had plenty of practice repelling targets away from the ship yards. A task much harder when the enemy had ships and it was real bullets flying at your head. The war games were over, and not the people he hit were not out but were actually dead. Every bullet fired was a potential life taken and snuffed out, and it wasn't just pirates and criminals he was fighting now. These men were fighting for a cause. A misguided cause, but a cause all the same. They wanted freedom to carve out their own destinies, and he couldn't fault them for that desire. But the selfish desires of man lead to the near destruction of their race before. He could not condone breaking up The Alliance. He did not want to live in a verse where every land Barron who could afford hired guns would try and grab power or line their pockets with more wealth. He has seen that song and dance with the rise and fall of countless gangs in Persephone. The Alliance was humanities best bet.
He thought it would be harder to take the life of someone who was fighting for what they saw as a just cause. A cause that was more than coin. But there was no time to think, there was only time to do. And when bullets are whizzing by your head and your friends are dropping around you there is no time to think about the inherent morality of war. Or the duality of the war itself.
He spent two years on that rock. Fighting wave after wave of Browncoats. Sometimes they would lose battles, but they would push back to reclaim what they had lost. Every inch was given or taken with blood. It's a wonder that the rocks were not permanently stained red. So much had changed in such a short time. He felt colder than before. Certainly rougher around the edges, and tired. He was tired of shitty guard stations in the rain and at night. He was tired of trading pop shots with the enemy. Even the luster of a promotion was little cause to celebrate other than a buddy tossing in part of his fruit ration as a celebration gift. Where getting promoted to E4 felt like such a huge accomplishment being given E5 felt hollow.
The winter campaign on New Kasmir was hell on Earth for him. The winter felt bitter cold. No clothing seemed to offer protection, it felt like death itself was breezing by them, choosing who would live and who would die. And so many people would die on that battlefield. The scavengers gorging on their flesh. It wasn't supposed to be hard. They were suppose to go in and do a mop up job. But someone severely underestimated the forces that the Browncoats had stationed there or something. Because it sure as hell wasn't a cake walk. They were stuck there for God knows how long. Supplies were running low. Men were getting hungry, they were getting antsy. And he reckoned it had to be the same on the other side of the trenches.
He reckoned that some of the Browncoats started to get desperate. His unit was stationed in the rear in a flanking position. Trying to make sure that they stayed boxed in and pinned down. No where to run, nowhere to hide. And no way to get new supplies. They probably had the same thing figured out. He didn't know if it was sheer desperation or not but Browncoat forces came at them late one night when the fires were dimming and peoples wits were at their dullest. Lulled into complacency by the lack of activity from the other side. Two men were dead before they could even react. The defense they mounted was haphazard at best. Waking men up to fight, trying to find cover and fire back at the oncoming force. They were like wild animals. Animals that had been backed into a corner and no longer had anything to lose. There was a ferocity in their eyes that he ain't never seen before and it was mighty unsettling. The look of men who were at their limits. Who would lay down their lives because they literally had nothing else to lose. It was a hard fought battle for their lonely little unit.
He tried to rally the men as bullets whizzed over head. Telling them to make the shots count as he called in for reinforcements. They were almost out of bullets and the enemy surely would be in the same state. It was a battle of attrition that was flaring up like gas on a fire. Several bullets ripped into his stomach and more men kept coming. His own guys dropping. His guns were out of ammo. The bullet wound was hot more than anything else it just felt hot. It hurt, but the adrenalin kept that at bay for the moment. Somehow he managed to make it to some kind of cover. His arms pressed against his wounds as blood continued to seep out. The world was starting to black as the sounds of gunfire faded away into the background.
He didn't know how long it took for reinforcements to get there. And by the time they did the only man left standing in his unit was him. And he couldn't even stand, he was barely hanging on to his life, pressed up against a trench wall with an empty rifle and a combat knife held limply in his hand. He was taken away to receive medical treatment. Hailed as a hero. He held the line. Promoted up to E6 and given a shiny badge to tell everyone what a gorram hero he was. Funny how he didn't feel like a hero. Out like a light while his friends died around him. Big hero right there.
Death whispered through that valley all winter. Starvation. Bullets. The ruttin' cold. Both sides suffered and for the life of him he didn't know why he was still alive. Why death had spared him. If he was stronger than the others or if he was left for a purpose. Why him? Why not Jensen? Why not Blossom? Why not Bennett? He didn't understand why he lived but none of them did. What made him so gorram special. Nothing, that's what. He was lucky. And that's all there was to it. He was just lucky that the kill shot hadn't gotten to him. He was lucky that the trench wall offered some protection from oncoming fire. He was lucky that they were as low on ammo as his unit had been and that they broke first. Thinking about it made him sick. He spent a few months in recovery and therapy before he was sent back out to the meat grinder.
The following years The Alliance started to pick up momentum and he found himself bouncing from planet to planet. Always the aggressor. Always trying to stamp out rebellion on it's own world before it could spread. Very little of real note until The Siege of Du-Khang. He was assigned to an armored division to help escort it into the city and make sure it didn't get picked off. The Northwest quadrant had fallen and that was their destination. Get the armor into the city and with a show of force end this siege and get a proper surrender. And for once things seemed to go as planned. Rather than digging their heels in the Independents opted instead to flee. The days and field of battle was theirs. As per usual there was celebrating but he didn't feel up for eating and drinking and being merry. He was just tired. It felt like this war would never end. Like it was just stretching on for eternity.
The battle of Serenity Valley was one he had missed, and he was thankful for that. From all accounts it was just a slaughter. Just a complete and devastating slaughter of Independents. Decisive as the victory may have been there was little honor in that. But there was a lot of things about this war that lacked honor. And it was his job to fix that. Granted a field commission as an officer he was selected for a special task force. Word had gotten out that some divisions had resorted to torture and other war crimes. He liked to think it was a few bad apples. And that the fact The Alliance was sending him out with a team to track down these criminals meant that The Alliance did not condone such actions. They had the moral high ground. And he would execute their judgement. As was his sworn duty. The last year of the war was spent hunting down The Alliance's own men. Men that had gone AWOL or committed atrocities in the name of war. Profiteering, rape, murder, treason. He didn't know how many people wound up with a noose around their necks because of him and his squad. But he couldn't say he was sorry, even as he watched some members of what was the 22nd Division hanging by their necks. They deserved what they got.
The End of the War ushered in more changes for Clyde. To maintain his officer rank he was required to go back to school where he switched from the Corps to the Navy. It felt so foreign to be there again. To see fresh faced recruits sitting in class alongside him. Many of them complaining that the war was already over. And about how many Independents they would have killed. All of them thinking they were so tough, they were kids that didn't understand war.
Those four years were uncharacteristically dull. He had thought it would be nice to be taken off of active duty. To spend his days in a classroom where no one was shooting at him. But it was just so boring. He was used to the action. To firefights and danger. He didn't like it, but it was what he knew now, and being safely tucked away on a core planet just felt so wrong. Like he didn't belong there, not anymore. He needed to remind himself why he was there. It was about home. And now he was making real progress to do what he set out to do. What he needed to do. Every time he heard word about home it sounded grim. Like the gangs were getting more and more power. He wondered if they ruled the planet instead of the Lords now. The name he kept hearing was Minerva. Minerva was the toxin that was poisoning his home now.
The good news was that he was an officer. Or would be. And with that came a certain level of power and responsibility. Sure he wasn't where he needed to be yet, but someday he would be able to decide where he went. Someday he would be able to pick the missions. And then he could clean up home. Then he could dedicate himself and all the resources he could acquire into making sure that no one would suffer the same loss that he did. He understood that there would always be crime, but to stop organized crime. To help shape it into a world where power did not lay with evil men. Where the authority wasn't bought and paid for. The Alliance was the key to civilization, and he dreamed every night of using that key to unlock what humanity remained on Persephone.
Upon graduation in 2516 he was placed on one of their older Longbow-class Patrol Cruisers. The Sovereign. She was old but built sturdy and reliable. The finest Alliance steel, which would be tested when a group of pirates raiding core planets fell under fire by The Alliance. What normally would have been a simple squashing of flies buzzing too close to home turned into a prolonged battle lasting two weeks as Alliance ships fought a horde of pirate ships that seemed hellbent on costing the Alliance as much as they could. He chalked it up to rebels who couldn't accept that the war had already been decided. Now sinking to piracy but giving it all for a chance to stick it to The Alliance just one more time.
Whether it was actually the case he would likely never know. Eventually the Alliance won and the enemy ships were either sent flying back with their tails between their legs or they were spaced. There were no pirates left to ask. And who was to say that they could be believed if there were. Pirates are the scoundrels and scum of the Verse, and the fact that it took the Alliance as long as it did to win that battle was a disgrace and embarrassment to the fleet. To think they could stop the Independents but then get so much trouble from a bunch of lousy pirates. He didn't even want to think about the disgrace that the captains of the ships which had been destroyed would face. He supposed they would be lucky to pilot a ship again. And such thoughts were quickly becoming within his pay grade to have.
He spent another year with Sovereign as one of the officers running around under the lead tactical officer before being transferred over to The Harbinger. Given a promotion and placed right under this STO as his second in command he was also given men to run around and do the grunt work. The war was long over but he was hitting his stride. That is until the first smuggler they ran into. It was simple enough to run them down in theory. A medium sized fish that took a bite out of something that they wouldn't be able to true. And the boarding party had been all but flawless. The crew taken down without issue. The Captain taken alive and the ship was seemingly clear. They were looking for an old cache of weapons that had been stolen. A real old cache. No real danger to an Alliance vessel but more than enough to take out a civilian ship or cause some serious damage to a settlement. He was put on with the boarding party to see to the proper handling of the weapons. If they were still on board the ship. But outdated as they were the brass didn't want them blowing up in the hold and causing a reaction while the ships were connected. As it turned out they had missed a person in their sweep. A young boy who had been hiding in the cabinet when they boarded. A slave maybe, or a kid of one of the pirates. The child had ended up stabbing Clyde in the leg when it jumped out at him and without thinking Clyde put one between his eyes.
The men assigned to guard him saw the whole thing. The kid barely had time to hit the ground before one of his soldiers was pulling him back calling for a medic. Scrambling to resweep the area for more people that he missed. Clyde just stood in shock letting the soldiers move him around and sit him into a chair. He had killed a lot of men in his life, but that wasn't a man. Not yet, it was an event that would likely play through his mind for the rest of his life and the part that really tore him up about it was that he would do it again. He could talk about his reasons for what happened, how anyone probably would have done the same. But it wasn't anyone. It was him, and he was the one that took that child's life. That was on him, and always would be. Didn't matter how you spun it. He had to wonder what kind of person that made him.
The crew never did anything to make him feel unwelcome. Or like an outsider, especially after the incident. On the contrary, many of them seemed to be genuinely worried about him and how he holed himself up in his quarters. He heard all kinds of variations about how it wasn't his fault, and that he did what he had to do. But nothing helped. He just did his job and then retreated back to his quarters. Dealing with everyone else just made him think about that first day again.
Over time it got better, time heals all wounds. Even the ones you don't want it to. He didn't exactly forgive himself, but he stopped beating himself up over it all the time. He socialized with his men, and he tried to keep them in good spirits. They were good, all of them were damn good at what they did. But he couldn't stay there forever. The ship was cursed for him now, forever tainted. Time and again he put in for transfer. And it wasn't until 2520 that his request for transfer had been approved. His orders sending him to the Penumbra Dawn.
What should we call you? -Ryan or Rylander. I have a ton of other names I go by too.
Roleplaying Experience - 10 years roleplaying experience between multiple forums and table top gaming.
Where did you find us? - An ad on Proboards.com
Prove Yourself - Shiny
Post Script - I plan to have him fill in the role of Ship Tactical Officer (STO) on the Penumbra Dawn with a focus on going after and cracking down on pirates and smugglers in the region of Persephone for his own personal reasons and because it is a hub planet and thus is ripe with crime and corruption that needs to be stomped out.
Other characters - I do not!
How we should contact you - PM and Skype (Amtrum)
Roleplay Example -
The gun felt heavy in his hands despite the years he had spent carrying it, or a gun just like it. The shotgun was a few years old now, but well taken care of. His ideal weapon for the close cramped quarters that they were in. The ship they had found was wanted for raiding settlers around the system. Some minor salvaging violations, and for raiding an old Alliance weapons cache. That was the big ticket item on the warrant, and this here collar was all Clyde's. They had picked it up on his watch and he was put on the assault team to make sure no one blew up the ruttin ship by fiddlin' with old equipment they didn't fully understand. The Captain and higher brass were staying on The Harbringer, but this was his time to shine.
He stood behind the marines as they swept in and cleared the rooms of the ship in front of him. His own weapon at the ready, ships like these had all kinds of ways to sneak up on a man and he had no intention of getting caught with his pants down. They were clearing the last room. The Captain had already been taken in the cockpit and he was fairly sure most of the resistance they would encounter had been dealt with during the boarding. But he didn't need any surprises.
"We're clear."
He reported back over his communication device as he relaxed. Waves coming in from various teams saying the ship was clear on their end too. It appeared that all the hostiles were taken care of, and yet his heart was still beating like he was still a green recruit fresh from boot. Not the battle hardened veteran that he was. He chalked it up to the thrill of being back in combat gear.
"Valkarian, go help the others tear up that cargo hold. Ships like these have a ton of hiding spaces. I want to find where they are keeping whatever weapons they have on this ship. Anything we can use as leverage to put this guy away would be mighty shiny right about now."
"Sir, with all due respect. The cargo is supposed to be outdated missiles from before the war. They probably don't even work right. Certainly couldn't take down a modern cruiser."
"You're right. It probably couldn't. But it sure as hell can take down a civilian ship and kill them just as dead. Remember, it doesn't matter what planet we are on from the heart of the core to the most ass backwards planet on the rim. These are our people, Alliance civilians and we are here to protect them. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes Sir!"
Valkarian saluted and went off leaving Clyde with two other Marine's in what he suspected to be The Captain's quarters. He let out a breath he didn't even know that he had been holding in. Slowly he walked around the room, his eyes fixated on the desk. He wanted to see just who was buying these weapons, and if he even had the launch codes. For all he knew it could just be a big red herring. He let out a small scoff, that would have been his luck.
They must have received quite a scare when they got pinched by them. And the Harbringer was no pushover. As he made his rounds slowly he noted that one of the armoires was open, just a crack. Slowly drawing his pistol he approached to investigate. A rustling sound came from inside and he clicked his safety off. The door burst open as a kid, no older than fourteen launched himself at Clyde, A steak knife burying itself deep into his thigh. He cried out in pain as he brought his gun up and fired. Point blank into the kid's skull, before he could even register what had happened a child lay there dead.
His leg buckled as he stumbled back from the child unable to look away. His hand holding onto the desk for support. Partially because his leg wanted to buckle, and partially out of shock out of what he had just done.
"We need a medic here now!"
One of the Marine's called in over the comm channel as the other one pulled him back into the chair to get him off the leg. A feeling of dread washed over him as he let them do what they wanted. He just killed a kid. Why was there even a kid on this ship? Why would it attack him!? What the ruttin' Hell was wrong with these people to get a child involved in this!? Hatred coursed through his veins, gorram pirates getting a ruttin' kid involved. He was an idiot for dropping his guard. And now that kid's blood is on his hands.
"La shi!"
He slammed a fist onto the desk as soldiers started filing into the room. Guns drawn and looking for trouble before their eyes fell on the kid. The blood trail from Clyde stumbling back and the knife still in his leg.
"Sir, just relax." The medic said as they extracted the blade and began to clean the wound. A string of obscenities running through his mind as he cursed every ancestor that these pirates had, and cursed himself for being a ruttin careless fool for good measure.
"Sir, we have located the cache, awaiting orders."
Valkarian replied over Comms. Closing his eyes he had to get himself back in the game, he needed to stay on point.
"Hold for me, I'll be there to assist with transport momentarily."
SYR INTEGRA of CAUTION 2.0 created this and she will happily hunt you down, rip out your spinal cord, and beat you to death with it if you steal her hard work and claim it as your own. especially since she will gladly share it with any and all who wish to use it, provided they leave her nice, little credit attached.
