dennis abraham - d6 cryowake [fin]
Mar 12, 2022 17:50:44 GMT -5
Post by rook on Mar 12, 2022 17:50:44 GMT -5
There is no tragic backstory here. No murdered wife. No dead offspring. Your mission is not born out of loss, nor grief, but one of purpose and duty. For all you have known for as long as you can remember is this: the Capitol must fall, at all costs.
You were born deep in the impenetrable darkness of an underground bunker. Concrete walls and granite caves were your childhood playground. The rats there were as big as dogs. The vegetables you ate were grown under a lightbulb. There was no day, there was no night. You didn't even see the sky until you were fourteen.
District Thirteen. Realm of forgotten souls.
You are Commander Dennis Abraham: graduated from the academy of public services as a young teenager. Displayed superb aptitude in field drills, most notably in guerrilla warfare and hand-to-hand combat. Excelled academically in all theoretical examinations, quickly establishing yourself within the military corps of the underground in your early twenties. You killed three men in your first year, seventeen in your second, sustaining two injuries in the field - one has left you half-blind in your right eye.
You did not achieve all of that at such a tender age to be forgotten, buried under a mountain of rock in a district that no one knows exists. You will bring glory, you will bring change. Panem deserves it.
Your face is calm, unmoving, a body of water. How deep depends on who's looking into it. They call you cold. You are on a wet shoreline in the rain, dragging parts from an old wartime relic, hauling them into the trunk of your hijacked hovercraft and staggering away into the mist.
This war is the only war. You don't fight on two fronts by letting your emotions weaken you. You have never been a particularly angry person, you are simply determined. You know what is right, you know what is wrong, and between the two - you know what it is that you want to achieve. That path is one you navigate without the distraction of emotion.
District Six is sick with disease and famine. It's a prime example of what happens when the Capitol takes more than it needs and leaves a place deprived of it's natural resource. You know that this needs... correcting. A good a place as any to base operations.
You have found good people. Baines. She's the humanity you lack, the foil to your wild ambition. Reliable, honest, good. Not many left in the world like her.
Then there's Kipling; superb engineer, and an even better man. His work has been invaluable, and continues to surpass expectations. His son has not been the same since the fire, but you have high hopes for him to succeed your lost prize asset.
Sarmiento. Could catch lightning in a bottle. Invaluable to have someone who you could trust in a fight as well as in the workshop. You never know when the fight could be brought to you.
Then there's the pilots. All young, most have a reckless streak, but you can iron that out. Elliot was reckless, she got decommissioned for it. That's as much motivation as you need to give.
You've gone to great lengths to accommodate them, make them feel welcome, and at home within the compound. But there's only so far you can go, only so much Baines can put them through their paces before you have to close your eyes and let them take control of the suits.
You will gamble on their success, or watch as one by one the tanks become occupied with their comatose bodies.
You were born deep in the impenetrable darkness of an underground bunker. Concrete walls and granite caves were your childhood playground. The rats there were as big as dogs. The vegetables you ate were grown under a lightbulb. There was no day, there was no night. You didn't even see the sky until you were fourteen.
District Thirteen. Realm of forgotten souls.
You are Commander Dennis Abraham: graduated from the academy of public services as a young teenager. Displayed superb aptitude in field drills, most notably in guerrilla warfare and hand-to-hand combat. Excelled academically in all theoretical examinations, quickly establishing yourself within the military corps of the underground in your early twenties. You killed three men in your first year, seventeen in your second, sustaining two injuries in the field - one has left you half-blind in your right eye.
You did not achieve all of that at such a tender age to be forgotten, buried under a mountain of rock in a district that no one knows exists. You will bring glory, you will bring change. Panem deserves it.
Your face is calm, unmoving, a body of water. How deep depends on who's looking into it. They call you cold. You are on a wet shoreline in the rain, dragging parts from an old wartime relic, hauling them into the trunk of your hijacked hovercraft and staggering away into the mist.
This war is the only war. You don't fight on two fronts by letting your emotions weaken you. You have never been a particularly angry person, you are simply determined. You know what is right, you know what is wrong, and between the two - you know what it is that you want to achieve. That path is one you navigate without the distraction of emotion.
District Six is sick with disease and famine. It's a prime example of what happens when the Capitol takes more than it needs and leaves a place deprived of it's natural resource. You know that this needs... correcting. A good a place as any to base operations.
You have found good people. Baines. She's the humanity you lack, the foil to your wild ambition. Reliable, honest, good. Not many left in the world like her.
Then there's Kipling; superb engineer, and an even better man. His work has been invaluable, and continues to surpass expectations. His son has not been the same since the fire, but you have high hopes for him to succeed your lost prize asset.
Sarmiento. Could catch lightning in a bottle. Invaluable to have someone who you could trust in a fight as well as in the workshop. You never know when the fight could be brought to you.
Then there's the pilots. All young, most have a reckless streak, but you can iron that out. Elliot was reckless, she got decommissioned for it. That's as much motivation as you need to give.
You've gone to great lengths to accommodate them, make them feel welcome, and at home within the compound. But there's only so far you can go, only so much Baines can put them through their paces before you have to close your eyes and let them take control of the suits.
You will gamble on their success, or watch as one by one the tanks become occupied with their comatose bodies.
