Post by Spite on Jan 5, 2012 4:00:20 GMT -5
Faction: Republic
Department: Special Ops
Rank: Lieutenant Colonel
Name: Robert Leon "Syntax"
Race: Human Cyborg
Age: 26
Height: 6'0
Weight: 234 lb.
Birth place: Coruscant, Lower City
Appearance:
Standing at exactly 6'0 tall, Syntax is like a walking suit of armor. There's so much metal on him that there are those that question which part of him is still human. There are rumors that he isn't even human at all, but a hi-tech droid implanted with false memories.
Most of the body armor is of a dark alloy color for stealth reasons. Apparently it used to be of a brighter color, but it's been stained in too much blood and burn marks for anyone to be able to tell anymore.
Syntax dual wields a fusion between a silenced pistol and a dagger as his primary weapons. At his hip sits an assault rifle that fires at a three-round burst rate. Opposing popular belief, neither of these weapons are actually blasters, but uses bullets. When asked about this, he simply says, "plasma draws too much attention."
On his back sits a tank-like device above his right shoulder. This contraption works as two things. One, it stores and filters oxygen into his mask, which allows passage through otherwise impossible environments (i.e. water, gasses, space.) And two, it is used as a gravity device in zero or low gee habitats.
Personality:
Not the most charming fellow. Actually, not charming at all. Who's to blame him really? When you grow up in poverty, fight to survive, and get most of your body blown to smithereens, you really wouldn't be the most heartwarming person at a party. That aside, Syntax is probably a grade 'A' douchebag when it comes to public relations. That's why he's the one holding a gun, and not a microphone.
Not a lot of people can really stand being around him, even among his peers; however, in his line of work that really doesn't matter. Syntax is good at what he does, who cares about "a soft touch" when the job is to paint the walls with blood anyways?
As to why he's fighting the war... it's not like he supports the ideas of the Republic to begin with. Corrupt politicians screw over people like him all the time. Syntax only fights the war because he's been a soldier for most of his existence, so why stop now when the most violent bit happens?
Skills:
Computer Hacking
Hand-to-hand Martial Arts
Stealth
Knife Combatant
Dual Pistols
Assault Rifles
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 8
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 7
Leadership: 3
Unarmed: 8
Melee Weapons: (Knives - 9) (Other - 4)
Ranged Weapons: (Med range - 6) (Long range - 0)
Alignment: -2
Bio:
"Most people don't have to go through the hell that I went through. No. Most people just do the easy thing and die. Peh, a bunch of weaklings. My story? Why the frack do you wanna know that?! You some kinda military psychiatrist or something? Heh, also a bunch of losers!
Honestly, the reason why I don't want to tell you nuts is because you're gonna think... oh the drama! Someone get this man a tissue! Well frack you! Yea I got a sop story, I'd have to to have a body that's mostly had of metal! I ain't looking for your pity so don't give it!
Heh, it all started as a kid, well... don't know much about that nuts except that I was an orphan. Left on the street in a box, great parents right? Heh, never found them, never want to. If I did I'd probably plaster their brains on the wall for being so grand! I got picked up by the old cook, probably the happiest days of my life if I think about it. His name was... Gerad... I think. Anyways, Gerad was this fat frack that owned a local diner, so growin' up I used to help around the kitchen a lot. That's where I got so interested in knives, y'know, since I worked with them all the time.
Oh don't give me that look, you never played with a kitchen knife and thought, 'well, wouldn't it be nice to just bleed someone with this?' No? Liar. Anyways, I started to train with them, flip em, throw em, stab em into sandbags... the works. Gerad didn't seem to mind anyways.
Well Gerad had bigger problems anyways. Ya see, holdin' a business in the lower cities of Coruscant the legit way is damn near impossible. Well, a business that survives, at any rate. So the old man ended up getting into some nuts with local loan sharks. I always knew that fat frack was a dumb frack too.
I still remember that night. I was coming back from delivering a couple of boxes and the whole bloody place was on fire! I found his body in front of diner, plasma holes from head to toe. Pretty soon I hear voices, they'd found me too! So I do the smartest thing there is to do in a situation like that.
I kriffin' run!
Long story short, one of them corners me. Pull out his blaster and is ready to finish me off. I thought it was over already. Well, most orphans were lucky if they had even gotten that far growing up in Coruscant.
I blacked out, and it wasn't until I was washing the blood off my hand in a nearby sewer that I realized I had stuck a blade in his neck."
----Mercenary (3611.BBY)----
At age 16, Robert Leon committed his first alleged murder. Of course, being in the vicinity of the Lower City, no one really cared or even seemed to notice. Death was nothing new in the Lower Cities of Coruscant. However, the act of killing someone opened up the mind of the young Leon to a world that he had never imagined. Life as a mercenary.
Hell, all he had to do was get paid to do... whatever! Morals? Who cared about that in those days anyways? He was no Jedi, afterall. So his life began as a mercenary, running about with random crews like scum usually did. By the time the kid was 19 he had dropped a body count that would make a Hutt curl up. However, things went south fast enough when one of Leon's crewmates decided to get a little greedy.
As a result, most of Leon's group was killed, Leon barely escaping with his own life. Disgusted at the type of life he had to live and the type of people that he had entrusted himself to, Robert Leon decided to go into a different profession altogether...
Well, not really, you still got paid to kill. It was just that you weren't looked down on for it. The Military.
----The Military (3608.BBY)----
Having his past experience as a mercenary, Leon was at first doubtful that he would even make it past the background checks. Most people who were involved in such grimey business were not usually allowed within the most majestic ranks of the Republic. Surprisingly; however, nothing but a clean slate showed up on Leon's file. In fact, the officers in charge had a problem locating the file to begin with. It would seem that most orphans never really had papers to begin with.
So training began. Once again, with his prior experiences, Leon excelled faster and better than many of his peers. The only thing that worried his superiors was the Leon was horrible at teamwork. In fact, Leon was seen kicked a teammate out of the way for getting in his line of fire.
Regardless of such... troubling issues, Leon was far too talented to be kicked out. His superiors decided that he be transferred to Special Ops, as his skill-set seemed to match exactly what was needed in a slot that had recently been vacated during a failed operation.
Once again, Leon surpassed many of his superiors' expectations.
Not even that day could slow him down.
----August 1, 3603.BBY----
"I was kriffin' excited y'know? There was talk goin' about that war was on the horizon. Up until that point I hadn't done nuts but kriffin' covert ops for 'potential terrorists!' And they all ended up being weaksauce! If the rumors were true, I could get my hands stained in some fracking MANDOLORIAN blood, you know what I mean?! Think of the adrenaline I felt!
It just so happened that we got put on an op. Most people don't know about this but I'mma kriffin tell you anyways because I like ya so much.
... We were gonna bomb a Mandolorian unit that were preparing to begin taking over systems.
It was too much! All those rumors? They were frackin true, and we were gonna see the first of it! Not that anyone knew, but who cares?! We were gonna kill em anyways! Least that's what I thought anyways...
I always thought my team were a bunch o' kriffin screw ups...
The day of the op, someone kriffin' slipped, and let an unsuppressed firearm go off. You can guess how well that went over. frack there was so much blood... you could bathe in it... literally. All my team got wiped, they took a bunch o Mando's down, but I guess the rumors were true.
Those Mandolorians were no pushovers.
So I was the last one left, couple plasma burns in my side already... a normal person would already be out cold on death's door. But the op wasn't done yet, and I wanted to kill as many as I could before I went down myself.
So what did I do? I strapped the bombs onto a fuel lodge and detonated the damn thing myself... while I was in blast radius. slime burned to hell, every last one o' em. So did I, least I thought I did.
----The Recovery----
Robert Leon did not die that day. Found by a recovery team on the edge of life and death, what remained of his body was quickly rushed to a bacta-tank. With the use of technology of the time, Leon's superiors, (who believed he was too valuable an asset to let waste,) ordered the immediate process of Roboticisation, ultimately turning Leon into a cyborg.
Sitting out the beginning of the true war in his recovery process, Leon is finally back in action. With his new alias: Syntax, Leon has once again joined the ranks of the Special Forces as a Lieutenant Colonel, constantly attempting to sate his neverending lust for Mandolorian blood.
Password: Bylgia
RP Sample:
"Mission set, suppressed firearms only."
With a slight shift of motion Syntax clicks his confirmation tap through the radio transmitter of his commlink.
Lazy fracks... the thought runs through his mechanical mind, how're they gonna give me orders when I'm the one doin' all the work?
There was no team for this particular mission. Syntax liked it that way anyways. He was always the lone wolf type and that wasn't going to change any time soon. Shoving thoughts aside, Syntax growled under his breath and dropped into the sewer waters. As soon as he immersed, his vision went infrared.
"13 heat signatures, 10 armed." His suit read as he drifted towards the bottom of the water, as a cyborg, he didn't even need his gravity pack to sink. He would need it later to resurface.
Bloody terrorists... It was true, this was nothing but the simple... save the hostage situation. Apparently, of the 13 lifeforms that were above, 3 of them were powerful politicians of the Galactic Republic. To Syntax, this was all a waste of time.
I have a war to fight and these fracks have me doin' this?!
Pulling the nozzle to his gravity pack, Syntax slowly started to float towards the surface. He noticed that two of the guards were separating from the group towards his area. Probably to go on a smoke break. Fools.
The moment his head surfaced, two bodies softly crumbled to the floor, bullets lodged in the back of the cranium. Moving swiftly, the Lieutenant immediately dragged the bodies into the darkness.
"Oy, Maggots!" Syntax heard from the inside, his body reflexively tensing. "Keep it down out there ey?!"
Relaxing slightly, the cyborg shook his head slightly and scanned the structure for any points of entrance. The most accessible would appear to be the skylight.
With nimbleness hardly seen by man, much less machine, Syntax scaled the wall of the warehouse. Rolling up onto the roof, the cyborg zipped along the edges until he arrived at the skylight, which he immediately ducked through.
8 hostiles, 3 hostages... the thought quickly whirred through his head as he made his way to the floor, very careful to stick to the shadows.
"Hey Hobbes!" Once again, the cyborg froze in place. No movement, no sound. "Go check on those slimeballs, they're probably avoiding work!"
"Yea one sec boss, I need to take a leak."
Perfect. Without another throught, Syntax pulled a knife from its sheath. Timing is everything.
How true that was. Taking a deep breath, the cyborg steadied his aim and locked-on with robotic lenses that doubled for his eyes. As soon as the hostile moved to close the door to his private time, a knife zipped through the crack of the door frame, effectively ending the man's life the moment the door closed with no witnesses to see it.
Beautiful.
Sometimes it paid to be proud of oneself.
Department: Special Ops
Rank: Lieutenant Colonel
Name: Robert Leon "Syntax"
Race: Human Cyborg
Age: 26
Height: 6'0
Weight: 234 lb.
Birth place: Coruscant, Lower City
Appearance:
Standing at exactly 6'0 tall, Syntax is like a walking suit of armor. There's so much metal on him that there are those that question which part of him is still human. There are rumors that he isn't even human at all, but a hi-tech droid implanted with false memories.
Most of the body armor is of a dark alloy color for stealth reasons. Apparently it used to be of a brighter color, but it's been stained in too much blood and burn marks for anyone to be able to tell anymore.
Syntax dual wields a fusion between a silenced pistol and a dagger as his primary weapons. At his hip sits an assault rifle that fires at a three-round burst rate. Opposing popular belief, neither of these weapons are actually blasters, but uses bullets. When asked about this, he simply says, "plasma draws too much attention."
On his back sits a tank-like device above his right shoulder. This contraption works as two things. One, it stores and filters oxygen into his mask, which allows passage through otherwise impossible environments (i.e. water, gasses, space.) And two, it is used as a gravity device in zero or low gee habitats.
Personality:
Not the most charming fellow. Actually, not charming at all. Who's to blame him really? When you grow up in poverty, fight to survive, and get most of your body blown to smithereens, you really wouldn't be the most heartwarming person at a party. That aside, Syntax is probably a grade 'A' douchebag when it comes to public relations. That's why he's the one holding a gun, and not a microphone.
Not a lot of people can really stand being around him, even among his peers; however, in his line of work that really doesn't matter. Syntax is good at what he does, who cares about "a soft touch" when the job is to paint the walls with blood anyways?
As to why he's fighting the war... it's not like he supports the ideas of the Republic to begin with. Corrupt politicians screw over people like him all the time. Syntax only fights the war because he's been a soldier for most of his existence, so why stop now when the most violent bit happens?
Skills:
Computer Hacking
Hand-to-hand Martial Arts
Stealth
Knife Combatant
Dual Pistols
Assault Rifles
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 8
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 7
Leadership: 3
Unarmed: 8
Melee Weapons: (Knives - 9) (Other - 4)
Ranged Weapons: (Med range - 6) (Long range - 0)
Alignment: -2
Bio:
"Most people don't have to go through the hell that I went through. No. Most people just do the easy thing and die. Peh, a bunch of weaklings. My story? Why the frack do you wanna know that?! You some kinda military psychiatrist or something? Heh, also a bunch of losers!
Honestly, the reason why I don't want to tell you nuts is because you're gonna think... oh the drama! Someone get this man a tissue! Well frack you! Yea I got a sop story, I'd have to to have a body that's mostly had of metal! I ain't looking for your pity so don't give it!
Heh, it all started as a kid, well... don't know much about that nuts except that I was an orphan. Left on the street in a box, great parents right? Heh, never found them, never want to. If I did I'd probably plaster their brains on the wall for being so grand! I got picked up by the old cook, probably the happiest days of my life if I think about it. His name was... Gerad... I think. Anyways, Gerad was this fat frack that owned a local diner, so growin' up I used to help around the kitchen a lot. That's where I got so interested in knives, y'know, since I worked with them all the time.
Oh don't give me that look, you never played with a kitchen knife and thought, 'well, wouldn't it be nice to just bleed someone with this?' No? Liar. Anyways, I started to train with them, flip em, throw em, stab em into sandbags... the works. Gerad didn't seem to mind anyways.
Well Gerad had bigger problems anyways. Ya see, holdin' a business in the lower cities of Coruscant the legit way is damn near impossible. Well, a business that survives, at any rate. So the old man ended up getting into some nuts with local loan sharks. I always knew that fat frack was a dumb frack too.
I still remember that night. I was coming back from delivering a couple of boxes and the whole bloody place was on fire! I found his body in front of diner, plasma holes from head to toe. Pretty soon I hear voices, they'd found me too! So I do the smartest thing there is to do in a situation like that.
I kriffin' run!
Long story short, one of them corners me. Pull out his blaster and is ready to finish me off. I thought it was over already. Well, most orphans were lucky if they had even gotten that far growing up in Coruscant.
I blacked out, and it wasn't until I was washing the blood off my hand in a nearby sewer that I realized I had stuck a blade in his neck."
----Mercenary (3611.BBY)----
At age 16, Robert Leon committed his first alleged murder. Of course, being in the vicinity of the Lower City, no one really cared or even seemed to notice. Death was nothing new in the Lower Cities of Coruscant. However, the act of killing someone opened up the mind of the young Leon to a world that he had never imagined. Life as a mercenary.
Hell, all he had to do was get paid to do... whatever! Morals? Who cared about that in those days anyways? He was no Jedi, afterall. So his life began as a mercenary, running about with random crews like scum usually did. By the time the kid was 19 he had dropped a body count that would make a Hutt curl up. However, things went south fast enough when one of Leon's crewmates decided to get a little greedy.
As a result, most of Leon's group was killed, Leon barely escaping with his own life. Disgusted at the type of life he had to live and the type of people that he had entrusted himself to, Robert Leon decided to go into a different profession altogether...
Well, not really, you still got paid to kill. It was just that you weren't looked down on for it. The Military.
----The Military (3608.BBY)----
Having his past experience as a mercenary, Leon was at first doubtful that he would even make it past the background checks. Most people who were involved in such grimey business were not usually allowed within the most majestic ranks of the Republic. Surprisingly; however, nothing but a clean slate showed up on Leon's file. In fact, the officers in charge had a problem locating the file to begin with. It would seem that most orphans never really had papers to begin with.
So training began. Once again, with his prior experiences, Leon excelled faster and better than many of his peers. The only thing that worried his superiors was the Leon was horrible at teamwork. In fact, Leon was seen kicked a teammate out of the way for getting in his line of fire.
Regardless of such... troubling issues, Leon was far too talented to be kicked out. His superiors decided that he be transferred to Special Ops, as his skill-set seemed to match exactly what was needed in a slot that had recently been vacated during a failed operation.
Once again, Leon surpassed many of his superiors' expectations.
Not even that day could slow him down.
----August 1, 3603.BBY----
"I was kriffin' excited y'know? There was talk goin' about that war was on the horizon. Up until that point I hadn't done nuts but kriffin' covert ops for 'potential terrorists!' And they all ended up being weaksauce! If the rumors were true, I could get my hands stained in some fracking MANDOLORIAN blood, you know what I mean?! Think of the adrenaline I felt!
It just so happened that we got put on an op. Most people don't know about this but I'mma kriffin tell you anyways because I like ya so much.
... We were gonna bomb a Mandolorian unit that were preparing to begin taking over systems.
It was too much! All those rumors? They were frackin true, and we were gonna see the first of it! Not that anyone knew, but who cares?! We were gonna kill em anyways! Least that's what I thought anyways...
I always thought my team were a bunch o' kriffin screw ups...
The day of the op, someone kriffin' slipped, and let an unsuppressed firearm go off. You can guess how well that went over. frack there was so much blood... you could bathe in it... literally. All my team got wiped, they took a bunch o Mando's down, but I guess the rumors were true.
Those Mandolorians were no pushovers.
So I was the last one left, couple plasma burns in my side already... a normal person would already be out cold on death's door. But the op wasn't done yet, and I wanted to kill as many as I could before I went down myself.
So what did I do? I strapped the bombs onto a fuel lodge and detonated the damn thing myself... while I was in blast radius. slime burned to hell, every last one o' em. So did I, least I thought I did.
----The Recovery----
Robert Leon did not die that day. Found by a recovery team on the edge of life and death, what remained of his body was quickly rushed to a bacta-tank. With the use of technology of the time, Leon's superiors, (who believed he was too valuable an asset to let waste,) ordered the immediate process of Roboticisation, ultimately turning Leon into a cyborg.
Sitting out the beginning of the true war in his recovery process, Leon is finally back in action. With his new alias: Syntax, Leon has once again joined the ranks of the Special Forces as a Lieutenant Colonel, constantly attempting to sate his neverending lust for Mandolorian blood.
Password: Bylgia
RP Sample:
"Mission set, suppressed firearms only."
With a slight shift of motion Syntax clicks his confirmation tap through the radio transmitter of his commlink.
Lazy fracks... the thought runs through his mechanical mind, how're they gonna give me orders when I'm the one doin' all the work?
There was no team for this particular mission. Syntax liked it that way anyways. He was always the lone wolf type and that wasn't going to change any time soon. Shoving thoughts aside, Syntax growled under his breath and dropped into the sewer waters. As soon as he immersed, his vision went infrared.
"13 heat signatures, 10 armed." His suit read as he drifted towards the bottom of the water, as a cyborg, he didn't even need his gravity pack to sink. He would need it later to resurface.
Bloody terrorists... It was true, this was nothing but the simple... save the hostage situation. Apparently, of the 13 lifeforms that were above, 3 of them were powerful politicians of the Galactic Republic. To Syntax, this was all a waste of time.
I have a war to fight and these fracks have me doin' this?!
Pulling the nozzle to his gravity pack, Syntax slowly started to float towards the surface. He noticed that two of the guards were separating from the group towards his area. Probably to go on a smoke break. Fools.
The moment his head surfaced, two bodies softly crumbled to the floor, bullets lodged in the back of the cranium. Moving swiftly, the Lieutenant immediately dragged the bodies into the darkness.
"Oy, Maggots!" Syntax heard from the inside, his body reflexively tensing. "Keep it down out there ey?!"
Relaxing slightly, the cyborg shook his head slightly and scanned the structure for any points of entrance. The most accessible would appear to be the skylight.
With nimbleness hardly seen by man, much less machine, Syntax scaled the wall of the warehouse. Rolling up onto the roof, the cyborg zipped along the edges until he arrived at the skylight, which he immediately ducked through.
8 hostiles, 3 hostages... the thought quickly whirred through his head as he made his way to the floor, very careful to stick to the shadows.
"Hey Hobbes!" Once again, the cyborg froze in place. No movement, no sound. "Go check on those slimeballs, they're probably avoiding work!"
"Yea one sec boss, I need to take a leak."
Perfect. Without another throught, Syntax pulled a knife from its sheath. Timing is everything.
How true that was. Taking a deep breath, the cyborg steadied his aim and locked-on with robotic lenses that doubled for his eyes. As soon as the hostile moved to close the door to his private time, a knife zipped through the crack of the door frame, effectively ending the man's life the moment the door closed with no witnesses to see it.
Beautiful.
Sometimes it paid to be proud of oneself.
