Post by Meira on Jun 14, 2009 18:29:37 GMT -5
Name: Whiskey, originally Leigh Corran
Race: Human
Age: 25
Birthplace: Coruscant under-city
Allegiance: Self
Status: Rogue
Rank: Assassin
Height/Weight: 5'5"/120
Appearance:
NOT MY IMAGE
Short, black, pixie style hair, fairly light skin and honey colored eyes. She is of average height, and on the lean side with sinewy muscles that lie flat and tight under her skin. As a pilot, she can be commonly seen in her dark grey jumpsuit, either fully on, or unzipped to the waist with a black tanktop. On missions, her usual attire is more tactical, but minimalistic.
Personality:
None. Those unfortunate enough to come into contact with Whiskey are met by an eeirly calm, blank face. She doesn't flinch when she squeezes the trigger. The sight of blood has no effect on her. She very rarely even speaks. Regular memory wipes have allowed this young woman easy nights... that is until some of her fellow assassins escaped.
What will happen when Whiskey's chip begins to degrade and the emotions that had so long been supressed rise to the surface? Will she be able to accept this new state of being? Will she join those who have escaped? Or will she see these emotions as a weakness and remain loyal to her company?
Ships/Vehicles: n/a
Equipment:
CX 12 Heavy Blaster
Combat knife
Stats:
Strength - Average
Agility - Above Average
Intelligence - Above Average
Charisma - Feeble
Combat Training:
CQC: Adept
Melee: Apprentice
Ranged: Master (Specialized MoD combat skill: Blaster pistol - Master)
Other Training:
Specialized MoD non-combat skill: Pilot - Expert
Biography:
Whiskey, for a few brief years known as Leigh, was born an unwanted child. Her birth mother was a spice addict who used any means, including her own body, to feed her addiction. Her father was a spice dealer more than willing to take her kind of payment. Their arrangement had worked well enough, until one day when contraceptives had been forgotten in the mix of spice and lust. Nothing in this scenario bode well for a prospective child. What options might a girl born into this kind of world have other than to follow down the same path as her mother?
The woman carried her pregnancy to term, even being left to fend for herself when her figure no longer attracted her spice supplier. Alone and destitute, the time finally came to deliver the child. A doctor, hospitals, these were out of the question. Her neighbor would have to suffice. The older Rodian woman had been present at births before. Had assisted a midwife once. But her knowledge of human births was limited, to this particular birth actually.
Without the help of medical professionals and equipment, the process was agonizingly slow and painful. Against the Rodian's complaints, the mother turned to her last stash of spice to dull the pain. For hours the mother would sweat, moan, and even pass out as the Rodian did everything she could to keep both mother and child alive. As midnight drew near, the time had finally come. The undercity was filled with the mother's cries as she strained to push, drenched in her own sweat and blood. Miraculously, the child was delivered and it seemed as if the whole world held its breath. Seconds seemed like hours until the child's shrill scream filled the air.
The Rodian woman cleaned up the boy as best as she could, then handed him over to the mother. She took her son into her arms, and even through the delirium of spice and pain she smiled down at him. She would name him Liam.
More pains ripped through the mother, and she let out a cry of pain. The Rodian took the infant and laid him securely aside. It was time to deliver the after birth. But why did the woman cry so? The afterbirth was not a painful ordeal. Indeed, most women didn't feel it. Was something wrong? The mother was consumed by renewed waves of contractions, and for five more minutes she suffered, until a second child was delivered. Twins. But this second child was much smaller than the first, and her birth cry was weak.
Exhausted, the mother barely had the strength to comprehend what had happened. Twins. What would she do? She had feared caring for one child, what could she possibly do for two? Panic gripped the heart of the mother, and when the Rodian presented the girl to her, she shut her eyes tight and pushed the baby away. She didn't want to see it, or acknowledge its existence. When the Rodian persisted, the mother screamed for her to take it away, she didn't care where. One child was enough. She would not, could not, accept another.
In shock, the Rodian left, the human infant in her arms. What would she do with a human baby? She could not feed it. It would die. Panicked, she took the infant to a local hospital, leaving it abandoned at the door. She prayed the child would be found soon. The Rodian would live with that terrible memory for the next few years.
The girl was found, cold and hungry. The hospital rushed her to the NICU where she was monitored and treated. Blood tests showed spice in her system, and it was determined that the infant was abandoned by its spice addicted mother. Such things were not uncommon in the lower level hospitals. Once the child reached stable conditions, notices were sent to local orphanages, but all were too full. A place was finally found for the girl in a shelter on Kuat and she was sent away.
As in most government run orphanages, this one was overpopulated and understaffed. When the girl arrived, she was given the name Leigh Corran and placed in a crib. Feedings and changings were strictly scheduled and the infant girl learned quickly that a cry would illicit no response. All efforts were made to prevent the children from falling behind developmentally, but emotional attachment was not given priority.
Leigh grew slowly, but steadily, and was only slightly below average on physical scales. She actually learned to walk quickly in spite of her conditions, but rarely babbled. In fact, her silence was enough to warrant investigation. If the child was mute, her chances of adoption would be greatly decreased. But early tests indicated that there was nothing physically wrong with the girl.
By the age of three, when the other children were beginning to speak in short busts of words, Leigh had yet to speak her first. Still concerned that some damage had been done, the orphanage contacted the Green Meadows company. Two specialists were sent to study the girl. Observation showed a high degree of intellect in the child in spite of her aversion to communication. It was determined that more intensive studies would need to be used. Such studies could not, however, take place in the orphanage. After a discrete exchange of credits, guardianship of the child known as Leigh Corran was transferred to Green Meadows.
All records of Leigh Corran disappeared, including the name. Once at Green meadows, the girl was referred to as Whiskey. The change didn't seem very jarring to the girl who never spoke, so withdrawn into herself was she, that it seemed nothing could illicit a response. She showed no interest in the world around her, often never looking up from the floor. She was implanted with a chip that was designed to control emotion and induce appropriate responses to stimuli. Early test readings showed that the chip rarely had to regulate the emotions of the featureless girl, spare small bouts of occasional fear. But in spite of that, notable changes were apparent from the start.
For one, Whiskey began to make eye contact with those around her. Her honey colored eyes, void of emotion, were disconcerting in their intense focus. It almost seemed as if she never blinked. When she first spoke, she surprised the scientists with a large vocabulary and fully articulate speech. But speaking remained a rare thing for the girl, and she only ever spoke when it was entirely necessary, using as few words as possible.
She learned quickly, drinking in her lessons as if she might never receive them again. She breezed through much of her schooling, practically incapable of focusing on anything else. Normal childhood activities, like play, were not known to her. Hers was a life of study and sleep for two years. She was handed a small blaster when she was five and told to shoot at a target. It only took her three shots to hit a bulls eye. She received continued encouragement with the weapon, becoming more and more precise over time.
Between 9 and 12, Whiskey would face puberty. For the scientists that controlled her life, this would prove the most challenging time. Whiskey grew to her current height in a matter of months, putting a strain on her muscles and skeleton. Certain joints had to be replaced, such as her knees and elbows, as her cartilage proved unable to deal with the stress of accelerated growth. Her monthly hormonal cycles were put under strict control, and she was made temporarily sterile through the process.
Once her body was finished with its major growth, more intensive training could be implemented. Strength and conditioning were stressed with countless hours in a gym and running. Her classes changed from general knowledge to more specific courses of tactics and combat logistics. She was instructed in many forms of combat from hand to hand, to long range. Over the years however, Whiskey would come to prefer a single pistol to any other weapon. This training was not gentle. For any normal human, it would most certainly have been too much. But Whiskey was no normal human. She and the other Green Meadows children were made to be more than humanly possible. There was no mercy, no leniency, only the orders and the inability to even think to disobey.
During this time of growth and change, Whiskey's other talent was discovered. Piloting came as naturally to her as walking. No matter what simulated ship or event was thrown her way, Whiskey never failed. She could pilot anything, from the smallest fighter to even large capitol ships with ease. One scientist, when overseeing a battle simulation once uttered in amazement:
"Like a leaf on the wind..."
At the age of 16, the basic core of Whiskey's assassin training was complete. As a test to assess the skills she had acquired, Whiskey, along with others, was left on Dxun with only a knife and some rope. Her goal was a simple one. Survive. She was dropped off and left to fend for herself. She knew that the others were somewhere on the moon, but in the dark and dangerous jungle, she knew it was more important to rely on herself. If she found another, then that would help, but she didn't need them.
For a week, Whiskey survived by staying mobile. Her limited supplies weren't reliable enough to dig in and hold out somewhere. Against the larger beasts, a knife and her fists just weren't enough. She slept very little, as that was when she was most vulnerable. It was taxing on her strength, but the chip in her head was helpful in that it encouraged more stamina than she should have had. One time when she did risk sleep, she was almost overpowered by a boma. Whiskey had claimed a spot in some low branches to keep herself up off the ground. But as she slept and changed positions, her hair had fallen loose and hung down. To the passing boma, it was simply too much to resist.
The creature manage to get a grip on her hair with its teeth, pulling the assassin-to-be down from the tree. Dazed, Whiskey was unable to block a swipe from the beast's sharp claws across her arm. The shock of the pain was enough to activate the chip and a sudden rush of adrenalin flooded Whiskey's system, infusing her muscles with the energy she needed to dodge the creatures attacks and eventually sink her blade into its heart. Taking the lesson seriously, Whiskey cleaned her blade and then used it to chop off her long hair. To this day, Whiskey continued to prefer wearing her hair short.
On her eighth day on the moon, Whiskey encountered two others, Foxtrot and Alpha. The three joined forces, as it was only logical. Three heads were better than one. But survival was still a challenge. A few days later, another would join their group. Juliet made four, and it was these four who ended their final test together. Of course, no bonds were made. Their time together was not to form relationships, but merely to use each other as tools toward the ultimate goal. Emotions simply didn't exist for the assassins.
Whiskey was given her first assignment a few weeks after the Dxun trial. It was a simple mission. On Ryloth, two rival slave traders were vying for power. One happened to have more credits than the other, and opted for some help from Green Meadows. Whiskey was dispatched in a small ship to intercept the rival slaver as he was transporting a group of slaves off world. Whiskey disabled her ship along the slaver's route and sent out a distress beacon. When the slavers docked with her ship, she surprised their boarding party, taking out each one with precisely placed shots between their eyes. She then moved on, systematically wiping out each guard on the ship until she reached the slaver.
With him dispatched, Whiskey sent a message to the slaver that had contacted her services before departing in her ship. The Twi'lek man arrived to not only find his rival was dead, but that the slaves were unharmed. This earned the company a few extra credits. Whiskey returned to the Green Meadows facility and all memory of the assignment was erased.
Soon after, Whiskey turned 17, but the event was not marked, and indeed, the young woman was scarcely aware of her own age. It was of no importance to her. Knowing it served no purpose whatsoever. Her life was only training and missions. Her memory was only of training. The years would pass and Whiskey would grow older. But in her mind, time meant nothing, the only difference was day and night.
At 19, Whiskey was assigned a mission to Ordo, where rumors of a small Mandalorian band was rising. Fearful that a new Mandalorian threat was on the rise, Ordo's senator secretly contracted with Green Meadows. Whiskey traveled to Ordo and began to watch the small camp of Mandalorian rebels, noting which ones were leaders and which ones were simply drones. Once her targets were identified, it was a simple matter of waiting for the cover of night. Whiskey creeped into the camp, dispatching guards when necessary, and ended the rebel leaders as they slept. Taking the deaths of their leaders as a bad omen, the followers dispersed, as Whiskey predicted they might. No news had made it to the press. And yet again, Whiskey returned to the Green Meadows facility and was made to forget.
Time would pass, more missions completed. Whiskey was an ideal assassin, just like her comrades. She never questioned, never failed, even on the most gruesome of missions, such as one she was assigned at 22.
Whiskey was assigned, along with Alpha, to assassinate the Blood Monarch of Thisspias, as well as his entire family, spare his brother, who wanted the throne for himself. After dropping Alpha off on the planet to take out some of the targets, Whiskey, in a small fighter ship, engaged the Blood Monarch's transport, which was said to contain the rest. The transport was guarded by two fighters which Whiskey had to neutralize first.
It was easy enough work. Aside from her skill, Whiskey was flying a state of the art craft that could literally fly circles around the others. And that is exactly what she did. In the confusion of dips and rolls, feints and quick turns, the guardian ships collided, leaving the transport defenseless. Whiskey had only to press a button and those on board were destroyed in a brilliant burst of blue and white. Whiskey returned to the planet's surface to collect her partner, and the two flew back to Green Meadows for another memory wipe.
Her most recent mission, her current one, has been to track down an individual very much like herself. Subject "H-4X1E", alias Axle Finne, had escaped from an experimentation facility. The facility, closely associated with Green Meadows, contracted them to bring him back. Since the assignment was likely to involve a great deal of piloting through space following Axles bread crumbs, Whiskey was assigned the job.
Coincidentally, being on this mission meant that Whiskey was not present at the facility when Victor, another assassin hacked into the chip mainframe to begin a degeneration process in all of their chip implants. Nor would she be around for the subsequent escape of Alpha, Delta, Echo, Uniform, Victor and Tango.
Roleplay Sample:
The hallway was empty. All of the guards were either dead, or unconscious. In either case, they were also stored safely out of the way. The tap of her shoes on the metal floor was barely audible as she wound through the hallway deeper and deeper into the complex. Most of the lights were extinguished, with only back up power lighting her way. It wouldn't matter. Whiskey had memorized the layout of the complex so thoroughly, she could find her way in total darkness. But the light helped.
Coming up was the end of the hall, and a door. Guarding the door, two men stood with wary eyes. Their communications had been cut long ago, but they could not abandon their post to check on the problem. Whiskey stopped not far in front of the two men. They had more firepower than she, with only her one blaster... large as it was. Her eye twitched as the chip in her brain discouraged her hesitation. Without blinking, she drew her blaster and landed a blaster bolt between the eyes of each man. A pause. The two bodies slumped to the floor.
Stepping forward, Whiskey took a key card from one of the bodies and unlocked the door. As soon as it slid to the side, a volley of blaster fire surrounded her. Jumping quickly to the side, Whiskey used the small wall as cover as she quickly assessed the situation inside the office. From the sound of the fire, she could identify two auto turrets on the ceiling, and two more guards, aside from her target, who seemed to also have a blaster, though it was only a small one.
Another twitch in her eye as the chip spurred her adrenalin. Mere seconds later, the energy was coursing through her veins with every pulse. Her breathing quickened and Whiskey pushed off the wall, spinning towards and through the doorway, one shot taking out one guard as she moved. Ducking down into a roll, Whiskey knocked over a low table and used it as cover. It wouldn't last long though, and so she rolled sideways, two shots taking out the auto turrets. Rolling to her feet, she charged forward, shooting the second guard. Though her shots only stunned the man, as they hit his armor, they served as distraction enough. Closing the distance, Whiskey brought her gun hand around in a sideways arc. The curved blade at the bottom of the handle caught the man in the throat, tearing out a sizable section of flesh and sending a spray of warm blood across both Whiskey and everything within five feet.
Turning her head, Whiskey's eyes caught the ringleader's as he staggered backwards. Her body turned slowly as she paced towards him. He dropped his small blaster from his shaking hand and fell to his knees, begging to be spared. Whiskey's eyes never blinked as she slowly shook her head. She lifted her blaster, pushing it against the space between the man's eyes. The end of the barrel was still hot, and a sizzle could be heard as it burned the weeping man's flesh. She had only one last detail to confirm before she pulled the trigger.
"Are you Johan Sentori?"
The man was barely able to stammer out a yes.
"Nice to know you. Goodbye."
The shot rang out in the empty silence of the room as the back half of Johan's head collided with the far wall. The smell of burning flesh filled the room, but Whiskey never wrinkled her nose. Casually, she reholstered her weapon and stepped around Sentori's body, exiting the office and then the complex.
Race: Human
Age: 25
Birthplace: Coruscant under-city
Allegiance: Self
Status: Rogue
Rank: Assassin
Height/Weight: 5'5"/120
Appearance:
NOT MY IMAGE
Short, black, pixie style hair, fairly light skin and honey colored eyes. She is of average height, and on the lean side with sinewy muscles that lie flat and tight under her skin. As a pilot, she can be commonly seen in her dark grey jumpsuit, either fully on, or unzipped to the waist with a black tanktop. On missions, her usual attire is more tactical, but minimalistic.
Personality:
None. Those unfortunate enough to come into contact with Whiskey are met by an eeirly calm, blank face. She doesn't flinch when she squeezes the trigger. The sight of blood has no effect on her. She very rarely even speaks. Regular memory wipes have allowed this young woman easy nights... that is until some of her fellow assassins escaped.
What will happen when Whiskey's chip begins to degrade and the emotions that had so long been supressed rise to the surface? Will she be able to accept this new state of being? Will she join those who have escaped? Or will she see these emotions as a weakness and remain loyal to her company?
Ships/Vehicles: n/a
Equipment:
CX 12 Heavy Blaster
Combat knife
Stats:
Strength - Average
Agility - Above Average
Intelligence - Above Average
Charisma - Feeble
Combat Training:
CQC: Adept
Melee: Apprentice
Ranged: Master (Specialized MoD combat skill: Blaster pistol - Master)
Other Training:
Specialized MoD non-combat skill: Pilot - Expert
Biography:
Whiskey, for a few brief years known as Leigh, was born an unwanted child. Her birth mother was a spice addict who used any means, including her own body, to feed her addiction. Her father was a spice dealer more than willing to take her kind of payment. Their arrangement had worked well enough, until one day when contraceptives had been forgotten in the mix of spice and lust. Nothing in this scenario bode well for a prospective child. What options might a girl born into this kind of world have other than to follow down the same path as her mother?
The woman carried her pregnancy to term, even being left to fend for herself when her figure no longer attracted her spice supplier. Alone and destitute, the time finally came to deliver the child. A doctor, hospitals, these were out of the question. Her neighbor would have to suffice. The older Rodian woman had been present at births before. Had assisted a midwife once. But her knowledge of human births was limited, to this particular birth actually.
Without the help of medical professionals and equipment, the process was agonizingly slow and painful. Against the Rodian's complaints, the mother turned to her last stash of spice to dull the pain. For hours the mother would sweat, moan, and even pass out as the Rodian did everything she could to keep both mother and child alive. As midnight drew near, the time had finally come. The undercity was filled with the mother's cries as she strained to push, drenched in her own sweat and blood. Miraculously, the child was delivered and it seemed as if the whole world held its breath. Seconds seemed like hours until the child's shrill scream filled the air.
The Rodian woman cleaned up the boy as best as she could, then handed him over to the mother. She took her son into her arms, and even through the delirium of spice and pain she smiled down at him. She would name him Liam.
More pains ripped through the mother, and she let out a cry of pain. The Rodian took the infant and laid him securely aside. It was time to deliver the after birth. But why did the woman cry so? The afterbirth was not a painful ordeal. Indeed, most women didn't feel it. Was something wrong? The mother was consumed by renewed waves of contractions, and for five more minutes she suffered, until a second child was delivered. Twins. But this second child was much smaller than the first, and her birth cry was weak.
Exhausted, the mother barely had the strength to comprehend what had happened. Twins. What would she do? She had feared caring for one child, what could she possibly do for two? Panic gripped the heart of the mother, and when the Rodian presented the girl to her, she shut her eyes tight and pushed the baby away. She didn't want to see it, or acknowledge its existence. When the Rodian persisted, the mother screamed for her to take it away, she didn't care where. One child was enough. She would not, could not, accept another.
In shock, the Rodian left, the human infant in her arms. What would she do with a human baby? She could not feed it. It would die. Panicked, she took the infant to a local hospital, leaving it abandoned at the door. She prayed the child would be found soon. The Rodian would live with that terrible memory for the next few years.
The girl was found, cold and hungry. The hospital rushed her to the NICU where she was monitored and treated. Blood tests showed spice in her system, and it was determined that the infant was abandoned by its spice addicted mother. Such things were not uncommon in the lower level hospitals. Once the child reached stable conditions, notices were sent to local orphanages, but all were too full. A place was finally found for the girl in a shelter on Kuat and she was sent away.
As in most government run orphanages, this one was overpopulated and understaffed. When the girl arrived, she was given the name Leigh Corran and placed in a crib. Feedings and changings were strictly scheduled and the infant girl learned quickly that a cry would illicit no response. All efforts were made to prevent the children from falling behind developmentally, but emotional attachment was not given priority.
Leigh grew slowly, but steadily, and was only slightly below average on physical scales. She actually learned to walk quickly in spite of her conditions, but rarely babbled. In fact, her silence was enough to warrant investigation. If the child was mute, her chances of adoption would be greatly decreased. But early tests indicated that there was nothing physically wrong with the girl.
By the age of three, when the other children were beginning to speak in short busts of words, Leigh had yet to speak her first. Still concerned that some damage had been done, the orphanage contacted the Green Meadows company. Two specialists were sent to study the girl. Observation showed a high degree of intellect in the child in spite of her aversion to communication. It was determined that more intensive studies would need to be used. Such studies could not, however, take place in the orphanage. After a discrete exchange of credits, guardianship of the child known as Leigh Corran was transferred to Green Meadows.
All records of Leigh Corran disappeared, including the name. Once at Green meadows, the girl was referred to as Whiskey. The change didn't seem very jarring to the girl who never spoke, so withdrawn into herself was she, that it seemed nothing could illicit a response. She showed no interest in the world around her, often never looking up from the floor. She was implanted with a chip that was designed to control emotion and induce appropriate responses to stimuli. Early test readings showed that the chip rarely had to regulate the emotions of the featureless girl, spare small bouts of occasional fear. But in spite of that, notable changes were apparent from the start.
For one, Whiskey began to make eye contact with those around her. Her honey colored eyes, void of emotion, were disconcerting in their intense focus. It almost seemed as if she never blinked. When she first spoke, she surprised the scientists with a large vocabulary and fully articulate speech. But speaking remained a rare thing for the girl, and she only ever spoke when it was entirely necessary, using as few words as possible.
She learned quickly, drinking in her lessons as if she might never receive them again. She breezed through much of her schooling, practically incapable of focusing on anything else. Normal childhood activities, like play, were not known to her. Hers was a life of study and sleep for two years. She was handed a small blaster when she was five and told to shoot at a target. It only took her three shots to hit a bulls eye. She received continued encouragement with the weapon, becoming more and more precise over time.
Between 9 and 12, Whiskey would face puberty. For the scientists that controlled her life, this would prove the most challenging time. Whiskey grew to her current height in a matter of months, putting a strain on her muscles and skeleton. Certain joints had to be replaced, such as her knees and elbows, as her cartilage proved unable to deal with the stress of accelerated growth. Her monthly hormonal cycles were put under strict control, and she was made temporarily sterile through the process.
Once her body was finished with its major growth, more intensive training could be implemented. Strength and conditioning were stressed with countless hours in a gym and running. Her classes changed from general knowledge to more specific courses of tactics and combat logistics. She was instructed in many forms of combat from hand to hand, to long range. Over the years however, Whiskey would come to prefer a single pistol to any other weapon. This training was not gentle. For any normal human, it would most certainly have been too much. But Whiskey was no normal human. She and the other Green Meadows children were made to be more than humanly possible. There was no mercy, no leniency, only the orders and the inability to even think to disobey.
During this time of growth and change, Whiskey's other talent was discovered. Piloting came as naturally to her as walking. No matter what simulated ship or event was thrown her way, Whiskey never failed. She could pilot anything, from the smallest fighter to even large capitol ships with ease. One scientist, when overseeing a battle simulation once uttered in amazement:
"Like a leaf on the wind..."
At the age of 16, the basic core of Whiskey's assassin training was complete. As a test to assess the skills she had acquired, Whiskey, along with others, was left on Dxun with only a knife and some rope. Her goal was a simple one. Survive. She was dropped off and left to fend for herself. She knew that the others were somewhere on the moon, but in the dark and dangerous jungle, she knew it was more important to rely on herself. If she found another, then that would help, but she didn't need them.
For a week, Whiskey survived by staying mobile. Her limited supplies weren't reliable enough to dig in and hold out somewhere. Against the larger beasts, a knife and her fists just weren't enough. She slept very little, as that was when she was most vulnerable. It was taxing on her strength, but the chip in her head was helpful in that it encouraged more stamina than she should have had. One time when she did risk sleep, she was almost overpowered by a boma. Whiskey had claimed a spot in some low branches to keep herself up off the ground. But as she slept and changed positions, her hair had fallen loose and hung down. To the passing boma, it was simply too much to resist.
The creature manage to get a grip on her hair with its teeth, pulling the assassin-to-be down from the tree. Dazed, Whiskey was unable to block a swipe from the beast's sharp claws across her arm. The shock of the pain was enough to activate the chip and a sudden rush of adrenalin flooded Whiskey's system, infusing her muscles with the energy she needed to dodge the creatures attacks and eventually sink her blade into its heart. Taking the lesson seriously, Whiskey cleaned her blade and then used it to chop off her long hair. To this day, Whiskey continued to prefer wearing her hair short.
On her eighth day on the moon, Whiskey encountered two others, Foxtrot and Alpha. The three joined forces, as it was only logical. Three heads were better than one. But survival was still a challenge. A few days later, another would join their group. Juliet made four, and it was these four who ended their final test together. Of course, no bonds were made. Their time together was not to form relationships, but merely to use each other as tools toward the ultimate goal. Emotions simply didn't exist for the assassins.
Whiskey was given her first assignment a few weeks after the Dxun trial. It was a simple mission. On Ryloth, two rival slave traders were vying for power. One happened to have more credits than the other, and opted for some help from Green Meadows. Whiskey was dispatched in a small ship to intercept the rival slaver as he was transporting a group of slaves off world. Whiskey disabled her ship along the slaver's route and sent out a distress beacon. When the slavers docked with her ship, she surprised their boarding party, taking out each one with precisely placed shots between their eyes. She then moved on, systematically wiping out each guard on the ship until she reached the slaver.
With him dispatched, Whiskey sent a message to the slaver that had contacted her services before departing in her ship. The Twi'lek man arrived to not only find his rival was dead, but that the slaves were unharmed. This earned the company a few extra credits. Whiskey returned to the Green Meadows facility and all memory of the assignment was erased.
Soon after, Whiskey turned 17, but the event was not marked, and indeed, the young woman was scarcely aware of her own age. It was of no importance to her. Knowing it served no purpose whatsoever. Her life was only training and missions. Her memory was only of training. The years would pass and Whiskey would grow older. But in her mind, time meant nothing, the only difference was day and night.
At 19, Whiskey was assigned a mission to Ordo, where rumors of a small Mandalorian band was rising. Fearful that a new Mandalorian threat was on the rise, Ordo's senator secretly contracted with Green Meadows. Whiskey traveled to Ordo and began to watch the small camp of Mandalorian rebels, noting which ones were leaders and which ones were simply drones. Once her targets were identified, it was a simple matter of waiting for the cover of night. Whiskey creeped into the camp, dispatching guards when necessary, and ended the rebel leaders as they slept. Taking the deaths of their leaders as a bad omen, the followers dispersed, as Whiskey predicted they might. No news had made it to the press. And yet again, Whiskey returned to the Green Meadows facility and was made to forget.
Time would pass, more missions completed. Whiskey was an ideal assassin, just like her comrades. She never questioned, never failed, even on the most gruesome of missions, such as one she was assigned at 22.
Whiskey was assigned, along with Alpha, to assassinate the Blood Monarch of Thisspias, as well as his entire family, spare his brother, who wanted the throne for himself. After dropping Alpha off on the planet to take out some of the targets, Whiskey, in a small fighter ship, engaged the Blood Monarch's transport, which was said to contain the rest. The transport was guarded by two fighters which Whiskey had to neutralize first.
It was easy enough work. Aside from her skill, Whiskey was flying a state of the art craft that could literally fly circles around the others. And that is exactly what she did. In the confusion of dips and rolls, feints and quick turns, the guardian ships collided, leaving the transport defenseless. Whiskey had only to press a button and those on board were destroyed in a brilliant burst of blue and white. Whiskey returned to the planet's surface to collect her partner, and the two flew back to Green Meadows for another memory wipe.
Her most recent mission, her current one, has been to track down an individual very much like herself. Subject "H-4X1E", alias Axle Finne, had escaped from an experimentation facility. The facility, closely associated with Green Meadows, contracted them to bring him back. Since the assignment was likely to involve a great deal of piloting through space following Axles bread crumbs, Whiskey was assigned the job.
Coincidentally, being on this mission meant that Whiskey was not present at the facility when Victor, another assassin hacked into the chip mainframe to begin a degeneration process in all of their chip implants. Nor would she be around for the subsequent escape of Alpha, Delta, Echo, Uniform, Victor and Tango.
Roleplay Sample:
The hallway was empty. All of the guards were either dead, or unconscious. In either case, they were also stored safely out of the way. The tap of her shoes on the metal floor was barely audible as she wound through the hallway deeper and deeper into the complex. Most of the lights were extinguished, with only back up power lighting her way. It wouldn't matter. Whiskey had memorized the layout of the complex so thoroughly, she could find her way in total darkness. But the light helped.
Coming up was the end of the hall, and a door. Guarding the door, two men stood with wary eyes. Their communications had been cut long ago, but they could not abandon their post to check on the problem. Whiskey stopped not far in front of the two men. They had more firepower than she, with only her one blaster... large as it was. Her eye twitched as the chip in her brain discouraged her hesitation. Without blinking, she drew her blaster and landed a blaster bolt between the eyes of each man. A pause. The two bodies slumped to the floor.
Stepping forward, Whiskey took a key card from one of the bodies and unlocked the door. As soon as it slid to the side, a volley of blaster fire surrounded her. Jumping quickly to the side, Whiskey used the small wall as cover as she quickly assessed the situation inside the office. From the sound of the fire, she could identify two auto turrets on the ceiling, and two more guards, aside from her target, who seemed to also have a blaster, though it was only a small one.
Another twitch in her eye as the chip spurred her adrenalin. Mere seconds later, the energy was coursing through her veins with every pulse. Her breathing quickened and Whiskey pushed off the wall, spinning towards and through the doorway, one shot taking out one guard as she moved. Ducking down into a roll, Whiskey knocked over a low table and used it as cover. It wouldn't last long though, and so she rolled sideways, two shots taking out the auto turrets. Rolling to her feet, she charged forward, shooting the second guard. Though her shots only stunned the man, as they hit his armor, they served as distraction enough. Closing the distance, Whiskey brought her gun hand around in a sideways arc. The curved blade at the bottom of the handle caught the man in the throat, tearing out a sizable section of flesh and sending a spray of warm blood across both Whiskey and everything within five feet.
Turning her head, Whiskey's eyes caught the ringleader's as he staggered backwards. Her body turned slowly as she paced towards him. He dropped his small blaster from his shaking hand and fell to his knees, begging to be spared. Whiskey's eyes never blinked as she slowly shook her head. She lifted her blaster, pushing it against the space between the man's eyes. The end of the barrel was still hot, and a sizzle could be heard as it burned the weeping man's flesh. She had only one last detail to confirm before she pulled the trigger.
"Are you Johan Sentori?"
The man was barely able to stammer out a yes.
"Nice to know you. Goodbye."
The shot rang out in the empty silence of the room as the back half of Johan's head collided with the far wall. The smell of burning flesh filled the room, but Whiskey never wrinkled her nose. Casually, she reholstered her weapon and stepped around Sentori's body, exiting the office and then the complex.