Post by Aramius on Jan 4, 2010 7:49:26 GMT -5
Name: Alexander James Donovan
Nickname: Alex
Radio Callsign: Hawk
Age: 35 (6 years cryosleep)
Secret Word:Has Been Sent
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Race: Human
Occupation: Security Officer
Human Physical Description:
Alexander is 5'9"/175cm tall, weighing a solid 76kg/167lb. Physically, he can be described as of an average build - he has well-defined muscle tone, but not to the point of being considered heavyset, and moves with surprising agility for his size. His jet-black hair is kept at a neat 3cm length at all times, in a borderline crew-cut. His eyes are a piercing emerald green, and a small scar adorns his lip. His complexion is normally a pale Caucasian, now slightly darkened by the Pandoran sun.
In terms of attire, Alexander rarely strays from his two preferred outfits; either a featureless black singlet and a pair of old jungle-pattern combat fatigues, held with a black belt with an old KA-BAR knife and sheath on the front-left (from his perspective), and a WASP Pistol in holster, with spare clip, on his right thigh, with black leather combat boots with steel-capped tips, or black leather pants held with the same black belt with knife and pistol, a black shirt, and a black leather jacket with a scarlet hawk silhouette stridently emblazoned on his back, again with steel-capped leather combat boots. In both outfits, he also carries a slung Assault Rifle with him when outside the outpost.
Due to his background, Alexander is rarely truly relaxed, always scanning for trouble; this eases off when inside the research outpost, but never does it truly fade.When he is outside, even when only a foot from the outpost, he is constantly on full alert, all senses searching for possible signs of hostility or danger, and one hand always relatively close to a weapon. When not 'on-duty', be it in the Link Chamber or checking the perimeter, he remains more-or-less within the small outpost gym, going through his exercise regimen, or in the mess hall, either eating, trying (and often failing) to socialize, or sitting in a corner, computer in hand, learning the language of the native Na'vi, or the dangers of the native wildlife and their behaviors.
Avatar Physical Description:
Alexander's Avatar shares many of his physical traits - near-human head structure and nose, jet-black hair, and middling, though well-defined, physique. His eyes have a greenish-gold sheen to them, and he keeps the hair of his Avatar at the same length, from the Avatar's perspective, as his human body's hair (with the exception of the queue, of course). His face is adorned with the usual, though in his case, nearly-symmetrical, formation of luminous 'freckles'.
His chosen attire in Avatar form is a pair of toughened combat fatigues in an older jungle pattern (which, to those knowledgeable in such matters, can be IDed as the same pattern as that used in the Venezuelan campaign), held up by a black leather belt with enlarged KA-BAR knife and sheath tied to the back, handle pointing to the right. Choosing to remain topless, he instead wears a harness that holds several extra clips of ammunition, survival rations, an adapted survival tool, and a basic homing beacon to assist in finding his way back to the outpost. He also takes to keeping an M60 Machinegun with drum magazine slung over his back, for defending himself or the research staff.
Personality:
Alexander's personality is quiet and honest, to the point of being somewhat blunt; something of a problem, at times, in life outside the military, and particularly when trying to make friends or even friendly acquaintances. When he does speak, he often speaks simply, trying to avoid complicating whatever issue or point of contention he is commenting on. This has, at times, led to him being seen as somewhat simple by those who do not know him.
To those he does not know, or does not like, he is often like a stone wall - his emotions kept under tight control, his inner thoughts and feelings totally hidden away. In most cases, he will behave cordially with such people, though in the case of those he does not like, he will be slightly cooler than with those he knows not. To those he does know and/or like, he is slightly more relaxed in his demeanor, willing to let them know how he feels, what he thinks, and what his opinion is, and his usually-stoic facade occasionally cracks to reveal the highly-empathic person within, be it with a rare smile, frown, or even a laugh.
Perhaps the most defining trait of Alexander is his devotion; once he has decided to accomplish something, he will do so, no matter the obstacles or risks. For some time, this devotion was turned to Earth, to the military, to his duty as a soldier; over time, though, this devotion waned as the true nature of the military gradually revealed itself from behind the shining propaganda and lies as an instrument of those with money, rather than an instrument of justice. He also has an appreciation of nature, brought on - in part, at least - by his experiences in Venezuela.
This said, Alexander does have his limits, like any human being; given enough abuse, he will eventually snap, often with painful consequences for the person who caused him to lose his temper.
Talents:
History: Alexander James Donovan was born on Earth to a military careerist father, Sergeant Major Thomas Donovan, and a mid-level administrative clerk mother, Joanne Donovan. His early childhood was typical, albeit slightly coloured with pro-military bias, with Alexander growing up hearing about how his father was a 'hero', a defender of peace and justice, fighting on the front lines to protect the civilized people of Earth. Alongside this, he was also brought up to hold to the old ideals of the United Nations; justice, honor, and the will to fight for peace. This message was only reinforced as he began his education, with his history classes often speaking of the battles fought against the evil terrorists by the glorious military, dedicated men and women fighting to save their lives daily. So enamored was he of these tales that he, of his own will, decided to shape himself into a soldier; he focused greatly on physical education and exercise regimens, So it was no surprise that, at the age of 16, Alexander ended his education early and enlisted in the United Nations Military.
Blazing through the initial tests without difficulty, Alexander took to Basic Training with ease; used to pushing his body to its limits, he tackled all obstacles that came at him. His aim with a rifle, sadly, did not mirror his physical capability; on his first test, he achieved a 33% hit rate on a moderate-range target, and his wider strategic and tactical abilities were, at first, basic at best. However, what he lacked in raw talent, he more than made up for with determination; setting his mind to the task, he practiced incessantly, peppering his instructors with requests for more ammunition to train with, and zealously reading through information on unit deployments, formations, tactical manoeuvers and longer-term strategic planning. It was not long before his initially abysmal training scores on the weapon's range began to reverse; gradually, he began to get a feel for ballistic weapons, and soon was outperforming the best shots in his unit. His strategic and tactical knowledge also began to reflect his determined approach toward training, and before long he was, while not the best, in the upper tier of his unit. Before long, the eyes of his superiors began to settle upon him, and at the end of Basic Training, he was offered a position in an elite training unit; the Special Operations Training Division. Enlistedmen name: Commando School.
The first few days of Commando School were an absolute shock to Alexander; gone were the clean, regular rows of the training yard, the clearly defined firing range, the barracks. Instead, he was greeted with the sight of a large, self-contained artificial environment, done up in a jungle-like setting. His barracks consisted of two sheets of tough artificial polymer, his mattress, the artificial dirt under him. He was given a knife, some rations, and an empty canteen, and left him somewhere in the dense, 10x10km zone. At first, he waited for superiors, doing little other than setting up a basic shelter at the base of a large tree and exercising, while keeping an eye out. Inside the artificial environment, the lights began to dim, and, without warning, a downpour started from above, forcing Alexander into his already-leaking shelter. Siphoning some of the water into his canteen, he fell asleep on the hard ground, stomach filled with a small cold lump of rations, shivering slightly in the cooling air.
The next day, he rose with a renewed vigor; using the captured water in his canteen, through trial, error, and the use of several leaves and some dirt, he waterproofed his small shelter, this time using only one polymer sheet. The other, he used to line a makeshift hole dug in the ground, in the hopes that the next 'rainfall' would be caught, in part, by the polymer for use as drinking water.
The following week was spent in that manner; repairing any damage from the previous night to his shelter, be it from the heavy downpour or the occasional whipping winds that would blow through the area, maintaining a supply of water, and carefully nursing his rapidly diminishing rations, until finally, seven days after arriving, he was approached by a small group of uniformed officers and enlistedmen. Standing up to attention, he approached them; and promptly fell to the ground as the leading NCO, a Sergeant Major, slugged him in his solar plexus. And thus began the questioning. "Why are you here?" "Who are you working with?" "Who sent you?" At first, the questions were surrounded with promises of food, beds, and water; these rapidly transformed into abuse, be it vocal or physical. And all the time, Alexander's determined, though slowly weakening, voice replied with, "Donovan, Alexander, United Nations Defense Force, 819316214."
Much time later (Alexander later found out it was only six hours), Alexander was marched from the room, blindfolded, and left to stand in front of a concrete wall for several minutes. Abruptly, he heard the barked command, "Firing Squad, Prepare!" and the rustle of clothing. He remained silent.
"Firing Squad, Take Aim!" The clatter of raised rifles echoed through the air, the click of bolts cycled back as rifles were aimed. Alexander still remained silent.
"Fire!" A loud burst of weapon-fire reverberated deafeningly through the room, with Alexander tensing as impending, red-hot tungsten-tipped death sped at incredible speeds toward him.
A few seconds later, the blindfold was ripped off, and his squinting, blurry eyes settled on a face in front of him. "Well done, Donovan; you passed the first test."
A day later, Donovan found himself transferred to a far more standard training facility, similar in many ways to the camp where he underwent Basic Training, but with crucial differences. The obstacle course was much upgraded, with nasty pitfalls seeded through it. The firing range was upgraded, designed for moving engagements with different weapons. The main barracks, however, was the same. This was to be his home for the next two years; two years spent honing his body into a weapon, a utensil of war. He learned the arts of stealth, as he and his fellow trainees attempted to sneak through the artifical jungle environment, hunted by several of the best trackers in the Defense Force. He learnt also to improvise, setting basic traps to delay his foes, and even learning how to identify suitable materials to make improvised weapons, such as basic spears, knives or even, depending on the materials, a crude bow, be it from synthetic - or real - woods, plastics, or metals. His already-formidable training with weapons was further enhanced, as he learned to fire accurately on the move, and became intimately knowledgeable with his preferred weapons, learning how to strip them down easily and efficiently, how to clean and maintain them, and how to effect emergency repairs if needed.
Finally, two years after being dumped in an artificial jungle underground, Alexander Donovan emerged as a graduate of the Special Operations Training Division as a Special Operative Third Class - on par with any normal Corporal - and joined the Special Operations Rapid Deployment Unit under the callsign 'Hawk'. For several years, he would serve, fighting in actions against terrorists and bands of desperate criminals, and between times, exercising and maintaining his edge in the Special Operations HQ. As time went on, though, his originally-idealistic view of the military suffered much tarnishing; it rapidly became clear that, rather than justice or honor, it was corporate money that drove the UN Defence Force. Slowly, the child-like innocence of his view of the military withered in the glare of the truth.
During one of his downtimes, Alexander found his first real text concerning the distant planet of Pandora, and, in a rare turn for him, he rapidly became hooked on the mysterious, wild planet. Before he could read on, though, he was ordered to deploy to a particularly troublesome spot; Venezuela; as part of a Search-and-Destroy operation to root out the remnants of a once-powerful band of eco-terrorists, hell-bent on fighting against the people who, in their eyes, had so horrendously ravaged their proud nation's natural resources. They had hidden themselves within a large slum, with 'camps' spotted throughout an area roughly 15x15km in size, and, despite many attempts by the local security forces to force them out, they had survived and continued to lash out at commercial and industrial targets. Now, Alexander and several of his comrades were being deployed into the slums, alongside regular infantry, to finally root them out.
Inserting via HALO paradrop during a heavy storm, Alexander began stealthily hunting through the slums, and, in a rare turn of luck, found a hidden (but alas, not well hidden enough) sentry post. Silently eliminating the sentry with a knife to the back, Alexander retrieved from him a rough drawing indicating the nearest 'camp', and quickly and carefully approached the hotspot. Soon, his eyes settled on a clearly-temporary camp, erected within an enclosed section of the slums, and he circled around to a covered position to engage. As he raised his rifle to engage, his eyes chanced on something unusual; a small child, slightly malnourished, but smiling and playing with... another child. And another. Eyes widening slightly, he tapped his com, and reported the presence of non-combatants, only to hear five words in responce; "Understood, Hawk. Terminate all contacts."
Even as he raised his hand to his throat-tab, to query the orders, he heard the bark of another assault rifle, and watched in mute horror as a flurry of bullets cut down several adults and children. Emerging from the same direction as Alexander had come from was a small squad of Defence Force infantry, armed with M60 LMGs; massive weapons that swept the camp with lines of lethal munitions, cutting down anything that moved, ignorant to the lack of retaliatory fire. Alexander's eyes narrowed to slits as the soldiers marched forward, and he immediately raised his rifle, sighting in on them, before remorselessly pulling the trigger, sending a subsonic bullet careening into the cranium of the rear guard. Still the others fired. He sighted again, fired again, and another went down. Still the surviving two fired, oblivious of their danger. And again, Alexander sent another to his oblivion, only to have the last surviving soldier catch the falling body in the corner of his eye, and turn roughly toward where Alexander knelt, weapon tracking toward him. Too little, too late; the last infantryman fell, a hole where his left eye was, weapon falling from nerveless hands.
Too little. Too late. All around him, the carnage was near-absolute. The infantry had been thorough in their short stint of fire; no survivors. No warning. As he walked through the slum camp in a state of shellshock, the corpses of children, of unarmed men and women, lying all around him, the last piece of his devotion to the United Nations and its ideals was shattered. His devotion to the Defence Force was irreparably destroyed. Two days after, he tendered his resignation, was given an honorable discharge, and left the military as nothing more than a civilian. He rented a small apartment; his time in the military, spent entirely without leave,a nd with him volunteering for many assignments, had left him with a formidable amount of money, and renting the tiny box that the building owner had called an 'apartment' didn't even scratch the top. Within three days, he had offers from various corporate divisions; RDA's SecOps, ICA's small but elite Security Division, and various smaller firms, all inviting him to join their private security/militias. Leafing through the small pile of letters and invitations, one in particular caught his eye; a plain letter, addressed to him, from a group simply labelled as 'Pandora Science Expedition'. Tearing it open, his eyes rapidly scanned the pages, widening as they went, before a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Stepping out the door, stopping only to grab the small rucksack that was his only possession - well, that, and his bank account - and up to the building's public phone, he dialled the contact number, and, when answered, said simply, 'My name is Alexander James Donovan. Consider this my acceptance of your invitation.' He did not even hear the reply - he was walking out the door of the building, hand signalling to a taxi.
Three days later, his bank account suffered a massive withdrawl, nearly emptying it; his apartment was released back to the building's owner without explanation; and Alexander James Donovan was listed as employed by a private scientific expedition.
RP Sample:
The air was damp, scented with artificial scents designed to simulate the many scents of a natural jungle. "Natural..." thought Alexander, ruefully. "No such thing these days..."
Alexander crouched in the shadow of a large, artificial tree, combat boots softly crunching the artificial dirt underfoot, eyes scanning the foliage for any sign of movement. This was the fifth time he and his comrades had been dumped, solo, into the large environment, tasked simply with avoiding detection and capture for 24 hours.
So far, he'd been lucky to manage 8 hours without being caught.
A sudden crack from his right broke his reverie, as he shifted slightly further back into the shadow, camouflage blending in with the foliage, eyes scanning quickly but thoroughly for the source of the movement. "Where are you.... ah. Found you..." he thought, eyes settling on a small, tell-tale gleam of a rank insignia one of the very few visual cues that the 'hunters' allowed the trainees. A small grin lightening his features, Alexander took a deep breath, then erupted into motion, following a carefully-remembered course as his ears listened for the tell-tale crunching and rustling that would indicate he was being chased. Surely enough, there it was; a muttered curse, and the fast, rapid crunching of a man charging after him. Alexander focused on the path ahead of him, eyes picking out possible pitfalls as he neared his surprise for his pursuer. Carefully placing his feet as he ran, he passed the trap, and listened as he continued to run. Surely enough, a loud SNAP! cracked through the air, followed shortly by a loud THUD and a grunt of pain, prompting Alexander to double back, running up to his would-be capturer.
Scarcely thirty minutes earlier, he'd prepared this little trap; a decent-size branch, held up by artificial vines, and connected to a camouflaged vine trip-wire. It'd taken some trial and error to get it tight enough to snap without difficulty, but it was worth it; his pursuer, a Special Operative himself, and no stranger to the 'game' that they were playing, lay on the ground, hands clutching his chest. "Cracked rib, at least," thought Alexander, even as he swiftly punched the man in the temple to knock him unconscious. He'd fallen for that particular trick before. "Sorry sir," he muttered, as he quickly relieved the man of his combat knife, radio-tab, handcuff key and watch, before putting the cuffs on the man. He straightened up, critically appraising his work, and nodded to himself, before glancing at the watch. "Nine and a half hours. Getting better." He dropped the watch, only to hear another crack, this time to his left.
The now-unconscious man had called for backup.
Instantly, Alexander exploded into motion, throwing himself forward and rolling to his feet, turning rapidly to face another pursuer, this one wearing the insignia of a Special Operative 1st Class. For a moment, there was no movement, both men - one young, a trainee, adrenaline running through his veins, the other older, far more experienced, and an expert of the 'hunt' - stared each other down. Then, Alexander feinted right, dodged left, and tried to sprint away from the man.
"Shouldn't have stayed for the watch..." was the last thought to go through his mind as the man grabbed him around the neck, threw him to the floor, and punched him in the left temple, rendering him unconscious.
Nickname: Alex
Radio Callsign: Hawk
Age: 35 (6 years cryosleep)
Secret Word:Has Been Sent
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Race: Human
Occupation: Security Officer
Human Physical Description:
Alexander is 5'9"/175cm tall, weighing a solid 76kg/167lb. Physically, he can be described as of an average build - he has well-defined muscle tone, but not to the point of being considered heavyset, and moves with surprising agility for his size. His jet-black hair is kept at a neat 3cm length at all times, in a borderline crew-cut. His eyes are a piercing emerald green, and a small scar adorns his lip. His complexion is normally a pale Caucasian, now slightly darkened by the Pandoran sun.
In terms of attire, Alexander rarely strays from his two preferred outfits; either a featureless black singlet and a pair of old jungle-pattern combat fatigues, held with a black belt with an old KA-BAR knife and sheath on the front-left (from his perspective), and a WASP Pistol in holster, with spare clip, on his right thigh, with black leather combat boots with steel-capped tips, or black leather pants held with the same black belt with knife and pistol, a black shirt, and a black leather jacket with a scarlet hawk silhouette stridently emblazoned on his back, again with steel-capped leather combat boots. In both outfits, he also carries a slung Assault Rifle with him when outside the outpost.
Due to his background, Alexander is rarely truly relaxed, always scanning for trouble; this eases off when inside the research outpost, but never does it truly fade.When he is outside, even when only a foot from the outpost, he is constantly on full alert, all senses searching for possible signs of hostility or danger, and one hand always relatively close to a weapon. When not 'on-duty', be it in the Link Chamber or checking the perimeter, he remains more-or-less within the small outpost gym, going through his exercise regimen, or in the mess hall, either eating, trying (and often failing) to socialize, or sitting in a corner, computer in hand, learning the language of the native Na'vi, or the dangers of the native wildlife and their behaviors.
Avatar Physical Description:
Alexander's Avatar shares many of his physical traits - near-human head structure and nose, jet-black hair, and middling, though well-defined, physique. His eyes have a greenish-gold sheen to them, and he keeps the hair of his Avatar at the same length, from the Avatar's perspective, as his human body's hair (with the exception of the queue, of course). His face is adorned with the usual, though in his case, nearly-symmetrical, formation of luminous 'freckles'.
His chosen attire in Avatar form is a pair of toughened combat fatigues in an older jungle pattern (which, to those knowledgeable in such matters, can be IDed as the same pattern as that used in the Venezuelan campaign), held up by a black leather belt with enlarged KA-BAR knife and sheath tied to the back, handle pointing to the right. Choosing to remain topless, he instead wears a harness that holds several extra clips of ammunition, survival rations, an adapted survival tool, and a basic homing beacon to assist in finding his way back to the outpost. He also takes to keeping an M60 Machinegun with drum magazine slung over his back, for defending himself or the research staff.
Personality:
Alexander's personality is quiet and honest, to the point of being somewhat blunt; something of a problem, at times, in life outside the military, and particularly when trying to make friends or even friendly acquaintances. When he does speak, he often speaks simply, trying to avoid complicating whatever issue or point of contention he is commenting on. This has, at times, led to him being seen as somewhat simple by those who do not know him.
To those he does not know, or does not like, he is often like a stone wall - his emotions kept under tight control, his inner thoughts and feelings totally hidden away. In most cases, he will behave cordially with such people, though in the case of those he does not like, he will be slightly cooler than with those he knows not. To those he does know and/or like, he is slightly more relaxed in his demeanor, willing to let them know how he feels, what he thinks, and what his opinion is, and his usually-stoic facade occasionally cracks to reveal the highly-empathic person within, be it with a rare smile, frown, or even a laugh.
Perhaps the most defining trait of Alexander is his devotion; once he has decided to accomplish something, he will do so, no matter the obstacles or risks. For some time, this devotion was turned to Earth, to the military, to his duty as a soldier; over time, though, this devotion waned as the true nature of the military gradually revealed itself from behind the shining propaganda and lies as an instrument of those with money, rather than an instrument of justice. He also has an appreciation of nature, brought on - in part, at least - by his experiences in Venezuela.
This said, Alexander does have his limits, like any human being; given enough abuse, he will eventually snap, often with painful consequences for the person who caused him to lose his temper.
Talents:
- Stealth: From his training in the military, Alexander knows the art of stealth - sure-footed and quiet, he knows precisely how to move to reduce his visibility and audible footprint, allowing him to escape from - or approach - potential hostiles more easily than many.
- Special Operative Combat Training: Through extensive training and learning, Alexander is highly compentent in most forms of combat; he is highly capable in the use of any ballistic weapons, a dangerous close-combat practitioner, and is also somewhat-skilled in the application of basic archery with crude, hand-made bows.
- Improviser: After a few close scrapes in both Commando School and Venezuela, Alexander knows full well how to improvise and adapt in the field, including the creation of basic traps, and crafting basic weapons from natural materials, including crude bows.
History: Alexander James Donovan was born on Earth to a military careerist father, Sergeant Major Thomas Donovan, and a mid-level administrative clerk mother, Joanne Donovan. His early childhood was typical, albeit slightly coloured with pro-military bias, with Alexander growing up hearing about how his father was a 'hero', a defender of peace and justice, fighting on the front lines to protect the civilized people of Earth. Alongside this, he was also brought up to hold to the old ideals of the United Nations; justice, honor, and the will to fight for peace. This message was only reinforced as he began his education, with his history classes often speaking of the battles fought against the evil terrorists by the glorious military, dedicated men and women fighting to save their lives daily. So enamored was he of these tales that he, of his own will, decided to shape himself into a soldier; he focused greatly on physical education and exercise regimens, So it was no surprise that, at the age of 16, Alexander ended his education early and enlisted in the United Nations Military.
Blazing through the initial tests without difficulty, Alexander took to Basic Training with ease; used to pushing his body to its limits, he tackled all obstacles that came at him. His aim with a rifle, sadly, did not mirror his physical capability; on his first test, he achieved a 33% hit rate on a moderate-range target, and his wider strategic and tactical abilities were, at first, basic at best. However, what he lacked in raw talent, he more than made up for with determination; setting his mind to the task, he practiced incessantly, peppering his instructors with requests for more ammunition to train with, and zealously reading through information on unit deployments, formations, tactical manoeuvers and longer-term strategic planning. It was not long before his initially abysmal training scores on the weapon's range began to reverse; gradually, he began to get a feel for ballistic weapons, and soon was outperforming the best shots in his unit. His strategic and tactical knowledge also began to reflect his determined approach toward training, and before long he was, while not the best, in the upper tier of his unit. Before long, the eyes of his superiors began to settle upon him, and at the end of Basic Training, he was offered a position in an elite training unit; the Special Operations Training Division. Enlistedmen name: Commando School.
The first few days of Commando School were an absolute shock to Alexander; gone were the clean, regular rows of the training yard, the clearly defined firing range, the barracks. Instead, he was greeted with the sight of a large, self-contained artificial environment, done up in a jungle-like setting. His barracks consisted of two sheets of tough artificial polymer, his mattress, the artificial dirt under him. He was given a knife, some rations, and an empty canteen, and left him somewhere in the dense, 10x10km zone. At first, he waited for superiors, doing little other than setting up a basic shelter at the base of a large tree and exercising, while keeping an eye out. Inside the artificial environment, the lights began to dim, and, without warning, a downpour started from above, forcing Alexander into his already-leaking shelter. Siphoning some of the water into his canteen, he fell asleep on the hard ground, stomach filled with a small cold lump of rations, shivering slightly in the cooling air.
The next day, he rose with a renewed vigor; using the captured water in his canteen, through trial, error, and the use of several leaves and some dirt, he waterproofed his small shelter, this time using only one polymer sheet. The other, he used to line a makeshift hole dug in the ground, in the hopes that the next 'rainfall' would be caught, in part, by the polymer for use as drinking water.
The following week was spent in that manner; repairing any damage from the previous night to his shelter, be it from the heavy downpour or the occasional whipping winds that would blow through the area, maintaining a supply of water, and carefully nursing his rapidly diminishing rations, until finally, seven days after arriving, he was approached by a small group of uniformed officers and enlistedmen. Standing up to attention, he approached them; and promptly fell to the ground as the leading NCO, a Sergeant Major, slugged him in his solar plexus. And thus began the questioning. "Why are you here?" "Who are you working with?" "Who sent you?" At first, the questions were surrounded with promises of food, beds, and water; these rapidly transformed into abuse, be it vocal or physical. And all the time, Alexander's determined, though slowly weakening, voice replied with, "Donovan, Alexander, United Nations Defense Force, 819316214."
Much time later (Alexander later found out it was only six hours), Alexander was marched from the room, blindfolded, and left to stand in front of a concrete wall for several minutes. Abruptly, he heard the barked command, "Firing Squad, Prepare!" and the rustle of clothing. He remained silent.
"Firing Squad, Take Aim!" The clatter of raised rifles echoed through the air, the click of bolts cycled back as rifles were aimed. Alexander still remained silent.
"Fire!" A loud burst of weapon-fire reverberated deafeningly through the room, with Alexander tensing as impending, red-hot tungsten-tipped death sped at incredible speeds toward him.
A few seconds later, the blindfold was ripped off, and his squinting, blurry eyes settled on a face in front of him. "Well done, Donovan; you passed the first test."
A day later, Donovan found himself transferred to a far more standard training facility, similar in many ways to the camp where he underwent Basic Training, but with crucial differences. The obstacle course was much upgraded, with nasty pitfalls seeded through it. The firing range was upgraded, designed for moving engagements with different weapons. The main barracks, however, was the same. This was to be his home for the next two years; two years spent honing his body into a weapon, a utensil of war. He learned the arts of stealth, as he and his fellow trainees attempted to sneak through the artifical jungle environment, hunted by several of the best trackers in the Defense Force. He learnt also to improvise, setting basic traps to delay his foes, and even learning how to identify suitable materials to make improvised weapons, such as basic spears, knives or even, depending on the materials, a crude bow, be it from synthetic - or real - woods, plastics, or metals. His already-formidable training with weapons was further enhanced, as he learned to fire accurately on the move, and became intimately knowledgeable with his preferred weapons, learning how to strip them down easily and efficiently, how to clean and maintain them, and how to effect emergency repairs if needed.
Finally, two years after being dumped in an artificial jungle underground, Alexander Donovan emerged as a graduate of the Special Operations Training Division as a Special Operative Third Class - on par with any normal Corporal - and joined the Special Operations Rapid Deployment Unit under the callsign 'Hawk'. For several years, he would serve, fighting in actions against terrorists and bands of desperate criminals, and between times, exercising and maintaining his edge in the Special Operations HQ. As time went on, though, his originally-idealistic view of the military suffered much tarnishing; it rapidly became clear that, rather than justice or honor, it was corporate money that drove the UN Defence Force. Slowly, the child-like innocence of his view of the military withered in the glare of the truth.
During one of his downtimes, Alexander found his first real text concerning the distant planet of Pandora, and, in a rare turn for him, he rapidly became hooked on the mysterious, wild planet. Before he could read on, though, he was ordered to deploy to a particularly troublesome spot; Venezuela; as part of a Search-and-Destroy operation to root out the remnants of a once-powerful band of eco-terrorists, hell-bent on fighting against the people who, in their eyes, had so horrendously ravaged their proud nation's natural resources. They had hidden themselves within a large slum, with 'camps' spotted throughout an area roughly 15x15km in size, and, despite many attempts by the local security forces to force them out, they had survived and continued to lash out at commercial and industrial targets. Now, Alexander and several of his comrades were being deployed into the slums, alongside regular infantry, to finally root them out.
Inserting via HALO paradrop during a heavy storm, Alexander began stealthily hunting through the slums, and, in a rare turn of luck, found a hidden (but alas, not well hidden enough) sentry post. Silently eliminating the sentry with a knife to the back, Alexander retrieved from him a rough drawing indicating the nearest 'camp', and quickly and carefully approached the hotspot. Soon, his eyes settled on a clearly-temporary camp, erected within an enclosed section of the slums, and he circled around to a covered position to engage. As he raised his rifle to engage, his eyes chanced on something unusual; a small child, slightly malnourished, but smiling and playing with... another child. And another. Eyes widening slightly, he tapped his com, and reported the presence of non-combatants, only to hear five words in responce; "Understood, Hawk. Terminate all contacts."
Even as he raised his hand to his throat-tab, to query the orders, he heard the bark of another assault rifle, and watched in mute horror as a flurry of bullets cut down several adults and children. Emerging from the same direction as Alexander had come from was a small squad of Defence Force infantry, armed with M60 LMGs; massive weapons that swept the camp with lines of lethal munitions, cutting down anything that moved, ignorant to the lack of retaliatory fire. Alexander's eyes narrowed to slits as the soldiers marched forward, and he immediately raised his rifle, sighting in on them, before remorselessly pulling the trigger, sending a subsonic bullet careening into the cranium of the rear guard. Still the others fired. He sighted again, fired again, and another went down. Still the surviving two fired, oblivious of their danger. And again, Alexander sent another to his oblivion, only to have the last surviving soldier catch the falling body in the corner of his eye, and turn roughly toward where Alexander knelt, weapon tracking toward him. Too little, too late; the last infantryman fell, a hole where his left eye was, weapon falling from nerveless hands.
Too little. Too late. All around him, the carnage was near-absolute. The infantry had been thorough in their short stint of fire; no survivors. No warning. As he walked through the slum camp in a state of shellshock, the corpses of children, of unarmed men and women, lying all around him, the last piece of his devotion to the United Nations and its ideals was shattered. His devotion to the Defence Force was irreparably destroyed. Two days after, he tendered his resignation, was given an honorable discharge, and left the military as nothing more than a civilian. He rented a small apartment; his time in the military, spent entirely without leave,a nd with him volunteering for many assignments, had left him with a formidable amount of money, and renting the tiny box that the building owner had called an 'apartment' didn't even scratch the top. Within three days, he had offers from various corporate divisions; RDA's SecOps, ICA's small but elite Security Division, and various smaller firms, all inviting him to join their private security/militias. Leafing through the small pile of letters and invitations, one in particular caught his eye; a plain letter, addressed to him, from a group simply labelled as 'Pandora Science Expedition'. Tearing it open, his eyes rapidly scanned the pages, widening as they went, before a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Stepping out the door, stopping only to grab the small rucksack that was his only possession - well, that, and his bank account - and up to the building's public phone, he dialled the contact number, and, when answered, said simply, 'My name is Alexander James Donovan. Consider this my acceptance of your invitation.' He did not even hear the reply - he was walking out the door of the building, hand signalling to a taxi.
Three days later, his bank account suffered a massive withdrawl, nearly emptying it; his apartment was released back to the building's owner without explanation; and Alexander James Donovan was listed as employed by a private scientific expedition.
RP Sample:
The air was damp, scented with artificial scents designed to simulate the many scents of a natural jungle. "Natural..." thought Alexander, ruefully. "No such thing these days..."
Alexander crouched in the shadow of a large, artificial tree, combat boots softly crunching the artificial dirt underfoot, eyes scanning the foliage for any sign of movement. This was the fifth time he and his comrades had been dumped, solo, into the large environment, tasked simply with avoiding detection and capture for 24 hours.
So far, he'd been lucky to manage 8 hours without being caught.
A sudden crack from his right broke his reverie, as he shifted slightly further back into the shadow, camouflage blending in with the foliage, eyes scanning quickly but thoroughly for the source of the movement. "Where are you.... ah. Found you..." he thought, eyes settling on a small, tell-tale gleam of a rank insignia one of the very few visual cues that the 'hunters' allowed the trainees. A small grin lightening his features, Alexander took a deep breath, then erupted into motion, following a carefully-remembered course as his ears listened for the tell-tale crunching and rustling that would indicate he was being chased. Surely enough, there it was; a muttered curse, and the fast, rapid crunching of a man charging after him. Alexander focused on the path ahead of him, eyes picking out possible pitfalls as he neared his surprise for his pursuer. Carefully placing his feet as he ran, he passed the trap, and listened as he continued to run. Surely enough, a loud SNAP! cracked through the air, followed shortly by a loud THUD and a grunt of pain, prompting Alexander to double back, running up to his would-be capturer.
Scarcely thirty minutes earlier, he'd prepared this little trap; a decent-size branch, held up by artificial vines, and connected to a camouflaged vine trip-wire. It'd taken some trial and error to get it tight enough to snap without difficulty, but it was worth it; his pursuer, a Special Operative himself, and no stranger to the 'game' that they were playing, lay on the ground, hands clutching his chest. "Cracked rib, at least," thought Alexander, even as he swiftly punched the man in the temple to knock him unconscious. He'd fallen for that particular trick before. "Sorry sir," he muttered, as he quickly relieved the man of his combat knife, radio-tab, handcuff key and watch, before putting the cuffs on the man. He straightened up, critically appraising his work, and nodded to himself, before glancing at the watch. "Nine and a half hours. Getting better." He dropped the watch, only to hear another crack, this time to his left.
The now-unconscious man had called for backup.
Instantly, Alexander exploded into motion, throwing himself forward and rolling to his feet, turning rapidly to face another pursuer, this one wearing the insignia of a Special Operative 1st Class. For a moment, there was no movement, both men - one young, a trainee, adrenaline running through his veins, the other older, far more experienced, and an expert of the 'hunt' - stared each other down. Then, Alexander feinted right, dodged left, and tried to sprint away from the man.
"Shouldn't have stayed for the watch..." was the last thought to go through his mind as the man grabbed him around the neck, threw him to the floor, and punched him in the left temple, rendering him unconscious.
