Chase

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Name: Chase
Gender & Sexual Orientation: Male & Bisexual
Age: 20

Species: Transgenic
Designation/Rank: X5- 593

Position: Commanding Officer

Player: Savvyravenclaw20

Physical Description: When you first look at Chase, you'll see a figure about 5'8, slim, with dark brown hair cut just above his ears. His piercing green eyes are always bright with interest and enthusiasm for the task at hand. Some may call him "good looking" at first glance because to normies in the real world, he'd be tagged as stereotypically "easy on the eyes." Like the other transgenics in his unit he's extremely toned and stealthy, his body molded for agility. His skin is bronzed from long hours out in the field training as well as from multiple missions..

Personality: He's extremely focused when it comes to accomplishing the task at hand. He's the epitome of "no nonsense" and can be seen reprimanding the younger units for making mistakes, or as he puts it "failures."

He's a quick learner; picking up tactics, mission plans and layouts in a matter of seconds. He excels in one on one combat and prides himself on being one of the top soldiers in his unit. His hand eye coordination was considered excellent as Lydecker put it and he's an excellent shot when it comes to long and short range targets.

Like the other X5's though, he does have another personality that couldn't be associated with fierce training at manticore. He does enjoy a quiet laugh here and there when commanding officers are not within ear shot. He's loyal to his friends, aka those he basically grew up with.


History: Similar to the others in his unit, 593 was born in a lab with no knowledge of where he came from. When he asked the lab techs, they only raised their eyebrows and consulted their notes; pretending the question hadn't been asked. He dropped the question with a shrug, being trained for years that if you asked too many questions you'd be sent to the bad place. 593 didn't want to go there. None of them did.

Each day seemed to blend with the next. 593 could remember his childhood just as clearly as the he could see the blaring screens before him now.

"Eyes front," his commanding officer would scream into the soldiers ears as they all gave into their curiosity one by one as one of their unit was dragged away shaking. 593 would quickly focus on the blaring screens before his eyes, but the black words on the blue background barely penetrated my mind.

"Discipline, Duty, Teamwork," it read, repeating continuously; causing his eyes to burn and water. He read them, but they didn't mean anything.

The overwhelming thought penetrated his defenses. That was two of them. Two in just one day.

Days faded to night, and night day. Every second dulled as 593 fought to reach the other side of the combat field years during the early stages of his youth. Gun fire grazed mere inches over his head.

Sweat would trail down his face, burning his eyes as he squinted upwards toward his destination; a X4 standing one click to the north. The rifle gripped in his arms making it hard to move as he scooted with his elbows and pushing against the hard dry ground with his feet and knees. The heat intensified and his uniform clung to his skin. He paid no attention though as he closed his eyes to stop another stream of sweat from blurring his vision.

Duty, Discipline, teamwork.

He kept his focus and 593 reached his target.

He was done.

____________

The briefing was simple. 593 stood upright, his body posed in a practiced military stance as his commanding officer, a X4, questioned him on his mission. The questions of whether he knew his target, whether he knew what to do, replayed in his mind. He'd given the solitary yes sir.

This was 593's first deep cover solo mission. He had prepared for five months; training in advanced artillery, bomb detonation. 593 had also been briefed shortly on aviation controls, but was told during briefing that that added knowledge would only be of use if he needed a quick escape. The mission was plan was simple. Infiltrate an Iraqi base, kill the leader Alrabi Bahi, and if necessary destroy all evidence of ever being there. That's when his bomb training would come in handy.

Getting inside had been the easy part. With the mask of night to make his every movement unnoticed he'd had been trained to move stealthily. The movement came with ease as 593 maneuvered pass the robed men, killing those that got in his way and silencing those that tried to call for help. He'd stood posed over the target, gun pressed to the man's forehead as he begged for mercy; his hands rose in prayer as his life; nevertheless, flashed before his eyes. 593 cocked the gun, the sound causing a rush of adrenaline to rush through my body; momentarily blurring his enhanced vision.

This was what he'd been trained to do.

593 pulled the trigger; the deafening sound vibrated against the makeshift hut; shaking loose small remnants of dirt and grime which slowly floated downward covering the bloody remains of Bahi; dirt filtering into his wide, lifeless eyes.

Pulling out of the compound was difficult. The gun fire hadn't gone unnoticed as he blurred toward the designated escaped route to find it blocked by hundred of troops. There had been too many.

593 went with them without a word.

Discipline.

Duty

High pain threshold or not, no person could stand the torture 593 was forced to endure.

They asked where his orders had come from; but he stayed silent; mentally forming any means of escape. His gun was taken away, as well as any form of communication he had to call for rescue. He was on his own. He had to think quickly.

One soldier, very brave, came in alone. 593 rested his head to the side his arms hanging loosely behind him. He'd cut through the ropes which had restricted his movement mere seconds before the man's arrival.

"Tell us who you work for," the man had asked brandishing a pen in one hand, a cigar in the other. 593 eyes registered the necklace around the man's neck. If he was going to escape the time was now.

Opportunistic Weaponry, a skill he mastered at a young age, performed for the first time. He grabbed the man around the waist and kneed him in the gut; maneuvered around him grabbed the pen in his right hand and jammed the cigar into one of his eyes, and quickly gripped the hand holding the pen to stab the end into the man's carotid artery in his neck.

He ran but not quite at his full extent.

593 managed to hijack a plane before the sirens started blazing and was a mile out of range of the airbase when the bomb he'd set blew the place.

Debriefing was strenuous but 593 was cleared and sent to psy-ops for observation. The torture he had endured hindered his ability to go back into the field for a few months so during that time, he trained the lower X's, teaching them one- on -one combat training, as well as his specialty, opportunistic weaponry.
.

How Much People Know: They know about as much about him as anyone could know about a soldier. He’s close to those in his unit and usually stays with in that bond. He’s not particularly shy but he doesn’t talk to soldiers outside his unit unless he has to and that is very rare.