War Pigs: Origins, III

Joeyray's Bar
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"Are they or are they not terminated?" Makins demanded. The admiral took a deep breath from over the comm.

"Negative. The target evaded us." Vince dipped his head in defeat. How did they evade the whole blockade?

"How many !@#$%^- ships do you have in your fleet, and you couldn't take down one target?"

"They were marked as Confederates, when I gave the order, half of the Captain's hesitated. Top that with their expert evasion skills and yes, we couldn't take down one target." Vince's face fell into his hands and his elbows rested on his desk.

"Did you at least track them?"

"No. Makins, I'm done helping you. This isn't my business and I don't care. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an alien invasion to see to."

"Admiral, wait! Admiral-" Vince grunted and shut off the comms after they went silent. He had made a mistake and there was no chance in hell the men would forgive him. They already hated him for making promises that he knew were too good to be true. Four months in prison. It took me Four months arguing with those corrupt bastards to get those men out.

It didn't matter though. They would never see Makins' struggles and they didn't care. From their end, Vince promised one month and it turned into four. Deep down, Vince didn't blame them. If only they could see the predicament he was in. Still, it was irrelevant. If the pigs came back, he could pamper them with new equipment and good lodgings. If not, he would have to hunt them down and terminate them at all costs. If the families hear about this, they'll have my head...

War Pigs, Discussion – http://us.battle.net/sc2/en/forum/topic/9973137692?page=1#1

War Pigs: Origins, I – http://us.battle.net/sc2/en/forum/topic/10039054090?page=1#1
War Pigs: Origins, II – http://us.battle.net/sc2/en/forum/topic/10311551537?page=1#0

War Pigs: Freelancers, I – http://us.battle.net/sc2/en/forum/topic/17999424998
<Warhawk>
Name: Alison Chau
Age: mid 20s
Primary Weapon of Choice: Gauss rifle with incendiary ammo / Flamethrower
Secondary Weapon of Choice: 20mm heavy pistol / 12 in combat blade
Defining Characteristics: buzz-cut, flint-like gray eyes, angular face, 5' 8"
Backstory/Dossier: Alison grew up in one of the nastiest slums on Tarsonis and survived innumerable gang fights. Recently volunteered to join the confederate military, only to commit over a dozen accounts of arson. In court, she requested to serve her sentence by joining the War Pigs.
Notes: Surprisingly self-controlled and emotionless for a hardcore pyromaniac. Highly skilled with explosives and turning anything into burned-out shell.


<Nukester>
Name: Political Officer Jones Commervac
Status: Booted


<SneakMind>
Name: Rob Alwin
Age: 24
Primary Weapon of Choice: C-14 Gauss Rifle
Secondary Weapon of Choice: Trusty Magnum, similar to Jim Raynor's, that he pulls out in a pinch.
Remote controlled mine with a propeller allowing it to fly, designed by Rob.

Defining Characteristics: Rob stands at a medium height and build, with brown eyes and crew cut black hair. He wears a somewhat lighter version of Marine armor, preferring a little extra mobility but still able to take quite a few hits. In other words, his armor looks pretty much like that of a traditional War Pig.

While originally an easy-going happy person, Rob's years in prison have made him rough and hostile, though not to his comrades.

Backstory: (Full Backstory on Post #9 in Discussion Thread)


<Dacder>
Name: Timothy “Timmy” Faerton
Age: 30
Primary Weapon of Choice: Sniper Rifle
Secondary Weapon of Choice: SMG
Defining Characteristics: 5‘9, Medium Build, dark brown eyes, short black hair, long scraggy beard.
Backstory: Was found distributing anti-Confederate propaganda, sentenced to death for treason, but he retracted all he wrote, and the Confederacy decided to “reward” him by sending him here instead.


<LeKroger>
Name: Reggie Harvard.
Status: Deceased


<TheLostMorph>
Name: Bianca "Fallen(sometimes 'Falling') Angel" Tyr
Age: 30
Primary Weapon of Choice: Bosun FN-92 Sniper Rifle
Secondary Weapon of Choice: Combat knife, Fists, Slugthrower
Defining Characteristics: 5'8" tall, shoulder length auburn hair that is graying slightly, a scar along her left cheek as well as one trailing her spine an inch deeper and she would have died both are from flak used during the Guild wars. She also uses the old CMC-230 Powered Combat Armor that hasn't really seen use since the Guild Wars
Backstory: She was once in the same unit as the Heavens Devils before they became the Heavens Devils. She was a part of their first mission where they dropped on the Kel-Morian internment camp. After ward she was stuck in the hospital for a while and after that got in a fight with a higher ranked officer and sent to jail. Now she has been offered to join the War Pigs and she readily accepted so long as she could have her old CMC-230 armor.


<Zarkun>
Name: Hank Herald
Age: 43
Primary Weapon of Choice: BOSUN FN92 Sniper Rifle
Secondary Weapon of Choice: Twin modified Slugthrower pistols (Fires heavier rounds for better armor penetration)/ Kukri Knife

Defining Characteristics: Stands 6' even. Dirty blonde hair, electric green eyes with tanned skin. Lithe, muscular build. Scar across his right eye from a knife fight with a Kel-Morian during the Guild Wars. Wears the CMC-300 combat suit nearly all the time, except when sleeping and doing normal hygiene.

Backstory: Hank was a marine in the 33rd Ground Assault Division-Dominion Section during the Guild Wars, fighting in key battles like the Battle of Noranda Glacier on Onuru Sigma, the battle of South Kreen Mines, and many others. It was after one battle, in which many Kel-Morian soldiers were captured. When the Lieutenant was asked what was to be done with them, he ordered they be executed. This didn't sit well with Hank, so he approached the Lieutenant to confront him about it. After a few words, a fist fight broke out, in which Hank broke the Lieutenant's jaw and right hand. Now understand the lieutenant wasn't a small man, but he wasn't a front lines officer, like many others. He preferred his office or forward observation platform to the front lines. His fellow marines applauded him, but they were cut short by the MPs arriving and leading Hank away in handcuffs. War was war, didn't matter why you struck a superior officer, just that you did. He was sentenced to life in prison. A few years after his imprisonment, the War Pigs offered him a chance at freedom, and he took it without a second thought.


<KnarledOne>
Name: Cedric des Kincarron.
Status: Deceased


<ShadowFury>
Name:Darrell Kellis
Age: 39
Primary Weapon of Choice:Submachine Gun, allowing for quick movement
Secondary Weapon of Choice: Needle Gun
Defining Characteristics: Deep green irises with a ring of brown on the edges. A scar extending across the palm of his hand from a knife fight, an olive skin tone due to Arab ancestry. Not too bulky, but still a well-exercised bit of muscle.

Backstory: Darrell came from a poor family living in the slums of Tarsonis. He had made his money from underground fights with knives and fists, something his family greatly disapproved of, his father even going so far as to refuse to take anything that Darrell offered him. Even when Darrell's old man was dying, he would accept money for medicine. After the death Darrell became harsher, and even turned to alcohol. If I had just decided to make an honest living he would think. Eventually, the man snapped. He walked out in public, a slaughtered a group of people in a store, including the clerk. Landing him in prison, with a life sentence hanging over him, only thing saving him from capital punishment being his pleading of guilt.

Other: He brings nimbleness, something that allowed him to survive through the countless underground fights. Although never learning how to wield a gun, he will at first be very incapable, but he is a quick learner, allowing him to eventually become useful with his weapons.


<LeKroger>
Name: James Greer
Age: 26
Primary Weapon of Choice: Gauss Cannon (Yes it is real. http://starcraft.wikia.com/wiki/Gauss_cannon
Secondary Weapon of Choice: Torrent SR-8 Shotgun
Defining Characteristics: Stands at 5'7". Shaved head and gray eyes. Has tattoos all over his body ranging from rather explicit to a simple skull that is tattooed on his face. Muscular build and tends to talk to himself.
Backstory: Growing up in the slums of a large city planet he grew up in a very harsh area. While he was still in his early teens he started into the life of crime with petty burglaries to make enough funds to stay alive and provide for his drug habits. During one such job he was confronted and the first reaction he had was to strike the person on the head with a heavy rod knocking the man unconscious. Shortly after he had struck the man the authorities arrived and from there he was in and out of prisons for several years.
After his third full year in prison James decided to try to straiten his life up. He had a job that didn't involve illegal activities and was in a stable relationship. One day he came home from work early to surprise his girlfriend and found that she had been cheating on him with his best friend. With a brief confrontation he lost his temper and punched a wall clean through breaking three finger and his wrist.
After he had broken up with her he started back into his old habits of using hab, turk, and when he could get them stim packs. One night he over dosed on both at once and had a very bad reaction which caused him to hallucinate that people where aliens and monster that where trying to kill him. Naturally his fight or flight reaction started and he ended up killing at least fifteen people and injuring twenty more. He was sentenced to life imprisonment for man slaughter and was set for resocialization. Strangely he was resistant to the resocialization and left in a prison cell until he was given a chance to join the War Pigs.


Name: Carah Krista
Age: 22
Primary Weapon of Choice: Needle Gun
Secondary Weapon of Choice: ?
Defining Characteristics: Calm and collected most of the time she freaks a bit when she is put into combat but is great at her job. 5'7" tall with long blonde hair. She enjoys helping others in anyway she can. Has a CMC-300 painted white with red crosses denoting she is a medic and a needle gun. Tends to wear short skirts and tight blouses when not having to wear her military or medical gear.
Backstory: She graduated from Med school and joined the Confederate Military as a Medic. She had paid her own way through school as a drug dealer and continued her business into the military. It didn't last long until her base's CO wanted a cut of the profits. She refused perhaps stupidly and several times he tried to shut her operation down but failed until he finally got her convicted for illegal activities on base and 'mal-practice' even though her record of treatments was far better than most other medical staff.
IC:
Alison stands silent for a moment before shutting off the water and stepping out. Wrapping a towel around herself, Alison steps over to Natalie and pulls her into a tight hug;
"Jesus, I'm sorry. A stranger is bad enough, but from someone that you'd known well, and had cared about!..."
She says with an aggressively protective growl, shaking her head angrily.
Natalie continued sniffling her mucus filled nose. Her face was scrunched with emotion.

"I can't believe I killed him. I... Couldn't have killed him. I'm not a murderer. But I did. I killed him! Me!" She began sobbing gently. This was the first time she had ever told the story to anyone. She had told it to herself a million times, of course. One can't go through such an experience without thinking about it constantly.

Natalie had suffered every day since then never truly knowing herself. Due to her being knocked out, she never remembered anything about the fight. Only that her lover had gotten increasingly angry. Though she could never imagine killing him, all the evidence pointed towards her being a murderer. In the walls of New Folsom, she finally accepted that truth.

The truth that she wasn't an upstanding citizen of Tarsonis. She was a murderer. The truth that she wasn't the sweet innocent girl her father thought she was. She was a murderer. The truth that no matter how much she denied it, she belonged in the War Pigs. After all, she was a murderer.
IC:
"Killing someone in self defense isn't murder... Things got violent between you two and he pushed you too far... If he beat you as bad I think he did, he damn well deserved what he got... None of what happened was sexual, was there?..."
Alison says, her tone calm and unjudging, gently rocking Natalie back and forth.
"No, no, he wouldn't go that far." She paused and sniffled again, "Well... I wouldn't have believed he'd go as far as he did."

Natalie stayed silent for a good thirty seconds, thinking about the possibility of her acting out of self-defense. Sure, she had thought about the justifications for her actions, but she was a special service agent and veteran. She could have easily subdued him without actually taking his life. Some things about the event just didn't add up. Still, the evidence was undeniable all the same.

"Anyways... I got the hell out of there before my security detail reported what happened. It was only a day before I couldn't live with myself though. I didn't want the outlaw life. I would rather die in a cell, caged like the animal I was. I felt it would be my way of atoning for my actions. So I turned myself in."

She sprawled her arms, "Then I ended up here."
So, before I post what I have to post, I can't remember how long after the botched assassination Tarsonis falls. Mind refreshing me?
IC:
"So... You don't actually remember killing him?..."
Alison asks carefully, helping Natalie over to a bench.
[Carah]
"Yeah ... though I'm not totally sure this is better than where we started off." I say taking a seat and reviewing what all the medical facilities we had aboard.
I nod in compliance.
"True..." I lay back trying to relax and gaze upward at the ceiling of the room.
Natalie shook her head and wiped away the tears on her face. "No, I hardly remember a thing about the night. I just remember he was really angry... Then I woke up and he was dead."
IC:
"Did he have any enemies? Especially anyone with a lot of political power? "Cause if he did, Somebody could have sent a ghost after him."
Never mind.

IC: Sitting in the living room, I surf the channels as I wait for the ship to drop from warp. Still, the peace, no impending mission or judgement waiting, was a nice change of pace. Hell, even Alison was enjoying it, even if she wouldn't admit it. Taking a sip from a soda can, I close my eyes and lean back, letting my thumb auto pilot the channels.
"Sure, it's possible. He did have a lot of political enemies, people he was trying to expose. It still doesn't change the facts, or how I feel."

Natalie finished drying herself and began dressing. They would drop out of warp in five minutes or so and Natalie wanted to be at the helm.
Darrell sighs as he begins flipping through an old scrapbook, a painful reminder of what he had been before he had been forced into the War Pigs. As the man did so he drew his finger across his scars, grimacing as he remembered the fights, the scenarios. The many times he had come home drenched in blood, most of it not his own. How many times he had yelped when forcing his nose back into place after it had been knocked out of alignment. He drew his finger across a rather nasty and jagged scar that had indented inwards rather than outwards when he had healed up. It was drawn cross his hip to his shoulder, left to right. The young street fighter grimaced, remembering the specific fight with great detail.

They were both holding knives, serrated and dull from not having been sharped in the last month despite their use. Pocket knives no less, bringing a scoff from Darrell's lips. He could end this quickly, the man before him was burly no doubt, and with size came a lack of agility that Darrell had come to master during his times fighting, relentless since he was even a child, picking off the school bullies who had attempted to go after Darrell or his friends.

The fight began in Darrell's favor, being able to prance around, getting a few slashes off at the large man's arms, a bellow of rage being released each and every time a blood wound was opened as the dull and jagged knife ripped through skin, drawing the crimson liquid out and it began dripping into a blood mess beneath the man. Confidence clouded Darrell's mind. The man had swung, Darrell dodging so easily it was pathetic. This was where the boy's downfall would come. His opponent had stepped out of the pooled pile of blood, slick, slippery. Darrell came around the backside with great speed, his foot sliding across the blood, and out of surprise, incapable of balancing himself out. With his head lurching backwards it hit the ground with a loud thud and a quiet crack, nothing to major, wouldn't take long to heal, but it did leave the boy heavily disoriented.

A sensation almost foreign to Darrell drew across his chest, forcing out a wordless cry of pain. It had not cut through bone, no, the blade would have gotten quite and torn a rib off upon first contact if it had, but it didn't. Next came the burning feeling of the knife going straight through his left hand, with such impact it had even found itself embedded in the concrete, something completely unrealistic, even for man of such physique as this one, yet it had. Darrell's eyesight began to free itself from the blur as the first punch came. came, sending it back into madness again. Then a second, and a third. Darrell had lost count, but yet he still held on, still moving, not giving up. It was insanity, he should have forfeited, leaving his injuries where they were and got attendance for their healing as soon as he could, but he didn't. Chickening out isn't a really appealing trait the boy had decided, adrenaline rushed through his veins. The next punch didn't land. Darrell twisted the assailant's hand against all odds. How? Perhaps out of the man's surprise and the strength his adrenaline gave him. Quickly moving, the lithe boy shoved the fist back at the large man, shoving him off as Darrell grabbed the blade that had pierced through his hand by the hilt, and pulled it out with hardly a grimace, he had too much adrenaline in his veins. Tinged red vision meant nothing as the end of the fight came.

Darrell darted forwards, the blood of his chest and hand spilling out, yet not having made him pass out, yet another impossible feat capable of the boy. He struck, impossible strength having made him shove the blade hilt deep through his opponents tense muscle and layer of fat. Later he found out he had shown so much force that the burly man's stomach had been punctured. Angry yells came from around him as people had realized the burly man had lost, having given up to this impossible child. A child refusing to lose. Darrell barely stepped out of the arena when the adrenaline stopped pumping, the adrenal gland completely drained, and the boy's vision blacked as he fell into the arms of someone. When he first woke up he found himself bandaged, told not to move much, especially his core and hand, as it could cause more damage. He was relieved to hear his hand would make a good recovery, even if it weren't perfect, it would be good enough. The boy's trouble was worth quite a bit, the fight having earned him great renown and a lot of funds.

Kellis' eyes returned to the present, his left and clenched into a fist and his right index finger digging into his skin at the end of the scar. These were proof of the feats he was capable of. He shouldn't feel fear in combat. Especially hand to hand. He would ask someone later if they could give him lessons on shooting when things had eased down, for now, he relaxed his hand and pulled away his finger, leaving a deep nail shaped indent and red skin. He was once an unstoppable force, he couldn't let his actions of cold blooded behavior soften him, but use it to toughen him. Show him he was capable of killing. Darrell closed his eyes and drifted into a sleep, the scrapbook falling of the bed as he shifted, open to a page of the burly man cowering as a small teenager by comparison exited the fenced-in ring.

OOC: So what I can figure, there was a failure of an assassination on Tarsonis, I will assume in someway or another the War Pigs were involved, and sometime at New Folsom, likely some sort of escape in tow. Chin-tapping-thinking mode activated.
IC:
"So you have the death of one man on your conscience. Just be glad you don't have children on your list as well."
Alison says solemnly starting to dry off as well.
OOC:
I'm not sure what you're talking about, SF. The War Pigs failed an assassination on Atticus Minor.

IC:
Already Natalie's story had seemed inferior to Alison's in every way. Yeah... That would suck if I had the death of children on my hands... How do serial killers do it?

Natalie had strapped in her jumpsuit and began tightening her boots around her feet. If Alison wanted to talk about her guilty conscience, she would. It took Natalie six months to want to talk about hers. And that was for one individual. It would take some courage to want to talk about murdering children.
02/08/2014 01:13 AMPosted by Zarkun
before I post what I have to post, I can't remember how long after the botched assassination Tarsonis falls. Mind refreshing me?
This is where I got that impression.
IC:
Sighing, Alison shakes her head and starts getting dressed.
"Anyway, enough of this dismal talk. If we keep this up we'll probably end up flooding the room with tears. So what's Tyrador like? I've never been there myself."
She says, abruptly switching topics without missing a beat.
"Neither have I." Natalie said honestly. "Well, not Tyrador Eight, anyways. Apparently it orbits it's sister, Tyrador IX closely, giving it extreme climates at times. During this time of the year, though, it should be pretty warm."

Natalie finished getting dressed and lacing her boots. She stood up and smiled at Alison, "Thanks for talking to me, Alison. I appreciate it."

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