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ImReallyLink · #1 [ ] 05-12-2008, 12:35 AM

Name: Vincent Moretti, a.k.a. "Silver"

Age: 28

Occupation: Mercenary commander, contract killer

Height: 6'3"

Weight: 190 lbs.

Race: Human

Hair: Long silver hair down to his lower back. This is where his nickname came from.

Eyes: A vibrant blue. They are constantly scanning the area around him for signs of danger.

Appearance: Silver is a well-built individual. He is tall, lean, and muscular. He has a triangular jaw and a prominent Roman nose, and his face is usually unshaven.

He has several different outfits he wears. When dressing casually (or for small-scale combat), he wears a short-sleeve calf-length trench coat, a tank top, loose-fitting pants, fingerless gloves, and combat boots, all in black. Occasionally he wears a long, long-sleeved, brown coat (also down to his calves), a red or deep-maroon long-sleeved shirt usually rolled up to the middle of his forearms, dark brown almost-black pants, and black combat boots. For large-scale combat, he wears the same colors and fatigues as his hired country/faction, as well as a bullet-proof vest if the uniform doesn't include it. On hired hits, he wears the local civilian clothes. With each of his outfits, he wears a belt with several pouches and two holsters.

Weapons/Equipment: varies with the job. He always carries a serrated combat knife with an 8" blade with him, usually in a sheath on his left breast. His personal favorites are two highly modified Desert Eagles; one painted gold, "Jane," and another painted silver, "Rosie." He has those on his person almost all the time, relieving himself of them only when extreme stealth is required. For those missions, he carries a silenced M9 pistol and a sniper rifle that can be disassembled. In open combat situations, he carries his Desert Eagles as well as at least one other weapon, usually an M4 assault rifle, an older US Marine scout sniper rifle, or an HAP-180 (a streamlined SMG about twice as big as a Desert Eagle). All his guns use armor-piercing rounds with the exception of his handguns and the HAP, which uses small but heavy rounds made for accuracy. His pride and joy is an antique M1 Garand, which he avoids using.

In addition to these, he carries some smoke bombs no larger than a ping-pong ball, two hand grenades, a flashbang, and a grappling-hook gun. Depending on the mission, he may also carry thermal or night vision goggles.

Skills: Silver has received military training in the use of firearms; he is an excellent shot. Even if he is unfamiliar with a gun, he usually gets a feel for it quickly. He is a master of Taekwondo, Jiu-Jitsu, and Eskrima. He is fluent in English, Russian, Korean, Cantonese, and Arabic.

Strengths: strong, athletic, and intelligent. He has synthetic muscles in his right forearm that allow him to keep that arm steadier than normal.

Weaknesses: he is just a normal human being; there is really nothing special about him. He has no experience with magic or any similar force, and would be weak against most forms of magic or special powers.

Personality: On the outside, he appears to be a cocky, happy, fun-loving guy. On the inside, he is really a sad and aching soul. He has experienced hardship and trauma, much of which he has yet to move on from. However, this does not mean he is depressed; he still tries to live each day to the fullest, even in these bleak times. He has a strong sense of justice, always doing what he thinks is right. Still, he takes jobs from anyone (although he occasionally takes liberties with his orders if he believes his employer is corrupt), as long as he gets payed in the end. Those few who haven't payed up have met his wrath, whether destroyed politically or at the end of his gun.

Biography: Silver leaned back in his chair and crossed his feet on his desk. Business was good lately; he had just gotten a big sum from the Republic of France, one of the few remaining democracies in Europe, and the week before he had finished a target for the US in Western Japan. Horrible guy; he had was a rogue US general. He delighted in torturing his POW's, and he was horrible to his men, even those few who were loyal to him. That particular payment had payed for some badly needed equipment. Like food.

He leaned forward, chair thudding back onto the floor. He picked up a small eight-by-ten photo in a black picture frame. His parents, along with a young Silver in front. He smiled. His hair was darker back then; as he got older, it got lighter instead of darker, going from a blond to a shiny silver. He was an only child. His parents had a hard enough time with him. Neither of them were particularly wealthy, which made it all the more a surprise when he found out they were paying for his college education.

Oh, college. Those were the days. He attended a college in the Midwest, far from his native New York City. He was one of the rowdy ones. He always went out drinking on the weekends with his friends, but he always managed to stay out of trouble. His grades were above average; if he had spent more time studying and doing his work, they would have been excellent. He was going for a degree in Criminal Justice. He would have gotten it too, but for that one day.

October 17th, 2008. 4:13 PM. Silver had turned nineteen that summer, and he was just getting into his sophomore year. That day changed everything. He was sitting in his room playing his guitar. Metallica, "Fade to Black." Always had been a bit of a metalhead. His roommate Jake came running in. He looked sick. Silver asked him what was wrong, and he told Silver to turn on the TV. Switched to the news. Four nuclear missiles had struck the West Coast. One in Washington D.C. One in Philadelphia. One in Charleston. One in New York City. Silver remembered just sitting there in a stupor as the newscaster continued on in an almost emotionless voice. Jake was shaking. They were childhood friends. They had known each other since grade school, and they had grown up together. Hell, they even lived in the same apartment building right across from each other for almost fifteen years. Now they had nothing.

They found out where the attack came from. North Korea, they said. Immediately, Silver and Jake had dropped from college and joined the Marines. They spent two years on the frontlines. It was hell; Vietnam all over again, but with modern weapons. Silver was pulled out when he took a shot to the arm, rendering it useless. Fortunately, medical technology had advanced, and they replaced the muscle with a synthetic material that was even better than the original. Jake came out three months later, one of the lucky few to get out unscathed. Naught but two months after that did the US pull out. They had lost. The enemy had weapons that they had never seen before; new guns that could shoot quickly over long distances with little decrease in accuracy; bombs that reduced even the hardest of structures to ash; nigh-indestructible tanks that could survive several direct hits from US tanks.

Slowly, the world descended into chaos. War became a business; Silver and Jake, seeing only one choice before them, started their own mercenary company in their homestate of New York. Business came and went, and the company grew. But that was years ago. Today was July 5, 2017; he had just gotten payed, and he had a company to run.

A knock sounded at the door. Silver sat up and brushed an errant strand of hair from his face. "Come in," he called. Ikaruga entered and wordlessly set down a coffee on Silver's desk and left. Silver sighed as he sipped it. Business was picking up, and that was all that mattered.