Thnx. Same to you. It'll b up in a bit.
Thnx. Same to you. It'll b up in a bit.
Here it is, completed and revised.
Name: Colonel Byron Thaddeus Morton.
Alliance: *Pulse and the United States of America.
Appearance: Byron Thaddeus Morton is a mountain of a man. His nickname, The Goliath, does Morton an exorbitant amount of justice when describing him. He stands at a height of 6'8", weighing in at over 375 pounds of pure, unrivaled brute strength. His body is covered in bandoliers and weapons. He has taken the utmost precautions to ensure his longevity and protection. His right eye bears burnt skin around the socket, and where his right eye should be, there is instead an artificial eye with infrared technology built into it that sends collected data directly to the brain. This eye can use its infrared sensors to detect heat and triangulate a position through walls and certain structures. His left arm, from just below the elbow down, is severed completely off. It has since been replaced with a mechanically enhanced prosthetic Robo-Arm that was developed by Pulse only a few years back. This arm is completely metal and wires, sporting a Tungsten base armor; which is a metal surpassed in strength only by diamond. It is gold played to give it a more accommodating appearance. The wrinkles in his face are from years of tough living, giving him character but at the same time, a very cold and heartless stare and disposition.
Personality: Colonel Morton has a very ruthless persona about him. He understands conflict and suffering, and also believes that everyone should have suffering in their lives to build character. He is very old fashioned when faced with various euphemisms and ideologies. His sympathy is very little, but his reforms are great. That is to say, of he sees people in trouble and suffering, he will never show them any real apathy or emotion. He will, however, utilize all the power at his command to help those in need. He is brave and stouthearted, while also being haunted by his own demons from the past. He fills nearly every void of what is known as the "strong silent type." Although technically the United States no longer exists, Byron still fights for it. He fights for it because he needs something to fight for, otherwise he has no reason for living. Perfectly fits the definition of a "die hard patriot."
Biography: Byron was born to James and Matilda Morton in Springfield, Illinois on August the 11th of 1945. He was never much one for sports early on in school, from grades 1 to 7 he spent most of his days at recess inside, focusing on his studies rather than physical activities. This boggled his parents because of the boys obvious size and natural strength. His parents, however, would not have much time to instruct their son and make plans for his future. At the age of 13, the worst event of his life occurred. Byron's parents were both killed in a car crash, the result of a drunken driver.
Byron collapsed into depression, not knowing how to handle nor grieve for his parents passing. He was passed from foster home to foster home for his unruly personality and aggressive behavior until his 18th birthday.
It was 1973, and the call of the Army was strong for many young men. Byron, however, did not want such a life. After too many misdemeanors and being in and out of juvenile hall, the courts decided a fair punishment would be either prison for 8 years, or 4 years in the army. Morton chose the army.
His first year in basic training an arms maintenance was easy for him. His following two years in Vietnam however, proved far more difficult. Weeks in the hot sun followed by weeks in unending rain took their toll on the young mans life. At the age of 21, he experienced his second life changing tragedy. While crawling on all fours towards a POW containment camp, his left arm tripped a land mine. The mission was thought to be a failure, but Byron pulled through anyways. The mines explosion caught the attention of the guards, giving away Byron's Company's position. Byron, however, was blasted into a waterway, a waterway that conveniently led underneath the POW camp. Byron made It out with all 5 captured POW's. The rest of his company, however, with the exception of his commander, were slaughtered.
Byron was transported back to the US and awarded the Purple Heart for his bravery in the face of peril, a feat that nearly cost him his life. His left arm had to be amputated from the mine, while the blood lost from saving his fellow men caused him to slip into a 3 month coma. When he awoke, he found the latest in science where his left arm once was. A prosthetic piece of machinery was now to serve him for the rest of his life. He humbled himself, and turned to god. After two years in physical therapy, he went back into the military. Instead of utilizing his strength, he enable the use of his mind. Creating weapons and different scientific applications for the military, Byron quickly became the leader of the Military Robotics Division. Being a co-designer of nearly every advancement in the use of robotics by the military, Byron was simultaneously climbing the ranks as a Tactical Field Expert. When it came to battle tactics, he was the best.*
By the early 90's, Byron Thaddeus Morton had attained the rank of Colonel in the United States Military. In 1998, after serving for 35 years in the military, Byron retired. The army had given him everything he could ever ask for and more, which is why he is such a faithful patriot. he began to slow down and relax and finally enjoy his retirement. Then... It happened.
On September 11th, 2001, America was attacked. His beloved country was threatened, and so he saw fit to call himself back to arms. The war in Iraq was incredibly difficult, but it was not unlike the Vietnam war he had previously fought in. Being a high leader in robotics, he was able to upgrade his prosthetic arm into an all around utility that no other human could accomplish. It could extend, it could latch onto things, it gave him unheard of strength, he was in the most literal form, a super soldier. He was not, however, invincible.
During one of his raids on an Iraqi outpost in 2008, Byron's arm was hit by an EMP weapon. The arm shut down, and Byron was quickly overrun and captured. They tortured him for information. They tortured him for a long, long time.*
A true patriot to the end, he refused to relinquish any information. The Al-Qa'ida, unable to retrieve information through conventional means, decided to take a more traditional touch to the torture. This traditional touch came in the form of molten steel being poured on various parts of the body. They started with his right eye.
Noone knows if he would have died there or if he would have escaped on his own, all that is known is that he thanked America once more when the Marine Strike team raided the Al-Qa'ida camp and freed him. Seeing those beautiful, spacious skies and amber waves of grain brought tears to his remaining eye. He was hospitalized immediately when he returned to the united states. His eye was burnt beyond repair. It was instead removed, and replaced with an infrared mechanical eye that could relay information and dissect an environment at the speed of a computer.
When he returned to work in 2009, he was approached by his superior ranking officer and offered a position in a bran new division that had just opened, called Pulse. Byron gladly accepted the new post and took to his new job with little trouble. In 2012, the news of the United States no longer being a nation brought a sadness upon Byron like none other. He currently resides in Texas, at the remnants of what was once Dallas, taking it upon himself to defend the country he loved no matter what the costs.
Prologue: "A Ten-hut!"*
500 Hazard Suited Pulse Soldiers snapped to attention at the sound of their Colonel's voice.
Another booming command, and every soldier simultaneously pivoted on their right toe, turning to face their leader at home plate of the stadium. They were at the stadium of the Dallas Cowboys, what was once a place of happiness and giddy dreams.
That was... Before the Apocalypse.
The Colonel barked, and his order was followed. Every soldier folded their hands behind their backs,
And separated their feet in a resting position. Sweat dripped from Colonel Byron Thaddeus Morton's brow as he gazed upon his company. These were men he had trained, dined with, fought with, bled with, and all but died with. Now, he was prepared to make that last statement change, as was every soldier in that stadium. They all knew what was expected, and they all knew that they probably would not live through the following confrontation. But what really mattered was that they didn't care. They were happy to die.
As long as they died together, while fighting for their fallen country, they were ready to greet the next world with open arms.
Morton's gaze traveled to the stands of the stadium. They were filled with survivors, people on the run from the apocalypse and just barely holding on to life. He had created a safe haven for them here, in Dallas. He had told them they would make it through this. He gave them food, water, shelter, he gave them hope, and told them of a brighter future. There was, however, one thing he hadn't told them.*
That they were alone in this city, and the only thing standing between these survivors and the cretinous apocalypse going on outside these walls... Was him.
He returned his gaze to his troops, and spoke aloud for all to hear.
"Men," he said loudly, "we have spent our lives training for this day. Every event prior to this moment, right here, right now, is meaningless. Every material possession, every suffering, every love, every sacrifice have all been leading to this moment. This is going to be the pinnacle of our existence. The reanimated have been multiplying in number just outside this cities walls. Soon, they will gather a force strong enough to break through."
He paused, just for a moment to let the message sink in.
"And when they do break through," he continued, "what will they find? A broken people? A species unable to continue on through this hardship? No! They will find strong, capable men and women, ready to fight for what they believe in!"
His voice began to rise and gain more and more confidence with each word he spoke.
"We will not fall! These reanimated these... Mutants, they will not win! They can think, just like we do. They are not simply mindless beasts, but neither are we!"
The survivors cheered as he spoke.
"We will show them who the superior species are! We will show them real fear and true strength! Not by the strength of our muscles nor by the power of our weapons, but by the ferocity of our hearts!"
The crowd roared.
"We fight for every life taken by these bastards! We fight for every family torn apart! We fight, not for freedom, but for life! We fight for the United States, and for what we represent!"
The crowd ate this up and kept cheering.
Byron's voice suddenly became very monotone. "And what is it that we represent?"
The crowd grew quiet very quickly, all on the edge of their seats to hear what the Colonel was about to say. He continued to pause for a moment until silence swept the stadium unopposed.*
"What we represent... Is the spirit of the human race."
Applause slowly built up as he spoke, "And that, my friends, is something these monsters can never take from us!!!"
The crowd roared, the soldiers cheered. Byron turned and walked into his office in the stadium announcers booth. What he hadn't told them is that he had not gotten contact from his commanding officers in weeks. What he had not told them is that supplies were getting lower.
What he had not told them was that they were alone, and that time was running short.
He said what he said because that's what they needed to hear. Because he is a leader. Because he is where all their hope lies. But at the end of the day, he is still just a man. And as a man... He knew the end was near.
Weapon of choice: Colonel Byron utilizes the latest in advanced military technology, including the patented Pulse Pistol that was a staple weapon of the Pulse Soldiers. It is the size of a 9mm pistol, firing armor piercing rounds. Along each of his legs at the calves lie a holster, each of the two holsters housing a sawn off shotgun. Around the thighs of his legs are bandoliers with shotgun shells. at his waist, Byron's belt holds four holsters, two in the front near the belt buckle, two in the back. In the front holsters sit twin golden 9mm pistols, while in the back holsters sit twin mini-Uzi guns, also gold plated. Bandoliers are strapped across his chest, full of ammo, with two large holsters in the back. All he has to do to access these weapons is reach over one of his shoulders. Two weapons are housed here, the first being a real time Flamethrower, the second being a prototype 308 automatic rifle with a grenade launcher attachment. At his sides on his belt sit a pair of knives, used either for throwing or close range combat.
Byron is a mountain of a man, and his physical strength surpassed only by his firepower. He has given his mechanical arm numerous upgrades to now resist EMP along with being bulletproof. He also carries a satchel at all times, filled with the Lebanimen virus to counteract Necroenza, should he ever contract it.
For a better grip on his appearance, think Duke Nukem mixed with Rambo mixed with Terminator.
Last edited by The Storm; 07-21-2012 at 03:37 PM.
A bit far fetched but it is an RP, so nice job
Also it is my understanding that people cannot just attach an arm to you without the your consent. But it could have been done between the lines (words and paragraphs not military)
I already see the contrasts between some of the characters that already exist
The attachment consent and a lot like that are insinuated. It's not all too far fetched when you think about it... I mean, this is an rp about a zombie apocalypse lol
Sounds good, I'll look forward to it.
I haven't got a clue mr. I just made it up cuz it was kinda open to interpretation lol.
@ CK: thnx. Glad to hear all your thoughts on it put into one sentence lmao