War Pigs: Origins, II

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Vince Makins rubbed the bridge of his nose with frustration.

"You mean you want my men to go into the heart of the most dangerous terrorist organization known to man while they're being distracted by the most dangerous species in the galaxy whom is mopping the floor with the best men in the Confederate armed forces?"

"No. I mean I want your sub-human trash to go into a petty rebel group while they're being distracted by the second most dangerous species in the galaxy whom is busy mopping the floor with the last generation of old veteran soldiers who were born to buy your slum-grown hides time in order to do what you need to for humanity."

Vince grunted. The corruption in the confederacy was beginning to be less and less deniable. Makins didn't care though. He actually liked it. As long as he was on top, which he would be. For now, though, it's time to show them who's the sub-human slum-grown piece of trash.

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, III – http://us.battle.net/sc2/en/forum/topic/11580768290#1
War Pigs: Freelancers, I – http://us.battle.net/sc2/en/forum/topic/17999424998
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.

Name: Political Officer Jones Commervac
Status: Booted

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)

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.

Name: Reggie Harvard.
Status: Deceased

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.

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.

Name: Cedric des Kincarron.
Status: Deceased

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.

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.
Obviously, fill the other Thread first.
I sat in silence on the transport, pulling out one of the cigs I'd been given back and putting it in my mouth. I wait a moment before lighting it, looking everyone over. "Seems we've all been thrown in the grinder again. How y'all holdin' up?"
Natalie threw a glance at Hank before resuming her blank stare at her boots. She wasn't in the mood to talk. A small part of her died in that cell. Yet another broken promise. One month. One month he said. After the third month, Natalie expected to die an old women in a cell. The thought haunted her dreams for months. It began to change her. Reform her. It was subtle enough for her own conscience to disregard, but if she were honest, she knew being caged like an animal wasn't how she was going to go. She would go clinically insane before then.

And the others? Screw them. Screw them all. They were just another reminder of the Xenomorphs that still haunt her blinking eyes. Just another reminder of the pain Brock's near death caused her, and the anxiety of not knowing whether he had ever lived for the last few months. Just another reminder of her stupidity. How she actually kissed him. For what? Saving his own @$$? They were stuck unless she lived, that's why he did all those things for her. Everything else was just her being Naive. And to think it took her four months with nothing but four walls and her thoughts to come to that conclusion? It put a scowl on her face now.

Brock Tailor had been moved to a less secure prison on Tarsonis, only three hours away from the government buildings of Tarsonis City, where Vince Makins lived. They spoke a twice during the past four months. One was after Brock woke up, the other was recently, after giving him the overview of the Pig's next mission.

A few things came into perspective for Brock over the past few months of hospitalization, then imprisonment. His friends. Or more accurately, the lack thereof. Brock realized he had nothing and nobody. His life was completely empty. His fellow comrades were all he had left. It was in those four walls of his cell where he waited anxiously to fight for the War Pigs. He wanted to fight for Natalie. But most importantly, he wanted to fight for the solders standing at his shoulders.

Fighting alone was like living alone because life was fighting for Brock. He would no longer accept defeat. He would no longer think about leaving anybody behind. His only goal was comradeship.
Frowning at the lack of response, I sigh and light up, putting the lighter into my pocket and taking a long drag on the cig, letting the smoke out slowly. In the four months that I'd been in my cell, I'd gone over the things we'd seen on that cruiser over and over again, when I wasn't imagining the many ways a PO could die. After the second week of the first month it became apparent that they'd be in Folsom for longer than a month, it was in the way the guards regarded them and treated them. I ever get my hands on Makins...oh, the way he's gonna scream will make hell seem like a vacation resort.

Shaking my head to focus again, I begin reviewing the creatures on the ship. The hound like one had, in reflection of the memory of me landing on it's head, had some kind of wings on it's back, though I'd only gotten a brief look so I still wasn't sure. Then the claws on the snake one; they'd cut through the steel door like it was made of paper. Still, they seemed as killable as anything else. Finally my thoughts drifted to the one thing I didn't want to think about, or person as it may be. Natalie Ross.

Glancing at her, I shake my head before taking another drag then pulling out my kukri and a whetstone, the sound of me sharpening my knife filling the transport with a slight rasping sound. Why had I taken that second spike to the a$$ for her? It wasn't like she was in any real danger at that point, as small as a target as she was. My CMC covered a$$ was all the target it needed if that was the case. Still, there had to be a reason... I mulled the thought over in my mind as I alternated between drags on my cig and the continued sharpening of my knife, killing time as the transport flew on.
Alison sits calm and collected as ever, but there's a barely leashed energy about her, much like an attack dog straining it's leash. The past months have driven Alison stir-crazy. Looking over at Hank, She glares at the cig in his mouth;
"Would you kindly put that damn thing out? They drive me !@#$ing crazy."
Alison says flatly.
I sigh and just glare at the floor between my feet. My 230 had been repaired and I was back in it but I still wish I'd gotten a newer armor. Fekking as$ left us in there for four fekking months! He gets a bullet between his fekking eyes next time he pulls something like this. I had my BOSUN in my grasp with the stock on the floor and barrel up past my shoulder. I'd gotten depressed and reclusive over the past months and although we were getting some more action I just sort of wanted to sit.

I look around at the others gathered in the shuttle. "So ... why does everyone seem so ... morose?" I say a bit nervously but trying to lighten the mood. I was in my newish CMC-300 painted as a medic should be.

OOC: assuming we are back in armor ... if not ... will edit
Alison gives the newcomer what fails pass as awry apologetic look;
"Our one month prison stay turned into four. Name's Alison."
She says, offering Carah a hand.
"I'm Carah. And I guess that explains why I'm just joining you all." I accept Alison's hand and give it a good shake. I hadn't realized that the last four months I'd been in prison had been because the pigs weren't active.
Nodding, Alison looks over at Carah's medical gear;
"I take it you're going to be our resident medic?"
She asks, tapping the red cross.
"Yeah I am." I say pulling out my med kit and checking over the limited supplies I'd been issued.
Alison grunts, leaning back in her seat, eyes half-closed;
"Good. Now I won't have to do a half-assed job of patching people up."
I look up and give Alison a questioning look before shaking my head and returning to checking my supplies.
OOC: Be sure to give a good post about character development that's happened over the past few months even though I'm moving on. Also realize your character's reaction might not be anger towards Vince. Get creative! Brock actually had a positive change in the last four months! Be sure to tell me though, it's a huge part in character development and I'm interested in your guys' characters.

Also remember this could be a core moment in a character's life. He could reflect upon it later, giving you, the writer, a lot of power. You can expound on it now, then your character can reflect with hindsight.

@Morph: Sorry, you have no CMC yet.


The shuttle docked in the same garrison space station as before. The shuttle doors opened and the ramp dropped. A squadron of ten armed CMC plated guards were waiting to escort the Pigs into the briefing room, as instructed by Vince Makins.

Brock had already arrived and was waiting in a small holding cell with his hands holding each other. He stared at the floor waiting to see his men. His future. He waited to see Natalie and the others whom he would dedicate his life to serving. Or would he?
I sheath the knife back on my hip and stand up, looking at the guards. "You know, we aren't going to pull anything. One guide is more than enough." Ignoring Alison, I take another drag and step down, shaking my head in annoyance. Really, what's a bunch of unarmored and mostly unarmed ex-cons gonna do in a facility full of fully armed and armored soldiers? Looking around, I reflect some on the realization that I'd come to have when I wasn't throttling Makins or reviewing my experience with the xenos.

Everyone of us who'd stepped off that transport was considered a con and filth by the Confederacy and standard soldiers, but to each other, we were almost like family. Granted, if that was the case, we were probably the most dysfunctional family you'll ever meet, but we always have each others backs and were willing to get hurt for one another if it meant saving their life. I rub my left cheek absentmindedly and wince slightly. Can't believe that still hurts... I couldn't forget how I'd gotten the bloody wound, and that was protecting Natalie, a member of this dysfunctional family. If that wasn't showing loyalty to the Pigs, I didn't know what was.
OOC: awe ... I'll make appropriate edits in a bit. Carah will still have her medical supplies though ... and as for development ... don't expect anything 'good' from the pigs especially not Bianca ... they were betrayed and sent back to the hell hole they were taken out of when they could have gone just about ANYWHERE else and have been fine probably ....

I get up and exit the shuttle pushing the one marine that dared to get too close away with enough force to almost make him/her fall over. The rest could tell that I wasn't in a mood that would be good for their health if they dared to try and get in my way. I move a short distance out side of the little cluster of marines and wait glaring daggers at them.

I walk down the ramp of the shuttle and wait to be escorted to where ever we were going.
Something dark and angry flickers behind Alison's eyes as Hank ignores him before quickly being smothered out. Taking a breath, Alison gets to her feet, usual non-expression in place as she walks down the ramp.

Thane, people usually don't come out of a (relatively) unwarranted 4 month prison stay looking at the bright side of things.
I quickly get up from my seat and head down the ramp wanting to get out of the small shuttle. I wanted to be done with small enclosed spaces, the last four months were hell especially after landing myself into solitary for last two of the four.
"Damn I could really use a patch right now...." I say barely loud enough for everyone to hear.
Rob's movements off the tram seemed jittery. He exited the vehicle a little too quickly, nearly bumping into a couple teammates. Spending so long in a cell made him anxious.

"Good to see your faces! Well most of you. Some of you ah... could use a little touching up. You know we do have mirrors in our prison cells, there's really no excuse. Or at least I did.... Your faces are at least... erm.. mostly friendly though!"

Rob kept up the light chatter, joking around like his usual self, but it was no use. They all knew what had happened. Four months. More moments of their life had been forcefully taken and nothing would ever get them back. They had been lied to about their freedom, lied to about the mission, lied to again about their imprisonment, and then stabbed in the back. Two of their comrades had died, and their Captain's status had been completely unknown during all this time.

Any other team would have gone crazy.

Heck, Rob himself did. Just a little, but it was there. That creeping tinge of madness began in the back of his mind. He felt it, in every involuntary jitter, every twitch of his eye, he was getting closer and closer to snapping. Prison did that to him. Nothing, nothing to do but watch a slate wall. No paintings, no windows, no posters or television, there was no evidence of any type of stimulation at all. Just time. Lots of time to reflect on every single one of his mistakes.

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