Android 17

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Android 17

Post by Guest on Fri Feb 26, 2010 4:15 pm


Character name: Android 17
Character age: Unknown
Character race: Android
Starting planet: Earth
How did you find us: Android 18
Why do you want this character, and why do you think you deserve him/her? 18 needed her brother to hang around and picked me. I was on last night “testing” out how I would do as 17 and I think a few members generally agreed I should try out for him.
Role-play Example:




While men and women lived and breathed, Slade worked and sweat. For one reason or another, his mind was escaping to song lyrics, particularly Johnny Cash’s Folsom Prison Blues. Just like ol’ Cash, Wilson couldn’t remember the last time he saw sunshine. Instead he was given special UV lamps that worked just as well as the real thing, or so the boys in lab coats promised. He’d been stuck in this place for the better half of a week and he’d be damned if he let on that he was getting tired of all the tests they were running. Cardio, body strength training, weight training, agility, all of it for days with little to no rest, all so they could keep his adrenaline going. Sure, it made sense, but god damn there were just some things you just didn’t do to a man in his forties.

As his mental radio station was humming about shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die, Slade was busy having small sensors applied to his shirtless body for his next test. He felt like this one was completely unnecessary solely because what they wanted was something he could do flawlessly. Had been flawless for near about ten years. All he had to do was disassemble and reassemble his gun under their time limit and he wouldn’t get electrocuted. The gun was his own Sig P226 and he didn’t have to do it blind folded, so the challenge in this was more than likely to do it in some ridiculous short amount of time. Well, his mama always said not to play with guns. Seems like him and Cash weren’t such different men.

“Wilson,” Called the conductor of this crazy ride, “You on the ready?” On the ready? Ready to be fried and sore for the next few hours while he was forced to continue on with these tests? Was he ready, or did he just want to put his foot down and take a nice long nap? The latter certainly was what he wanted, but quitting wasn’t an option. The warrior sucked in a deep breath and locked into his mental brace that prepared him for everything that may or may not hurt like hell.

“You bet your ass, kid.” Slade’s muddy eyes rested on the gun in front of him and with only a brief flash of concentration he had already undressed the gun mentally. Before the stop watch could even click Slade had mapped out his movements while taking in the small white room around him, his focus panning out before becoming precise like the head of a pin. His hands took off, using the same skill and finesse of an old surgeon, his patient the weapon on the table. As a rookie, his mind would become vacant as he focused on his actions, leaving enough room only to get used to the gun’s dimensions and feel. Soon he was proficient enough to think steps ahead of himself. That paid off when he would plan the whole operation in his head before toughing the tool. Now he could do it without looking forward and back and his mind could wander in the moments it took to complete the task. Stubbornly, Johnny Cash strummed his guitar and sat on his shoulder singing while Slade raced the clock before the sensors fired his nerves.

“And I’d let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away…” Slade sang in his best Cash impression as his gun sat reassembled on the table. Not a bead of sweat on so much as his brow. He turned to the man watching the machines for readouts who was somewhere between impressed and disappointed. The test was to monitor him under threat of physical pain and of course a simple task like breaking apart and putting together a gun should reduce the subject to remedial level as they stressed over the thought of what would happen, causing a rush of adrenaline to pump the poor sap. Lesser men, basically. Slade was not a lesser man.

“Machine shows normal stats,” Recorded the technician, “His heart didn’t even skip a beat.” The two men regarded each other while Wilson eyed them both. He didn’t like clichés very much, but they fit the bill of “Random Scientist One” and “Random Scientist Two”. One was a tall and lank sort of fellow with glasses and a mop of graying hair. This was the lead researcher on this fancy little project he was assigned to assist in. The details felt sketchy, but then again he didn’t think there was a facet of the human body they weren’t trying to alienate and improve these days. The pitch went something like “Are you tired of your soldiers going in to battle and getting fatigued or shot down because they’re sluggish and just too human? Well boy do we have a surprise for you! By targeting the body’s adrenal glands we can increase, improve and overall throw it into over drive. Reflexes, speed, strength and more will double and last twice as long! Don’t throw away your old and tired soldier, give them the only energy boost they will ever need!” For such an important project for ol’ Uncle Sam, you would think they’d have a scientist Slade could be bothered to remember.

And Two wasn’t much better off. Short, overweight and more hair on his face than his head, nothing but the most generic for this party it seemed. He was the technician who rigged most of the tests together and manned the machines while One did all the note taking and number crunching. Nothing wild or extreme. Except the tests, of course. Normally he could do these feats all in a mission without needing a second wind, but constantly for days without sleep? Well, let’s just say he always imagined either dying quietly of old age or getting a bullet to his head. Death by treadmill was nowhere near as luxurious.

“Well,” Said One with exasperation, toggling his glasses and looking over his notes, “I suppose this wraps up this week’s tests. We’ll take the weekend to tweak the drug a little more.” Slade slapped his knee and stood up, prying the little sensors off his body and slipping on the black thermal shirt he had been wearing when he entered the facility days ago. He stood with a stretch and worked out a few kinks in his shoulders and neck, letting it all go with a heavy sigh. After going through heavy endurance tests with a minimum of three hours to sleep, Slade was more than grumpy. Calm and centered as he was; it didn’t mean the man wasn’t going to leave begrudgingly and give everyone at least two hugs to make sure they knew how much he loved them.

“But I have to say…” Chimed One, not allowing Wilson to leave in his gruff and abrupt way, “It’d be perfect if we could monitor you in real combat action.”

And there it was. They spend a few years working out the theory and numbers, then they explore a cadaver, then they bring him in for control tests. Now they wanted him to go into real danger all so they could hook him up to machines and see what a man’s body looked like when he pulled a trigger on another man. Damn them for cheapening life. And damn Slade for not putting his foot down. He turned to the man on his way out of the facility, face about as readable as an empty book, “You already know who to get into contact with.”

Slade Wilson passed through the security checks, leaving the dull and lifeless facility behind but taking his work home with him. His body was sore, it was bruised and if he hadn’t been able to work his gun fast enough he was sure he’d have some seared flesh to smell on his way home. He sat in his car for a moment, breathing, thinking, focusing. They were going to make him kill again. Something he hadn’t done for quite a few years now ever since this projected started up and he was assigned to it. Those jobs had gone on to younger agents while Slade was given a break. He didn’t quite know how to feel about that, knowing younger, less moral soldiers were gunning down targets with satisfaction. He felt a bit relieved to take things slower while doing a different kind of hard work. Staying home more was always nice and it had been so long since he had seen Adeline smile at him. They were shy smiles like when he first met her and made his corny passes at her. An accepting smile. “Sure, tiger, you’re funny all right, I’ll give you that.” That’s what he always felt like her smiles said to him. There was a strange feeling when he got those smiles now, but he wasn’t so sure they were the same butterfly-in-stomach feelings of the past. It felt like his heart was an engine that kept trying to turn over. Coughing, sputtering, knocking itself just to rev up, but never quite making it before going silent.

As if a slap in his face, Slade slid his key into the ignition and turned it. The engine roared instantly with fire and passion. “You mean like that, old man?” He felt the car say to him. “Yeah…” Slade said to no one but himself, “Something like that.” It was already dark outside and his headlights lit the way home. His drive back into Gotham was filled with thoughts of the other side of how his new station in life made him feel. Those kids out there today were from a new generation. A new breed. They took lives gladly, relished in it, would probably make people bleed just to watch them squirm. Slade didn’t like the thought of that. He saw no honor or dignity in making them suffer if they didn’t deserve it. He didn’t make things personal like that. A terrorist didn’t harm his family so he had no reason to bleed him out like a pig. A bullet between the eyes was his signature on the contract. Business. If they could put him back in the game then he could bring back the honor and skill that went into assassination. Despite the peace back at home, Slade found himself cautiously excited at the thought of jumping back into his old job. All they did in that facility was make him run through all the scenarios of a kill. The stake outs, the stalking, the acrobatics, the running, the fighting, the shooting. It was like giving a wild tiger a dead animal. It could stalk it and pounce and go in for the kill, but there was no satisfaction. Not that he enjoyed killing, but he liked the success. The culmination of his efforts brought into a meaningful end. As the A-Team would say, “I love it when a plan comes together.”

Back in Gotham, Slade pulled up to his house late. With the government contract of operating covertly and assisting in military research, the house Wilson came home to was something a bit exuberant. It certainly wasn’t a little shanty ranch house in the middle of nowhere, that was for sure. When asked where he would like to relocate, the soldier has chosen Gotham solely for its universities and promising careers in technology. Growing up, he knew how tough it was going to some unknown college that no one would recognize in an interview and he didn’t want that for either of his sons. When they approved him, Slade was given a pricey place to call home that sat between house and manor. Really he could have cared less for the place, but the family seemed to enjoy having the space. All a matter of hard work. Taking lives to provide life for his kin. He supposed most men would see it as a heavy price to pay, but Slade had long ago resigned himself to doing what had to be done to meet your ends.

Killing the engine as silently as he did most men, Wilson popped the door open and slid out of the seat. His body was sore and the idea of sleep was as tempting as a succubus. Normally he would unwind with some time on the couch, a glass of whiskey in one hand and maybe a magazine in the other. Dirty as he could be, these peaceful moments were reserved for magazines of interest. Martial arts, guns, military, that kind of dull stuff. Tonight, though, Slade pushed the door open quietly and snuck through his own home and made his way to the bedroom. There were sayings where he came from about how a man should never have to sneak into his home, but that was reserved for cheating scoundrels. Slade was more of the unscrupulous scoundrel variety. Upstairs his wife slept on her side of the bed, back turned to the door. Good and bad.

When Slade first took the Black Ops up on their offer, he would disappear and come back home to find Adeline holding his pillow with her on his side of the bed. She’d be facing the door hoping to wake up when he came home. In a way he missed those days. Now he was grateful that he wouldn’t be waking her. He undressed as silently as possible and slid into bed, slating his cell on the dresser. His body waited for his wife to roll over or for her to just say good night. Something that had been common at the prime of his career. Nothing came from the other side of the bed.

His mind played the oldest trick in the book on him. He was exhausted. He knew he was exhausted. His body needed rest. He wanted that rest. But instead he lay there with thoughts blaring like ambulance sirens in his head. He was physically drained, but mentally he was just as sharp as the knives he kept from his travels. All was silent in his house. Not a single sound could be heard. The house wasn’t even settling on its foundation. When his mind was so mercilessly alert like this, when his brain was searching for any disturbance or irregularity, silence became the loudest roar possible. Dark eyes widened as they accepted the lack of light, taking in their surroundings while Slade rested on his back, wishing his body would just shut itself down for some sleep.

He barely knew what time it was when he left the facility. Didn’t know what time it was when he got home and he hadn’t checked the clock when he got into bed. Now he laid there in deafening silence, eyes keenly focused on everything. The shallow breathing sounds of his wife, the way her body rose and fall, the paintings hanging on their wall, the armoire against the wall, the shadows moving outside the window beyond the curtains. Nothing escaped his vision. He felt trapped, like time was moving faster than he perceived or slower than he wanted it to. It felt like ages since his mind decided to kick into overdrive while he tried rationalizing that it hadn’t been long at all. Slade slid a hand from bed and reached for his phone when…

…It vibrated when his fingers were inches from snatching it. If it startled him, his body showed no signs of it. He finished the motion and took the phone, scanning the miniature time code on the screen while the number read “Private”. Five in the morning. He didn’t even know how long that meant he had been laying there. He clicked the send button and took the call, sliding to his side and sitting up all before he whispered a hello. The voice on the line was familiar. You don’t easily forget the way a man sounds when he says “Take care of him. Permanently.”

“Wilson, my boy,” Came the man’s cheerful tone, “Looks like we’ll be working together again! How long has it been?” No man should be this happy this early in the morning. Slade felt hesitant, maybe from the lack of sleep, maybe from fatigue, maybe from dislike of the familiar voice.

“Too long, sir,” Choked Slade, his own voice sounding foreign, “What can I do for you?” He did his best to whisper, but the sudden dryness in his mouth forced him to speak a little louder than he wanted to, his words sounding something like growling gravel.

“Not me son,” Came the ever predictable reply, “Your country. More specifically, Dr. Hance. I hear tell that you told him to get into contact with me if he wanted some…special data. I’m givin’ you the courtesy call to say you got until oh-six-hundred to report back to the facility for the assignment.”

It happened a lot sooner than he expected. Not even enough time to sleep off his slumber party with the boys in white. He bit back a sigh and stood up from the bed, the chill of the home slapping up against his body and waking him up a little. The brief silence resulted in nice lemon twist of irony. “I hope I didn’t wake you, soldier.”

“No, sir,” Slade said dryly, “I was up all night waitin’ for you to call me like the gentleman you are.”

“That’s the Wilson I know! See you at oh-six-hundred, son.”

Slade slide his thumb over the end button and got dressed in the clothes he had left on the floor. Had he really been waiting for the call? Sarcasm sure had a way of biting you in the ass.

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Re: Android 17

Post by Taku on Fri Feb 26, 2010 4:39 pm

A whole wall of text but........WELCOME ABOARD Android 17!
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Re: Android 17

Post by Buruma on Sat Feb 27, 2010 10:56 am

Added to Wiki. =D Welcome to Ultimate Pride 17.

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Re: Android 17

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