Post by Vincent Miles on Mar 22, 2013 23:56:14 GMT -5
THE BASICS --{Name}-- Vincent Orlando Miles --{Alias}-- On-Mission Call Signs: Boss; Candybar --{Age}-- 28 --{Gender}-- Male --{Race/Nationality}-- Britannian --{Occupation/Rank}-- Special Forces Operator; Rank: Sergeant First Class |
APPEARANCE & BEHAVIOR --{Physical Description}-- Vincent Miles is not what you would picture when you think of a long-serving SF Operator. For starters, he is slightly shorter than average (5’9” tall) and weighs only 160 lbs. His small size does convey advantages, though. His exceptionally-toned muscles are agile and powerful, and Vincent himself is always ready to spring into action. Vincent’s face is framed by his longer-than-regulation blond hair. In his case, he has permission to wear his hair long thanks to his status as an Operator. He has green eyes and fair skin. While mostly free from distinguishing marks, Vince does bear several tattoos. One is a large barcode on his right deltoid. On his back is a list of all the soldiers that he has served with who have died. When working, Vincent wears whatever uniform will best suit the mission, but body armor is a constant. When off the clock, Vincent can most often be found wearing brightly-colored, loose-fitting Hawaiian shirts, shorts, and flip flops (if the weather allows for it). If he is training, he opts for athletic shorts, a t-shirt, and running shoes. Regardless of the situation, Vincent is almost never without three items: brass knuckles, his highly-customized sidearm, and his sunglasses. --{Personality}-- Vincent is a man who enjoys a good laugh almost more than anything else. He’s not too picky whether the laugh comes from a simple joke or an elaborate prank but will only allow the latter within his own squad. Other service members are allowed occasional glances at how he and his subordinates act, but he prefers to keep everything “in-house” as much as possible. When left to his own devices, Vincent is prone to getting lost in his memories. He's done a lot of things that he's not proud of and they often come back to haunt him. When off the clock, his defense against his own conscience can usually be found in a bottle or two. Thanks to his pride, however, he does not allow his teammates to see his "weaker" side and plays it off any time he gets caught reminiscing. This avoidance of his past has transferred over to almost every part of his life and he only very rarely reveals anything personal. As an Operator, Vincent is consummate. His years of experience show well in his actions and decisions. His preference for being the first man through a breach - regardless of his status as a leader - has earned him a reputation for recklessness. Most of his seemingly hasty actions are the result of quick planning and decision making partnered with his desire to keep his people alive. He would rather lose his own life than allow a teammate to be sacrificed. It is important to note that, as of Vincent’s last several Psychological Evaluations, he appears to harbor growing resentment for Britannia’s treatment of the Numbers. |
BATTLEFIELD EVALUATION --{Knightmare Frame}-- Name: NA Model Number: NA Height: NA Weight: NA Physical Description: NA Equipment: NA Armaments: NA Notes: NA --{Weapons}-- Customized Royal Arms H2010 handgun: Originally a standard issue pistol, Vincent has customized his weapon to allow for a lighter trigger-squeeze and added a more reliable feeding mechanism. Vincent most often loads the weapon with hollow point rounds to allow for greater stopping power against unarmored individuals. Royal Arms R2008 infantry rifle: A standard-issue Britannian rifle, the R2008 infantry rifle is a lightweight, Sakuradite-operated, bullpup, air-cooled, magazine-fed, shoulder-fired weapon that fires caseless ammunition in automatic, three-round bursts, or semiautomatic single shots. It carries 30 rounds per magazine. Brass Knuckles: Virtually unchanged since their invention, Vincent has one set of black Brass Knuckles that he keeps on his person at all times. They are, as expected, used to enhance his already impressive face-smashing abilities --{Equipment}-- LHR Combat Knife: Developed for the Britannian Army as a supplement to their hand-to-hand combat program, the LHR is a 12.5" weapon (6.87" of which is the blade itself) designed by Chris Reeve and William W. Harsey Jr. The quick-release sheathe was designed with safety for the user in mind, and so is equipped with a built-in safety release that only the wearer can use. Imperial Battle Uniform: Consisting of a gray jumpsuit, ballistic torso and shoulder armor, and a helmet, Britannia’s standard combat uniform is largely seen as the most technologically advanced in the world. The ballistic plates are capable of deflecting or stopping most small arms fire and the lightweight material of the jumpsuit allows for relatively high freedom of motion. The helmet comes standard with integrated communications systems and a visor that may be smart-linked to the wearer’s firearms, allowing for near-perfect accuracy when firing, even while in an unstable position or on the move. Thanks to his status as a Special Forces Operator, Vincent has taken some liberties with his gear. For starters, he removed the gas mask, citing hindered respiration. The pauldrons and boot lace covers are now a dark orange, and the helmet features a matching stripe down the center. When asked about the alterations, Vincent gave no meaningful answer. --{Special Skills/Abilities}-- Weapon Proficiency (Firearms): Having spent most of his adult life as an Operator, Vincent excels at using most firearms – particularly those fielded by the Holy Empire of Britannia and built with close- to medium-range in mind. His abilities at greater distances are passable, but nothing too impressive. Combat Proficiency (Hand-to-Hand): Vincent has, at heart, always been a brawler. Long sparring sessions with his teammates have sharpened his skills in hand-to-hand combat to a razor’s edge. Vincent’s fighting style mixes aspects of street fighting, kick boxing, the Imperial Army’s hand-to-hand program, and Krav Maga into a whirlwind of kicks, punches, and grapples that leaves most enemies reeling. Military Operations in Urban Terrain (MOUT): Very nearly all of the operations that Vincent has taken part in were conducted in Urban settings. Fighting street by street, house by house, room by room is second nature now, and Vincent uses this strength to surprise and overwhelm his enemies with lightning speed and intensity. Situations for which Vincent does not have an answer are an increasingly rare occurance. Drinking: Vincent is a man who lives by many creeds. Among them, he is quite fond of “A man who doesn’t drink has already lost half his life.” This is a man who can drink almost anyone under a table and keep going. From beer to wine, bourbon to vodka, if it’s got alcohol in it, Vincent will drink it with a smile. He currently favors tequila. |
PERSONAL INFO --{Family}-- Nickolas Miles (Father; 60) Sherry Miles (Mother; 58) --{Friends}-- Duncan Penrose (fellow Britannian Operator and teammate; 27) Marina Allswell (Britannian Knightmare Devicer; 26) --{Known Associates}-- Various Britannian military personnel. None higher than commoner ranks. --{History}-- Born and raised a few short minutes from an Imperial Air Force Base, Vincent spent much of his formative years watching military jets on maneuvers. As a child, he dreamed of one day flying them himself. As one would expect, his room was a shrine to Britannian military air power. Many were the days that he simply sat at the fence near the base's runway, just watching the jets take off and land. As Vincent grew, his dream stayed unchanged. It seemed that he was well on his way to attaining it when he found another love: fighting. It was common for Vincent to get in trouble during or after school for his numerous brawls. As his reputation as a scrappy, hard-headed opponent grew, as did his criminal record. The situation came to a head when he was 16. A local punk challenged Vincent to a fight and Vincent, knowing full well that he was going to win by a wide margin, gladly accepted. While brief, the brawl proved too much for Vincent’s opponent to handle. Vincent toyed with his opponent for a brief time, allowing the kid to land several good hits. He grew bored with this quickly, however, and soon had his opponent in a full mount, raining unrelenting blows on his head - even long after the kid had stopped moving; or breathing. Vincent only escaped by virtue of the police not looking too deeply into the murder. The kid was a known criminal. All the same, he regrets his actions to this day. It could be said that joining the military, volunteering for SF, and being needlessly reckless are all attempts at redeeming himself. When Vincent turned 18, he immediately went to the nearest Air Force recruiting office to begin his path to being a pilot. Air Force policies prevented anyone with a criminal record from joining the branch. Heartbroken, Vincent returned home. His foul mood continued until he awoke one day from a dream of fighting on the frontlines – on foot. He paid a visit to the Army's recruiting office and enlisted as an infantryman. After training, he saw combat in several theaters including New Zealand and Indochina. His entire platoon was killed on a mission in Indochina, leaving Vincent the sole survivor. Where most men would have broken off and abandoned the mission, Vincent pressed on and accomplished his objectives through guile and guerilla tactics. He applied for Special Forces training following the deployment and was accepted. After a year and a half of training, he passed Selection and was assigned to a team. He has spent the intervening years serving with distinction as a Special Forces Noncommissioned Officer and was deployed to Japan during the Second Pacific War. Following the conclusion of the war, Vincent was promoted and posted in Area 11 as an Independent Operator. He is responsible for individual actions against local insurrection as well as training Britannian pacification forces. He currently lives in an apartment in the Tokyo Settlement. --{RP Sample}-- The rifle coughed in Vince’s arms, sending three-round bursts across the street. Vince was a good marksman – compared to the normal rank and file, he was exceptional – but he wasn’t what anyone in the SF field would think was anything special. That being said, he would have had to try to miss at this range. A pair of men to Queen Five’s 12 o’clock slumped to the ground as he took their lives. He pulled a grenade from its pouch on his vest and chucked it down the road, toward their corpses; anyone who went to try to help them or retrieve their bodies in the next few seconds was in for one hell of a surprise. He dropped back to a knee and shifted his attention right at a teammate’s shout. He would have opened fire, but their heavy-weapons specialist was busy showing off his lead-farming abilities. Vince loaded a 40 mm grenade into his rifle’s under-barrel grenade launcher. He lined the sights up on a foyer column with a cry of “40 mike!” and sent the round on its way. A moment later, the street boomed with the explosions of two different grenade types going off at roughly the same instant. The already-dusty air clouded with even more airborne dirt and debris. It labored Vince’s breathing and hampered visibility. He could barely make out his squad through the floating grime. “Move, Queen Five! We’re not leaving until this asshole’s dead!” he ordered, voice booming. He stood from his cover and started bounding forward. They had spotted the target just down the street and were hot on his trail. By the time the team arrived, it was too late for anyone to save the target. He lay on his back on the pavement in a rapidly expanding pool of blood. One of his legs was gone from the knee down and what was left of his insides had become his shredded outsides. He was, effectively, dead already, but he was still making sobbing noises that were more weak choking noises than anything. Vince almost ordered one of his men to finish the job. But he wouldn’t. If any member of his team was going to do the dirty work, it would be Vincent. He owed that much to his men. That’s why, with slow deliberation, he drew his pistol from its holster and centered the sights on the Japanese man’s head with a silent apology. This wasn’t what Vince had wanted when he joined the Army. The pistol barked in Vince’s hand and a single round imbedded itself in the target’s brain. Vince activated his radio. “Overlord Actual, this is Queen Five-One. Target eliminated.” He pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it, taking a deep inhale of the smoke. “Alright boys, let’s get the hell out of here.” He could already tell that this shit was going to catch up to him someday. He couldn’t tell when, or where, or how, but he knew, eventually, he would have to pay for his crimes. How costly that payment would be, he could never imagine. |